The Commodification of French Intellectual Culture, 1945-1990

Home , Henry Chapier, Jean Paulhan, Lucien Bodard, Maurice Clavel, Raymond Devos, Robert Buron

From Ideas to Icons:

Hunter K. Martin

A dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment of

the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

(History)

at the

UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN-MADISON

2012

Date of final oral examination: August 9, 2012

The dissertation is approved by the following members of the Final Oral Committee: Laird Boswell, Professor, History Mary Louise Roberts, Professor, History Suzanne Desan, Professor, History Jennifer Ratner-Rosenhagen, Professor, History Richard Staley, Professor, History of Science

Table of Contents

Abbreviations ii Tables and Illustrations iii

Introduction Commodification: A New Concept for the History of Intellectual Culture 1

Part I From Inspiration to Implantation: The Origins of Maisons de la Culture 24

Chapter 1 Local Cultural Centers and the “Great Intellectual Struggle of Our Time” 24

Chapter 2 The Commercialization of Maisons de la Culture in Paris and Grenoble 65

Part II Off the Page and onto the Stage: The Making and Marketing of Intellectual Culture at Maisons de la Culture 106

Chapter 3 A Considerable Track Record: Encounters with Intellectual Culture in Paris and Grenoble 106

Chapter 4 Maisons de la Culture and the Creation of Demand 141

Part III Appropriations and Parallel Evolutions 174

Chapter 5 Out with the Old, in with the Pompidou 174

Chapter 6 A Virtuous Cycle: Intellectual Culture on Television and in Journals 207

Conclusion Intellectual “Engagement” in a Consumer Society 263

References 286

Abbreviations

ACTA Association Culturelle pour le Théâtre et les Arts

AMG Archives municipales de Grenoble

AMCG Association Maison de la Culture de Grenoble

APMCG Association Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble

ATAC Association Technique pour l’Action Culturelle

BNF Bibliothèque nationale de France

CAC Centre d’Action Culturelle

CAC Centre des archives contemporaines

CDN Centre dramatique national

CNAC Centre National d’Art et de Culture Georges-Pompidou

CNRS Centre national de la recherche scientifique

DTMAC Direction du Théâtre, de la Musique et de l’Action Culturelle

FR3 France Régions 3

IMEC Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine

INA Institut national de l’audiovisuel

JCEG Jeune Chambre Économique de Grenoble

MCG Maison de la Culture de Grenoble

MJC Maison des Jeunes et de la Culture

MPT Maison Pour Tous

ORTF Office de radiodiffusion et télévision française

SERES Société d’Etudes et de Recherches en Sciences Sociales

TEP Theâtre de l’Est Parisien

TF1 Télévision Française 1

TN Théâtre national

iii

Tables & Images

1. Maison de la Culture Openings by Year and Location 35

2. National Budget Allocation for Action culturelle, 1961-1977 60

3. Distribution of Theaters in Paris, 1962 67

4. Street View of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien 73

5. Interior Layout of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien 76

6. Exterior View of the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble 87

7. Exterior View of the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble 87

8. Socio-Professional Composition of Maison Members (1968-69 Season) 93

9. “BHL,” Bernard-Henri Lévy 231

10. Launching the “New Philosophers” 231

11. Apostrophes, Book Show 234

12. Apostrophes, Book Show 234 1

INTRODUCTION

Commodification: A New Concept for the History of Intellectual Culture

“The writer must refuse to let himself be transformed by institutions, even if these are the most honorable kind.” Jean-Paul Sartre (1964)

In 1964, the Swedish Academy selected Jean-Paul Sartre for the Nobel Prize in recognition of “his work, which, in the spirit of freedom and in the name of truth, has had a great impact on our era.”1 Sartre hastily and famously declined the honor, thereby creating a cultural scandal of international proportions. Insisting that his refusal was “not an improvised act,” he offered the Academy, via Swedish writer Carl-Gustav Bjurström, a combination of personal and objective reasons for his surprising and iconoclastic decision.2 Sartre explained that, at present, in a world bifurcated by the Cold War, “the Nobel Prize appears to be a distinction reserved to writers of the Western bloc and rebels of the Eastern bloc,” a fact at odds with his conviction that

“the only possible combat on the cultural front should aim at the peaceful coexistence of the two cultures, that of the East and that of the West.”3 As for Sartre’s personal reasons, the man who would come to be widely considered the most famous intellectual of the twentieth century began by remarking that he had always turned down official distinctions, noting that he had declined both the Legion of Honor and a chair at the Collège de France in the years following the Second

World War. He then declared that, “the writer must refuse to let himself be transformed by institutions, even if these are the most honorable kind, as is the case here.”4 According to Annie

1 Dr. A. Osterling, member of the Swedish Academy, as cited in Annie Cohen-Solal, Sartre: A Life, trans. Anna Cancogni (New York: Pantheon Books, 1987), 446. 2 Jean-Paul Sartre, as cited in Cohen-Solal, Sartre, 447. 3 Cohen-Solal, Sartre, 448. 4 Cohen-Solal, Sartre, 448. 2

Cohen-Solal, the passage of time has enabled scholars to discern the true meaning behind

Sartre’s cryptic words, which is to say that, “in an evasive gesture of freedom and pride, Sartre had refused to be made into a living statue and prematurely canonized.”5

Such an interpretation is consistent with the accepted trajectory of Sartre’s career and personal politics in the postwar era when, most notably, he abandoned his teaching post at the

Lycée Condorcet to pursue writing on a full-time basis, refused to become a member of any mainstream political party, including the Parti communiste français, and rebuffed the institution of marriage in cahoots with his life partner, Simone de Beauvoir. Gérard Noiriel goes so far as to credit Sartre’s fixation with safeguarding his liberty of thought and action as a key motivator for the creation of Les Temps modernes in 1945, a publication that, beyond exerting “a veritable hegemony over French intellectual life during the 1950s,” allowed Sartre to carve out an

“autonomous milieu with respect to academic institutions and the world of politics.”6 The autonomy of Les Temps modernes and intellectual engagement (or socio-political commitment) was thought guaranteed by their being rooted squarely in the public sphere.7 There is little doubt

5 Cohen-Solal, Sartre, 449. 6 Gérard Noiriel, Les fils maudits de la République: L’avenir des intellectuels en France (Paris: Fayard, 2005), 89. Noiriel is not alone in positing a connection between intellectual life, or the intellectual vocation, and the pursuit of institutional autonomy. Jennifer Ratner-Rosenhagen makes a similar claim in her analysis of the “Nietzsche trope” in the United States. Jennifer Ratner-Rosenhagen, “Conventional Iconoclasm: The Cultural Work of the Nietzsche Image in Twentieth-Century America,” The Journal of American History (December 2006), 738. See also Jean- François Sirinelli, Intellectuels et passions françaises: manifestes et petitions (Paris: Fayard, 1990). 7 Scholars have devoted copious attention to the development and evolution of the public sphere since the Enlightenment, as well as the corresponding emergence of public opinion and the politics of contestation to which it gave rise. Much of our thinking about the public sphere as a concept owes to the work of Jürgen Habermas, who defines the public sphere as a “network for communicating information and points of view” that are then converted into public opinion. Building upon this oft invoked dictum, the public sphere refers to a system of institutions or places, and the behaviors associated with those loci, which, in tandem, came to provide a forum for self-expression and a means for lay people to air opinions about issues of public concern outside the traditional power structures of the Church, State, and economy. With time it became an important new source for the legitimation of cultural works and ideas, and, in this manner, those who participated in the public sphere, through their criticism or approval, were increasingly able influence the regulation of civil society. Thus there is a direct correlation between the development of the public sphere and the belief in the power and righteousness of “public opinion,” defined as the collective opinion of the people of the nation as a whole, which contributed to the perception of philosophes (and, in 3 that the central pillar of intellectual expression and communion with the tribunal of public opinion during the middle decades of the twentieth century was the revue (journal). However, while this configuration may have allowed intellectuals to remain independent to some degree from political and academic institutions, the same cannot be said when it came to cultural institutions, most notably journals, but also television, newspapers, radio, theaters, cultural centers, publishing houses, and so on. As the nature of these institutions’ cultural production changed in response to the emergence of consumer and mass culture, so too did the nature of intellectuals’ interactions with the public.8 Determined though Sartre may have been to reconcile institutional autonomy and intellectual engagement, these ambitions remain antithetical. This is a common misconception in—and about—France. As we shall see, Sartre—along with a great many other thinkers and even “intellectuals” as a category—was repeatedly and, in fact, systematically canonized by a variety of French cultural institutions across the postwar era.

***

the modern era, intellectuals) that they had license to assert themselves on any topic, even those that were taboo (such as politics and religion) prior to the Enlightenment. Noiriel’s analysis extends this tradition into the modern era and counts it as one of the most important legacies of the Enlightenment for contemporary French intellectual culture. Jürgen Habermas, Between Facts and Norms: Contributions to a Discourse Theory of Law and Democracy, trans. William Rheg (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1998), 360. See also Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society, trans. Thomas Burger (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1991). For accounts of the development and influence of the public sphere that are more thematic in nature, see, for instance, Dena Goodman, The Republic of Letters: A Cultural History of the French Enlightenment (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994) and Jeffrey S. Ravel, The Contested Parterre: Public Theater and French Political Culture, 1680-1791 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1999). On the development of public opinion as an “abstract source of legitimacy,” see Keith M. Baker, in Jack Censer and Jeremy Popkin, eds., Press and Politics in Pre-Revolutionary France (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 231. For more on the politics of contestation on the part of Enlightenment philosophes, see Peter Gay, The Enlightenment: A Comprehensive Anthology (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1973), 17; and with regard to the burgeoning reading public, see Roger Chartier, The Cultural Origins of the French Revolution, trans. Lydia G. Cochrane (Durham: Duke University Press, 1991), 91. 8 From extended and often complicated analyses geared towards le public cultivée (the educated public), to more succinct expositions pitched to le grand public (the mainstream public) and, as John Gaffney and Diana Holmes have demonstrated, with increasing emphasis on affording the public access not just to what intellectuals “did [and thought], but by what they were, or what they seemed to be.” John Gaffney and Diana Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France (New York: Berghahn Books, 2007), 3. 4

This dissertation offers new insight into the extraordinary renown of French intellectuals by examining two key dynamics underpinning the commodification of intellectual culture in

France during the second half of the twentieth century. First, I explore the decisive contribution made by cultural institutions in cultivating and distributing intellectual culture for mainstream consumption in the postwar period, breaking down longstanding barriers between thinkers, the general public, and the state. In tandem, I analyze the changing complexion of intellectual engagement in an increasingly consumer- and commodity-oriented society. I seek to understand how the convergence of these phenomena recast both the nature of intellectuals’ activism and their status in French society.

The growth of a market economy in the wake of the Second World War fueled the rise of consumer culture, while the grim legacy of the conflict ensured a voracious market for new symbolic goods. Thinkers achieved new heights of fame and commercial success, catapulted into the limelight by their power of attraction as much as by their ideas and activism. Between

1945 and 1990, intellectuals took their theories to an ever-expanding public by embracing new forms of communication and mass media. Influential thinkers such as Sartre and Maurice

Merleau-Ponty founded journals and newspapers; they appeared on radio programs and interacted with filmmakers. Concurrently, the public increasingly treated intellectuals as cultural icons, actively seeking out their ideas and following their lives with keen interest. Integral to these changes were the efforts of cultural promoters in both the public and private sectors. The

French state, for instance, spent lavishly in support of cultural initiatives geared towards nourishing and disseminating the nation’s intellectual patrimony, while promoters in the media, publishing, and performing arts elaborated an array of new practices that cast intellectuals as celebrity figures, situated them as exemplars of French grandeur, emphasized their importance to 5 civil society, and urged consumption of their ideas and published work. My dissertation considers how, within the French cultural milieu, postwar intellectuals marketed themselves and their ideas—and were in turn marketed—to a society that considered them the creators of a worthy, even necessary product.

While existing scholarship addresses intellectual debates about mass and consumer culture, historians have devoted surprisingly little attention to how mass consumerism—and the proliferation of market sensibilities—affected intellectual culture.9 Moreover, when it comes to the advent of so-called “media” intellectuals, the dominant narrative holds that this new cohort emerged in the wake of 1968, seizing upon the gradual deregulation of mass media (especially television) in the post-De Gaulle era and, as French culture became increasingly commercialized in the 1970s and 1980s, steadily reducing the distance between intellectuals and the general public. By 1990, the process was a fait accompli, with thinkers such as Bernard-Henri Lévy having achieved widespread mainstream and media celebrity.10 I aim to show, on the contrary, that the emergence of “media” intellectuals was neither the product of a watershed cultural change after 1968, nor the result of the privatization of television in the 1980s, but a phenomenon that began to take shape in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War. It was in this era that theories of engagement first began to flourish—with intellectuals pledging

9 The origins of mass consumerism in France correspond to the growth of a market economy during the Fourth Republic. Richard Kuisel, Capitalism and the State in Modern France: Renovation and Economic Management in the Twentieth Century (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1981); Kuisel, Seducing the French: The Dilemma of Americanization (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993); and Jean-Pierre Rioux, The Fourth Republic, 1944-1958, trans. Godfrey Rogers (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987). Kuisel and Kristin Ross, to cite just two examples, have recounted in detail the critical responses of intellectuals to the arrival of consumer culture in France. Kuisel, Seducing the French; and Kristin Ross, May ’68 and Its Afterlives (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002). 10 As Pierre Nora has observed, “One way or another, the legitimation of an intellectual is always conferred by success.” Though “scorned by his peers,” Nora maintains that Lévy “possesses a legitimacy based upon a type of suffrage that one can debate but cannot reject.” Pierre Nora, “About Intellectuals,” in Jeremy Jennings, ed., Intellectuals in Twentieth-Century France: Mandarins and Samurais (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1993), 192. 6 activism in society as well as reflection on society—and culture was valorized as a means of communicating with the public. By examining the production and diffusion of intellectual culture across the second half of the twentieth century, I hope to establish that the leading thinkers of the postwar era—such as Sartre or Raymond Aron, who are often juxtaposed with

“media” intellectuals—were actually the progenitors of this trend.

This thesis analyzes the development of four key institutions that systematically facilitated the presentation of intellectuals and their ideas to the general public in the course of the last sixty years: Maisons de la Culture, the Centre National d’Art et de Culture, television, and journals. I trace the literal “Business of Enlightenment” within these institutions as well as changes in representation and reception as intellectual culture became increasingly spectacular across the period. I show that all four institutions defined their activity as facilitating the creation and distribution of “intellectual products” to as large a public as possible given their financial means. Additionally, I examine how these institutions portrayed intellectuals as important figures for French culture and patrimony, who were either readily accessible to a layperson or worth the effort that comprehension entailed. In both cases, my research focuses on a close examination of the interplay between intellectual and mainstream culture in postwar

France, where the media and cultural promoters serve as key intermediaries.

In terms of structure this project is made up of six chapters. Chapter 1 examines how the

Ministry of Cultural Affairs elaborated a coherent vision of intellectual culture’s value in the course of its efforts to create a nationwide network of small-scale, polyvalent cultural centers, known as Maisons de la Culture, which it charged with bringing elite culture to the general public through a combination of theatrical and musical performances, film screenings, variety 7 programs, and public talks.11 It considers the ways in which Maisons became a crucial site for discussions regarding the valorization, popularization, and dissemination of artistic and intellectual culture, along with the relationship between culture and commerce, as the flagship institution in the state’s efforts to democratize access to culture at the local level during the first decades of the Fifth Republic. Chapter 2 furthers this line of inquiry by exploring how the development of commercialization strategies at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble made possible the transition of Maisons from an abstract ideal to operational facilities, from a policy item to bricks and mortar.12 It asks why the Ministry chose eastern Paris and Grenoble to receive Maisons, and how they endeavored to tailor each center in accordance with the socio-cultural particularities of the area. Chapters 3 and 4 zero in on the diverse efforts to make and market intellectual culture at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and

Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, their doors now open to thinkers and the public alike, appraising trends in the form and content of intellectually-oriented programming at these facilities, particularly their “spoken review” series and spectacles on noteworthy personalities.13

Chapter 5 dissects the decline of Maisons as the state’s institution of choice for cultural activism at the local level. It then considers how the legacy of staging intellectual “encounters” found new life on a grand scale at the Centre National d’Art et de Culture (better known as the

11 Two additional considerations informed my selection of Maisons de la Culture for careful study: First off, they have received scant historical attention to date, despite the importance attached to them by the Ministry of Cultural Affairs during the early years of the Fifth Republic. Moreover, as an institution, they came to occupy center stage in the ideological confrontation between “bottom-up” and “top-down” approaches to cultural policy at the local level. 12 In light of the highly centralized nature of French culture (including intellectual culture), it is both opportune and instructive to undertake a comparison between Paris and the provinces. I settled upon Grenoble for two main reasons: for one, the city is a university town known for its vibrant local cultural scene and, secondly, it was one of the first cities to construct a Maison de la Culture (1968). 13 In seeking to market intellectual cultural productions at Maisons de la Culture, center organizers and guest speakers habitually touted their relevance to life in contemporary France, their accessibility to non-specialists, and their credentials as a form of leisure and spectacle. 8

Pompidou Center) in Paris, even after Maisons become marginal in their own right. Chapter 6 tackles the issue of scope, exploring convergences between the commodificatory practices at

Maisons de la Culture and two vastly different cultural institutions: television and journals.

Whereas the small screen has long been the prime suspect in debates surrounding mass and consumer culture’s deleterious effects on high culture, journals were (and continue to be) one of the most esteemed venues for intellectuals seeking to circulate their views publicly. Yet both engaged unequivocally in the commodification of intellectual culture, and in terms that were strikingly similar to Maisons.

Approaching my dissertation from these multiple perspectives enables me to capture all of the variables that I believe are crucial to framing such an account: intellectuals and their public, elite and popular culture, state institutions and private enterprise, the performing arts as well as the print and audiovisual media. Additionally, by focusing on one Maison in Paris and another in Grenoble, I am able to measure the extent to which this phenomenon pushed beyond the intellectual citadel of the French capital. Throughout, I consider a number of common themes, including commercial and publicity strategies; attempts to put intellectuals (such as

Michel Foucault and Pierre Bourdieu) in direct contact with the general public; the production of spectacles based upon a thinker’s life and oeuvre (such as Sartre and Albert Camus); the embrace of intellectuals (such as Aron and Simone de Beauvoir) as a means to legitimize French patrimony; and the entwining of entertainment, edification, and engagement.

As a whole, this project sheds new light on intellectuals’ lofty profile and influence in

French society, as well as the extent of France’s postwar consumer revolution. The scope of government involvement in the commodification of intellectual culture captures a vital and fascinating aspect of the state’s response to the nation’s transition across the era from a position 9 of hard power in the world to one of soft power, with links to the broader processes of decolonization and globalization.14 More expansively, this thesis demonstrates the degree to which commercial values have shaped our conceptions of culture in the last half-century, and speaks to the decisive role played by cultural institutions in circulating knowledge and valorizing informed opinion in modern societies.

Commodification: A Dirty Word?

In the simplest terms, a commodity refers to something of use or value. However, this definition is typically considered synonymous with another, namely an article of commerce; and it is this commercial dimension—in which commodities are regarded as interchangeable units of economic wealth and salability stands as the principal objective—that casts a cloud of suspicion and resentment over its application to discussions of intellectual culture, for the intellectual milieu has long taken pride in eschewing financial profit in favor of enlightenment.15 While

14 Sociologist Jean Baudrillard’s theory of sign-value suggests a clear correlation between commodification and the exercise of soft power, one I discuss in detail in the conclusion of this project. As Douglas Kellner has framed it: “just as words take on meaning according to their position in a differential system of language, so sign values take on meaning according to their place in a differential system of prestige and status.” In this instance, culture—and France’s intellectual profile—came to represent a mark of French prestige and an anchor for the nation’s global position of soft power. Baudrillard elaborates his views on the social life of signs and sign-value in a number of his works, including The System of Objects (1968), The Consumer Society (1970), and For a Critique of the Political Economy of the Sign (1972). Douglas Kellner, “Jean Baudrillard,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2009 Edition), Edward N. Zalta, ed., http://plato.stanford.edy/archives/win2009/entries/baudrillard. For further historical scholarship on soft power in France, see Victoria De Grazia, Irresistible Empire: America’s Advance Through Twentieth-Century Europe (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005) and Herman Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort: André Malraux and the Reinvention of French Culture (Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1999), especially 5-7, 22-28, 47, 159-161. On decolonization, soft power, and culture, see Herman Lebovics, Bringing the Empire Back Home: France in the Global Age (Durham, Duke University Press, 2004); Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort; Matthew Connelly, A Diplomatic Revolution: Algeria’s Fight for Independence and the Origins of the Post- Cold War Era (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2002); and Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 2-3. 15 Louis Pinto succinctly lays out some of the reasons scholars and especially humanists have been so reluctant to analyze the production, consumption, and transmission of philosophical ideas—and the same may be said of intellectual culture more generally—in economic terms, central to which is the notion that intellectual value implies the denial of a profit motive. Alan Kahan offers another explanation for why we have come to generally consider 10 commercial performance is often measured in monetary terms, commerce may also be understood as a social and cultural phenomenon—predicated upon the circulation of ideas, values, and relations—with different metrics for success. While the cultural, social, and economic dimensions of commerce—and the commodities that form its building blocks—are deeply enmeshed with one another, an object need not be profit making in a pecuniary sense in order to qualify as a commodity.16 Commodity status ultimately resides in the value—whether defined in terms of an exchange value, a use value, or both—ascribed to a given product. Thus, this is not a dissertation on the monetizing of intellectual culture so much as an inquiry into the valorization of intellectual culture. But I am interested in forms of valorization that push beyond affirmations of intellectual culture’s intrinsic value by asserting that intellectual culture carries a very real use value.17 From this optic, intellectual culture is more than a virtue in its own right; it becomes a means to an end, or more specifically, a wide variety of interrelated ends, some cultural, others social, political, and even economic in character. It is the use value of

intellectuals and capitalism as diametrically opposed to one another, situating intellectuals as an ever-alienated elite within capitalist society, a place (or more appropriately a lack of place) that fuels their long-running and polyvalent hostility to capitalism. Sunil Khilnani and Richard Kuisel highlight two further contributing factors, namely the remarkable sway Marxist thought held for large segments of the intellectual milieu and the sinister connection many intellectuals drew between commercial culture and Americanization. Intellectuals have played a hand in shaping perceptions in numerous other ways, ranging from polemical condemnations of mass and commercial culture, such as those launched by Régis Debray, to off-the-cuff comments from iconic thinkers regarding their ambivalence to the accumulation wealth, such as Sartre’s assertion that the only time he truly enjoyed money was upon feeling it slip through his fingers (and indeed Sartre was notorious for giving away extraordinary sums of money, having few possessions, and living in modest circumstances). Louis Pinto, ed., Le commerce des idées philosophiques (Broissieux: Éditions du croquant, 2009), 9. Alan Kahan, Mind vs. Money: The War between Intellectuals and Capitalism (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 2010). Kuisel, Seducing the French. Sunil Khilnani, Arguing Revolution: The Intellectual Left in Postwar France (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993). Régis Debray, Le Pouvoir intellectuel en France (Paris: Ramsay, 1979). Cohen-Solal, Sartre. 16 Pinto, for instance, explores the entwined economic and cultural dimensions of philosophical commerce by tracking the importation and exportation of philosophical ideas across national, cultural, and temporal boundaries. Pinto, ed., Le commerce des idées philosophiques, 9-13. See also Pinto, Le Café commerce des penseurs: à propos de la doxa intellectuelle (Broissieux: Éditions du croquant, 2010). 17 Some scholars and theorists employ the term “social use value” to refer specifically to the non-physical or non- manual aspects of a commodity’s function and value. 11 intellectual culture in France that makes “commodification” the most accurate description of the phenomenon under analysis in this thesis.

Make no mistake, however, “commodification” as I employ the term is not a pejorative.

It in no way implies a de facto loss of integrity or authenticity or sophistication for the intellectual milieu. At the same time, it does not necessarily follow that the commodification of intellectual culture was a virtue in a normative sense. Indeed, my aim in this project is not to moralize. On the contrary, I am suggesting that for better or for worse we consider

“commodification” as a condition for the functioning and flourishing of intellectual culture in

France in the decades following the Second World War.

Our contemporary understanding of “commodification” as a concept, including the distinction I stress between the “use value” and “exchange value” of commodities, is heavily influenced by Karl Marx’s critique of political economy, specifically his interpretation of commodity production and the labor theory of value.18 It is not my aim, however, to portray the commodification of intellectual culture in France in a Marxist light.19 After all, many of the principal agents in this process, especially within the apparatus of the Fifth Republican state, were devoted Gaullists. Rather, I draw upon these concepts for their precision in capturing the complexion of the value attributed to intellectual offerings, along with the approaches taken to the task of disseminating intellectual culture, by Ministry officials and center organizers, television producers and hosts, as well as journal directors and editors. Of course, there were also a great many cultural promoters on the Left of the political spectrum in postwar France, and

18 Marx employed the terms “use value” and “exchange value” in order to nuance his account of the creation and conferral of commodity status. Karl Marx, Capital: A Critique of Political Economy, Volume 1, trans. Ben Fowkes (New York and London: Penguin Classics, 1990). See in particular chapters 1-3. 19 Marx was especially concerned with a specific type of commodity—that of human labor—and its place in a economic system where its exchange value surpasses its cost to employers. William L. McBride, The Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, Second Edition, ed., Robert Audi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 538. 12 even a substantial number in the employ of the conservative state, resulting in a form of cohabitation, “whereby Culture,” as Michel Beaujour terms it, “though lavishly supported by right-wing governments, was tacitly given over to communist and fellow-traveling managers and artists” in exchange for unfettered control of radio and television.20 Maisons de la Culture afford an especially vivid illustration of this phenomenon, with Gaullist officials setting policies at the

Ministerial level and Left-wing (frequently communist) functionaries translating these into programs on the ground. What is fascinating is that both groups employed a commercially- inspired vocabulary to describe their aims and actions, embracing expressions such as “cultural products” and speaking in terms of “producers,” “consumers,” and “value.” That Gaullists and

Marxists alike seized upon the lexicon of commerce should not be construed as meaning that this vocabulary was apolitical; rather its transcendental nature—cutting across party and ideological lines—owes to the increasing prevalence of a commercially-oriented ethos in France and the developed democratic-capitalist world more generally.21

20 Michel Beaujour, “Culture,” in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Lawrence D. Kritzman (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 183. 21 Jean Baudrillard asserts the centrality of commodity culture and consumption to contemporary western society in his seminal work, Société de consommation: ses mythes, ses structures (1970). Baudrillard offered his theory of sign-value as a means to push beyond the classical Marxist critique of political economy, with its economistic focus on human labor, in order that we might arrive at an understanding of commodification and consumption that reflected the circumstances and motives at play in late-stage capitalism in the second half of the twentieth century. In this manner, he set a precedent whereby Marx’s lexicon, while still highly instructive, need not be employed in an ideologically Marxian way. In other words, Baudrillard demonstrated that, even in a non-polemical context, Marx’s account of how goods come to have value retains its explanatory power. In recent years, studies of celebrity and stardom have proven an especially fertile source of contemporary reflection on the spread of a commercial ethos, along with histories of consumption and mass culture. Jean Baudrillard, Société de consommation: ses mythes, ses structures (Paris: S.G.P.P., 1970). Baudrillard’s work reflects the influence of Thorstein Veblen, Edgar Morin, and Roland Barthes, in particular, The Theory of the Leisure Class (1915), Les Stars (1957) and Mythologies (1957), respectively. Thorstein Veblen, The Theory of the Leisure Class (New York: Penguin Books, 1979); Edgar Morin, The Stars, trans. Richard Howard (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2005); Roland Barthes, Mythologies (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1957). For more recent work in these areas, see Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 8 and 220; Arjun Appadurai, ed., The Social Life of Things: Commodities in cultural perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986); John Seabrook, Nobrow: The Culture of Marketing, the Marketing of Culture (New York: Vintage, 2001); Pinto, ed., Le commerce des idées philosophiques; and Kristin Ross, Fast Cars, Clean Bodies: Decolonization and the Reordering of French Culture (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1995). 13

Again, the fact that Maison de la Culture organizers conceived and described their activism in commercial terms does not mean that they endeavored to monetize or vulgarize intellectual culture. It means precisely what they said it did: that they sought to cultivate, promote, and distribute intellectual culture—which they deemed to have significant use value or, in other words, which they considered a commodity—as widely as possible so that its value might accrue. It means that they gave voice to and sought to direct the emergent ethos of commerce so as to benefit French intellectual culture.

This project thus devotes significant attention to examining the development of this discourse of commodification in the context of four institutions: analyzing the use values this evolving discourse claimed for intellectual culture; reconstructing how it came to be incarnated in a range of practices; and, where possible, accounting for its effects upon perceptions of intellectual culture on the part of the French public.22 This is therefore a dissertation on the commodification, rather than the consumption, of intellectual culture in France.23 Nonetheless, the notion of experience consumption proved integral to the discourse of commodification as it pertained to intellectual culture, and I treat it accordingly.24 However, my focus is on the fashioning—the making and marketing—of experiences, as opposed to their reception.

22 The ordering of chapters one through four generally corresponds to this progression from principles to policies and from policies to practices. 23 As such, exchange value and reception (measured in attendance figures, revenues, etc.) do not play a central role in this project. Such material is fascinating and unquestionably merits detailed analysis, however it lies beyond the scope of the present work. That being said, I have sought to incorporate it where it seems necessary to advancing the narrative. 24 Forms of experience consumption play especially prominent roles in the commodification of intellectual culture at Maisons de la Culture, the Pompidou Center, and on television. Interestingly, even where material commodities, such as books or journals, were concerned, experience consumption factored into the commodificatory process, with promoters seeking to make the public feel as though they were somehow involved in, or plugged into, the ebb and flow of intellectual culture. 14

Immaterial and Experiential Commodities

Drawing upon the observations of theorists such as Baudrillard and Roland Barthes, the history of consumer culture and consumption has in recent decades developed into an important and interdisciplinary field. The work of Victoria de Grazia and Daniel Horowitz, for instance, exposes the diverse political and moral undercurrents that shape consumer cultures.25 In addition, a great deal of scholarship has accumulated on specific commodities, ranging from that of Kurt Möser (automobiles) and Stephen Cline (children’s toys) to Rudy Koshar (tourist guidebooks) and Philippe Perrot (clothing).26 Some, such as John Gaffney and Christopher

Johnson, have extended the analytical models afforded by studies of material commodities to include certain categories of people (Charles de Gaulle and Claude Lévi-Strauss, respectively) with star qualities and well-developed personae.27 Many studies of celebrity culture corroborate this formulation, like those by Richard Dyer and Christine Gledhill, which assay the image and role of Hollywood actors and singers.28 Still others have tackled instances of experience consumption, most notably through the optics of leisure and tourism.29

25 Victoria de Grazia, The Sex of Things: Gender and Consumption in Historical Perspective (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996). Daniel Horowitz, The Anxieties of Affluence: Critiques of American Consumer Culture, 1939-1979 (Amherst, University of Massachusetts Press, 2004). 26 Kurt Möser, “World War I and the Creation of Desire for Automobiles in Germany” and Stephen Cline, “Toys, Socialization, and the Commodification of Play,” in Susan Strasser, Charles McGovern, and Matthias Judt, eds., Getting and Spending: European and American Consumer Societies in the Twentieth Century (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998). Rudy Koshar, German Travel Cultures (New York: Berg Publishers, 2000). Philippe Perrot, Fashioning the Bourgeoisie: A History of Clothing in the Nineteenth Century, trans. Richard Bienvenu (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994). 27 Françoise Sagan defined herself in precisely these terms as far back as 1974, granting matter-of-factly: “I became a commodity, an object: the Sagan phenomenon, the Sagan myth.” Christopher Johnson, “The Intellectual as Celebrity: Claude Lévi-Strauss,” John Gaffney, “The Only Act in Town: Charles de Gaulle,” and Heather Lloyd, “‘Starlette de la Littérature’: Françoise Sagan,” in Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 190. 28 Richard Dyer, Heavenly bodies: film stars and society (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1986). Christine Gledhill, ed., Stardom: industry of desire (New York: Routledge, 1990). 29 Rudy Koshar, ed., Histories of Leisure (New York: Berg, 2002). Shelly Baranowski and Ellen Furlough, eds., Being Elsewhere: Tourism, Consumer Culture, and Identity in Modern Europe and North America (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2001). David Nasaw, Going Out: The Rise and Fall of Public Amusements (New 15

Building on the interpretive schema offered by this wide-ranging body of scholarship, this dissertation aims to reconsider not just the history of intellectual culture, but also the history of consumer culture by focusing on a category of commodity—intellectual culture—whose use value may not be immediately tangible. Selling the public on enlightenment, after all, cannot be compared to the sale of light bulbs; for only in the latter instance are the illuminative effects readily apparent for all to see. In crafting my account of the commodification of intellectual culture in France I have opted explore objects, or products, that are for the most part immaterial and forms of consumption that are chiefly experiential. While journals such as Esprit and

Critique, along with the publications at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la

Culture de Grenoble, are physical commodities in the standard sense, their commodity status surpasses their material function, forming part of a greater heuristic whole.

In broaching a topic as complex as the commodification of intellectual culture, it is temping to focus upon forms of material culture—the most obvious candidates being books, journals, or newspapers—as one may more easily quantify their production cost, exchange value, and reception. The “commodity” is unmistakable, as is the commercial dimension of the interactions linking thinkers, publishers, retailers, and the public. But how do we explain the heavy presence of intellectuals on television or at cultural centers? How do we make sense of the mainstream celebrity of thinkers such as Sartre, Foucault, or Alain Finkielkraut? Were their public appearances and stardom merely happenstance? Were they simply reflections of efforts to sell books and journals and newspapers? Were they nothing more than beneficiaries of the star- making pathology of late-modern popular culture? If so, then why was their place in the public

York: Basic Books, 1993). Lawrence Culver, The Frontier of Leisure: Southern California and the Shaping of Modern America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010). 16 eye carefully organized and passionately championed by organizers at Maisons de la Culture and producers on television? Why were they given liberty to comment on a range of contemporary and historical issues, rather than constrained to synopsizing and plugging their recent publications? And why were intellectuals selected for stardom and other categories of people not? The most plausible answer is that the commodification of intellectual culture in France transcends material culture alone.

Of course, privileging the experiential is problematic, as experiences are by their nature ephemeral, while costs and metrics for success can be difficult to measure. Moreover, as a form of commodity, the experiences associated with intellectual acculturation were unique in the way they openly combined work and play, edification and entertainment.30 Nonetheless, presenting a compelling account that takes into consideration the immaterial dimension of the commodification of intellectual culture is necessary in order to convey the scope and, I would argue, the greater significance of the phenomenon as a vehicle for social development, national grandeur, and economic growth in France.

Mandarins: in the Mainstream and in the Flesh

Strictly speaking this is a history of intellectual culture rather than a history of intellectuals. Nonetheless, intellectuals are important figures in my narrative, so it is natural to question the criteria I employed in selecting the thinkers whose activities and personae I explore.

In this project I have broken with the precedent set by Julien Benda in The Treason of the

Intellectuals (1927), who, in framing his landmark polemic, designates as his subject, “not the

30 As previously noted, most extant accounts of experience consumption come at the topic from the vantage point of leisure, defined as the opposite of work. In fact, consumption more generally is typically portrayed as an activity that exists outside of work. Intellectual acculturation blurs such distinctions. 17

‘clerk’ such as he is, but the ‘clerk’ such as he is considered to be and as he acts upon the world in that capacity.”31 In his desire to effect change by stemming the rising tide of intellectual complicity in the political fanaticism of the era, Benda claimed the right to deny “clerk,” or intellectual, status to anyone who did not conform to certain standards of comportment over which he was the final arbiter.32 This meant that he rejected thinkers who failed to “speak to the world in a transcendental manner.”33 Even if they, “gave themselves out to be ‘clerks’ and were considered as such” by others, they failed to qualify in his weighty estimation.34 Commendable though Benda’s intentions were, prescriptive formulations of what makes an intellectual inevitably tend towards expository renderings of intellectual culture as one would like for it to be

(or to have been), rather than as it is (or was). Unlike Benda, I consider as intellectuals any and all who presented themselves as such and who were treated as such by the cultural institutions though which they interacted with society, whether or not I agree with their views and methods of engagement. If Esprit, the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, or Apostrophes introduced someone to the public as exemplifying intellectual culture, that person was part of that culture for the purposes of this work.

This project builds upon a number of exciting advances in the field of intellectual studies that have helped take the lid off scholarly inquiry into the mainstream dimension of French

31 Julien Benda, The Treason of the Intellectuals, trans. Richard Aldington (New York: William Morrow & Co., 1928), 49. 32 Benda feared the trend on the part of intellectuals to abandon their historic defense of abstract principles such as truth and humanity in favor of material—i.e. political—ends, which he believed to be driving humankind inextricably towards “the greatest and most perfect war ever seen in the world, whether it is a war of nations, or a war of classes.” Benda, The Treason of the Intellectuals,183. 33 Benda, The Treason of the Intellectuals, ix. 34 Benda, The Treason of the Intellectuals, 49. 18 intellectual life and celebrity.35 Recent works by Christopher Johnson and Tamara Chaplin are particularly rich in this regard. Johnson, for instance, frames his portrait of Claude Lévi-Strauss as a thought experiment of sorts, asking how it comes to pass that an intellectual becomes a mainstream icon, a proposition he considers all the more perplexing in the case of Lévi-Strauss.

As the “author of works whose technical complexity exclude all but a small group of specialists,”

Johnson notes, “everything would seem to confine [him] to the rarefied sphere of academic exchange.”36 And yet this was not at all the case. By accounting for Lévi-Strauss’ iconic status,

Johnson’s work pulls back part of the curtain shrouding the mysterious national idiosyncrasy of the intellectual as celebrity in France.37 In crafting his analysis, Johnson adopts an integrated approach that is simultaneously “genealogical” and “structural,” and which, as an ensemble,

35 Until recently, historians have focused the lion’s share of their attention on the academic and high cultural worlds of intellectual life. Anna Boschetti, The intellectual enterprise: Sartre and Les temps modernes, trans. Richard C. McCleary (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1988); Jennings, ed., Intellectuals in Twentieth-Century France; Jacques Julliard and Michel Winock, eds., Dictionnaire des intellectuels français: les personnes, les lieux, les moments (Paris: Seuil, 2002); Noiriel, Les fils maudits de la République; Pascal Ory and Jean-François Sirinelli, Les intellectuels en France, de l’affaire Dreyfus à nos jours (Paris: A. Colin, 1986); Nicole Racine and Michel Trebitsch, eds., Sociabilités intellectuelles: lieux, milieux, réseaux (Paris: Institut d’histoire du temps present, 1992); Sirinelli, Génération intellectuelle: Khâgneux et Normaliens dans l’entre-deux-guerres (Paris: Fayard, 1988); Winock, Le Siècle des intellectuels (Paris: Seuil, 1999). Those that depart from the Ivory Tower generally center on the political dimension of intellectuals’ public lives. Jeremy Ahearne, Intellectuals, Culture, and Public Policy in France: Approaches from the Left (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2010); Pierre Assouline, L’Épuration des intellectuels, 1944-1945 (Brussels: Editions Complexe, 1990); Julian Bourg, From Revolution to Ethics: May 1968 and Contemporary French Thought (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2007); David Drake, Intellectuals and politics in Post-War France (New York: Palgrave, 2002); Tony Judt, The Burden of Responsibility: Blum, Camus, Aron, and the French Twentieth Century (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007) and Past Imperfect: French Intellectuals, 1944-1956 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); Khilnani, Arguing Revolution; Gérard Noiriel, Dire la vérité au pouvoir. Les intellectuels en question (Agone, 2010); Nicole Racine and Michel Trebitsch, eds., Intellectuels engagés d'une guerre à l'autre (Paris: Institut d’histoire du temps present, 1994); Rémy Rieffel, Tribu des clercs: Les intellectuels sur le Ve République, 1958- 1990 (Paris: Calmann Levy, 1993); Sirinelli, Intellectuels et passions françaises. Despite an abundance of valuable scholarship on the history of intellectuals in France, the nature of their interactions with the cultural mainstream remains an emerging field of historical study. 36 Christopher Johnson, “The Intellectual as Celebrity: Claude Lévi-Strauss,” in Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 152. 37 The profile and, comparatively speaking, influence of intellectuals in twentieth-century France being commonly heralded as one of the country’s remarkable traits. Yet, while historians have devoted copious attention to French penseurs, charting the trajectory of their ideas, tracing their personal and collective itineraries, as well as scrutinizing their cultural production and socio-political interventions, the discipline has scarcely begun to analyze in depth how the foregoing resulted in a situation where intellectuals enjoyed unprecedented fame and authority. 19 offers perspective not only on the different stages of Lévi-Strauss’ celebrity, but also on how the mediation “of his thought and persona” at each of these interrelating stages provided the

“condition of possibility” for that process to advance to and function at another level.38 Only by recognizing the decisive impact of “personae” upon late-modern intellectual and mainstream culture, he argues, are we able to make sense of Lévi-Strauss’ unlikely path from anthropologist to intellectual to icon, from intradisciplinary preeminence to interdisciplinary influence to mainstream public celebrity.39

What Johnson does for the cult of intellectual personae, Chaplin’s meticulous study of philosophers on television does for intellectual embodiment, or the practice of making the cerebral into something corporeal and animate. Television producers accomplished this feat by

“shifting the public’s attention from text to image,” recognizing that “philosophy’s dual nature as both text and performative act made it uniquely suited to the demands of the new medium.”40

Philosophers, she contends, were almost perfectly equipped to demonstrate their “discipline in the act of its becoming,” which is to say, embodying “philosophy as [an] intellectual process.”41

In this manner, hosts and producers discovered in television not merely a vessel for the transmission of culture, but one that transformed culture and recast the “traditional avenues for

38 Johnson, in Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 154. 39 Johnson’s verdict that Lévi-Strauss’ iconic status in the cultural mainstream in fact owed more to the nature and cultivation of his persona than to the content and value of his ideas is contentious for several reasons, including the fact that it mirrors exactly—albeit without a hint of reproach—the assessment so often levied upon alleged médiatiques in an effort to delegitimize their celebrity. (Even within the intellectual milieu in France, Johnson holds that Lévi-Strauss’ rise to prominence was due to the mediation of both his thought and persona.) The conclusion takes up this apparent paradox, namely that the same process applied to different thinkers might produce a “living national treasure” in one instance and a mere vulgarizer in another. Johnson, Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 152, 154-5, 167. 40 Tamara Chaplin Matheson, “From Text to Image: Philosophy and the Television Book Show in France, 1953- 1968,” French Historical Studies, Vol. 28, No. 4 (Fall 2005), 647; and Chaplin, Turning on the Mind: French Philosophers on Television (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 79. Italics added for emphasis. 41 Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 79. 20 the attribution of intellectual value.”42 In addition to the “impact of the physical image of the writer (or, in this case, the philosopher) on the reception of the text,” a second contributing factor was the “introduction of a new cultural mediator in the person of the television host.”43

Philosophy on television was not just animate; it was “animated,” its transfer to the public liaised by erudite intermediaries. Animateurs at cultural centers, editors of journals, and—not surprisingly—hosts on television programs play much the same role in this dissertation.44 In fact, in the case of Maisons de la Culture, the emergence and important role played by animateurs was a direct result of the Fifth Republican state’s efforts to democratize and commodify culture in accordance with its policy priorities of creation, animation, and diffusion.

Furthermore, Chaplin establishes convincingly that the dissemination of intellectual culture in postwar France was molded by broader structures shaping the transmission and reception of knowledge within society. In this regard, Chaplin writes against those, such as

Pierre Bourdieu, who considered television anathema to philosophy on the grounds that “the process of ‘philosophizing’ takes time” and, moreover, that, “given philosophy’s abstract nature, there is nothing to show.”45 Conversely, Chaplin sets out to demonstrate that this manner of critique takes “for granted that the relationship between television, time, and the image is mainly structural and not historically constructed.”46 This means two main things for Chaplin: first, that

42 Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 54. 43 Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 54. 44 The Ministry of Cultural Affairs relied heavily upon a special cadre of government functionaries known as animateurs in order to bring culture to the people at these centers. In the Ministry’s estimation, the success of animateurs boiled down to a combination of training and disposition. The ideal animateur was described as approachable, “naturally cultured,” and apt at playing the role of “social catalyst,” three attributes that, according to the Direction du Théâtre, de la Musique et de l’Action Culturelle, allowed him (or her) to assess and satisfy the varied cultural appetites—and needs—of the public. Centre des archives contemporaines (hereafter CAC), 19840754, Article 1: “Document from files of M. Rollier, Chef de division: Maisons de la culture et animation culturelle” (1964). 45 Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 10. 46 Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 10. 21 public intellectuals communicate their ideas via cultural institutions that are “made” and, second, the transfer of intellectual culture is contingent upon the public’s mentality towards learning and—in the case of television—viewing. By extension, Chaplin shows that there is no essential character to French intellectual culture; it is a cultural form that evolves in accordance with the means and ends of its producers, promoters, and public.

To close her work, she hypothesizes a direct connection between the evolution of these structures for the transmission and reception of philosophy on television and the trend towards

“recognizing philosophy and those who practice it as valuable cultural commodities.”47 In this dissertation I extend the metaphor by asking: what did it mean in real terms to refer to intellectuals as being “cultural commodities” in postwar France?48 What was the nature of their

“cultural capital” and how was it put to use?49 How do the cult of personae and the elaboration of practices for embodying intellectual life relate to one another, and where do they fit with the commodification of intellectual culture as a more expansive phenomenon?

***

“Commodification” affords a useful methodological concept for considering the history of intellectuals in France after the Second World War, one that allows historians to understand how the edifice of intellectual culture functioned and flourished in the second half of the twentieth century. For organizers at Maisons de la Culture and the Pompidou Center, journals

47 Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 239. 48 Where Chaplin does ‘extend the metaphor,’ she does so in order to comment on television’s role “as a formidable advertizing tool with an arguably positive impact on the expansion of the market in the chief intellectual commodity: books.” Detailed analysis of intellectual commodification as a broader phenomenon, however, lies beyond the purview of her project. Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 53, 12. 49 Echoing her allusion to philosophers’ commodity status, she asserts: “In philosophers the state found a valuable form of cultural capital that could assist in the nation’s symbolic reconstruction” of French identity. Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 2. For further references to the “cultural capital” of thinkers and writers, see Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 28, 144, 173. 22 like Esprit and Critique, and in the television industry, the successful commodification of intellectual culture hinged upon their ability to make and market intellectual products that were affordable, enjoyable, and useful. There were three principal facets to the use value of intellectual culture as it came to be elaborated during these decades: With respect to social development, cultural promoters presented acculturation as affording French men and women an indispensable tool for negotiating the complexities of life in the modern age, as citizens of a society in the midst of rapid and systemic changes ranging from urbanization and decolonization to the growth of a market economy and mass culture. In addition, promoters—especially in the public sector—argued for a direct connection between a vibrant domestic cultural scene and the restoration and expansion of France’s global reputation as a leading cultural force, as a wellspring of enlightened reflection and opinion, and therefore a key contributor to world affairs—wielding soft rather than hard power. Finally, promoters—again, primarily in the public sector—came to regard intellectual culture as playing an increasingly important role in the economic development of France, with the public’s spending on leisure and culture having exploded during the 1950s and beyond.

The commodification of intellectual culture thus closely mirrors the social, political, and cultural trajectory of postwar France more generally, and the complex transformations taking place across this era. Impelled into contact with the general public by the ideal of engagement, intellectuals quickly became immersed in France’s burgeoning consumer and celebrity culture, since it was only by virtue of cultural institutions—such as Maisons de la Culture, the Pompidou

Center, television, and journals—that were themselves driven by commercial considerations, that thinkers could take their views to a wide audience. Consequently, as these institutions’ cultural production evolved in response to market sensibilities and mass culture, so too did the 23 complexion of intellectuals’ interactions with the public and their status in French society. The particular cultural institutions through which intellectuals pursued their engagement may have changed across the period, but not the underlying character of that enterprise, which was (and still is) to “speak truth to power” by taking one’s ideas to as large an audience as is necessary to effect change.

PART I

From Inspiration to Implantation: The Origins of Maisons de la Culture

“L’inquiétude au sujet de la culture – dont témoignent tant de voix sérieuses et soucieuses, aujourd’hui – ne joue pas contre les Maisons de la Culture. Elle les justifie.” Gaëtan Picon, Directeur Général des Arts et Lettres50

CHAPTER 1

Local Cultural Centers and “The Great Intellectual Struggle of Our Time”

When you imagine twentieth-century French intellectuals “on the job,” whatever that may entail, where do you envision them? Are they secluded in the proverbial ivory tower of some fabled academic institution, or perhaps seated at a café table, drawing inspiration from the world as they observe it unfolding around them? In either event, intellectuals do not—in fact, cannot—operate in a vacuum. It is for this very reason that we are hard pressed to recall the image of a particular intellectual without framing that recollection against some sort of backdrop or venue, often more than one. Conjure François Mauriac and one immediately sees him seated in the garden of his family estate of Malagar, in the Aquitaine. Think of Sartre and there he is, writing at the Flore, or on an improvised rostrum in Billancourt, or planning the next issue of Les

Temps modernes in his living room across from the Place Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Picture

Bernard-Henri Lévy and, voilà, one almost cannot help but see the set for the television show

Apostrophes.

50 CAC, 19950514, Article 11: “Allocution prononcée par Monsieur Gaëtan Picon, Directeur Général des Arts et Lettres [à] la Maison de la Culture d’Amiens” (1965). 25

And yet, out of all these places and spaces, there is perhaps no dwelling more fitting for an engaged intellectual than a Maison de la Culture—indeed, each of the aforementioned thinkers frequented this unique institution. Maisons de la Culture were local, state-funded cultural facilities, more often than not built around an established theater troupe, and staffed by a teams of erudite functionaries, known as “animateurs,” who organized and emceed theater, dance, and music performances, film screenings, variety shows, as well as lectures, debates, and conferences on a vast array of social and cultural topics. They date to the early years of the Fifth

Republic, when the newly founded Ministry of Cultural Affairs—it was established in 1959 with

André Malraux at its helm—launched an ambitious program to construct a national network of these “homes” for all things cultural, which, officials declared, would be accessible to one and all. Malraux and his colleagues averred that a special type of physical space would facilitate an even more special type of relationship—one based on direct contact—between the “creators” and

“consumers” of culture, between the elite and the masses. The aim of this chapter is to examine the origins and objectives of this ambitious project.

As the brainchild of a government agency, this is an administrative history, at least where origins are concerned. Much of the source material comes either from intra-ministerial correspondence or official proclamations; as such “the Ministry” assumes the role of principal agent. Individuals in the employ of the state tended to attribute agency to the institutions in question, preferring to let the Ministry or Maison “speak,” rather than inserting themselves directly into the narrative.51 But do not mistake their anonymity for mundanity; the work these faceless administrators carried out was remarkably ambitious in nature and scope.

51 As a result, while I provide names wherever possible, I far more frequently make reference to “Ministry officials,” “center organizers,” “staffers,” and “animateurs.” 26

This chapter analyzes the elaboration of a groundbreaking series of cultural policies under which Maisons de la Culture occupied a privileged position as the Ministry of Cultural

Affairs’ flagship institution in its efforts to decentralize and democratize access to French intellectual and artistic culture during the first decades of the Fifth Republic. In particular, I focus upon the development of an institutional model for Maisons de la Culture founded upon the notion of cultural commodification, whereby culture was accorded both an exchange value and, even more importantly, a use value. I demonstrate that, beginning in the early 1960s, under

Malraux’s stewardship, the Ministry began to treat cultural creations not just as works of art or works of the intellect, but quite literally as “products,” with a concrete value appreciable not only to individual consumers, but also in the broader context of French social development, national and political grandeur, and economic prosperity.52

The purpose of Maisons de la Culture—and the vast budgetary allocations put towards the construction and maintenance of a national network of these establishments—was therefore to move these products; to liaise their transfer from producers to consumers; to put them into circulation in the public sphere where their value could accrue. Key to understanding the nature of cultural commodification at Maisons is the fact that, for the Ministry of Cultural Affairs, the use value of culture overshadowed any and all considerations of monetary exchange value.

While commercial viability was certainly a goal, it was the insistence upon culture’s social value that provided the ultimate justification for the brand of cultural policy championed by Maisons de la Culture, and the vast resources put towards that end. Culture was characterized as both a right and an essential tool for navigating life in contemporary society. Democratization was

52 It was this reconceptualization of culture as “product” by the Ministry that made possible the attribution of exchange and use values to cultural productions. The phrase “cultural products,” for instance, comes directly from the Ministerial parlance of the era, as illustrated by its inclusion in the national budget. 27 therefore not only a moral imperative, but also necessary in order to further the social development of France.

Additionally, Ministry spokesmen posited a direct connection between a flourishing domestic cultural scene and the restoration and extension of France’s international reputation as a cultural paragon, a bastion of critical reflection and informed opinion, and therefore a key player in world affairs—exercising soft power in the absence of political and martial superiority.

As such, there exists a clear link between the commodification of culture as it developed in the first years of the Fifth Republic and the Gaullist “policy of grandeur.” Finally, they presented culture as playing an increasingly important role in the economic development of France, with the public’s spending on leisure and culture having exploded during the 1950s and beyond. Here again, however, the commodification of culture at Maisons de la Culture was motivated more by the desire to ‘get culture into public circulation’ than by a desire to turn a quick profit. And yet, even if a particular center proved unavailing in an immediate sense, Ministry representatives argued that the cultural appetites whetted at these facilities would nonetheless contribute directly to the nation’s economic development; so long as one remembered that each Maison de la

Culture formed a part—and added to the prosperity—of a far more expansive and, ultimately, significant totality.

State investment in the Maison de la Culture initiative was most pronounced between

1961 and 1977. Malraux regarded Maisons as having the potential to be the greatest legacy of his Ministry, and he supported them accordingly. And though he retired from public life in

1969, the gears of this grand undertaking remained in motion for the better part of the following decade. During their heyday, France’s Maisons de la Culture consistently drew the lion’s share—on average, 89% annually—of the total funds made available to the Ministry for the 28 operation of cultural facilities.53 Of the more than 1.1 billion francs put towards that end,

Maisons de la Culture collected over 913 million francs; and on average the Ministry’s total budget for the Maison de la Culture venture grew by 38% annually.54 The aim of these copious budgetary allocations: to produce and disseminate cultural products to the French public at large.

Against this rich backdrop of financial and ideological commitment, Maisons de la

Culture afford an exemplary case study for analyzing the French state’s cultural activism during the 1960s and 1970s; a rich instance of intersection between the government’s cultural program and its broader socio-economic agenda; and an important milieu for the commodification of culture in postwar France.

The Origins of Maisons de la Culture

The French Ministry of Cultural Affairs was established on July 24, 1959, as a replacement for the outmoded Secretariat d’État aux Beaux-Arts. Its objective, “to render humanity’s major cultural works—first and foremost those from France—accessible to as many

Frenchmen as possible; to ensure as far-reaching an audience as possible for France’s cultural heritage, and encourage the creation of artistic and intellectual works that further enrich it.”55

This mandate carried with it two main changes vis-à-vis that of its predecessor: First, whereas the Secrétariat dealt primarily with the fine arts, the Ministry’s mission was more expansive, encompassing other forms of cultural production, such as theater, poetry, and philosophy, as well as initiating a process of bringing amateur production into the fold. Second, the Ministry’s

53 These funds fell within the purview of “action culturelle” (cultural policy). 54 Monetary values and calculations of percentage based upon francs constants. 55 Archives municipales de Grenoble (henceforth AMG), 517 W 63: Pierre Moinot, “Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble.” Report of the Jeune Chambre Economique de Grenoble to the Commission du IVe Plan sur l’Action Culturelle. 29 mandate emphasized democratization as a fundamental value in the state’s attitude and comportment towards culture. According to this new line of thinking, no longer could France afford for culture to remain the province of a select clique of initiated insiders; for as contemporary society became increasingly complex, culture came to be viewed as an indispensible tool for negotiating the challenges and fluctuations of life in the modern age.

Access to culture was construed as an inalienable right of each citizen, regardless of their class, age, gender, degree of education, prior exposure to culture, and geographic location. There are few more clear cut examples of this ideal than Malraux’s contention that, “the Fifth Republic must do for culture that which the Third [Republic] did for education.”56

Best known as an accomplished novelist and cultural theorist, Malraux spent over a decade in the public sector, serving Charles de Gaulle as Minister of Information under the

Provisional Government of the French Republic (1945-1946) and, later, as Minister of Culture for the Fifth Republic (1959 to 1969). In De Gaulle he found a kindred spirit, someone who shared his deep and abiding concern France’s place in the historical pantheon of global civilization, along with the connection between cultural life and nation building. During his tenure at the Ministry, Malraux exerted a formidable influence over the vision of culture and, accordingly, the policy agenda championed by the state.57 Even after his departure, his legacy endured for close to another decade.

56 Malraux’s here refers to the Jules Ferry laws (1881-82), which established a public system of free, mandatory, secular education. CAC, 19840574, Article 1: André Malraux, as cited in Jacques Thibau, “Un Combat,” Notre République (1969). Lebovics has explored this connection in detail, and characterizes Malraux as wishing “to implant [France’s historic culture] the way the republican schools of the 1880s and after had institutionalized republican book learning. Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, xii. 57 In all likelihood, Malraux personally penned the Ministry’s foundational mission statement. Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 89. There is an enormous scholarly literature on Malraux’s career as Minister of Culture, the cultural policies he promoted in that capacity, as well as the overarching vision of culture he came to endorse in the course of his life as a writer, activist, theoretician, and politician. In particular, see Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort; and 30

What, then, was the Ministry’s attitude towards culture under Malraux’s stewardship?

Speaking before the Ministry’s Theater and Music section in March of 1961, Pierre Moinot described “culture” and, likewise, “action culturelle,” as “one of the most serious issues facing mankind in our time.”58 The gravity he attributed to France’s cultural development should not be construed as mere hyperbole on the part of a government functionary charged with implementing a course of policy handed down from above. For one, Moinot was no simple bureaucrat; he was a decorated member of the French resistance as well as an award-winning novelist whose concern for the well-being of his homeland and the vibrancy of its culture needed little affirmation. More significantly, Moinot’s assertion that the development of France’s cultural landscape was a matter of national importance was far from exceptional.

Again and again across the postwar era, though perhaps most emphatically during the

1960s, Ministry representatives made pronouncements that mirrored Moinot’s sentiments. Emile

Biasini, for instance, who served as Directeur de l’Action Culturelle from 1961-1966 expressed his conviction that the work being undertaken by the Ministry, in addition to being path- breaking, was also, and without a doubt, “essential to the preservation of mankind in the present era.”59 Gaëtan Picon, the Directeur Général des Arts et Lettres proffered a similar view to those

Augustin Girard, ed., Les affaires culturelles au temps d’André Malraux, 1959-1969: journées d’étude des 30 novembre et 1er décembre 1989 (Paris: La Documentation française, 1996). For a concise discussion of the key concepts that shaped Malraux’s cultural policy, such as the notion of the “third continent” and the “musée imaginaire,” see Susan Weiner, “Popular Culture,” in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 313-314. For an analysis of Malraux’s view of Maisons de la Culture and their place in his policy, see Charles-Louis Foulon, “Des Beaux-Arts aux Affaires culturelles (1959-1969): Les entourages d’André Malraux et les structures du ministère,” Vingtième Siècle. Revue d’histoire No. 28 (Oct-Dec, 1990), 29-40. 58 Pierre Moinot served as Directeur du Théâtre, de la Musique et de l’Action culturelle from 1960-1961. CAC, 19950514, Article 11: Moinot, “L’Action Culturelle,” speech on March 6, 1961. 59 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: Letter to Mr. Pailler, Président de l’Association Maison de la Culture de Caen (May 9, 1966). Biasini cut his teeth in the Fourth Republic’s African colonial administration. Pursuant to the dismantling of France’s colonial apparatus, he, along with scores of former colonial civil servants from Africa and Indochina, found new careers working on behalf the “metropolitan mission civilisatrice” in the fledging Ministry of Cultural Affairs. 31 on hand for his 1962 address at the Musée—Maison de la Culture in Le Havre, declaring that,

“Culture is knowledge, and the capacity—if not to dictate—at least to keep pace with the movement of life.”60

As such, the Ministry’s task was to facilitate greater and more equitable access to

France’s cultural patrimony, both past and present. Or, to use the language favored by those at the Ministry, to democratize the vast array of state-run institutions that brought the public into contact with their culture. This process entailed not just the removal of socio-economic and psychological barriers contributing to culture’s elite status, but also the geographic decentralization of France’s cultural life (with Paris at the center).61 In the years following the

Second World War, the government had taken strides to implement a policy of cultural decentralization, first under the supervision of the Ministère de l’Education Nationale and, later, the Secrétariat.62 In practice, however, “cultural decentralization” entailed mainly “theatrical decentralization” until the creation of the Ministry, when the goal of decentralization was

Biasini’s full title was Directeur du Théâtre, de la Musique et de l’Action culturelle. Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 99. 60 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: Gaëtan Picon, Directeur Général des Arts et Lettres, “Culture et Création,” transcript of the speech given March 3, 1962, at the Musée-Maison de la Culture in Le Havre. 61 David Looseley provides a concise and illuminating account of cultural decentralization in France from the Old Regime to the late 20th century, which he characterizes as a two-tiered process, the first having as its aim “to correct the uneven geographical distribution of cultural amenities (theaters, orchestras, libraries and so on),” and the second “to transfer responsibility for such amenities from central to local government (Communes, Departments and more recently Regions).” In so doing, he casts this history as “an ongoing debate not only about the right to culture but about the complex relationship between the national and the regional, the singular and the plural.” David Looseley, “Paris versus the provinces: cultural decentralization since 1945,” in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Malcolm Cook (London: Longman, 1993), 117. 62 Beginning in 1945, the Ministère de l’Education Nationale and, more specifically, the Direction des Arts et Lettres oversaw projects related to decentralization until the establishment of the Fourth Republic, at which point, responsibility was transferred to the Secrétariat. For a brief overview of cultural policy under the Fourth Republic, see Weiner, in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 313. 32 subsumed in the greater project of democratization, and, in addition to theater, the whole of

France’s cultural apparatus was brought into the fold.63

While there is little doubt that the men and women of the Ministry shared a genuine desire to democratize access to culture, their actions were not entirely altruistic. In retrospect, the vibrancy, not to mention the transnational appeal, of French culture in the middle decades of the twentieth century may appear indisputable. At the time, however, there were those in France, including observers as well-situated as Malraux, who feared that the reputation of French culture had slipped in the eyes of the world.64 As a result, one of the Ministry’s aims was to revitalize and, thus, reaffirm France’s hegemony in the realm of cultural production. One of the ways that

France might reassert itself was by recognizing that a changed (and changing) world required new structures of support for cultural production and the creation of new forms of cultural dissemination.65 Through initiatives such as Maisons de la Culture, Malraux believed that

63 In this regard, the arrival of the Ministry brought about a major consolidation of the state’s cultural program. At the same time, however, the shift from a comparatively narrow focus on theater to that of “culture” more generally marked a significant expansion in the scope of the state’s cultural activism. Martin Sorrell provides a succinct overview of the role of Maisons de la Culture in the project of theatrical decentralization. See Martin Sorrell, “The Theater,” in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 56-77. For a more general overview of theatrical decentralization from the Fourth Republic’s promotion of Centres Dramatiques Nationaux to the Fifth Republic’s Maisons de la Culture, see Looseley, in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 220-237. 64 Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 160-161. 65 Malraux, along with many others, believed that Maisons de la Culture could, with sustained assistance from the state, carry out both tasks simultaneously. From the outset the state regarded itself as an essential partner in the Maison de la Culture enterprise. For one, Maisons were substantial facilities, requiring considerable financial resources. As such, despite being locally rooted and (to a large degree) administered, Maisons de la Culture nevertheless depended to some extent on the state for the simple reason that the state was by far the most significant patron of the arts in contemporary society, meaning, for Moinot, that it alone had the capability to “present one and all with the artists and oeuvres with which the public should be familiar.” There was, moreover, the complex composition of Maisons de la Culture as an institution, resulting from the competing local (unique) and national (uniform) dimensions of their make-up. As Moinot put it, Maisons were intended to serve, at some and the same time, “as the point of contact between a city, made up of its groups and specific characteristics, and an externality [or outward appearance] common to urban areas more generally.” Only the state could connect the array of individual—and geographically dispersed—centers into a coherent whole. CAC, 19950514, Article 11: Moinot, “L’Action Culturelle” (March 6, 1961). 33

France had, “the capacity, in the course of the next ten years, to become the world leader in culture once again.”66

In 1961, as a first step towards the elaboration of a more comprehensive form of action culturelle, the Ministry created a special commission tasked with defining a number of new and experimental initiatives, which would be refined during the tenure of the Fourth Plan, a quadrennial plan for economic and social development beginning in 1962.67 It was then that the concept of Maisons de la Culture was first developed and ultimately adopted as the centerpiece of the Ministry’s activism. The architects of the Plan called for the creation of a “a new type of establishment for our country,” one which was intended to provide “above all else, a place of contact and confrontation between culture and those who wish to access it, between artists and their public, or quite simply, between members of the public.”68 They were referring, of course, to the Maison de la Culture, and went on to allocate almost 445 million francs for the implementation of a nationwide network of these facilities.

Almost at once, an outpouring of idealistic verbiage surrounded these cultural centers, even prior to the first successful installation of a facility in Le Havre in June of 1961. In its enthusiasm, the Commission de l’équipement culturel et du patrimoine artistique went so far as to prophesy that Maisons de la Culture would provide “rendezvous points for cultural encounters

66 The perceived significance of cultural development as a means to safeguard and (hopefully) bolster France’s international reputation as a global leader in the cultural domain constitutes a second facet of the “social use value” attached to culture by the Ministry of Cultural Affairs during this era. CAC, 19840574, Article 1: André Malraux, to the National Assembly (October 27, 1966), as cited in Thibau, “Un Combat,” Notre République. 67 I am referring above to the Commission de l’Équipement Culturel et du Patrimoine Artistique, which operated in conjunction with the Commissariat Général du Plan et de la Productivité. CAC, 19950514, Article 11: “Les Maisons de la Culture: Historique des premières réalisations.” 68 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42: Maisons de la culture et développement culturel” (TEP: Paris-Est: Ménilmontant). 34 in the France of the year 2000.”69 In more immediate terms, these new Maisons de la Culture were intended to offer “the artistic and intellectual means for high-quality interactions between professionals and laymen from all walks of life.”70

As the 1960s progressed, the Ministry underwent a series of revealing organizational and nomenclatural changes, which, taken together, highlight the privileged role Maisons de la

Culture were intended to play in the state’s cultural activism during this era.71 To begin, the

Direction du Théâtre, de la Musique et de l’Action Culturelle was created in December of 1961, taking over the work of the Direction des Arts et Lettres. Then, in 1966, the music department was separated and the appellation “Maisons de la Culture” came to replace the more general

“Action Culturelle.” The resulting Direction du Théâtre et des Maisons de la Culture brought together and emphasized the two dominant institutional foci of the Ministry’s action culturelle, the former being the state’s traditional standard-bearer, and the latter its exemplar for the future.72

Under the supervision of Emile Biasini, the Ministry aimed to create twenty initial

Maisons as part of an experimental phase, first by building onto existing centers (such as the museum in Le Havre and the municipal theater in Caen) and, later, from scratch. Faced with an undertaking of this magnitude, the Ministry determined which cities were best suited to receive a

Maison de la Culture according to three major criteria, the first of which took into consideration a municipality’s economic importance and demographic stature. Additionally, a candidate municipality was required to demonstrate its readiness to collaborate with the state, not just in

69 CAC, 19950514, Article 11: “Les Maisons de la Culture.” 70 CAC, 19950514, Article 11: “Les Maisons de la Culture.” 71 CAC, 19950514, Article 11: “Les Maisons de la Culture.” 72 For a list of the other institutions funded by the Direction du Théâtre et des Maisons de la Culture, refer to CAC, 19840754, Article 11: Budget 1968, Chapitre 43-91, Action culturelle, Article 1, “Organismes culturels; animation locale.” 35 the planning and construction of a Maison de la Culture, but also in the long-term maintenance of the facility and its various programs.73 Finally, given the centrality of theater to the state’s earlier efforts to democratize culture, it was necessary for any city or town wishing to propose its candidacy to have previously made substantial headway in the process of theatrical decentralization. Applicants were expected to provide evidence that local animateurs had received sufficient material and financial support, and most importantly had assembled an audience, which Biasini and his team regarded as the ultimate litmus test for the quality of the work achieved.74

1. Maison de la Culture Openings by Year and Location75

Center Year Region Center Year Region Le Havre 1961 Haute Normandie Thonon 1966 Haute Savoie Bourges 1963 Centre Villeurbanne 1966 Rhône-Alpes

Caen 1963 Basse Normandie Longwy-Merlebach 1967 Lorraine

TEP (Est Parisien) 1963 “Région parisienne” Grenoble 1968 Rhône-Alpes

Amiens 1965 Picardie Nanterre 1968 “Région parisienne” Firminy 1966 Rhône-Alpes Angers 1969 Pays-de-la-Loire Reims 1966 Champagne Chalon-sur-Saône 1969 Bourgogne Rennes 1966 Bretagne Créteil 1969 “Région parisienne” Saint-Etienne 1966 Rhône-Alpes La Rochelle 1969 Poitou-Charentes Seine-Saint-Denis 1966 “Région parisienne” Nevers 1969 Bourgogne

Of the first four Maisons de la Culture established by the Ministry, three were constructed around successful municipal theater companies, in Caen (April 1963), Bourges

73 Maisons de la Culture, however, benefitted from a favorable funding arrangement vis-à-vis other local cultural institutions, with the state kicking in at least half of the construction costs and half the operational budget. By comparison, municipal theaters during this era received nothing for operational costs and only 30 percent of construction costs. Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 110. 74 AMG, 517 W 63: “Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble.” 75 By 1969, Maisons de la Culture had been established (or were in the planning stages) in thirteen of France’s twenty-one metropolitan regions. The Rhône-Alps region boasted the most Maisons with five, including the center in Grenoble. The “Paris region,” as Ministry officials termed it at the time, referring to what is today Île-de-France, came in a close second with four centers, one of which was the T.E.P. CAC, 19840754, Article 10: “Annuaire statistique de la culture, 1960-1970: Les Maisons de la culture;” and CAC, 19840754, Article 11: “Action culturelle: table des investissements par région (MdC et Théâtres municipaux),” 1965. 36

(October 1963), and Paris (October 1963).76 In much the same fashion, Maisons de la Culture were planned for Rennes with its vibrant Comédie de l’Ouest, as well as Villeurbanne and Saint-

Étienne, home to the Théâtre de la Cité and Comédie de Saint-Étienne respectively. The benefits of this logic were multiple: for one, the physical infrastructure of the theater provided a convenient template for the elaboration of a larger-scale and more multifaceted cultural apparatus. Moreover, the fact that a theater troupe already existed provided an important measure of continuity at the community level between the old and new regimes of action culturelle. It was hoped that people’s familiarity with the theater would bring them to the

Maison de la Culture, where they would then be exposed to the whole spectrum of cultural activities that the center had to offer.

The human element played a key role as well. By building Maisons de la Culture where it did, the Ministry hoped to capitalize on the experience and dynamism of individuals at the local level who had successfully spearheaded efforts to decentralize theater in the community.77

In addition to bringing a wealth of relevant experience to the table, the reputation and, in some cases, celebrity of local theater directors such as Gabriel Monnet (Bourges), Roger Planchon

(Villeurbanne), and Jean Dasté (Saint-Étienne) provided a further boost to the Ministry’s aims of

76 Given the Ministry’s overriding goal of decentralizing access to culture, it may at first glance appear rather odd for the Ministry to have implanted a Maison de la Culture in Paris (France’s cultural epicenter), with its huge number of theaters (55). We shall address this apparent paradox in detail in a later section. Background on the first realizations: Musée-Maison de la Culture du Havre (construction began 1959; inaugurated by Malraux June 1961) and Théâtre-Maison de la Culture de Caen (construction began 1958; opened in April 1963; Dir. Jo Tréhard); these were followed by centers in Bourges (opened Oct 1963; Dir. Gabriel Monnet), the T.E.P. in Paris (opened Oct 4, 1963; inaugurated by Malraux Jan 9, 1964; Dir. Guy Rétoré), the Maison Le Corbusier in Firminy (Oct 1966), and the centers in Amiens (Nov 1965) and Thonon-les-Bains (June 1966). 77 As the 1960’s progressed, the Ministry’s selection criteria increasingly moved beyond theatrical decentralization and on to other considerations. As we shall see in Chapter 2, Grenoble provides a nice example of this trend. For a detailed discussion of the connection between Maisons de la Culture and theater, see Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 113-116. 37 legitimizing fledgling Maisons de la Culture and drawing in the public en masse.78 Take Dasté as a prime example: more than just a dedicated theater director and founder of the Comédie

Saint-Étienne (1947), he had already achieved celebrity status as a film actor as early as the

1930’s, most notably for his lead roles in Jean Vigo’s Zéro de conduite (1933) and L’Atalante

(1934), though also for his performances in films such as Jean Renoir’s Le Crime de Monsieur

Lange (1936) and La Grande Illusion (1937). His reputation was only enhanced through his close relationship with his father-in-law and mentor, Jacques Copeau, the renowned dramatist, critic, and founder of the Théâtre du Vieux-Colombier in Paris.79 Thus, by the time he took the reins of the city’s newly inaugurated Maison de la Culture in 1969, he was a nationally recognized cultural figure, a major player in Saint-Étienne’s local cultural scene, and a staunch advocate of decentralization.

Since not all organizers at Maisons de la Culture shared Dasté’s level of influence and visibility, the Ministry relied heavily upon a special cadre of government functionaries known as animateurs who were charged with “bringing to life” the cultural happenings these centers; that is to say, coordinating and assisting interactions between creators (artistic or intellectual) and members of the public. Their prospects for success boiled down to a combination of training and disposition. The ideal animateur was approachable, “naturally cultured,” and apt at playing the role of “social catalyst,” three attributes that, according to the Direction du Théâtre, de la

Musique et de l’Action Culturelle, allowed him (or her) to assess and satisfy the varied cultural

78 Much the same could be said of the other local theater directors from the first batch of planned Maisons de la Culture, namely Jo Tréhard in Caen, Hubert Gignoux in Rennes, and Guy Rétoré in Paris. 79 Copeau also participated in the creation of the hugely influential cultural journal La Nouvelle Revue française. For more on the activism of Dasté, Copeau, and Vilar, see Weiner, in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 313. See also Looseley, in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 218-219. 38 appetites—and needs—of the public.80 The importance attached to these erudite functionaries should not be underestimated. On one occasion, the Ministry went so far as to credit them with performing a missionary function of sorts in the provinces, improving the quality of local cultural life by offering their energy and savoir-faire to residents of culturally “under privileged regions” whose location had prevented “regular irrigation” from the pre-existing “channels” of decentralization and democratization.81

Developing an Institutional Model for Maisons de la Culture, 1961-1968

Yet, how were Maisons de la Culture—and their animateurs—going to bring the people of France into contact with their culture? In other words, how were these cultural centers going to be constituted as physical spaces; what types of interactions were they intended to promote; and how did they differ from existing cultural institutions? While there was ample variety from facility to facility (in terms of design and aesthetics, staff composition, programming priorities, and so on), all of France’s Maisons de la Culture shared a number core objectives, most notably the “preservation of heritage acquired from the past,” the “development of patrimony through creation,” and the diffusion of “knowledge regarding this historic and contemporary heritage.”82

Of these three goals—preservation, creation, and diffusion—it was the third—the

“thoroughgoing public dissemination” of French cultural patrimony—which constituted the

“ultimate aim of action culturelle” during the Malrucian era, for this undertaking simultaneously

80 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Document from files of M. Rollier, Chef de division: Maisons de la culture et animation culturelle” (1964). 81 The “circuit of decentralization” refers in particular to the practice, established under the Fourth Republic, of sending major cultural (typically theatrical) productions on tour in the provinces CAC, 19840754, Article 11: Budget 1968, Chapitre 43-91: Action culturelle, Article 1, “Organismes culturels; animation locale.” 82 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Document from files of M. Rollier, Chef de division: Maisons de la culture et animation culturelle” (1964). 39 spread awareness of the nation’s shared heritage and encouraged participation in France’s “living culture.”83

This configuration of priorities remained virtually unchanged across the 1960s. In 1966, for instance, the chief objective of the Direction du Théâtre et des Maisons de la Culture was still to “provide as many Frenchmen as possible with access to the whole of their national cultural patrimony, both past and present.” 84 Likewise, the 1968 national budget affirmed that the principal objective for action culturelle at the level of local cultural organizations remained the

“presentation of ‘cultural products’ of the highest quality to the greatest possible number of spectators.”85 However these numerous proclamations may differ from one another, the bottom line remained the same for France’s Maisons de la Culture: cultivate a maximal public.

Of course, attendance figures were not everything. Administrators at Maisons de la

Culture were admonished not to compromise the caliber of their center’s cultural offerings in order to fill additional seats.86 That which determined the quality of a given “cultural product” was determined by its capacity to facilitate a specific type of interaction between creator and public, one where, insofar as the public was concerned, (active) inquiry trumped (passive)

83 It was thus entirely consistent with the Ministry’s self-proclaimed mandate to: “to render humanity’s major cultural works […] accessible to as many Frenchmen as possible; to ensure as far-reaching an audience as possible for France’s cultural heritage, and encourage the creation of artistic and intellectual works that further enrich it.” Ibid. 84 CAC, 19840754, Article 11: Budget 1968, Chapitre 43-91: Action culturelle, Article 1: “Organismes culturels; animation locale.” 85 CAC, 19840754, Article 11: Budget 1968, Chapitre 43-91: Action culturelle, Article 1.” 86 In principal at least, the mandate to promote cultural products of the “highest quality” was not intended to mean those that were the most sophisticated, but rather those deemed to be of great value, regardless of whether or not they could be readily classified as examples of “elite” or “mainstream” culture. After all, one of the ways in which the Ministry sought to enhance the appeal of Maisons de la Culture in the public eye (and thus attract audiences) was through the destruction of longstanding status-based barriers of exactly this sort. In practice, however, the general public came to regard Maisons de la Culture as championing “high” culture, accessible only to the already initiated. 40 pedagogy.87 “The aim is not to please,” the Ministry announced in a 1968 report, “but to bring about continual questioning, to generate a constantly renewed dialogue between spectator and oeuvre, between public and artist, to create [a] discussion at the very heart of an outside public that has been invited to participate as directly as possible in the life of the institution.”88 Already in 1962, Jean Rouvet, who served as Inspecteur Général de l’Action Culturelle, stressed that this form of direct “communion” between creators and spectators constituted a crucial distinction between Maisons de la Culture and other similar institutions, such as Maisons des Jeunes (youth centers) and “foyers ruraux” (rural community centers), both of whose activism centered on the much lauded Third Republican ideal of popular education.89

Concurrently, the Direction du Théâtre, de la Musique et de l’Action Culturelle

(DTMAC) distinguished three possible “types” of culture, each of which carried different expectations for how France’s Maisons de la Culture structured their interactions with the general public. The first centered on the notion of “culture-connaissance,” which placed a premium on increasing people’s knowledge of French cultural patrimony.90 However, the

Ministry took deliberate strides to differentiate Maisons de la Culture from existing institutions and concluded that the heavily pedagogical orientation of this model too-closely mirrored that of the French educational system. The second, defined as “culture-création,” posited that the essence of culture was creation and, thus, Maisons should above all seek to nurture people’s

87 Given the insistence that acculturation constituted a vital tool for navigating the complexities of contemporary society, Ministry representatives reasoned that people would derive greater benefit from cultural savoir-faire acquired through active engagement as opposed to quiescent indoctrination. 88 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Note sur les Maisons de la Culture” (1968). 89 In the course of his exposé, Rouvet also discussed a second way that Maisons de la Culture differed from preexisting cultural institutions, specifically their mission to insure the cultural autonomy of cities in the provinces, and of different cultural tendencies and groups within those cities. CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “Action culturelle.” 90 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Document from files of M. Rollier, Chef de division: Maisons de la culture et animation culturelle” (1964). 41 creative impulses. Desirable as such a model was, representatives of the DTMAC adjudged that the capacity to create culture depended too much upon exceptional personal gifts to be viable for an institution that aimed to benefit one and all equally.91 The third, “culture-divertissement,” which the Ministry ultimately embraced, held that for the population at large culture was above all a form of entertainment. Officials argued that Maisons would be most effective in reaching a broad audience if they sought to meet the public on its own terms. If the public viewed (and desired) culture as entertainment, so be it. Moreover, they deemed such an approach the surest way to bring about a workable form of “culture-interrogation,” which they considered the “only form of culture” suitable for dissemination.92 Their rationale was straightforward: the only way to guarantee that the cultural offerings of Maisons de la Culture were both beneficial and enjoyable for the public at large was to avoid anything resembling overt pedagogy (or other forms of interventionism) and, rather, forge a model for interactions between creators and the public based on active inquiry and sustained dialogue.93

In order to bring this ideal of “culture-interrogation” to fruition, the Direction du

Théâtre, de la Musique et de l’Action Culturelle set out to develop a corresponding principle for the physical layout of Maisons de la Culture that would maximize their capacity to design facilities whose look and layout inspired people to “make the most of all the cultural activities made available to them.”94 In terms of external appearance, nothing mattered more than the

91 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Document from files of M. Rollier.” 92 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Document from files of M. Rollier.” 93 Hence the importance attached to animateurs, who served as the principal intermediaries between creators and the public. 94 These reflections resulted in the Programme de Construction et d’Equipement des Maisons de la Culture, which reduced the issue to a basic equation of ends and means. According to the Programme, the mission of Maisons de la Culture was essentially twofold. On the one hand, they were supposed to bring about the “territorial decentralization” of France’s cultural apparatus and, on the other, “allow for a broadening of the social classes reached by the dissemination of culture.” Taken collectively, these geographic and socio-economic dimensions 42 power of attraction. In order to entice members of the public of all ages and backgrounds, it was vital to cultivate an aesthetic that was universally appealing. With respect to internal design, layout and décor were to complement one another in such a fashion that, once people came through the entrance, they felt compelled to stay, participate, and return. Above all, organizers advocated the creation of a space where everyone felt at home, not just in terms of comfort and amenities, but also in terms of feeling directly involved with everything taking place on-site.95

Most events pertaining to intellectuals (or intellectual culture) fell under the programming rubric of “debates, lectures, and conferences;” and these, like any other, demanded a specific spatial configuration. In the hopes of making it as easy as possible for speakers to clearly present their ideas and engage in dialogue with the audience on hand in an inclusive setting, the Direction recommended that, optimally, each Maison de la Culture should come equipped with two or three meeting rooms each capable of accommodating between 100 and 200 people comfortably. Given the range of audience sizes, from just a few to several hundred individuals, planners suggested that these conference halls be constructed next to one another so that they could be expanded or contracted according to actual numbers. 96 In short, the setting for each event could be tailor-made in order to cultivate an intimate, accessible, and illuminating encounter between the speaker and those in attendance.

were intended to “break down the privileged status of entertainment,” which up to that point was accessible only to a select few, and “transform it into a common good, available to the largest number of people.” There is no date attached to this document, however, it was most likely published between 1964 and 1966. CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “Programme de Construction et d’Equipement des Maisons de la Culture,” Direction du Théâtre, de la Musique et de l’Action Culturelle. 95 Beyond the physical layout of Maisons de la Culture, the animateurs who served as intermediaries between creators and the public were expected to comport themselves in ways that encouraged and facilitated interactions based on a reciprocal give-and-take. CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “Programme de Construction.” 96 CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “Programme de Construction.” 43

Turning once again to the design of the Maison de la Culture as a whole, members of the

DTMAC asserted that the goal of fostering an interactive and appealing milieu for cultural encounters went beyond fine-tuning the atmosphere for specific events. It carried with it the additional task of creating a facility whose overall organization was coordinated in such a way that visitors, regardless of their intended reason for coming to the center, were exposed to and tempted by the spectrum of cultural offerings available. They employed a commerce-based analogy in order to illustrate this point. “Everything,” the averred, “should be arranged in order to promote cultural temptations of some sort or another, in much the same way that a department store offers ‘other things’ to those who have come for a particular purpose.”97 In other words, the fusion of functional and aesthetic design components was quite deliberate, and was intended to allow a given center—and by extension the network as a whole—to reach as large a public as possible with its cultural products (and productions).

This ambition speaks to the overall coherence of the aims associated with Maisons de la

Culture in the early years of the initiative. From the Ministry’s overarching policy objectives to the specific types of interactions they hoped to promote on site, as well as the particular type of space in which these activities were to transpire, the goal remained consistent. The convergence was so great that in the course of the 1960s Maisons de la Culture came to exemplify the whole of action culturelle as championed by the Ministry under Malraux’s tutelage; an association the

Ministry actively encouraged. Alain Trapenard, for instance, who served as a technical advisor to the Minister, proudly declared in a speech to Grenoble’s Institut Technique du Bâtiment et des

Travaux Publics in January 1968, just one month before the official opening of the Maison de la

Culture de Grenoble: “We must take Maisons de la Culture for what they are, and that is a

97 CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “Programme de Construction.” 44 beginning. They are a first attempt and they are a symbol. They are the symbol as well as the start of a course of action that, for lack of a better term, Mr. André Malraux calls action culturelle.”98 Thus, to speak of Maisons de la Culture was to speak of action culturelle, and—to some extent—vice versa.

More importantly, however, Maisons de la Culture became a key reference point for larger-scale discussions pertaining to the nature and implications of cultural production and democratization. What’s more, it was precisely the “course of action,” as Trapenard termed it, which emerged from these deliberations that made possible the commodification of intellectual culture within France’s network of Maisons de la Culture. For, on the one hand, organizers reserved a meaningful place for intellectual culture in their vision of these institutions; and, on the other hand, they framed their discussions in terms of “cultural products” and economic development.

Given that the Maison de la Culture initiative grew out of the earlier project of theatrical decentralization and, by extension, that dramatists played expansive roles in the creation and operation of Maisons de la Culture, historians have tended to regard them principally as centers for the performing arts.99 And there is good reason for this interpretation, as theatrical productions dominated the programming at Maisons de la Culture during the 1960s. Likewise, during Michel Guy’s tenure as Minister of Culture in the 1970s, dance performances and opera flourished. Yet, from their inception, Maisons de la Culture were intended to facilitate more than just “artistic” culture. As early as 1961, the members of the Commission de l’Équipement

98 CAC, 19950514, Article 11: Alain Trapenard, “La Maison de la Culture de Grenoble,” Institut Technique du Bâtiment et des Travaux Publics (January 9, 1968). 99 See for example Alfred Simon, Le TEP, un théâtre dans la cité (Paris: BEBA éditions, 1987); and Claude-Henri Buffard and Guy Delahaye, Les rêves ont leur usines: une maison de la culture, Grenoble 1968-2004 (Grenoble: Glénat, 2004). 45

Culturel et du Patrimoine Artistique, who sketched the initial blueprint for Maisons de la Culture to be included in the Fourth Plan, characterized this new cultural institution as affording “the artistic and intellectual means for high-quality interactions between professionals and laymen from all walks of life.” 100 While the performing arts would go on to occupy much of the limelight, the “intellectual” dimension of the Maison de la Culture project remained integral.

Gaëtan Picon, speaking at the inauguration of the Maison de la Culture in Amiens in

1965, justified the vital place of intellectual culture by invoking to the governmental decree that first established the Ministry. In order to remain true to the spirit of that proclamation—calling for the creation, preservation, and diffusion of humanity’s major cultural works—what mattered most was that the work on display at a Maison de la Culture qualified in the strict sense as a

“grande œuvre,” by which meant “a process that defines a general cultural style.”101 Viewed in this light, Picon concluded that contemporary scientific and philosophic thought constituted oeuvres every bit as much as the visual and performing arts, even though the arts occupied center stage in the activities of Maisons de la Culture. After all, no form of cultural creation would be possible were it not for the “creative spirit;” and art was but one possible outlet for this impulse.102

Maisons de la Culture were uniquely suited as an institution to demonstrate the inherent

(inter)connection between all forms of cultural creation through the polyvalence of the “grandes oeuvres” presented on site. Whereas a theater or museum could only cultivate and disseminate the “creative spirit” within the parameters of a single genre (the performing arts or visual arts,

100 CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “Note au sujet de l’attribution de subventions aux collectivité publiques,” from Projet de Budget 1964. 101 CAC, 19950514, Article 11: “Allocution prononcée par Monsieur Gaëtan Picon, Directeur Général des Arts et Lettres [à] la Maison de la Culture d’Amiens (1965).” 102 Note: “esprit” could also be “mind” or “intellect.” CAC, 19950514, Article 11: “Allocution prononcée par Monsieur Gaëtan Picon (1965).” 46 respectively), a properly organized Maison de la Culture could present it in all of its incarnations simultaneously. Picon therefore encouraged his audience (comprised of government functionaries, center organizers, and members of the public), when envisioning the work carried out at Maisons de la Culture, to think in terms of staging (as a spectacle) “the present-day works of the intellect.”103 In particular, he implored center organizers not to shy away from touching upon the scientific, philosophical, and moral aspects of their programming repertoires.

Three years later, Alain Trapenard reiterated this notion in strikingly similar terms. In the conclusion of his speech to Grenoble’s Institut Technique, he offered the following assertion: “In a Maison de la Culture, there should be a place for the different forms of intellectual and artistic expression, that is to say, works of the mind. This is why I am stressing the point that one should not think of Maisons de la Culture exclusively as centers for art; they are centers for art and thought.”104 For Trapenard, as for Picon, intellectual and artistic creation derived from the same creative impulse, which was rooted in the mind and of which it was the mission of Maisons de la

Culture to display in all its incarnations. In other words, Picon and Trapenard did not endeavor to bring intellectual culture into the fold, but rather to highlight the way in which intellectual culture constituted an intrinsic part of any conception of “humanity’s major cultural works.”105

Admittedly, the fact that Picon, Trapenard, and others felt the need to repeatedly affirm the intellectual component of the Maison de la Culture venture reflects the extent to which this fledgling cultural institution had come to be widely perceived as foremost a center for the arts.

103 The precise phrase Picon uses is: “le spectacle de l’oeuvre contemporaine de l’esprit.” CAC, 19950514, Article 11: “Allocution prononcée par Monsieur Gaëtan Picon (1965).” 104 CAC, 19950514, Article 11: Trapenard, “La Maison de la Culture de Grenoble.” 105 From Decree No. 59-889 (July 24, 1959). 47

Nevertheless, this tendency confirms the persistent desire on the part of Ministry representatives to bolster the profile and prevalence of activities linked explicitly to intellectual culture.106

Use Value: The Conceptual Cornerstone for the Commodification of Culture

The first key step towards the commodification of intellectual culture was the result of the Ministry’s practice of treating cultural creations, whether works of art or works of the intellect, quite literally as “products,” carrying a concrete value, beneficial to individual consumers, and of great importance for the advancement of French social development, political grandeur, and economic prosperity.107 While the quality of these “cultural products” was determined by their compatibility with the Ministry’s twin ideals of “culture-divertissement” (or, culture as entertainment) and “culture-interrogation” (or, culture as active inquiry and sustained dialogue), their value lay elsewhere, most notably in their perceived “social use” for both individual citizens and the French nation as a whole.

106 An article published by the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien went so far as to subsume artistic culture within intellectual culture, positing that “the aim of a cultural policy…is assuredly not to enclose people’s minds within the limits of a particular point of view [class consciousness in particular], but on the contrary to open them up to all forms of intellectual life, whether from the past or present, and to make accessible the different fields of art and thought.” “Une equivoque à dissiper,” TEP 65 No 18 (September 1965). 107 Chapter 43-91 of the national budget, for example, which allocated the largest percentage of state funds to local cultural facilities in the late 1960s, stipulated that the foremost criteria according to which the state’s action culturelle was to be carried out at the local level was: “that their aims should be identical to those pursued by the Ministry,” specifically, the “presentation of ‘cultural products’ of the highest quality to the greatest possible number of spectators.” Note that once again that the purpose of Maisons de la Culture is treated as synonymous with the Ministry of Cultural Affairs more generally. Chapter 43-91, Article 2 was not the only source of funding for Maisons de la Culture included in the national budget. For instance, Chapter 66-20 and Chapter 43-91, Article 3 also allocated “subventions d’équipement aux salles de spectacles, conservatoires et écoles de musique” and “subventions aux organismes culturels nationaux,” respectively. However, Chapter 43-91, Article 2 provided by far the greatest proportion of the total funding for Maisons de la Culture up until 1970, when Chapter 43-91, Article 1 became the single largest source of government funds to these centers. This configuration changed yet again with the reworking of the national budget in 1972, at which point Chapter 43-23, Article 41 became the principal source of support. CAC, 19840754, Article 11: Budget 1968, Chapitre 43-91: Action culturelle, Article 1: “Organismes culturels; animation locale.” 48

A product—cultural or otherwise—need not be intended to turn a monetary profit in order to qualify as a commodity. Commodity status ultimately resides in the value—whether that refers to the use value, exchange value, or occasionally both—attributed to a given product.

The cultural commodities produced and promoted by Maisons de la Culture fell into this last category. In a literal sense, the cultural offerings at Maisons de la Culture came with a price tag attached: the cost of admission. While organizers kept membership dues and ticket prices deliberately low in an effort to encourage the public to join the center and attend events, and despite the fact that these centers could not have survived without substantial and sustained subsidies from the state, the revenue garnered through membership and ticket sales was nonetheless intended to defray a portion of a center’s operational and production expenses.

In another sense, however, the cultural products at Maisons de la Culture were vested with a very real use value, of which there were three principal facets; namely, that they—along with French cultural patrimony more broadly—were imperative for France’s continued social development, national and political grandeur, and economic well-being. Ultimately, it was the elaboration and attribution of this three-tiered use value that underpinned the commodification of culture, and helps explain why it was during the formative years of the Fifth Republic that, “for the first time, cultural development rightfully took its place in the economic and social development of the nation.”108 By the time government officials began preparing for the Fifth

Plan (1966-1970), the question of culture’s use value had been placed beyond debate once and for all: “In a highly developed society,” they concluded matter-of-factly, “one which is in the

108 CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “L’Aménagement culturel du territoire: esquisse pour le Vème Plan,” Rapport présenté par le Ministère des Affaires Culturelles (June 1964). 49 midst of rapid urbanization, cultural development is no longer simply a moral ideal.”109 The mission of Maisons de la Culture was thus to encourage the public’s consumption of cultural products in order to achieve a number of premeditated socio-economic objectives. This pragmatic dimension of action culturelle sheds significant light on why the state sought to transform the public into habitual—and ideally voracious—cultural consumers.

How, then, did Ministry representatives characterize culture’s use value? First, they resolutely maintained that awareness and appreciation of culture afforded a vital tool—a psychic compass of sorts—for navigating life in modern society. Acculturation was nothing short of an

“indispensable element for maintaining balance in people’s lives.”110 Since all citizens would feel the effects of the changes taking place in society—ranging from urbanization to decolonization, from consumerism to postmodernism—all French men and women required the understanding and wherewithal to make informed decisions about their lives and that of the nation. Education facilitated one type of knowledge about the world; culture fostered another; both were deemed imperative. The Ministry thus endowed culture with a significant use value at the individual level, one that was applicable to the whole of French citizenry.

It was this belief in culture’s motive power that provided the underlying justification for the Ministry’s long-running efforts to democratize access to culture.111 And yet, while its argument in support of democratization may have emphasized the importance of giving all

109 CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “L’Aménagement culturel du territoire,” (June 1964). 110 CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “L’Aménagement culturel du territoire,” (June 1964). 111 Luc Decaunes, the principal animateur at the TEP, provides an evocative illustration of this conviction with his assertion that, ultimately, the great mission of popular culture was to move the people—specifically, the “working masses for whom extensive education had been unjustly sacrificed” out of financial need—towards “intellectual leisure activities.” For it was by taking possession of (and profiting from) that which culture had to offer that factory workers, artisans, and peasants could “overcome the handicap of their condition, break the enchanted circle, and become new men [and women].” Luc Decaunes, “Education et culture,” TEP 65: Mensuel du Théâtre de l’Est Parisien – Maison de la Culture No. 13 (February 1965). 50

French people equal (or more equal) access to this instrument for modern living, democratization conferred an additional social benefit by virtue of the way in which Maisons de la Culture functioned as institutions. For Maisons de la Culture were designed to be “fundamentally democratic” in nature, which is to say that all members of the “grand public”—not just directors and animateurs—had a direct role to play in shaping the priorities and activities of a given center.112 Participating in the life of the institution was therefore an expression of one’s civic identity, and could enhance the overall democratic character of the French nation. Put differently, cultural development furnished “a powerful engine for social development.”113

Malraux’s Ministry contended that a vibrant tradition of cultural production as well as an expansive institutionalized system of support was essential for the restoration and, optimally, expansion of France’s international reputation as a first-tier cultural power.114 In this regard, the second facet of the use value attributed to culture by the Ministry is entirely consistent with the

Gaullist “policy of grandeur” which inspired so many government initiatives during the first decades of the Fifth Republic. When Charles de Gaulle spoke of “a certain idea of France,” he referred to a nation and a people he considered fated to occupy a unique place in the world, at the vanguard of geo-politics (as a “third pole” between the American and Soviet superpowers); social progress (by guaranteeing the republican values and universalizing mission of the French

Revolution); and cultural creation.115 Yet, though de Gaulle viewed this as France’s historic

112 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Note sur les Maisons de la Culture.” 113 CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “L’Aménagement culturel du territoire,” (June 1964). 114 There is a fascinating convergence in the motivations underlying the Ministry’s action culturelle and Fifth Republic’s “dirigiste” approach to economic policy. Both are predicated on the idea that direct state intervention will foster stability, productivity, and prosperity in a specific domain. Given the economic importance attached to culture by the Ministry during this era, there is little doubt that the nature of the state’s cultural policy was influenced by economic considerations. 115 In much the same vein, Malraux proclaimed in a speech to the National Assembly (January 18, 1963): “any child of France has the right to know France, and what France has brought to the world. What we want to accomplish 51 destiny, he nonetheless recognized the need to cultivate the image of France’s prestige. Culture was seen as one of the most effective means to this end; and thus the network of state-run institutions (such as Maisons de la Culture, though also radio and television), whose function it was to disseminate French cultural patrimony, were conscripted into service of this objective.

There was, in this regard, a direct correlation between the Fifth Republic’s commitment to cultural development and France’s transition in the postwar period to a position of soft power in the world.116 While its global economic, political, and military might had begun to wane across the first decades of the twentieth century, leaving it something of a “weak major power” by the eve of the Second World War, the cumulative effects of that conflict, replete with occupations by conqueror and liberators alike, along with the dissolution of the empire and the emergence of American and Soviet superpowers, placed the country’s diminished stature in stark relief.117 Cultural superiority, however, offered an alternative form of influence, one where, by cornering the market on “civilisation” and laying claim to a monopoly on taste and informed opinion, France might well shape the course of world affairs despite its martial, financial, and political limitations.118

together is to ensure that culture, for each of us, remains the legacy of the world’s dignity.” Malraux’s sentiments echo another common Gaullist trope, that France “could not be France without greatness.” Susan Weiner has similarly described the cultural policy of the early Fifth Republic as an important part of the more expansive Gaullist vision of national (and international) grandeur, an assertion made all the more apposite given that France was the first democratic nation to establish a Ministry of Culture. David Looseley, moreover, further explains the compatibility of Malraux’s vision of cultural democratization and Gaullism more broadly on the grounds that both shared a commitment to “consensualism.” CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Document from files of M. Rollier;” Weiner, in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 183; and Looseley, in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 224. See also, Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 159-161. 116 The conclusion addresses this connection in detail. 117 Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 5. 118 Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 7, 47-49, 159-161. Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 2-3. 52

Finally, the Ministry regarded cultural production and consumption as playing a concrete role in the economic life of the nation.119 By the mid-1960s, there was no denying the fact that

“the leisure and cultural activities” of the mass populace constituted an ever rising portion of

French “economic activity.”120 The continued urbanization of France, a process in full swing during the late 1950s and early 1960s, coupled with the sustained economic growth and the explosion of mass consumerism that were also taking place in the context of the Thirty Glorious

Years, would, officials reasoned, only serve to enhance the economic importance of culture.121

Their logic was fairly straightforward: in a society where the population spends an ever- increasing amount of money on culture and leisure, if the state invests in the development of cultural institutions and industries, then, according to Keynesian economic theory, the nation’s economy as a whole will grow; with success encouraging both further investment and consumer spending, which perpetuates the growth cycle. Thus, even if one were to set aside questions of individual savoir-faire and national grandeur, cultural development remained an economic imperative.

Maisons de la Culture had a special role to play in this regard. While Paris may have been the undisputed cultural capital, the country’s economic epicenters were increasingly widespread. For provincial businesses to thrive and, accordingly, fuel the national economy, they needed a steady influx of educated employees. By counteracting the image of the provinces as a “cultural Siberia,” Maisons de la Culture offered an important form of incentive to prospective transplants that may previously have been loath to relocate even for a lucrative

119 Recognition of culture’s impact on the national economy dates back to the preparation for the Fourth Plan (in effect 1962-1966). 120 CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “L’Aménagement culturel du territoire,” (June 1964). 121 Some, including the authors of “L’Aménagement culturel du territoire,” went so far as to privilege the economic dimension when arguing for state support for the Ministry’s expansive cultural program. See also CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Note sur les Maisons de la Culture.” 53 position.122 The burgeoning public sector also required increasing numbers educated “cadres” and, here again, the activities and interactions made available at these cultural hubs were considered indispensible to municipalities’ recruitment strategies. In each instance, Maisons de la Culture were imagined as playing a decisive role in growing and dispersing France’s upwardly mobile, (aspiring) middle class, upon which the postwar consumer economy hinged. In this regard, as Roger Lagrange, mayor of Chalon-sur-Saône, termed it, there was little doubt that

Maisons “have a definite influence on economic development.”123

By framing the issue in terms of a use value which was both morally idealistic and politically pragmatic, both socially desirable and economically necessary, Ministry representatives sought to encourage the state to invest heavily in the cultural field so as to maximize the benefits which they surmised would accompany cultural production and consumption. As the flagship institution for the Ministry’s activism in the 1960s and through much of the 1970s, Maisons de la Culture therefore provide an excellent window into the phenomenon of state investment—ideological as well as financial—in cultural development, a clear illustration of the intersection between culture and the state’s broader socio-economic agenda during the early years of the Fifth Republic, and a key milieu for the commodification of culture in postwar France.124

The Ministry’s persistent efforts to institutionalize cultural production and consumption at Maisons de la Culture may appear oddly out of touch with the times, especially in the late

1960s, when the implications of cultural Jacobinism faced mounting scrutiny, and opposition to

122 Roger Lagrange, as cited in Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 122. 123 Lagrange, as cited in Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 122. 124 As an institution, Maisons de la Culture were deemed quite literally an “essential component” of the state’s action culturelle. CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “L’Action Culturelle” (March 14, 1966). 54 mass and commercial culture became increasingly prevalent, not to mention vitriolic. This was the era, for instance, in which Guy Debord penned The Society of the Spectacle (1967), a document that denounced capitalistic intrusion into artistic and intellectual expression.125 While

Debord espoused a radical position in his “situationist” manifesto, going so far as to reject the act of signing of one’s name on one’s work, the general themes he touched upon resonated widely in certain sectors of French society.126 Students in particular, along with members of the Left-wing literary intelligentsia, shared Debord’s hostility towards the passive consumption of cultural products, which, Debord argued, went hand-in-hand with the institutionalization of cultural practices at museums, theaters, and Maisons de la Culture. At the same time, however, students and members of the intelligentsia constituted two of the largest and most faithful segments of the public at Maisons de la Culture; and Ministry representatives remained optimistic that with time the whole of the populace would come to appreciate and reap the benefits of their policies.127

Moreover, Ministry officials stipulated explicitly that the use value of the “cultural products” at Maisons de la Culture overshadowed any and all considerations of monetary value.

In other words, the commodification of culture at Maisons de la Culture was motivated chiefly by the desire to facilitate the public circulation of culture in its various forms, and only secondarily by the desire to turn a profit. In fact, Maison de la Culture administrators expressed a genuine concern with the trend towards unchecked commercialism in the cultural arena, which

125 Guy Debord, La Société du spectacle (Paris: Buchet/Chastel, 1967). 126 Andrew Feenberg and Jim Freedman, When Poetry Ruled the Streets: The French May Events of 1968 (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001); and Ross, May ‘68 and Its Afterlives. 127 Maisons de la culture, they reasoned, would soon exert a formidable “power or attraction and fixation” over the population at large, by virtue of their providing a permanent source of much sought-after, while still affordable, cultural encounters. CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Note sur les Maisons de la Culture.” 55 they believed to be infiltrating industries such as television and, to a lesser extent, cinema.128

Even as they refused to allow commercial considerations to dictate the terms of their programming, they most certainly wanted their programs to be commercially viable.129

In 1967, organizers at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, for instance, argued that, though it was imperative for the center to “refuse commercialism” and particularly any form of

“celebrity worship,” it should not necessarily avoid staging “quality ‘performances’ of a commercial nature.”130 Since a primary function of the facility was to draw in a wide and constantly expanding public, “commercial” in this case served as shorthand for activities that would attract audiences. Put differently, the MCG needed to privilege programs that the public would consider accessible.

But what of the Ministry’s vision for Maisons de la Culture as bastions for the preservation and dissemination of “humanity’s major cultural works,” a great many of which might strike the uninitiated as anything but approachable. Essentially, staffers in Grenoble surmised—correctly or not—that the division between “difficult” and “accessible” works was largely a question of perception—more than one of content—and, as such, virtually any program could be cast in an accessible light with proper consideration. The challenge lay in making it as clear as possible how each and every one of the center’s offerings related directly to the lives of audience members. In so doing, animateurs could encourage the public, on the one hand, not to shy away from the more complicated oeuvres on the center’s programming schedule, and, on the

128 Maison organizers differentiated between cultural “institutions” (Maisons de la Culture, theaters, museums, etc.) and “industries” (television, cinema, recording, publishing, etc.). 129 CAC, 19950514, Article 11: “Rapport de J. Estienne” (June 20, 1968). 130 AMG, 517 W 9: “Les commissions: Commission ‘Programmation’ (1966-67), Rapport de synthèse (1967).” 56 other hand, to recognize the contemporary relevance of older works.131 Done well, there was thus no reason to think high culture and commercial success could not function in tandem with one another.

This rationale, however, did not produce the results predicted by Malraux and those in his employ. By the late 1970s, this “top down” approach to action culturelle had come to be seen by a wide cross section of politicians, animateurs, and cultural critics as yet another incarnation of the elitist and Paris-centric high culture—carefully disguised by official rhetoric, but essentially the same at its core—which had dictated the terms of cultural production and success as far back as anyone could remember.132 Evidence of working-class disinterest in the cultural offerings at

Maisons de la Culture accumulated, as did increasingly vehement objections to the tendency among animateurs (decried as cultural “insiders”) of reinforcing the status quo by favoring diffusion over creation. In response, the Ministry made a dramatic about face during Valéry

Giscard d’Estaing’s presidency, with Michel d’Ornano and Jean-Philippe Lecat amending its politique culturelle in the hopes of responding to the cultural desires of the nation’s popular classes. In this manner, “elitism” gave way to “pluralism,” and the Maison de la Culture made way for the Maison Pour Tous.133 Yet, for nearly twenty years prior, Maisons de la Culture were

131 AMG, 517 W 9: “Rapport de synthèse (1967).” 132 Chapter 5 presents an in-depth account of the decade-long movement to reorient the guiding principles and practices at Maisons de la Culture along new lines, one born of the cultural populism of 1968 and codified as official policy through the combined efforts of reform-minded center directors and a post-Malrucian cohort professionally- trained administrators. In broad strokes, proponents of reform pushed to shift the focus of Maisons’ activism away from its original focus on the diffusion of “great works” so as to carve out a more substantial place for amateur creation and direct participation. In so doing, they hoped at long last to whet the cultural appetites of the populous “non-public” in France, which from the outset had proven markedly ambivalent to the “high” cultural offerings at Maisons de la Culture, despite the Ministry’s good intentions, grandiloquence, and lavish monetary investment. Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 129, 155-56 & 191. 133 Maisons were themselves intended to be the vehicle for counteracting culture’s “elite” status—but in the sense of democratizing access to “high” culture, making it available to one and all, not in the sense of championing a pluralist vision of culture or a “bottom-up” framework for cultural development. In this fashion, the Gaullist-Malrucian approach to cultural democratization remained fundamentally elitist in its conception and execution. 57 a crucial institution for the dissemination and commodification of culture; one in which the state invested an enormous amount of energy, ideology, and capital, quite literally putting its money where its mouth was in service of a Gaullist-Malrucian brand of action culturelle.

State Funding for Maisons de la Culture: the Investment Stage, 1961-1977

In 1964, the Jeune Chambre Economique de Grenoble (JCEG) laid out its case for the creation of a Maison de la Culture in the “capital of the Alps.” Despite the fact that such an undertaking would bring the total number of centers in the Rhône-Alpes region to four, the JCEG posited that the city amply met the requirements necessary for the establishment of its own. The group cited Grenoble’s geographic location and population size; its comparatively high percentages of young people and professionals; the strength of its university; its flourishing cultural scene; and, lastly, the existence of a cadre of associations geared specifically towards cultural, economic, and civic development.134 By way of conclusion, the organization recast its appeal as a sort of moral entreaty. “Since we agree,” its members queried, “that culture and education are increasingly decisive factors for the future of our country; [and] since demographic pressure calls for ever more extensive [cultural] facilities, are we not obliged to consider cultural

134 In 1964, Grenoble had a populace of 250,000, as well as a rate of population growth between 1954 and 1962 that outstripped Frances other large cities by 45%. In terms of demography, 49% of Grenoble’s population was under 30 years old (as compared to 45% for the nation as a whole); moreover, 10.5% of the city’s workforce held managerial positions and 18.5% worked in the technical trades, compared to the national average of 5.5% and 11% respectively. The University of Grenoble, in addition to its faculty, boasted a student body of over 12,000, along with a sizeable contingent of foreign students coming to attend courses during the vacation months. In the cultural sphere, the Association Culturelle pour le Théâtre et les Arts (A.C.T.A.) and La Comédie des Alpes were touted as successful sources of cultural information, creation, and diffusion at the municipal and regional levels. With regards to the city’s culturally and civically-oriented associations, the J.C.E.G. drew particular attention to the efforts of Peuple et culture, La Fédération des oeuvres laïques, Le Centre d’Information et d’Action Sociale, Le Centre d’Etudes Economiques et Sociales, and Le Cercle Tocqueville. AMG, 517 W 63: Moinot, “Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble.” 58 issues a matter of priority, and to grant them the necessary financial resources?”135 Framed these terms, the JCEG’s pitch captures the sense of imperative surrounding the Maison de la Culture initiative, and bears testament to the fact that building and maintaining these facilities constituted an enormous financial undertaking, requiring a huge and sustained investment of capital.

The JCEG saw its goal come to fruition in 1968 with the unveiling of the Maison de la culture de Grenoble.136 Its modernist design was as multi-functional as it was visually striking; and at a grand total of 187,595,134 francs, the price tag for the state-of-the-art center dwarfed those attached to earlier projects.137 In fact, the Grenoble center cost more than three times as much to build as those established in the first years of the initiative. The facilities at Bourges and Caen, by comparison, which both opened in 1963, cost 51,027,887 and 55,123,082 francs, respectively; and the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien cost only 39,120,350 francs.138 Of course, these were far from paltry sums in their own right, and all the more so when viewed as an ensemble.

In the 1960s alone, construction expenditures for Maison de la Culture reached well over a billion francs.139

135 Ibid. 136 Responsibility for the building’s design fell to distinguished architect André Wogenscky, who undertook the project in his capacity as Architecte en chef des bâtiments civils et palais nationaux. Wogenscky was a former student and colleague of famed architect Le Corbusier (who himself designed the Maison de la Culture at Firminy). Wogenscky was appointed Architecte en chef des bâtiments civils et palais nationaux in 1966. This architectural corps formed a part of the French civil service, whose function was the preservation and expansion of French cultural patrimony through architecture. 137 At 1968 rates the cost was 31,849,768 F. 138 Without adjusting for inflation, the total for the center in Bourges was 7,331,593 F, Caen was 7,919,983 F, and the TEP was 5,620,740 F. 139 The figure of one billion is a conservative estimate. Of the twenty centers established during the 1960s, my research has uncovered total construction costs for eleven, including Bourges: 51,027,887 (7,331,593 in1963 francs); Caen: 55,123,082 (7,919,983 in 1963 francs); T.E.P.: 39,120,350 (5,620,740 in 1963 france); Amiens: 89,756,193 (13,661,521 in 1965 francs); Firminy: 28,093,837 (4,417,270 in 1966 francs); Reims: 92,802,907 (14,591,652 in 1966 francs); Rennes: 134,259,600 (21,110,000 in 1966 francs); Thonon: approximately 63,600,000 (10,000,000 in 1966 francs); Grenoble: 187,595,134 (31,849,768 in 1968 francs); Chalon: 120,001,000 (21,700,000 in 1969 francs); Nevers: 81,429,250 (14,725,000 in 1969 francs). The amount spent on these centers alone totals over 940 million. The national government frequently contributed a significant portion of the construction costs (ranging from 23% at Caen to 100% in Paris), with the remainder coming from municipal, regional, and 59

Despite these vast sums, not everyone felt that the government of the Fifth Republic was contributing enough to the cause of cultural development in France. Speaking before the

National Assembly in late 1964, Fernand Grenier, the communist deputy from the Seine, condemned the fact that spending on culture represented a mere 0.3% of the total state budget.

This situation was all the more unacceptable when one considered the disparity between state support for culture in France as compared to elsewhere in Europe. The government of the

USSR, for example, reported spending on average 4.30 francs per inhabitant on culture annually.140 In Sweden the figure was 3.50 francs per inhabitant. In France, however, the average was only 1.25 francs. In light of these circumstances, Grenier could not help but concur with the “scarcely revolutionary” Figaro littéraire’s assessment of France as a “culturally underdeveloped” nation.141

Nevertheless, across the 1960s and 1970s, the predominant trend was one of increased state spending on culture. The Ministry of Cultural Affairs justified its steadily growing budget for action culturelle as the only way to meet the programming and operational demands facing center organizers, not to mention the high expectations of the public. Such was the explanation provided for its 1968 budgetary proposals, which called for a 25% increase in subsidies allocated to Maisons de la Culture. Having whetted the public’s appetite in recent years, it was now

“urgent and imperative” to provide animateurs with the financial resources that would allow them to step up the rhythm of their facility’s activities, enabling them to reach their full

departmental government, as well as community-based fundraising efforts. CAC, 19840754, Article 3: “Maisons de la culture: Couts de construction (22 March 1973);” and CAC, 19840754, Article 11: “Maisons de la culture: Couts de construction.” 140 Given the political climate of the era, one may question the credibility of this figure. 141 CAC, 19840754, Article 11: Budget 1965, “Généralités.” 60 potential.142 These calls prevailed, with the 1968 national budget allocating 74,838,340 francs for action culturelle, of which 96% went to France’s network of Maisons de la Culture.143 This marked a dramatic increase of 80% compared to the 40,175,955 francs earmarked to this end in

1967.144

2. National Budget Allocation for Action culturelle, 1961-1977145

Maisons de Centres d'Action Total in Francs Year la Culture Culturelle constants

1961 1,532,000 n/a 1,532,000

1962 1,608,200 n/a 1,608,200 1963 4,454,400 n/a 4,454,400 1964 14,812,875 n/a 14,812,875 1965 24,276,150 n/a 24,276,150 1966 35,329,800 n/a 35,329,800 1967 40,175,955 83,295 40,259,250

1968 72,264,410 2,573,930 74,838,340

1969 82,189,017 3,249,483 85,438,500 1970 74,250,750 7,245,000 81,495,750 1971 76,952,995 10,235,715 87,188,710 1972 69,221,880 17,886,960 87,108,840 1973 78,441,632 22,905,260 101,346,892

1974 77,467,584 27,728,064 105,195,648

1975 81,754,050 33,130,370 114,884,420 1976 85,290,348 35,578,452 120,868,800 1977 93,178,800 51,394,200 144,573,000

142 CAC, 19840754, Article 11: Budget 1968, Chapitre 43-91: Action culturelle, Article 2: “Maisons de la culture.” 143 My discussion focuses on operational funds for action culturelle as these by far constituted the largest source of direct funding for local cultural facilities. In addition, some money was allocated for physical improvements to these centers (Chapter 66-20), while still more was channeled through the Association Technique pour l’Action Culturelle (Chapter 43-91, Article 3), which served as the representative body for the directors of Maisons de la Culture and theater troupes dedicated to decentralization. A.T.A.C. funds were intended to assist collaboration between directors, as well as the selection and training of animateurs, administrators, and technicians. CAC, 19840754, Article 11: Budget 1968, Chapitre 43-91: Action culturelle, Article 3: “Organismes culturels nationaux.” 144 I CAC, 19840754, Article 11: Budget 1968, “Maisons de la culture.” 145 From 1961 to 1969, the provision of operational credits to the Ministry of Cultural Affairs for action culturelle at Maisons de la Culture fell under Chapter 43-91, Article 2 of the national budget. Following a reorganization of the budget in 1970, and these credits were reclassified under Chapter 43-91, Article 1. The budget was reorganized yet again in 1972 and, for the reminder of the period under study, these credits full under Chapter 43-23, Article 41. CAC, 19840754, Article 2: “Evolution des crédits de fonctionnement de l'action culturelle depuis 1961.” 61

Close analysis of state funding for Maisons de la Culture during the investment stage of the initiative illustrates the profound commitment on the part of the Ministry of Cultural Affairs to its flagship institution [Table 2]. Between 1961 and 1977, France’s Maisons de la Culture consistently drew the lion’s share—on average, 89% annually—of the total credit made available to the Ministry for operation of cultural facilities that fell within the purview of action culturelle.146 Of the 1,125,211,575 francs put towards that end, Maisons de la Culture collected

913,200,846 francs, or a whopping 81%. On average, the Ministry’s total budget for the venture grew by 38% annually (or 53,717,697 francs) over the period as a whole. For the first six years of the investment stage, Maisons de la Culture were the sole beneficiaries of these operational funds, as the Ministry had not yet begun to underwrite its fledgling network of Centres d’Action

Culturelle, a complimentary institution whose mission was to further the process of cultural decentralization and democratization in cities of smaller size and stature. Centres d’Action

Culturelle entered into the budgetary equation for the first time in 1967; and in the following eleven years the Ministry devoted 212,010,729 francs to the growth and maintenance of their operations. While certainly no small sum, this tally testifies to the fact that Maisons de la

Culture continued to make out comparatively well in the last decade of the investment stage.

146 In 1978, France’s network of Maisons de la Culture were placed under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Youth Affairs, Sports, and Recreation. Correspondingly, the state’s action culturelle came to favor cultural facilities that were less substantial (referred to as “équipements légers” and for which the MJC—Maison Pour Tous was the flagship institution) than the so-called “grandes institutions” (or “équipements lourdes”) of the traditional Maison de la Culture format. The thrust of Maisons de la Culture’ s activism changed progressively as well, with a greater emphasis coming to be placed on grassroots activities that were by—and for—center members and the residents of a given area. Moreover, the 1979 budgetary allocations for Maisons de la Culture were considered—by Henri Lhong, for instance, who was then the Director of the M.C.G.—insufficient even for the maintenance of the center’s current operations. See “L’action culturelle en danger,” Rouge et Noir No. 96 (June, 1978); and “Editorial,” Henri Lhong, Rouge et Noir No. 101 (February, 1979). Note: All values and calculations of percentage based upon francs constants. 62

They still received 80% of the total operational funds put at the Ministry’s disposal for action culturelle in those years and an average of 83% annually.147

A Commodity by Any Other Name

The Ministry of Cultural Affairs played a vital role in the commodification of intellectual culture during the 1960s and 1970s though the expression of its core values, its conception of culture and cultural democratization, its budgetary requests and allotments for the construction and operation of Maisons de la Culture, and the end product—the intellectually-oriented cultural productions—made available for public consumption at these facilities. Its approach to cultural policy was, in this regard, highly centralized, which is to say that responsibility for promoting greater access to France’s cultural patrimony (not to mention, defining what constituted “culture” in the first place) lay primarily in the hands of a single entity (the Ministry).148 This top-down approach to democratization, as Susan Weiner aptly notes, contributed to the shift during these years from a cultural policy geared towards “le peuple” to one centered on “le grand public,” which she defines as “the national community of consumers in which social class is just another factor along with gender, age, education, race, and religion,” a development that furthered the trend towards a commodity-oriented modus operandi at Maisons de la Culture.

Interestingly, Michel Beaujour has argued that, for those at the Ministry, it was fear of precisely this type of change, and of the cultural consequences of economic progress, that drove the push for cultural democratization as a major policy initiative. Of particular concern was the

147 Which is to say that they received 831,187,421 of the 1,043,198,150 operational credits budgeted for action culturelle between 1967 and 1977. 148 Susan Weiner corroborates such an interpretation, asserting that by “reconfiguring the goals of democratization in terms of quantity, circulation, and dissemination as opposed to redressing social inequalities, Malraux’s politique culturelle moved decisively away from the populism of the Liberation and reasserted the primacy of cultural Jacobinism.” Weiner, in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 314. 63 potential “embourgeoisement” and “depoliticization” of the popular classes in France as a result of postwar economic rejuvenation, the corresponding growth of consumer and mass culture, and above all “American-style consumerism and an unprecedented commodity fetishism.”149 Faced with this specter, as Beaujour terms it, social observers of all stripes posited the need for “a missionary counterattack geared to revivifying intellectually and morally those strata of the population that stood in ever greater danger of stultification as a degree of prosperity was being restored to France in the late 1950s” and as the increasing privatization of leisure activities eroded the civic dimension of daily life.150

But herein lies the fundamental contradiction between the aims and results of the

Ministry’s cultural activism at Maisons de la Culture when it came to the relationship between culture and consumption, or between artistic/intellectual- and consumer culture. For on the one hand, Malraux and the Ministry posited “culture” as the antithesis of a “consumer good.” As

Beaujour indicates, the Ministry’s vision of “culture,” as well as the Maison de la Culture venture over which it presided, was intended to “fight capitalism’s pervasive phantasmagoria of trivial entertainment and fetishized commodities.”151 On the other hand, however, the commodification of culture at Maisons de la Culture was a very real phenomenon, though the cultural productions made available for public consumption cannot be considered “consumer goods” in the traditional sense.

***

With its expansive network of Maisons de la Culture, the Ministry of Cultural Affairs aimed to create a new cultural democracy for Fifth Republic France, one that broadened and

149 Beaujour, in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 181. 150 Beaujour, in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 181-182. 151 Beaujour, in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 182-184. 64 improved the project of decentralization begun during the Fourth Republic. This novel cultural program was intended to link with and further the Gaullist state’s more expansive socio- economic agenda, bolstering the civic texture of public life, cultivating an image of French grandeur, and tapping the economic potential of leisure and culture. Bringing this undertaking to fruition required that the Ministry articulate a different way of thinking about culture and, in particular, where its value lay—for the individual and French society as a whole—and how best to champion its cause. Through this reconceptualization a discourse of democratization and commodification emerged, seizing upon the vocabulary of populism in order to disseminate high culture to the masses; and embracing the lexicon and principles of commerce in service of an alternative regime of cultural production and consumption, distinct from the “pop” sensibilities and commodity fetishism of mainstream commercial culture.

CHAPTER 2

The Commercialization of Maisons de la Culture in Paris and Grenoble

“Residents of Paris, take a close look at this map [Image 3]. You will see clearly the way in which theaters are distributed throughout the urban area of Paris.”152 So began the lead article of the first edition of TEP: Périodique du Théâtre de l’Est Parisien—Maison de la Culture, published in 1962, the official organ of the Ménilmontant cultural center. In a tone that was as ardent as it was straightforward, the article, with its provocative title, “1 Million Parisians

Sacrificed, Why?” noted that all fifty-six of the theaters in the French capital were confined within a “special zone,” its boundaries delimited by the four cardinal points of L’Etoile,

République, Montmartre, and Montparnasse. Labeling those portions of the city falling outside this perimeter a “cultural desert,” the unnamed author observed that similar maps could be drawn up to reflect the distribution of museums, art galleries, art-house cinemas, concert and conference halls, and even larger libraries. “In each instance,” the author wrote, “we would encounter the same favored neighborhoods, practically the same streets – as if some strange law required that the city’s intellectual establishments must be concentrated in specific locations that are virtually inaccessible to three-quarters of the population. That is to say only that culture is first and foremost, in Paris, a geographic privilege.”153 This statement not only reflects a key trend in the

Ministry of Cultural Affairs’ efforts to improve the cultural irrigation of France, that of redressing geographical disparities, it suggests that the task of democratizing access to the

152 “1 million de parisiens sacrifiés, pourquoi?” TEP: Périodique du Théâtre de l’Est Parisien—Maison de la Culture No. 1 (1962). 153 “1 million de parisiens sacrifiés, pourquoi?” TEP. 66 nation’s cultural apparatuses and patrimony did not apply solely to the provinces. Whether separated by a few blocks or several hundred miles, the public at large quite literally lived a world apart from France’s cadre of cultural initiates.154 With this in mind, the Maison de la

Culture initiative also sought to combat what it regarded as the socio-economic and psychological factors (class, age, gender, decree of education, prior exposure to culture) contributing to cultural disenfranchisement. For if you happened to be a laborer, artisan, or office worker who lived in an outlying area, going to the theater in the evening was at present nothing short of an “expedition,” one that was every bit as time consuming as it was costly.

Having delineated the problem in these terms, the good news, however, was that the

Ministry had recently decided to erect a Maison de la Culture in the 20th Arrondissement, a predominantly working-class area of the city. And so the article closed on a triumphal note, with the author declaring boldly: “Residents of East Paris, theatrical and cultural decentralization is beginning in Ménilmontant.”155 Interestingly, most Parisians at this time had probably never heard of such an establishment. The Ménilmontant district, certainly. And perhaps even La

Guilde, the theater company that would provide the nucleus for the new center. But a “Maison de la Culture” was an utterly new concept: in 1962, there was just one such center in existence, in Le Havre; and the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien (commonly known as the TEP) would be only the fourth when it opened its doors to the public in 1963.

154 As far away as Grenoble, the Jeune Chambre Economique de Grenoble granted that, “it appears far less paradoxical to construct a Maison de la Culture [in east Paris] when we take stock of the fact that it is consistently the same 300,000 Parisians who frequent the fifty-five theaters of the capital.” All the same, the fact that large swaths of even the Parisian population remained culturally disenfranchised in the early 1960s speaks to the still greater separation—perceived and actual—between Parisian cultural insiders and residents of a small city or town in the provinces. AMG, 517 W 63: “Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble,” La Maison de la Culture en question: a) les tracts. 155 “1 million de parisiens sacrifiés, pourquoi?” TEP. 67

3. Distribution of Theaters in Paris, 1962156

Given Maisons’ novelty as an institution, it is all the more remarkable that the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble were met with such an enthusiastic reception and immediate success. 5,000 Parisians purchased memberships before the center even opened its doors to the public; and that figure had doubled after only one month in operation.157

During its inaugural season, an average of 170 people signed up each day, and a grand total of

50,000 individuals had passed through the doors in order to take part in its activities. By March

15, 1964, membership had reached 18,142, where it was temporarily capped.158 While the TEP was a comparatively small facility, the center in Grenoble was designed and executed on a grand scale. It was intended to accommodate substantially larger crowds, and early indications suggested that public demand would meet that capacity. For instance, 20,000 members enrolled

156 “1 million de parisiens sacrifiés, pourquoi?” TEP. 157 The TEP registered its 10,000th member on November 6, 1963. “Guy Rétoré: Lettre aux adhérents,” TEP No. 3 (December 1963). 158 By April, there over 1,000 people on the waiting list for membership. Simon, Le TEP, 55; TEP No. 9 (June 1964); and AMG, 517 W 63: “Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble,” La Maison de la Culture en question.” 68 prior to its official opening in February 1968, taking its tally beyond that of the TEP after its entire first season.159 Moreover, only one month after its inauguration, the Grenoblois center had registered far more members (26,500) and, within two months, welcomed more visitors (between

100,000 and 200,000) than anticipated by even the most optimistic projections.160 By the end of the end of the first season, the number of members had ballooned to 30,818.161 Of course, early successes of this nature were not limited to the east Paris and Grenoble. In 1966, for example, after fewer than three years in operation, the centers at Bourges and Amiens boasted more members than the Comédie Française, founded by Louis XIV in 1680.162

Concurrent with the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s inauguration, Emile Biasini, the Directeur du Théâtre, de la Musique et de l’Action Culturelle, sought to convey the new center’s importance as an institution for contemporary French society and pique the interest of prospective attendees. To begin, he stressed the fact that the Ministry’s pursuit of cultural democratization derived from a deeply held belief that culture was a common good, guaranteed to all and on par with the even the most lofty of democratic rights, such as those of liberty and justice. In so doing, he prompted the public to begin thinking of culture (and access to culture) as an inalienable right and encouraged French men and women to seize that right. In tandem,

Biasini suggested that the programs and publications of the forthcoming Maison were not separate from the day-to-day lives of the general public in France. On the contrary, the center’s productions were intended for the public at large and tailored to be relevant to individuals from all walks of life. “Every man in our country,” therefore owed it to himself, “to encounter those

159 Buffard and Delahaye, Les rêves ont leur usines, 8. 160 AMG, 517 W 58: “Lettre d’information” (No. 2, April 1968). 161 Rouge et Noir: journal d’information de la maison de la culture de Grenoble No. 1 (July 1968). 162 The Bourges center registered 9,500 members in June 1966, or roughly 15% of the city’s population (65,000). CAC, 19840753, Article 8: Augustin Girard, “Note pour M. A. Kerever;” and Looseley, in Cook, ed., French Culture Since 1945, 225. 69 who write for him, those who sculpt, [and] those who think for him.”163 In concert, these ideas—of culture as a right and acculturation as a civic duty—constitute two of the overarching themes for the present chapter.

Additionally, it remains to be seen why the Ministry set up centers where it did, how these facilities functioned, and how their organization furthered the commodification of intellectual culture through the development of debates, “spoken reviews,” mixed-media spectacles, and center publications. This chapter introduces two case studies, focusing on the

Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, and chronicles the origins and early operational years of these facilities. It presents a detailed rendering of these cultural apparatuses, taking into consideration their location, architectural design, personnel, membership and attendance, as well as beginning a discussion of their approach to programming and the place of intellectual culture therein. Such an account simultaneously sheds light on the many unique attributes of each facility as well as the ways in which they were representative of the broader Maison de la Culture initiative.

Given the highly centralized nature of French culture, it is opportune to undertake a comparison between Paris and the provinces. Of all the Maisons in the Paris region, the TEP was the first to open its doors to the public, and the only center located within city limits.

Grenoble affords a logical counterpoint because, in addition to being a university town with a vibrant local cultural scene, it was also one of the first cities to construct a Maison de la Culture.

Opting for a center at a considerable distance from Paris offers insight into whether a lack of proximity to the French capital hindered—or helped—the commodification of intellectual

163 The notion that intellectuals think for—or on behalf of—laymen as much as for other specialists recurs across the postwar era and in the context of multiple cultural institutions. Emile Biasini, “Du nouveau à l’Est,” TEP No. 1 (1962). 70 culture. For despite its distance Paris, or rather because of it, Roger Caracache suggests that the

Grenoblois facility may be considered to have been an ideal-type, reflecting everything that a

Maison de la Culture was supposed to be in the early, Gaullist years of the initiative.164

Zeroing in on the formative years at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la

Culture de Grenoble allows us to discern how the choices made right from the outset by organizers in each location paved the way for the genres of cultural programming that came to constitute the main pillars of the commodification of intellectual culture at Maisons.165 In each instance, the inspiration, implantation, and operation of these facilities hinged upon the articulation of a viable commercialization strategy. Organizers needed to determine where to establish a Maison, when to launch, what to offer in terms of amenities and programs, and whom within the general population to target. Defined in these terms, “commercialization” affords a bridge between the grand and often abstract ideals of Ministry representatives and groups like the

Jeune Chambre Economique de Grenoble and the more detail-oriented, workaday preoccupations of organizers at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble.

Moreover, it allows scholars to contextualize the key concepts underlying the planning and investment stages, while providing a sound theoretical framework for an analysis of the production and “sale” of intellectual culture at Maisons de la Culture.

164 Roger Caracache, as cited in Nicole Cabret, Quelle Maison pour la culture? Le Cargo/Maison de la Culture. L’exemple de Grenoble. Éléments pour un débat (Grenoble: Editions La pensée sauvage, 2001), 66-67. 165 The three most significant genres were debates and spoken reviews, multimedia tributes, and publications. These constitute the main focus of Chapters 3 and 4. The ideas of organizers and animateurs—what they aspired and proposed to do—are thus crucial to understanding the courses of action they ultimately embraced for bringing the Parisian and Grenoblois publics into contact with intellectual culture. In this chapter I occasionally use the term “administrators” to refer to animateurs working in an administrative capacity (setting policy, assessing results, etc.). More broadly, there were two main “types” of administrators in the employ of Maisons de la Culture, the first being individuals from the arts world (such as Guy Rétoré in Paris) whose work combined artistic and managerial responsibilities. The second were professional functionaries (as with Catherine Tasca in Grenoble), trained in administration and making their careers in the French civil service. 71

Irrigating Eastern Paris’ Cultural Desert

In 1962 the Ministry of Cultural Affairs purchased the Zénith movie theater on the Rue

Malte-Brun in the 20th Arrondissement and transformed it into the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien.166

The TEP first opened its doors to the public on October 4, 1963, with a performance by the singer-songwriter and poet Georges Brassens, almost four months prior to its official inauguration by André Malraux on January 29, 1964. At the helm stood Guy Rétoré, founder and director of La Guilde, a theater company of recent provenance that made its home in northeastern Paris. Born to a working-class family in Ménilmontant in 1924, Rétoré’s path to the theater was by no means inevitable. Following in his father’s footsteps, Rétoré went to work for the Société Nationale des Chemins de Fer Français (SNCF) at the age of eighteen.167 While in the employ of the railway, he participated in the Compagnie Théâtrale de la SNCF, which inspired an initial attempt to launch a career as a professional actor. When this foray proved unsuccessful, Rétoré concluded that his future lay elsewhere. According to Alfred Simon,

Rétoré credited two events with rekindling his dream of a life in the performing arts, and prompting his decision to form La Guilde in 1951: the first, a conversation with actor Olivier

Hussenot, and the second, his “discovery” of Corneille’s Le Cid, at the Théâtre National

Populaire.168

Like its chief architect, La Guilde was also the product of modest beginnings. Founded in 1951, the company operated in relative obscurity until its performance of Shakespeare’s The

166 The Ministry of Cultural Affairs picked up the entire tab for the purchase and transformation of the Zénith. 167 Guy Rétoré was born April 7, 1924. His mother worked in a medical clinic. Rétoré began working for SNCF in 1942. 168 Simon, Le TEP, 16-17. 72

Life and Death of King John in 1956. Despite the fact that there were only 75 spectators in a hall capable of accommodating 250, the show that evening is widely remembered as the young troupe’s breakout performance; and from this day forth La Guilde’s fortunes changed rapidly.169

The following year, La Guilde claimed first place in the Concours des Jeunes Compagnies with its rendition of Farquhar’s Les Grenadiers de la Reine. The competition carried with it a 10,000- franc cash prize, which the troupe put towards outfitting its new home, the 500-seat Théâtre de

Ménilmontant.170 In selecting this location, rather than “going down into Paris,” as Alfred

Simon has phrased it, Rétoré and La Guilde opted to stay true to their origins by remaining in the predominantly working-class Ménilmontant neighborhood of the 20th Arrondissement.171

Simon’s choice of words reflects the perception that, despite their spatial proximity, a gap nonetheless separated the popular and affluent areas of the city, and the cultural outsiders from the insiders. La Guilde’s commitment to defining itself as both a product and champion of working-class Paris, informed its selection for inclusion in the Maison de la Culture initiative as well as the success of its long-running efforts to decentralize and democratize access to theater in the French capital.172

La Guilde’s stay on the Rue du Retrait proved to be short-lived. In 1961, the religious organization that owned the theater refused to renew the troupe’s lease, having taken offense at

Rétoré’s staging of Alfred de Musset’s 1833 play, Les Caprices de Marianne, with its

169 From its creation in 1951 until 1958, La Guilde performed at 109 rue Pelleport, in the 20th Arrondissement. Simon, Le TEP, 2. 170 La Guilde would remain at that location from 1958-1961. 171 My emphasis. Simon, Le TEP, 27 and 49. 172 There is thus an interesting convergence between the rise to prominence of the company and that of its chief architect, Guy Rétoré. Both were the product of modest beginnings, and both achieved success through a combination of diligence and passion, as much for a location as a vocation. Like his troupe, Rétoré was born in the popular Parisian district of Ménilmontant, and like La Guilde, he dedicated himself to promoting theater in a distinctly working-class milieu. 73 anticlerical subtext. Finding itself without a place to perform, the company set up a temporary office in a closed-down café on the Rue des Amandiers. La Guilde’s prospects, however, were not as bleak as they may have appeared. Beginning in 1960, the troupe had secured status as a

“compagnie permanente,” a classification that, beyond providing a small monetary subsidy, put

La Guilde

4. Street View of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien173

officially in the business of working to decentralize French theater.174 Within a year, its future home—the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien—was under construction, the troupe had been reclassified as a Maison de la Culture, and, only one year later, Rétoré’s cohort marked the inaugural season of the TEP with a reprise of their breakout production, The Life and Death of King John.175

173 Street view of the TEP (17 Rue Malte-Brun). TEP No. 3 (December 1963). 174 In 1966 La Guilde was reclassified as a Centre Dramatique National (CDN), which it remained until 1972, when it was reclassified yet again, this time as a Théâtre National. During its run as a CDN, key staff members included Rétoré (direction), Alain Guy (administration), Raoul Liverdan (stage management), and Jacques Puisais (steward). Strictly speaking, the TEP ceased to be a Maison de la Culture upon becoming a Théâtre National. However, given that center organizers continued to refer to the facility as a Maison de la Culture in the pages of TEP for quite some time afterwards and, likewise, maintained a policy of polyvalence for the center’s repertoire of programs (including the three genres of cultural programs most closely associated with the commodification of intellectual culture), I have extended my analysis of the TEP as Maison de la Culture beyond 1972. TEP-actualité: mensuel du Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, Théâtre national No. 76 (January 1972); Simon, Le TEP, 43; and TEP Dossier. 175 Interestingly, Alfred Simon states that Rétoré never signed a contract specifically accepting the classification of the TEP as a Maison de la Culture. Simon, Le TEP, 49. 74

Given La Guilde’s decade-long relationship with the theatergoing residents of

Ménilmontant, not to mention Rétoré’s even longer-standing and deeply personal attachment to the community, the old Zénith theater on the Rue Malte-Brun provided a logical site at which to implant the TEP as a Maison de la Culture.176 The authors of a study compiled by the Société d’Etudes et de Recherches en Sciences Sociales (SERES) reported that the center’s placement at the former site of the Zénith lent a sense of familiarity to the new facility, which helped it attract members of the public.177 The theater was also just a stone’s throw from the Place Gambetta, which served as hub for the whole of the 20th Arrondissement.178 However, the Théâtre de l’Est

Parisien’s mission was not confined to that district alone. It was situated so as to serve the whole of eastern Paris, as well as a vast suburban area, including Pantin, Pré-St-Gervais, Les Lilas,

Romainville, Bagnolet, Montreuil, Vincennes, and St-Mandé.179 All in all, this “zone of influence” encompassed over one million residents of the Parisian metropolitan area, which put the center in a good position to satisfy its mandate to reach the population en masse and, moreover, serve those who were unable—due to their social-economic status and degree of prior cultural exposure, as well as their distance from the city center and other constraints associated with daily life—to take advantage of cultural events in the heart of Paris.180

The Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s location carried with it the added benefit of enabling

Ministry representatives to examine the effectiveness of their action culturelle in practice and

176 Moreover, the cinema was a known location in the neighborhood, and on a street that conveniently abutted a major thoroughfare, the Avenue Gambetta. 177 Study undertaken by the Société d’Etudes et de Recherches en Sciences Sociales (SERES) for the Délégation Générale au District de la Région de Paris. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 178 “Le Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, Maison de la Culture,” TEP No. 1 (1962). 179 The SERES authors defined the center’s reach as comprising the 19th, 11th, and portions of the 12th Arrondissements in addition to the 20th. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. Carte 3. 180 According to the 1962 census, the total population of the TEP’s “zone of influence” was 1,022,994. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 75 within the cultural crucible of the French capital. For one, they could directly compare the

“impact and influence” of a Parisian Maison vis-à-vis the city’s other cultural and recreational offerings. Additionally, they could assess the center’s power of attraction, as the most substantial cultural apparatus in the city’s culturally “underprivileged” eastern periphery (known as “le Paris déshérité”).181 Finally, they could observe how ongoing socio-economic changes to this area affected the activism and fortunes of the TEP as an institution. Most notably, the construction of new apartment complexes, which charged higher rents, in the 20th

Arrondissement during the early 1960s led to a population migration, whereby a number of the area’s working-class residents were forced to move further towards the outskirts, and replaced by a more affluent, professionally advanced, and culturally initiated group.182 This configuration allowed Ministry analysts, not to mention organizers at the TEP itself, to differentiate between the cultural appetites and habits of the area’s older and newer residents.183

A Familiar Place, An Insufficient Space

Though the Ministry handed La Guilde—a little theater troupe with barely ten years experience—an enormous task, Rétoré and his cohort seized the opportunity to serve the whole of eastern Paris and its suburbs. As they termed it, such a responsibility could mean only one thing: “that our mission is important!”184 And if part of that mission was to promote the triptych of “entertainment, culture, and human contact,” it was hoped the TEP’s physical appearance and

181 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 182 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 183 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 184 “Le Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, Maison de la Culture,” TEP. 76 layout would help realize that aim.185 On the whole, however, results were mixed.

Aesthetically, the TEP resonated with the public from the outset, largely because its outward appearance and interior décor recalled that of the old Zénith [Image 4], with which area residents were already familiar and favorably disposed.186 The building’s modern and unadorned façade gave it a look that more closely resembled an art house cinema than a classic theater; and the interior preserved elements of the building’s prior occupants (the Zénith as well as a pre-war music hall), all of which helped boost the center’s public reception by drawing in members of the public and putting them at ease.187

5. Interior Layout of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien188

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of the theater’s interior layout [Image 5], which was also predicated largely upon the footprint of the former cinema. Most notably, the building did not have sufficient space to include all of the amenities necessary for a “complete” (or fully-

185 “Le Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, Maison de la Culture,” TEP. 186 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 187 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 188 Layout of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien (17 Rue Malte-Brun). 1. Reception hall. 2. Theater (capacity 966). 3. Stage. 4. Technical offices. 5. Wings and dressing rooms. 6. Reception. 7. Reception hall (available for rental). 8. Lecture hall and rehearsal studio. 9. Shop. In addition, the TEP’s administrative offices were located on the first floor, while there were additional common areas in the basement. “Le Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, Maison de la Culture,” TEP. 77 realized) Maison de la Culture, such as a library, record library, cafeteria, meeting rooms, and so on.189 Beyond restricting the scope of the TEP’s activities, Alfred Simon argues that these infrastructural shortcomings placed de facto limitations on the center’s capacity to welcome new members. For instance, by the 1966-67 season, membership at the TEP had grown to 26,665, a figure that paled in comparison to the population residing within the TEP’s zone of influence.190

However, there was only a finite amount of space inside the comparatively small facility, and most of that had been given over to the main, 966-seat theater. To some extent, such a configuration made sense for a center under the supervision of Rétoré. For the duration of his tenure as director, which ran until his retirement 2001, he made no pretense about the fact that the “theater was king” so far as he was concerned.191 And more generally, of course, there was a well-established link between the processes of theatrical decentralization and cultural democratization at the state level, with theater providing the staple activity in virtually all of

France’s Maisons de la Culture. While the TEP’s theater had been overhauled by the Ministry, making it both state-of-the-art and aesthetically appealing, the hall remained far from ideal for many of the center’s so-called “satellite” activities, especially those calling for a more intimate environment (such as poetry readings) or in which animation figured prominently (as with lectures and debates).192 With no other suitable venue on-site, these rubrics made due with the large auditorium, with varying results.

The TEP’s monthly “spoken review” (revue parlée), known as TEP-Magazine suffered most of all; and some animateurs drew a direct correlation between what they termed the “partial

189 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 190 Simon, Le TEP, 70. 191 Apart from the anomaly of 1974, when he was fired and re-hired in the course of the same season. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 192 A number of the TEP’s other “satellite” activities—including cinema, dance, musical performance, and variety shows—fared perfectly well in the main theater. 78 failure” of the program and the lack of a meeting room conducive to face-to-face interactions between invited guests, animateurs, and audiences.193 Such encounters were deemed all but impossible in a hall intended to hold nearly one thousand (one could easily spectate, but scarcely participate) and in which guest speakers and animateurs were necessarily placed on stage and, therefore, at a distance from the public in attendance. The unveiling of the Petit TEP (also on the

Rue Malte-Brun) at the beginning of the 1973-74 season was intended to help resolve some of these obstacles, as it contained a refurbished atelier with a more limited seating capacity of roughly one hundred.194 In practice, however, the new annex was used primarily for theater and music workshops, and only occasionally for “spoken reviews,” debates, and roundtables. Yet, despite the physical obstacles to audience participation and attendance, TEP-Magazine went on to become one of the center’s programming mainstays, featuring a remarkable sampling of

France’s intellectual elite.

“Live” Encounters with Intellectual Culture

TEP-Magazine premiered on January 30, 1964, the day following the official inauguration of the center by the Minister of Culture, with Luc Decaunes serving as the program’s host and principal animateur.195 The concept driving the program was to provide, on a monthly basis, a “meaningful overview” of current literary, scientific, artistic, and social trends. Topics were chosen for their contemporary relevance and, as much as possible, their

193 The SERES report noted the public’s reluctance—apart from a hundred or so select members—to attend TEP- Magazine en masse with palpable disappointment. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 194 In 1983 the TEP moved to a new location at 159 Avenue Gambetta. Capable of accommodating 400, it main theater roughly split the difference between that of the previous TEP and the Petit-TEP. The old location, which remained open, was renamed the Théâtre de la Rue Malte-Brun and was directed by Jorge Lavelli. TEP Actualité. Spécial Festival d’Avignon: 25 ans de Théâtre (Spring-summer 1975). 195 There was thus no delay in the establishment of the “spoken review” rubric; it was present from the outset. 79 concurrence with a recent and noteworthy publication, discovery, exposition, debut, or development. The rationale behind this cultural panorama was to go straight to the source, inviting the individual (or individuals) associated with these socio-cultural happenings to appear in-person on the center’s main stage, and to take their message directly to the public. In the course of a given program, the invited guest (whether writer, painter, thinker, composer, sociologist, or filmmaker) was first interviewed by a team of animateurs, and then audience members were given the opportunity to ask questions and engage directly in a conversation with the guest about his or her work and ideas. This configuration, with its emphasis on face-to-face interactions was congruent with center’s opposition to didacticism, allowing staffers to define the facility in “instrumental terms,” quite literally as a tool whose function was to place valuable cultural programs at the disposal of area inhabitants.196 Thus self-cultivation trumped passive indoctrination. Though aspects of the program’s format were tweaked in the ensuing years, its core objective of bringing together and facilitating dialogue between the “most qualified representatives of contemporary intellectual life and the public” remained unaltered.197

This aim of fostering direct contact drew inspiration from the use value attributed to culture and acculturation by the Ministry of Cultural Affairs.198 As Decaunes explained, culture afforded French citizens with the savoir-faire necessary to illuminate, arrange, and resolve the ever fluctuating problems that men and women confront as both individuals and members of society. The task of TEP-Magazine was therefore to provide “information and reflection” on

196 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 197 Luc Decaunes, “La culture se fait tous les jours,” TEP No. 5 (February 1964). 198 Decaunes, “La culture se fait tous les jours.” 80 these issues.199 However, while comprehension was essential, it was but a first step towards informed action. It was insufficient to merely apprehend and accept the present as it is, for one

“must know how to dominate it” as well.200 Fortunately, a vast repository of precisely this sort of knowledge was readily available in the “intellectual and moral patrimony put together by men over the centuries.”201 His job as an animateur, and that of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien as an institution, was to liaise the transfer of this ‘means to action’ from its creators and torchbearers to the public at large. To do otherwise—to isolate this treasure from the world like a “fruit de serre”—would be a form of “heresy.”202

The ‘sin’ would lie not only in failing to organize the confrontation of culture and the contemporary world so as to equip the men and women of France with the means necessary to navigate life in modern society, but in the consequences of this miscarriage for culture writ large.

For a culture that “sets itself apart from current affairs,” Decaunes opined, “is an infirm culture, a culture without power, and at risk of quickly becoming a dead culture.”203 Which is why, from the inception of the Maison de la Culture initiative, animateurs and administrators never ceased to stress the link between the success of their venture and France’s survival as a first-tier cultural power. Operating in an age where France’s political and military might in the international arena

199 In this regard, the aim of TEP-Magazine to provide insight into the realities of present-day society and culture was consistent with the motivation underlying the whole of the center’s programming, described by staffers as a desire to present an ensemble of cultural productions that were “out of the ordinary” in that they were specifically intended to “allow people to inform themselves about a number of questions” at the vanguard of contemporary culture and social debate. For the TEP’s theatrical productions, for instance, this ambition entailed “desacralizing” theater, “demystifying” actors, and rendering contact with works of art an “everyday” sort of experience. It also meant selecting plays that would challenge and engage “contemporary sensibilities” such as love and justice. As the example of TEP-Magazine demonstrates, such a rationale could be applied to intellectual production, in much the same way as it was applied to the performing arts. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES; and Decaunes, “La culture se fait tous les jours,” TEP No. 5 (February 1964). 200 Decaunes, “La culture se fait tous les jours.” 201 Decaunes, “La culture se fait tous les jours.” 202 Decaunes, “La culture se fait tous les jours.” 203 Decaunes, “La culture se fait tous les jours.” 81 was on the wane as a result of defeat and occupation in the Second World War, the rise the

American and Soviet superpowers, and recent upheavals associated with the process of decolonization, the stakes associated with France’s cultural influence as a bastion of intellectual and artistic production—of rigorous analysis, refined sensibilities, and informed judgment— were much inflated.

This focus upon the here-and-now contributed greatly to the early success of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien. According to interviews with members during the inaugural season, the appeal of Rétoré and his staff lay in their commitment to offering the residents of a culturally underprivileged sector of the Paris region the “opportunity to participate in the richest and most lively aspects of contemporary culture.”204 Animateurs corroborated this interpretation, accounting for the public’s favorable perceptions by citing a convergence between their activism and the public’s appetites, particularly a shared desire to partake of culture as it developed, and to participate in the development and interrogation of contemporary culture, which was previously the exclusive domain of cultural insiders.205 Of course, this explanation applied primarily to those who actually attended center events; and there was early evidence that some residents of the east Parisian “zone of influence”—especially members of the working class— refrained from frequenting certain activities at the Maison de la Culture because they were reluctant to intellectualize their leisure activities.206

204 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 205 By way of explanation, they posited “maturation” of the general population as a result of mass communication (the press and publishing industry, as well as television and radio), which had served to increase its familiarity with the types of cultural productions (and producers, such as Bertolt Brecht, a favorite of Maison de la Culture program directors) promoted at centers such as the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 206 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 82

The Public and Its Perceptions

What, then, was the makeup of this public that rushed to join the TEP in its first year?

Who were the men and women who opted to embrace the center’s offer of participatory acculturation? At first glance, the most readily apparent demographic trait of the fledgling

Maison de la Culture was the preponderance of people in the first half of their lives. 69% of the

TEP’s adherents were under 40 years of age, a figure made all the more remarkable when one considers that students accounted for only 27.9% of the center’s total membership.207 Thus, while the facility drew its members from a variety of social and vocational backgrounds, all of these groups shared a common demographic trait in their comparatively youthful complexion.208

As far as the class composition of TEP was concerned, at 33.4%, just over a third of the center’s members identified themselves as “workers and employees,” making this group the center’s single largest socio-economic constituency.209

Two trends dominated public perceptions of the new Maison’s mission, namely that the facility was meant to cater primarily to the youths and working-class residents of eastern Paris.

Ultimately, whether or not the facility was charged specifically with targeting the former proved a moot point, for there was there was no doubting the visibility and strength of their presence on site. However, the equally common perception of the center as a haven for members of the popular classes does not lend itself to interpretation as easily. For one, a “worker” was much harder to distinguish from a member of another socio-economic group on the grounds of his or

207 AMG, 517 W 63: “Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble,” J.C.C.G. 208 Such figures are consistent with national trends. Across the 1960s, roughly 60% of adherents at Maisons were under 30 years of age. Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 125. 209 After “workers and employees” (33.4%) and “students and schoolchildren” (27.9%), “managers and teachers” (18.7%) formed the next largest socio-economic subset of the TEP’s constituents, followed by members of the “liberal professions” (6.8%) and “merchants and artisans” (3.7%). Almost 10% of the center’s adherents were unemployed. The “liberal professions” refers to so-called “professionals,” such as doctors, lawyers, etc. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 83 her appearance alone. From a statistical standpoint, the category “workers and employees” was problematic in that it lumped together people as disparate professionally and economically as manual laborers and office workers. What is more, early analyses suggested that the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien drew the greatest percentage of its members from the most well-to-do areas of any given district.210 Therefore, in this case, the prevalence of the its “blue-collar” image owed only partly to actual enrollment figures, and primarily to the almost missionary desires of center staffers and Ministry officials to reach the lower classes, which were printed regularly in the pages of TEP and other newspapers, along with the remarkably low cost of admission to events at the Maison de la Culture. As one area resident put it, “Members pay only three francs: everyone can afford three francs!”211 Reduced prices such as these were intended to allow the center to attract a larger swath of the population.212

Many of the earliest members of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien described the center’s core objectives in terms that bore a marked resemblance to the proclamations of animateurs and

Ministry officials. It was a place to “acquire or perfect [one’s] knowledge” of various topics, averred one adherent.213 Another sanctioned this ambition, and observed that this project of cultivating the public at large required TEP staffers to tread a fine line in balancing the content of their productions. “If it’s too difficult,” this individual contended, “they won’t come, and if it’s

210 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 211 Three francs was the cost for a theater ticket. Events like TEP-Magazine cost only one franc. Ibid. In francs constants, 3 francs converts to 20.25 francs, which is 3.09 Euros. 1 franc is 6.75 francs constants, or 1.03 Euros. 212 It merits reiteration that the prices attached to the (intellectual) cultural products at Maisons were not intended to generate profits. They were meant to valorize these products by requiring that the public invest—even if only nominally—in their acquisition. “We are like Social Security, like the Metro,” one staffer at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien alleged, in the sense that users “profit by paying.” By having to ante up, the public also retained a crucial measure of autonomy vis-à-vis the facility, voting with their wallet, so to speak, which in turn staved off accusations of state interventionism (“dirigisme”). CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 213 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 84 too easy, you’ll never improve them.”214 Still others noted that, despite the great variety of activities taking place at the TEP, everything that transpired on-site was geared towards furthering culture in general.215 Comments such as these, with their dual emphasis on personal development through acculturation and advancing the cause of culture in France, closely mirror official iterations of culture’s use value associated with the Maison de la Culture project.

In terms of the geographic distribution of the TEP’s adherents, no factor played a greater role than proximity to the center. Of the 16,970 members on the books in early 1964, 73.4% (or

12,461 individuals) resided within the arrondissements and municipalities that formed a part of the center’s “zone of influence.” The vast majority of these (10,817) lived in the four Parisian arrondissements, while comparatively few (1,644) issued from its suburban municipalities.

Within that urban conglomeration, almost 77% called the 20th Arrondissement home, and nearly half of those lived in the Père-Lachaise neighborhood where the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien was located.216 Thus, in less than one season, the Maison enrolled approximately 1.2% of the total population of its “zone of influence,” roughly 1.5% of those living the four neighboring arrondissements, and over 6.5% of the inhabitants of the Père-Lachaise district.217 Though most of its members resided in the nearby, the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien was by no means a marginal force in the greater Parisian cultural scene. The center boasted 4,455 adherents from elsewhere

214 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 215 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 216 There were 8,297 members of the TEP who resided in the 20th Arrondissement and 3,658 in the 79th district, with 2,329 adherents living in the adjoining Saint-Fargeau neighborhood (the 78th district). CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 217 The 1962 census put the total population for the TEP’s “zone” at 1,002,994, at 720,307 for its four Parisian arrondissements, and at 55,694 for Père-Lachaise. Like the 79th district, the TEP enrolled approximately 6.5% of the population of the Saint-Fargeau neighborhood (the 78th district). Paris’ total population in 1962 was roughly 2,790,000. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES; and CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 79, Nanterre,” SERES. 85 in the city and its surrounding areas, with these split more or less equally between urban (2,408) and suburban (2,047) locales.218

Far from representing a shortcoming, the largely Paris-centric nature of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s appeal validated the Ministry’s plan to establish a national network of Maisons de la Culture, with each tailored to meet the means and needs of the residents of a specific city and its surrounding areas. To this end, centers had been established in Le Havre (1961), in Haute

Normandie; Bourges (1963), in the Centre region; and Caen (1963), in Basse Normandie. All of these first realizations were located in mid-sized cities in the northern half of the country. As the number of Maisons de la Culture increased, however, the network gradually extended to cover other regions in the provinces. Centers were inaugurated in the Picardian city of Amiens

(Somme), Firminy and Saint-Etienne (Loire), Villeurbanne (Rhône), Reims (Champagne),

Rennes (Bretagne), Saint-Denis (Seine-Saint-Denis), Thonon (Haute Savoie), as well as

Longwy-Merlebach (Lorraine) and Grenoble (Isère).

Capital of the Alps, Capital of Acculturation?

Any visit by Minister of Culture André Malraux to one of the cultural facilities under his supervision was sure to elicit a groundswell of public interest and media coverage; and his trip to

Grenoble in early 1968 was no exception, with 1,600 invited guests present for the launch. Yet, the excitement surrounding Malraux’s inauguration of the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble on

February 3, 1968 received an additional boost from its concurrence with the opening ceremony

218 Early reports suggested that this power of attraction owed, on the one hand, to the extensive publicity accorded to the center by the Parisian press in the form of advertisements for events, write-ups by theater critics, and frequent articles devoted to the subject of cultural development in the region; and, on the other hand, to the number of arrondissements linked to the Place Gambetta by a direct route on the Metro (namely, the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 8th, 9th, 10th, and 17th). The TEP’s reach, however, did not extend much beyond the Paris region, as only 54 of its many members lived elsewhere in the country. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42,” SERES. 86 of the ’68 Winter Olympics, over which Charles de Gaulle presided on February 6. In a span of only three days, two of France’s most prominent—and iconic—political figures traveled to the

Alpine city in order to champion the cause of culture (one artistic and intellectual, the other sporting), as well as celebrating its codification in institutional form. The overlap was quite deliberate; Ministry officials and center organizers had scrambled in the preceding months to ensure that the facility would be operational in time for the 18-day sporting extravaganza.

Malraux’s inaugural address has become a thing of legend, with the writer-cum-Minister infusing his speech with sayings now regarded as canonical expressions of French cultural policy during the early Fifth Republic.219 To mark the Ministry’s mission of decentralizing and democratizing access to culture, which he likened to advances made in education under the Third

Republic, Malraux boldly proclaimed that, “the great intellectual struggle of our time has begun.”220 In reference to the contemporary socio-cultural relevance of the offerings on display at the center, and in language that was strikingly similar to the discussions undertaken in the formative years of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, he noted astutely: “the present revives the past but not without continually transforming it.”221

Turning his attention to the city of Grenoble and its newly unveiled Maison de la Culture,

Malraux declared, “The foremost raison d’être for the [Maison] is that everything important that takes place in Paris ought to take place in Grenoble as well.”222 While assertions such as this were commonplace, significant changes to the action culturelle pursued by the Grenoblois

Maison in the following years bear testament to the greater appeal for many of those in

219 Buffard and Delahaye, Les rêves ont leur usines, 8. 220 Buffard and Delahaye, Les rêves ont leur usines, 8. 221 Buffard and Delahaye, Les rêves ont leur usines, 8. 222 Rouge et Noir, Special Edition (February-March, 1970). 87 attendance that evening of another of Malraux’s aphorisms, namely, “here is a city that is determined to create that which it carries within itself.”223

6. Exterior View of the Maison 7. Exterior View of the Maison de la Culture de la Culture de Grenoble224 de Grenoble225

The push to create a Maison de la Culture in Grenoble was both lengthy and local in provenance.226 Its origins lie in the establishment of the Association Technique pour l’Action

Culturelle (ATAC) in 1958, whose principal aim was the promotion of theater in the city and its vicinity. Several of its early participants went on to play prominent roles in the management and operation of the Maison de la Culture, most notably Herman Kuhn and Michel Philibert, who served the center as an administrator and president, respectively. Several other early members,

223 Buffard and Delahaye, Les rêves ont leur usines, 8. 224 AMG, 517 W 58: “Plaquette de présentation de la Maison de la Culture, 1970,” Maison de la culture: publications générales; publications ponctuelles. 225 AMG, 517 W 58: “68/78, Dix ans de la vie culturelle,” Maison de la culture: publications générales; publications ponctuelles. 226 Jean-Pierre Saez notes that, inasmuch as the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble has throughout its history stood as a “national point of reference” for the Maison de la Culture initiative as a whole, it has also and simultaneously remained a distinctly “local passion” for the residents of Grenoble and its surrounding areas. Jean-Pierre Saez, as cited in Cabret, Quelle Maison pour la culture?, 127. For more on the cultivation of Grenoble’s cultural landscape and the prehistory of its Maison de la Culture, see Buffard and Delahaye, Les rêves ont leur usines, 6. 88 such as Pierre Monnier and Jean Delume, worked as instructors at the University of Grenoble. In

1960, the association assisted in the creation of the Comédie des Alpes theater troupe, which, with René Lesage and Bernard Floriet at the reins, began to develop a faithful following, whether at home in Grenoble or on tour elsewhere in France.227 In the course of the next decade, the

Comédie, which staged productions of contemporary pieces and classics alike, proved so successful that it received official recognition as a Centre National Dramatique in 1972.

In December 1964, at the prompting of Emile Biasini, the Association Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble (APMCG) appeared on the scene. By February 1965, its 29 charter members had ballooned to 1,583 and enlisted the support of 64 associations and groups as affiliates. The APMCG took the efforts of the ATAC beyond their strict focus on theater, undertaking to examine issues relating to the funding, construction, and management of a

Maison de la Culture, as well as the relationship between the activities of a Maison and the cultural activism at Maisons des Jeunes and other community associations in Grenoble and surrounding municipalities. In the process, the Association Pour une Maison de la Culture à

Grenoble helped change the preexisting opinion of the town council, which had initially opposed the push for a Maison in Grenoble.228

Form and Function in Design

In 1965, with the sanction of the city’s municipal government, Grenoble’s mayor, Hubert

Dubedout, extended an invitation to renowned architect André Wogenscky to design a Maison de

227 As a director, Lesage was greatly influenced by Jacques Copeau, in no small part through his experience as director of the Troupe des Tréteaux in Saint-Etienne, a city whose theatrical milieu was marked deeply by Copeau’s legacy as a result of Jean Dasté’s (Copeau’s son-in-law) stewardship at the Comédie de Saint-Étienne. 228 AMG, 517 W 58: “Association ‘Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble’: conference de presse (February 6, 1965), Maison de la culture: Revue de presse. 89 la Culture. The planned facility was to be built quite deliberately at the boundary between the old city and Grenoble’s newer neighborhoods. Taking into consideration such issues as ease of access (via road and train) and proximity to the city center, the project was ultimately sited at 4

Rue Paul-Claudel, which intersected two of the major thoroughfares for the south of the city,

Avenue Marcelin Berthelot and Avenue Jean Perrot. Wogenscky’s design was boldly modernist in its inspiration, and reflected the stylistic influence of his mentor and colleague, Le Corbusier.

Most notably, the building’s mobile theater was elevated above the ground, protruding beyond the esplanade level by its situation atop a parabolic arc of reinforced concrete columns, known as

“pilotis” [Illustrations 6 and 7]. Such a design allowed Wogenscky to encase the western face of the esplanade in a curving expanse of ribbon windows, thereby affording visitors an unencumbered view of the generously apportioned green space surrounding the western and northern sectors of the center. Both of these design features, as well as the use of pilotis, were signature elements of Le Corbusier’s style.229

The structural layout of the facility was every bit as ambitious as the aesthetic cultivated by its striking exterior. It contained three auditoriums, which, with 1,253, 538, and 323 seats, respectively, were capable of accommodating audiences of various sizes, as well as both performative and interactive programs. In the largest of the three, the orchestra pit could be reconfigured as an area for surplus seating and with room for up to 156 additional places. In the deliberate absence of a balcony, the contours of the stage were designed to permit all those in the audience with a clear view of the action on-stage. The mid-sized theater, known as the “mobile theater,” was the primary performance space of Lesage’s Comédie des Alpes. It was designed

229 For a recent study of Le Corbusier’s vision of architecture and its place in shaping French cities and society, see W. Brian Newsome, French Urban Planning, 1940-1968: The Construction and Deconstruction of an Authoritarian System (New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2009). 90 with the revolutionary aim of placing the audience in the midst of the spectacle. Its circular seating area could be rotated in both directions during performances, changing the audience’s focal point, and changing the nature of action that could be depicted on-stage. The small auditorium, which came equipped with a state-of-the-art projection and control room, was the most multi-functional of the three, playing host to theater performances, lectures, movie screenings, concerts, debates, and workshops.

Beyond its auditoriums, the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble featured a vast array of public amenities and spaces. There was a split-level reception area, with billboards announcing center events, hostesses, ticket counters, and payphones. The ground level included a large (300- square meter) exhibition hall, a television room, and three meeting rooms of different sizes. The esplanade level contained a library where visitors could peruse periodicals and members could borrow books. Beside that was a record library containing three 2-person and one 5-person listening booths, from which members could check out records for listening at home. The esplanade level was rounded out by a snack bar with seating for 150 that adjoined a large interior foyer (beyond which lay the large theater) as well as an exterior terrace. Additionally, there was a small gallery—originally intended as an audiovisual lab—used for rotating exhibitions of contemporary art. To top it all off, the Maison boasted a day care center capable of accommodating 25-30 children, replete with a roof garden where children could play when the weather permitted.

The architectural design of the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble’s public spaces was guided by a desire to eliminate the “posh” or “high society” aspects of the performing arts and 91 other cultural events.230 In practice, this entailed above all the eradication of any form of (real or potential) segregation from the center’s auditoriums, such as a balcony or box seats. Those in attendance were to be together as one, a public comprised of equals, at an event intended for all.

Similarly, the presence of a day care center on-site helped to break down the barrier separating adult cultural outings and the quotidian responsibilities of childcare. A subsidiary aim—also geared towards removing barriers, albeit of a different sort—was to craft a layout for the facility that provided multiple points of access to its various spaces. So, for instance, visitors could enter the facility by two routes, one located on the ground level and the other on that of the esplanade.

On the esplanade level, the reception area communicated directly with the large theater, the foyer, and the snack bar on one side, and with the libraries on the other. At the ground level, the reception area opened onto the small theater, the television room, and the exposition hall. These reception areas joined with one another via open staircase. Similarly, by way of a rear hallway, the exposition hall, which was situated beside the three meeting rooms, served as an additional conduit to the esplanade level. These specific design goals, with their emphasis on polyvalence as well as unobstructed interactions and access, were intended to make the center a desirable and functional destination.

Meant for All, but Frequented by Whom?

As at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, the most readily perceptible demographic trend at the

Grenoble center during its inaugural season was the comparatively youthful nature of its constituents. Out of 23,715 members, 77% were under 40 years of age.231 Of these, the greatest

230 AMG, 517 W 58: “Plaquette de presentation de la Maison de la culture, 1970.” 231 Rouge et Noir No. 1 (July 1968). 92 percentage was 17-25 years old (34%), though nearly as many adherents were aged 26-40

(31%).232 Moreover, proximity to the center was all-important, just like in Paris: 60% of the

Grenoblois center’s adherents resided within city limits. Expanding outward, 28% lived in a municipality that directly neighbored with Grenoble, 10% hailed from other areas within the

Isère department, and the remaining 2% resided in another department altogether. Beyond age and location, two additional tendencies among the Maison’s early members stand out: first off, with respect to gender, adult women constituted a healthy majority at 49%, outstripping adult men by 10%.233 (Children, who were not differentiated according to gender, accounted for the remaining 12%.) Second, the numerous institutional links forged by the Association Pour une

Maison de la Culture à Grenoble continued to play an important role the fledgling center. The vast majority (73%) of the Maison’s adherents in its first season joined as a result of their participation in another—often formally affiliated—professional or recreational organization.234

In terms of socio-economic composition [Table 8], it came as little surprise that students and apprentices accounted for the single largest cohort of members, registering at 38.75% (or just under 9,190 individuals). Office employees and educators, who together comprised roughly

15% of Grenoble’s active population, constituted the second and third largest subsets of center adherents, at approximately 21% and 11%, respectively.235 Others socio-professional segments of the city’s population were markedly underrepresented at the center, most notably service industry employees and employers, shopkeepers, and artisans, both groups at roughly 2% of their citywide numbers. Despite making up 46.2% of the total active population of Grenoble, workers

232 More specifically, 12% of the center’s members were aged 10-16, 34% were 17-25, 31% were 26-40, 21% were 41-65, and 2% were over 65 years old. Rouge et Noir No. 1 (July 1968). 233 Rouge et Noir No. 1 (July 1968). 234 Nonetheless, over 6,400 men and women joined on an individual basis. 235 Comparisons to Grenoble's population statistics based upon 1962 census, as cited in Rouge et Noir No. 1 (July 1968). 93

8. Socio-professional composition of Maison members (1968-69 season)236

Socio-professional classification % Agricultural workers 0.11 Service industry employees 0.12 Employers, shopkeepers, artisans 1.94 Artists 0.43 Professionals, senior executives 3.8 Military (professional), police, clergy 0.58 Middle management 8.08 Students, apprentices 38.75 Educators 10.84 Military (conscripts) 0.18 Office employees 20.94 Non-working, retired 4.25 Technicians, foremen 6.2 Other (small categories) 0.24 Workers 3.54

(3.54%) and technicians and foremen (6.2%) formed a comparatively small portion of the

Maison’s adherents. Finally, at a mere 26, agricultural workers were virtually non-existent, though, when compared to their proportion of the overall population, their numbers at the center were comparable to those of workers and foremen. While it would have been premature to draw definitive conclusions after only three months in operation, leadership at the Maison de la

Culture de Grenoble nevertheless interpreted this initial snapshot as an indication that the center needed to reach out in particular to members of the working class and residents of rural districts surrounding Grenoble’s urban conglomeration.237

Comparing the composition of the early public in Grenoble and Paris reveals several noteworthy points of divergence and convergence.238 For one, despite the abundance of students in Ménilmontant, they accounted for an even greater proportion of adherents at the Maison de la

Culture de Grenoble, surpassing their Parisien counterparts by over 10%. On the contrary, there

236 “Service industry employees” refers to “personnel de service.” Rouge et Noir No. 1 (July 1968). 237 In the original French, “les habitants des communes rurales.” Rouge et Noir No. 1 (July 1968). 238 A point-by-point comparison between the publics in Paris and Grenoble during the facilities’ first few years of operation is difficult, as staffers at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble separated their membership into far more detailed categories than the SERES analysts in their study of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien. Additionally, with regard to longer-term trends in the socio-economic composition of the Parisien and Grenoblois publics (across the 1960s and 1970s), the archival record is spotty at best, especially for the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien. Between 1962 and 1968, for instance, there is data for the Paris region, but not for the TEP specifically. 94 was a noticeably more sizeable subset of “professionals” on the books in Paris. Similarly, a greater percentage of merchants and artisans belonged to the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien than the center in Grenoble. Interestingly, the proportion of workers and employees on the one hand, and managers and educators on the other, were roughly equivalent at the two facilities. Taking a broad view, however, it appears that both Maisons were chiefly bastions of the urban middle class.

In Grenoble, capturing the non-urban and blue-collar publics proved difficult and, ultimately, elusive. Reflecting upon the composition of the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble’s adherents across the decade of the 1970s, Jean Caune, the local actor-director turned professor, recalls that the great majority of the center’s constituents were members of either the middle or upper classes, or “notables,” by which he means cultural insiders.239 Yet, Caune advocates accepting this situation as a product of the social organization of France in the second half of the twentieth century, in which the middle classes both vastly outnumbered the dwindling rural population, and also came to be increasingly different (especially culturally) from other social groups. He contends that center’s resonance with the area’s expanding middle class explains the privileged role it played in Grenoble’s artistic and cultural life from the time of its inception.

Asked in 1971 how one ought to measure the success of a Maison de la Culture and its action culturelle, the center’s first director, Didier Béraud, advocated thinking in terms of a

“positive dynamic.” He offered this approach in lieu of concepts such as “success,” which all

239 In addition to his careers as an actor, director, and a professor at the Université de Stendhal de Grenoble with a research focus on cultural policy and “médiation culturelle,” Caune aided in the implementation of the Centre d’Action Culturelle in Grenoble’s Villeurneuve district and served as the director of the Maison de la Culture in Chambéry from 1982-1988. “Nonetheless,” Caune continues, “Maisons de la Culture in the provinces continued to play an important role inasmuch as they inherited a tradition, a savoir-faire, a professionalism, and, for a certain subset of the public (namely the middle class and especially teachers) forever represented the rightful heir to culture in the large sense, that of legitimate culture. For artists, moreover, they remained a place of consecration vis-à-vis public authorities and the media.” Jean Caune, as cited in Cabret, Quelle Maison pour la culture?, 153. 95 too often led to overly simplistic classifications, or “progress,” a word which immediately called to mind the outdated ideals of nineteenth-century positivism.240 At those facilities where interactions with the public were founded upon dialogue, one could speak of a positive dynamism. (Though, admittedly, it was difficult to quantify the “quality, nature, and liveliness” of a center’s dialogue with the public.) The meteoric growth of membership in Grenoble certainly boded well, as did the strong ties the facility had forged with the city’s middle class and youth populations. A third and particularly encouraging indicator of the Maison’s dynamism in its early years derived from the fact that those who joined the center generally attended events on a regular basis.

A 1970 survey indicated that the greatest proportion of members (46%) had come to the facility between 10 and 30 times since its opening two years prior.241 15% replied that they had attended more than 30 programs, while 29% placed their attendance between 5 and 10 events, and 10% stated that they had frequented the center fewer than 5 times.242 In other words, those who joined tended to make use of their membership, participating actively in the life of the center and contributing to the vitality associated with the new Maison. The presence of these

“regulars” on site—the hustle and bustle they brought to the center—bolstered perceptions of the

240 Further elaboration from Béraud on his perceptions of the Maison’s formative years: “Upon my arrival in Grenoble, I realized that the project for the Maison de la Culture aroused great hope in a small part of the population, about one in five people. One in five was vigorously hostile to it. The other were indifferent, but could be tipped towards hostility with ease. Now, three years later, it seemed to me that those who were indifferent had split; many among them had become sympathetic. Perhaps they did not yet form a majority; that I could not say. But I believe I can affirm that, among those who were utterly opposed, a good percentage were [diffused] and could no longer find the means of expressing a justified reproach. Some were even converted to a certain extent. But all that is very fluctuating and oscillates constantly. In concrete terms, we can see that in the course of these three years, the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble has functioned at roughly three quarters of its operational capacity [70.75% to be exact]. Few cultural institutions in France can boast of results on this scale.” AMG, 517 W 59: L’Express Rhône-Alpes (Oct. 1971), Maison de la culture: Revue de presse. 241 “Votre opinion sur la maison,” Rouge et Noir No. 15 (February 1970). 242 There were 936 total respondents to this survey. Of these, 552 members provided feedback on their attendance habits. “Votre opinion sur la maison,” Rouge et Noir No. 15 (February 1970). 96

Maison as a place that Grenoblois wanted to spend their leisure time. The attendance habits of responding non-members, on the other hand, trended towards the lower end of the spectrum, with the lion’s share having visited the center fewer than 5 times.243

The Three P’s—Principles, Policies, and Practices

To understand the provenance of Béraud’s modus operandi during his tenure as director

(1968-1973), with its emphasis of openness and adaptability, and self-edification through direct dialogue, one must look back to the planning stages of the Grenoble project.244 Of particular relevance are the principles established by the Association Pour une Maison de la Culture à

Grenoble. These were subsequently codified as official center policy under Béraud and his successor, Catherine Tasca (1973-1977), and brought to life in the form of events and programs.245

As Wogenscky’s design began to take shape brick by brick on the Rue Paul-Claudel, association members worked to elaborate their vision of culture. First and foremost, culture was to be treated as, “an asset that belonged to all,” though not merely in terms of everyone having

243 Of reporting non-members, 76% had visited the center fewer than 5 times, 21% attending between 5 and 10 events, 3% venturing to the center between 10 and 30 times, and none making more than 30 excursions. “Votre opinion sur la maison,” Rouge et Noir No. 15 (February 1970). 244 While Maisons de la Culture were not conceived of as a pedagogical institution in the same sense as the French school system, they nonetheless played an important educational role, contributing to what Béraud termed “the general [or overall] education of the country.” As such, Béraud felt that the action culturelle undertaken by Maisons de la Culture merited recognition as a valuable form of public service. Didier Béraud, “Editorial,” Rouge et Noir No. 14 (January 1970). 245 Following Béraud’s exit in 1973, Catherine Tasca took the helm as director of the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble (1973-1977). Tasca was a graduate of the Ecole Nationale d’Administration, and went on to become Minister of Culture and Communication (2000-2002) under Prime Minister Lionel Jospin, part of a lengthy career in politics. She was succeeded at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble by Henri Lhong (1977-1979), followed by Bernard Gilman (1979-1981), Georges Lavaudant (1981-1986), and Jean-Claude Gallotta (1986-1989). Buffard and Delahaye, Les rêves ont leur usines, 9-10. 97 the right of access.246 Rather, they averred that all people contributed to the creation and maintenance of culture in the sense that, at its core, a culture is the product of competition between contrasting ideas and differing ways of life; and all men and women play some part in shaping this encounter. The role of the Maison de la Culture was to guide the process of acculturation by facilitating access to this “common heritage,” and presenting it in all of its various incarnations.247

There existed two primary obstacles to this “universal culture” against which the Maison would fight and which, in each instance, helped to bring about the commodification of intellectual culture as it developed on-site as a set of specific practices.248 First, the Association

Maison de la Culture de Grenoble (AMCG) charged the center with redressing the inferiority that they believed to afflict a great many residents or Grenoble and the Isère, and which led to the false perception of culture as the province of intellectuals and the highly educated. Thus, from the moment of its inception, Maison organizers endeavored to demonstrate that culture was not exclusively an intellectual affair, and that cultural and intellectual productions could be comprehensible and interesting to a wide cross-section of the public. The talks and debates, as well as the multimedia spectacles and publications, that brought intellectual culture to life at the

Maison de la Culture de Grenoble formed part of the center’s response.

The second impediment that the AMCG sought to stave off from the outset concerned the diffusion of “false culture,” by which the group meant, “entertainment created by businesses with essentially commercial aims.”249 Relying chiefly upon publicity to attract audiences,

246 AMG, 517 W 58: “Un objectif pour 1968: une maison et des hommes.” 247 AMG, 517 W 58: “Un objectif pour 1968.” 248 AMG, 517 W 58: “Un objectif pour 1968.” 249 AMG, 517 W 58: “Un objectif pour 1968.” 98 commercial productions were prone to presenting works of dubious authenticity and whose content had been reduced to an assortment of ready-made ideas and slogans. Despite turning the public into nothing more than passive cultural consumers, commercial entertainment had besieged the public’s affections.250 In pacifying the public, this form of culture violated one of the core objectives of the Maison initiative which made it unsuitable for inclusion in the future center’s repertoire of programs.

The AMCG’s resolute anti-commercialism carried implications for the commodification of culture at the facility, with center organizers seeking to define the boundaries between

“selling” cultural creations with use value and “selling out” to consumer culture. With principle dictating policy at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, the imperative of maintaining a clear distinction between these rival modus opperandi influenced not only the nature of the facility’s programming, but also pricing and publicity practices.

The need to differentiate between successfully “selling” oneself and one’s ideas and

“selling out” stands as one of the greatest challenges confronting those involved in the commodification of intellectual culture. Thinkers must make themselves heard and seen; they need a public to consume the fruits of their labor—to consume their ideas in spoken or written form. And yet, in the course of the postwar era and especially in the 1960s and beyond, it became increasingly important—at least for the lion’s share of intellectuals in France—that their cultural production and indeed their persona not be construed as “commercial” in nature. The task therefore was to sell without selling, or at least without appearing to do so.

Likewise, animateurs at Maisons de la Culture needed to champion the intellectually- oriented events at their facilities so as to draw in as large and diverse a public as possible. They

250 AMG, 517 W 58: “Un objectif pour 1968.” 99 had an obligation to make sure that these talks and spectacles would resonate with the predominantly non-expert public that came in search of entertainment as much as edification.

Simultaneously, they had to ensure that the resulting programs could not be accused of having gone “commercial,” privileging accessibility and salability at the expense of integrity and profundity.

By overcoming the Grenoblois public’s supposed inferiority complex and resisting the advances of “commercial” programming, the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble would achieve a three-tiered success, with concrete benefits for culture, the public, and the municipality. To begin, the Maison would further the overall quality, harmony, and diversity of culture writ large, helping it to develop into a common good, an asset (or “richesse”) shared by all.251 Here again we see an example of concern for the twin pillars of cultural excellence—a lynchpin of culture’s use value—and democratization, which, together, underlay the action culturelle of the early Fifth

Republic. Second, the public would acquire an additional means of enlightenment, entertainment, and sociability. These gains constituted the core elements of the commodification of intellectual culture as a set of practices: administrators and animateurs at Maisons de la

Culture would strive to enhance the public’s thirst for knowledge by making the process of edification enjoyable and rendering events as interactive as possible. Lastly, Grenoble and the

Rhône-Alpes region as a whole stood to benefit from the enhancement of the city’s “reputation, power of attraction, beauty, and relevance” as a cultural hub.252

251 AMG, 517 W 58: “Un objectif pour 1968.” 252 AMG, 517 W 58: “Un objectif pour 1968.” 100

How, then, did principle translate into policy at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble?

As at most Maisons during the era, theater dominated the programming schedule.253 Its theater- centrism, however, was by no means intended to exclude other cultural forms. As early as April

1967, for example, the center’s programming commission adjudged that the role of theater in the activities of the center should be treated as “important but not excessively privileged.”254 This insistence on polyvalence accorded well with feedback the commission received shortly thereafter from the city’s residents. The results of a 1967 survey confirmed that the public had hopes for the facility and its promise of animation that extended well beyond the performing arts.

One individual, for instance, declared himself to be in search of an “initiation,” or, more specifically, a milieu where he could meet and engage in dialogue with “creators” and other interested citizens. Some respondents requested programs such as monthly book reviews, study circles, open forums or free discussion groups, debates and courses, colloquia, commentated expositions, and educational lectures. One called for a weekly debate on an “important” topic, a bi-weekly program devoted to literature, the arts, medicine, or politics, and a quarterly lecture series dealing with major intellectual movements.255 The breadth of these program requests, and the specialized knowledge they presupposed, required the intervention of center animateurs.

Whether artistic, scientific, or philosophical in nature, “every cultural work makes use of a

253 There were notable, though limited, exceptions to this trend. The visual arts, for instance, provided the main focus at the outset in Le Havre. 254 The programming commission formed part of the Association Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, which grew out of the older Association Pour une Maison de la Culture à Grenoble, and was funded by the city of Grenoble in addition to the Ministry of Cultural Affairs, all of which affirms the important local dimension of the push to establish a Grenoblois Maison. For all its influence as an advisory body, decisions regarding programming ultimately lay with the center’s director and administrative council, to which the commission made its recommendations. The commission cast its net widely, drawing upon the energy and ideas of 91 men and women between December 1966 and April 1967. AMG, 517 W 9: “Rapport de synthèse,” Les commissions: Commission ‘Programmation’ (1966-67).” 255 AMG, 517 W 58: “Lettre d’information No. 1” (November 15, 1967), Maison de la culture: publications générales; publications ponctuelles.” 101 language that one must master in order to comprehend,” and this language is not always readily accessible. By consequence, “a creator’s message was not decipherable without a minimum degree of preparation,” and so it fell to animateurs to provide the instruction necessary for facilitating dialogue between creators (or their works) and the public at large.256

Talks and debates, which were slated for inclusion in the Maison’s repertoire from the outset, carried additional responsibilities for animateurs. For one, they were charged with seeing to it that such events avoided the pitfalls of a traditional lecture, where all too often there was an overwhelmingly one-way exchange between a speaker and his audience. If promoting dialogue accounted for one staple duty, combating any and all didacticism constituted another. Not that center events were to be devoid of pedagogical value for the public. To the contrary, instruction was paramount; but pedantry was strictly banned.257 Third, animateurs were uniquely positioned to establish connections between the topic of a particular talk or debate and the other activities

(spectacles and exhibitions) taking place on site. By showing how a range of different programs fit together as an “ensemble,” animateurs performed an invaluable public relations role for the facility as a whole, selling the public on the Maison’s larger profile programs.258

Animateurs also provided a form of customer support as a source for context and clarification on marquee events, many of which tended towards the avant-garde.259 The trouble with avant-garde programming, explained one early visitor, was that it did not make it easy for

256 AMG, 517 W 58: “Lettre d’information No. 1.” 257 AMG, 517 W 9: “Rapport de synthèse.” 258 AMG, 517 W 9: “Rapport de synthèse.” 259 Reciprocally, the center’s high-profile events helped generate an audience for the related talks and debates, which were generally less flashy affairs and were undertaken with limited publicity. To some extent, the Maison’s modernist and avant-garde leanings come as no surprise; after all, the work of Samuel Beckett, Eugène Ionesco, and Bertolt Brecht, among others, was all the rage in French cultural circles during these years. As such, this was an era in which social criticism, political ideology, the performing arts, and a penchant for the absurd went hand in hand. At the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, the influence of Brechtian theory was particularly prevalent. AMG, 517 W 9: “Rapport de synthèse.” 102 average French men and women to “renew [themselves] intellectually.”260 While organizers took exception to the supposition that the avant-garde belonged to only a select few, they granted that for members of the public to recognize themselves in productions of an avant-garde nature, they may require assistance in unpacking the meanings of these works. To this end, lectures and debates were frequently employed as a corrective, following a more straightforward format and affording center guests a forum for clarification, analysis, and discussion.

The aim of informing and engaging the public extended to the spoken review, symposium, and multi-media spectacle formats and, as such, constitutes a common thread in those program genres that played leading roles in the commodification of intellectual culture at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble.261 In fact, as early as 1966, Béraud and his associates deliberated on whether to found the center’s programming upon a “policy of consumption” comprised mainly of entertainment events (“spectacles”), or whether to give priority a “policy of participation” predicated upon developing the tastes and opinions of members by engaging them with debates and other informational events that broached civic, philosophical, and economic topics.262 Ultimately, they resolved to chart a middle path between the two courses of action, mixing entertainment with engagement, and consumption with participation. And though these modes of interface evolved over time, they were present in organizers’ minds at the start.

Animateurs were central to the implementation of this composite policy and were instrumental in the commodification of intellectual culture. For it was they who were tasked with bridging the gap between the passive consumption and active creation of “worldly and

260 My emphasis. AMG, 517 W 58: “Lettre d’information No. 2” (April 1968). 261 The first two of these program types, the spoken review (“revue parlée”) and symposium (“semaine de…”), fell within the “lectures and debates” rubric. 262 AMG, 517 W 9: “Rapport de synthèse.” 103 spiritual values.”263 More specifically, it fell to animateurs to “bring about the participation of the masses in numerous and diverse creative activities.”264 In this manner, it was largely the responsibility of animateurs to ensure that the facility’s activism was founded upon a give and take, an exchange where the value of the cultural goods being transferred to the public lay in their use, which is to say their active application, not merely their passive acquisition.

***

The development of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la Culture de

Grenoble hinged upon the elaboration of a viable commercialization strategy; one which allowed organizers to turn the abstract concept of a Maison de la Culture into a concrete and operational facility by laying out a workable plan for where to establish a Maison, when to open for business, what to offer by way of programs and amenities, and who to target as an audience. Yet the many differences between the two centers reveal a great deal of flexibility regarding what constituted a Maison de la Culture. While the appellation “Maison de la Culture” implied a specific type of physical space, not every detail was set in stone. The Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, for instance, was created in an existing space, whereas the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble was designed and built from scratch. Consider also the respective sizes of the two facilities, with the

Grenoblois Maison’s capacity dwarfing that of its Parisian counterpart. Aesthetically, the TEP’s design retained elements of the building’s previous uses (as a cinema and music hall), with the aim of communicating a feeling of familiarity to area residents, while, conversely, the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble’s daring, modernist design was intended to wow the Grenoblois public

263 AMG, 517 W 9: “Rapport de synthèse.” 264 The upshot is that the activities commission wanted the public to help organize and create the center’s programs to as great an extent possible and, where applicable, participate in event to some degree. The basic idea, beyond making acculturation an active process and encouraging cultural participation/creation, is that, involving the public will make center events as interesting and valuable as possible. AMG, 517 W 9: “Rapport de synthèse.” 104 with its newness. In terms of the organization of its interior, the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien contained fewer amenities, and its public spaces served a wide variety of functions. Alternately, the center in Grenoble was far more comprehensively appointed, and more of its public spaces were designed with specific activities in mind.

Maisons de la Culture were ultimately defined by the activities that transpired on-site and, in particular, the nature of the interactions between creators, animateurs, and the public.

Both the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble placed a premium on self-edification through a combination of unscripted face-to-face and carefully mediated interactions. This brand of acculturation afforded the optimal means of not only communicating culture’s use value, but also presenting members of the public with the tools to actualize that value. It followed from this ethos that animation played a key role at both Maisons in the establishment of a repertoire of events and programs geared towards achieving the goal of helping people to live culturally and in so doing maximize the social benefits of culture for individuals and French society alike.

Besides this convergence of principle and policy, there existed a number of further similarities between the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and Maison de la Culture de Grenoble that shed additional light on what it meant to be associated with the Maison de la Culture initiative. Most notably, both centers grew out of a combination of sustained local activism and state patronage.

While there was no question as to the important role played by the Ministry of Cultural Affairs when it came to financing the facilities, setting the general parameters of their action culturelle, and the appointment of qualified administrators, the local dimension was instrumental in providing the manpower necessary for the operation of a center, including cultivating a functional and reliable relationship with the public. For instance, both the Parisien and 105

Grenoblois Maisons were erected around successful existing theater troupes. Additionally, both were built on the cusp of newer (steadily gentrifying) and older (more stable) areas of their respective cities. In terms of the socio-cultural composition of their constituents, both facilities resonated chiefly with youths and students, although both sought consistently to bolster the number of working-class adherents on the books. Maisons de la Culture were intended for everyone, and administrators in both Paris and Grenoble aspired to attract the least culturally initiated segments of the populace. Finally, cultural commodification—defined as the promotion and dissemination of cultural products with a clearly articulated use value—lay at the heart of the approach to cultural programming taken by administrators and animateurs at each of these centers. It was the common assertion that cultural activities could enlighten and entertain the public simultaneously, all the while bettering France as a whole, that provided the underlying connection between these centers’ “encounters” series (whether debates on the prison system and class issues, or interviews with philosophers and anthropologists) and spectacles (whether on

Sartre’s ideas, André Gide’s life, or Edgar Morin’s cinematic engagement).

106

PART II

Off the Page and onto the Stage: The Making and Marketing of Intellectual Culture at Maisons de la Culture

“On peut déjà affirmer que, de proche en proche, l’action culturelle aura sur la vie de toute la nation des incidences d’ordre artistique et intellectuelle.” Note sur les Maisons de la Culture (1968)265

CHAPTER 3

A Considerable Track Record: Encounters with Intellectual Culture in Paris and Grenoble

In November 1972, as winter descended upon Grenoble, the bustling Alpine city’s

Maison de la Culture offered area residents reason to welcome the prospect of more time spent indoors. Vladimir Jankélévitch, who was an expert musicologist in addition to his work in metaphysics and moral philosophy, took to the center’s stage, speaking on the avant-garde characteristics of Franz Lizst’s music and performing on the piano in order to illustrate his remarks.266 Though chiefly billed as a musical event, Jankélévitch’s appearance afforded the public at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble a first-hand encounter with one of French philosophy’s elder statesmen (his teaching career stretched all the way back to 1927) and a model of engagement (beginning with his resistance activities during World War II, despite having been stripped of his French nationality in 1941); in short, an iconic figure of French intellectual culture, seated behind a piano and sharing his thoughts and passions with all in

265 CAC, 19840754, Article 1: “Note sur les Maisons de la Culture.” 266 Vladimir Jankélévitch, “Lizst, musicien d’avant-garde.” Rouge et Noir No. 42 (November 1972). 107 attendance. By granting the public privileged access—to his personality and presence in addition to his ideas—the event brought together the cerebral and corporeal Jankélévitch, the one quite literally the living illustration of the other. This was intellectual culture “live” on-stage; this was enlightenment wedded to entertainment; and all of it crafted expressly for mainstream consumption.

For all of the great variety of activities at Maisons de la Culture in the 1960s, 1970s, and

1980s, organizers developed two forms of cultural production with the shared aim of presenting the image and ideas of intellectuals to the public. First, animateurs established series of

“encounters,” referring to the spectrum of debates, rendezvous, and so-called “spoken reviews,” at which one or more intellectuals were invited to present their ideas and then engage in a conversation with the public.267 By way of these “rencontres,” men and women came face to face with the intelligentsia, and came to better know the figures and issues responsible for shaping intellectual culture in contemporary France and the world.

In the course of their operations the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and Maison de la Culture de

Grenoble staged an astonishing array of such encounters. A sampling of the most notable intellectual guests and events at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble between 1969 and 1991 would include visits by Simone de Beauvoir, Jean-François Lyotard, Michel Leiris, and Jacques

Derrida; multiple visits by Paul Ricoeur and Edgar Morin; and programs devoted to Charles

Péguy and Esprit (with the review’s active participation).268 Between 1964 and 1967 alone, the

Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s “considerable track record” included François Mauriac, Aimé

267 “Spoken reviews” were known as “revues parlées” (and occasionally “magazines parlés”). 268 Other prominent guests included Jean-Marie Domenach, Gisèle Halimi, Vladimir Jankélévitch, Philippe Sollers, Max Gallo, Jean-Pierre Chabrol, Jacques Rancière, Réné Girard, Michel Crozier, Cornelius Castoriadis, and Bernard-Henri Lévy. Pierre Rosanvallon, Jean Bastaire, Paul Thibaud, and Gilles Lipovetsky also visited the center on more than one occasion during these years. Other “encounters” centered on “intellectuals in the city,” Martin Heidegger, and Albert Einstein. 108

Césaire, Jean-Marie Domenach, and Francis Ponge.269 To this list would be added, in subsequent years, celebrated personalities such as Maurice Clavel, Jean-Paul Sartre, Jean Daniel, and Gisèle Halimi.270 Likewise, the center organized tributes to André Breton, Jean Giraudoux, and Boris Vian.271

Second, center organizers and animateurs developed and staged spectacles based upon the oeuvre and legacy of particularly noteworthy thinkers combining multiple forms of cultural expression, theater, public readings, debates, and film.272 The Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, for instance, dedicated programs of this nature to Emmanuel Mounier and Jean-Paul Sartre, while the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, for its part, honored Jean Paulhan, André Gide, Jules Vallès, and Max Jacob. In this manner, Maisons contributed in significant ways to the spectacularization of intellectual culture.

Through these “encounters” and spectacles, center organizers brought ideas to life by incarnating the cerebral and rendering the abstract accessible. All the while, they endeavored to sell their members on the importance of intellectual acculturation. In fact, affirmations of intellectual culture’s profound use value constituted the cornerstone of marketing strategies for these encounters. Publicists repeatedly stressed programs’ didactic and civic value for individual members of the public, attributing the former to the contemporary relevance of featured thinkers’ insights and activism, and lauding the latter as a by-product of their engagement with pressing socio-cultural concerns. For all the emphasis on edification, organizers were nonetheless

269 Along with Albert Memmi, Francis Jeanson, Daniel Guérin, Jean Cassou, and Emmanuel d’Astier “Un bilan significatif: nos invités,” Tep 67, Mensuel du Théâtre de l’Est parisien – Maison de la Culture No. 32 (January 1967). 270 So too would Jean-François Revel, Roger Garaudy, Costa Gavras, Vercors, Claude Roy, Kostas Axelos, Robert Sabatier, Thierry Maulnier, Jacques Duclos, Casamayor, and Jean Lacouture. 271 Guillaume Apollinaire, Paul Claudel, Léon Moussinac, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Tristan Tzara, and Roger Vailland were similarly commemorated. 272 These spectacles were often run in conjunction with speaker series. 109 steadfast in presenting intellectually-oriented events as entertainment, as an enjoyable as well as enlightening leisure activity. Taken together, these forms of cultural production ensured a visible and ongoing presence for intellectual culture at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and Maison de la Culture de Grenoble.

Birth of a Genre: Revue Parlées

TEP-Magazine, the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s spoken review (“revue parlée”) premiered on January 30, 1964, just four months into the new center’s inaugural season. In the lead-up to the premier of the new series, slated to be held at 8:30 pm on the first Thursday of each month,

Luc Decaunes, who served as the principal animateur for the program, outlined the rationale behind the development of this novel program genre. Only by inserting himself into current affairs, he explained, could man transcend “speculative dilettantism,” attain a capacity for informed and “constructive criticism,” and ultimately synchronize his own life (both as an individual and social creature) with the constant flux of society and culture.273 Accordingly,

Decaunes called for the public en masse to attend the program, “to support our efforts to transform the stage of the TEP on a monthly basis into a crossroads of current events that mirrored reality,” and to demonstrate that culture in France “is always in the present.”274

Decaunes’ justificatory remarks corresponded with two aspects of the use value with which the cultural offerings at Maisons de la Culture were invested, with his promise, on the one hand, to afford those in attendance with the means of improving their lives and, on the other hand, by proving that France was still an epicenter for cultural creation and appreciation.

273 Decaunes, “La culture se fait tous les jours.” 274 Decaunes, “La culture se fait tous les jours.” 110

Roughly five hundred spectators attended the premier of TEP-Magazine, whose diverse panel of speakers included Serge Mallet, sociologist and a founder of the Parti Socialiste Unifié

(PSU), on “The New Conditions of Working-Class Life;” author Christiane Rochefort on her recent novel, “Les Stances à Sophie;” and Jean Marcenac on “The Memory of Tristan Tzara.”275

While those in attendance comprised only a fraction of the center’s approximately 15,000 members, publicity for the event had been minimal and the spoken review format remained as of yet something of an unknown entity. More importantly, administrators took solace in the fact that 98.4% of respondents to an exit poll gave the program a favorable review.276 Their principal concern was the pilot program’s length, which clocked in at over three hours. Such an extended duration placed serious limitations on the extent of dialogue between invited speakers and the audience. Additionally, the program, characterized by one attendee as “excessively copious,” did not wind down until close to midnight, which posed difficulties for audience members with work the following morning. Nonetheless, hopes and spirits remained high, precisely because this first installment of TEP-Magazine had successfully held the rapt attention of a largely popular public for over three hours without an intermission and on a weeknight.277 From this fact alone center organizers felt they could confidently conclude that TEP-Magazine, despite its imperfections, responded to a legitimate need on the part of the Maison’s constituents.278

275 Tristan Tzara was one of the major creative forces behind the Dada movement. Decaunes was aided in his work as the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s principal animateur by Jean-Joël Barbier, Guy de Bosschère, Jean-Louis Cheray, Alban Guigue, Bernard Heuvelmans, René Passeron, Jean-Jacques Reinhard, and Serge Wellens. Luc Decaunes, “TEP-Magazine…est né,” TEP No. 6 (March 1964). 276 The exit poll registered the opinions of 309 attendees. 304 of these responded favorably, while 5 responded negatively. Decaunes, “TEP-Magazine…est né.” 277 These same logistical considerations also limited audience sizes in other areas of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s programming, including its staple activity, theater. CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42, SERES.” 278 Decaunes, “TEP-Magazine…est né.” 111

The Théâtre de l’Est Parisien presented four installments of TEP-Magazine in its first season. Topics included critical discussions of the “Livre de poche” book series (Bernard de

Fallois and Claude Soalhat), the genesis of Emile Zola’s masterwork Germinal (Henriette

Psichari), the Civil Rights movement in the United States (Daniel Guérin), and the unpublished poetry of Paul Eluard (Robert Valette); and notable speakers included the Belgian pacifist Jean

Van Lierde and the social activist Daniel Bénédite. Audience members appreciated the format of these events, which were composed of a series of rapid interviews with a wide range of personalities from the world of the arts and letters, as well as journalism. They applauded its similarities with the style found on televised documentaries, debate shows, and “magazines” such as Lectures pour tous.279 Turnout remained modest, however, with virtually all of those in attendance holding memberships. The center’s hall proved a limiting factor, as its size (with 966 seats) and configuration (which put members of the public in the seats while the invited speakers and host were on stage) were both ill-suited to a program that aimed to facilitate face-to-face interactions and audience participation. Additionally, publicity for the series was restricted largely to the pages of TEP, the center’s monthly newsmagazine, and event schedules on-site.280

On balance, therefore, TEP-Magazine was a qualified success at the outset, but a success all the same; and one in which the center’s organizers saw great potential for the future.

279 Decaunes, “TEP-Magazine…est né;” and CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42, SERES.” 280 This bare-bones approach was partly the result of the precarious financial circumstances of the neophyte Maison de la Culture, which was forced to declare bankruptcy in June 1964, and partly a reflection of the anti-commercial stance espoused by the center’s administrators, none more so than Luc Decaunes, the chief animateur and one of the driving forces behind the program. For a comparative breakdown of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s programming and attendance figures in its first year, see CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42, SERES.” 112

In Grenoble, spoken reviews (or “Magazines Parlés” in the local parlance) were first introduced in the autumn of 1968.281 As at the Théatre de l’Est Parisien, animateurs at the

Maison de la Culture de Grenoble promised that the new program would “put the [facility] more directly in tune with current events and in more frequent contact with the population and issues facing the region.”282 These gains would in turn help the center accomplish its ultimate aim of fostering “the participation of all in the consumption—and likewise for the creation—of culture.”283 To this end, the center staged a diverse array of Magazines Parlés in its early operational years. Jean Lacouture of Le Monde presented his views on “The New War in

Indochina” in May 1970, having recently returned from a stint reporting in Vietnam.284

Celebrated writer-director Roger Planchon engaged in discussion with the Maison’s public in

December of that same year.285 The following spring, Paul Ricoeur, one of France’s leading philosophical thinkers of the postwar era, tackled the legacy and contemporary relevance of

Hegel.286 Landing a figure of Ricoeur’s stature represented a major accomplishment, though the face-to-face and extra-academic format of the Magazine Parlé was well-suited to his personal and professional trajectory. This was a man, after all, who had opted to swap his post as the

281 At their inception, Magazines Parlés were touted as the primary example of how the increased subventions earmarked for the Maison de la culture de Grenoble beginning in 1969 would allow the facility to “improve the quality and diversity” of its programming repertoire. Inaugurated during a period of growth for the Grenoble Maison, spoken reviews nevertheless survived and thrived far into the comparatively austere decade of the 1980s, which underscores the important didactic and civic function center organizers attributed to these face-to-face encounters. “Editorial,” Rouge et Noir No. 3 (October 1968). 282 “Editorial,” Rouge et Noir No. 3 (October 1968). 283 From the outset, therefore, organizers established a direct connection between their “encounters” series, engagement, and cultural commodification. “Editorial,” Rouge et Noir No. 3 (October 1968). 284 May 12, 1970. Rouge et Noir No. 18 (May 1970). 285 December 2, 1970. Rouge et Noir No. 23 (December 1970). 286 March 9, 1971. Rouge et Noir No. 26 (March 1971). 113

Chair of Philosophy at the Sorbonne for a professorship at the University of Nanterre in 1965 in order to play some role in shaping a more progressive educational experience for students.287

Numerous other thinkers participated in Magazines Parlés across subsequent seasons, and the genre grew steadily. Beginning in 1969 with its Semaines (Weeks) sequence, animateurs at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble instituted four more specifically themed spoken review series. A Social Sciences series followed in 1971, before being replaced by Société (Society) in

1978. Lastly, the center premiered Philosophical Encounters in 1983. Along with the original, these new programs assumed the mantle for bringing the Grenoblois public into regular and meaningful contact with intellectual culture.

Making a Case for Mandarins’ Use Value

The third season of TEP-Magazine brought such celebrated intellectual personalities to

Ménilmontant as Aimé Césaire, François Mauriac, and Jean-Marie Domenach.288 Césaire offered a critical reflection on his most recent play, The Tragedy of King Christophe, whose gripping, fictionalized depiction of the struggle for Haitian independence and its aftermath had run the gamut from cause célèbre to instant classic in the span of two short years; Mauriac appeared alongside renowned composer André Jolivet, formerly the musical director at the

Comédie Française and, since 1961, an instructor at the Conservatoire de Paris; and Domenach discussed a special edition of Esprit—for which he served as editor—devoted to childhood disability. Beyond these marquee appearances, author and activist Daniel Guérin introduced the

287 Having grown increasingly disillusioned with university culture in France beginning with his time at the Sorbonne, Ricoeur took his leave from the world of French academia definitively in the wake of the events of May 1968, which he witnessed firsthand in all their glory and ignominy as a professor and, later, dean at the University of Nanterre, one of the movement’s principle battlegrounds. He did, however, continue to teach, first in Belgium and, subsequently, in the United States. 288 In November and December 1965, and January 1966, respectively. 114

TEP’s public to his historical anthology of the anarchist movement, No Gods, No Masters, while philosopher Francis Jeanson offered commentary on his forthcoming study of Simone de

Beauvoir.

In spite of the proliferation and renown of TEP-Magazine’s guests in the 1965-66 season, and for all of its success in establishing “a direct and true-to-life point of contact with the most varied aspects of cultural and social activity,” the series had still to attract more than “a very small (and very faithful) fraction” of the center’s members.289 This trend continued in subsequent seasons, with the public at large ever reluctant to embrace the spoken review format.

Nevertheless, while its public remained numerically modest, TEP-Magazine’s supporters were mightily attached to it.

Center organizers remained equally steadfast in advocating TEP-Magazine; and their resolve underscores the scope of their commitment to the cultivation and dissemination of intellectual culture through “live” staged encounters. Its value, according to Decaunes, was part didactic and part civic, assisting in the personal growth of individual members of the public while meaningfully engaging with a wide range of pressing social issues. “Members of the

Maison de la Culture,” he declared on the occasion of the series’ third anniversary, “TEP-

Magazine is your rendezvous with the world in which you live. Do not refuse it.”290 Upping the ante, he asserted that: “The man who does not take interest in the world in which he lives [and] who does not participate in the experiences [aventure] of his era, such a man is a cripple.”291

TEP-Magazine’s utility as a vehicle for acculturation at the individual level hinged upon its capacity to make edification accessible, whetting audience members’ appetites for intellectual

289 Luc Decaunes, TEP 66 No. 24 (March 1966), excerpted in Simon, Le TEP, 55. 290 Luc Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans,” Tep 67, Mensuel du Théâtre de l’Est parisien No. 32 (January 1967). 291 Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 115 culture in the process. By virtue of their breadth as well as their brevity, the series’ lectures and discussions were but “fleeting exchanges.” However, like a “door that has been left ajar,” they offered those present the opportunity to forge on, advancing their knowledge according to their own “tastes, curiosities, and concerns.” After all, Decaunes contended, these encounters “should never be considered as destinations, but on the contrary as points of departure.”292 When all goes well, one should indeed feel a measure of dissatisfaction after an evening of TEP-Magazine. A sense of discontent meant that the installment had succeeded in piquing the public’s interest, leaving them compelled to return again and again, willingly and fervently pursuing an eternally moving horizon.

Nonetheless, at just a few hours per month, the program’s duration and frequency attenuated the demands it placed on the schedule of its public, promising maximum exposure for a minimal investment of leisure time and mental energy. TEP-Magazine’s thematic heterogeneity also contributed to its ease of access. In a country whose intellectual milieu was rife with competing and often exclusionary schools of thought, the series deliberately eschewed

“specializations […] and the sterile ethics of clans and cliques” in order to guarantee that inclusiveness prevailed. Casting aside all factional considerations, center animateurs placed their faith in “ordinary contamination” as the most effective way to open people’s minds and turn them on to current intellectual and worldly affairs.293

Grenoble’s Magazines Parlés were also presented as playing an important didactic and civic function. No other program genre, animateur Jacques Laemlé averred in 1973, could accomplish what the social sciences rubric did week in, week out. Where else, he asked, could

292 Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 293 Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 116 members turn for an ensemble of activities that inspired them to take an interest both in contemporary French society and the world at large, while simultaneously creating (or deepening) their capacity for “critical thought,” facilitating an ongoing confrontation between differing ideas and values, and a reliable source of news and information?294 Where else could they find a range of events that all shared a common “concern with grasping, occasionally on the spot, the problems confronting present-day man in his social environment?”295 For Laemlé, this collection of unique aims confirmed the importance of the rubric, despite its modest profile vis-

à-vis other activities onsite.

In 1978 the Social Sciences rubric was reformulated as the Society series, a change that stressed the broad relevance of the program for members of the general public. Its inauguration coincided with a turning point in the fortunes and priorities of Maisons de la Culture. For one, it was in 1978 that jurisdiction over Maisons was taken away from the Ministry of Cultural Affairs and reassigned to the Ministry Youth Affairs, Sports, and Recreation, the aim of which was to replace the elitist vision of culture at these facilities with one more pluralist in its intentions and execution. In tandem, it was in this year that the budgetary fortunes of Maisons began to decline noticeably. As a consequence, spoken reviews, which already formed a comparatively small part of the Grenoblois facility’s programming schedule, risked further reductions.

Dominique Wallon, President of the Association for the Maison de la Culture de

Grenoble, launched an appeal in December 1980, speaking of the need to “prune” the center’s repertoire of programs, giving preference to theater, dance, and jazz.296 Focusing the facility’s energy and finances on these domains, he contended, would enable it to reinforce its

294 Jacques Laemlé, Rouge et Noir No. 46 (March 1973). 295 Laemlé, Rouge et Noir No. 46 (March 1973). 296 Dominique Wallon, “Editorial,” Rouge et Noir No. 116 (December 1980). 117 commitment to three other “modes of intervention” that he deemed central to bringing about cultural pluralism in practice. One of the three areas highlighted by Wallon was “confrontation and dialogue with the essential questions of contemporary society,” a preoccupation that fell most directly within the purview of the spoken review rubric.297 That he groups this “mode” together with supporting local creation and reaching previously untouched segments of the population—which together formed the main pillars of Maisons’ realigned raison d’être—speaks to the degree of importance Wallon attached to the intellectual dimension of the center’s activism even following the watershed policy changes of the era.298

Early Society events were often organized around an expansive and politically-charged theme. Such was the case in December 1979, when the series tackled the issue of apartheid in

South Africa, the murder of Steve Biko, leader of the Black Consciousness Movement, in 1977 having viscerally exposed the brutality of the system in place.299 The genre-blending, multimedia spectacle included a debate on the topic of racism and sport featuring the participation of

Chris de Broglio, a representative of the International Association Against Racism in Sports and a longtime engagé, having helped to found the South African Non-Racial Olympic Committee in

1962. Additionally, the Maison arranged for the appearance of Jacques Alvarez-Pereyre, author of the recently (and locally) published Les Guetteurs de l’aube, a treatise on socio-politically conscious poetry in South Africa.300 The poet and playwright Molefe Pheto likewise took to the stage, speaking on the theme of “Culture and Consciousness in South Africa,” while the journalist Claude Vauthier offered his assessment of what the future held in store for the

297 Wallon, “Editorial,” Rouge et Noir No. 116 (December 1980). 298 Especially since Wallon called for a reorientation of the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble’s programming away from ‘bigger’ and ‘higher-profile’ activities in order to keep a place for those like the Society series. 299 Rouge et Noir No. 108 (December 1979). 300 Les Guetteurs de l’aube was a revised version of Alvarez-Pereyre’s 1977 thesis for the Université de Grenoble III, entitled L’apartheid et la poésie engage sud-africaine de langue anglaise. 118 southernmost African nation. In conjunction with these speaker events, the center housed an exposition on “Images of the Apartheid” and screened two anti-apartheid films: Peter Davis’ The

White Laager (1977) and the landmark End of the Dialogue (1970), produced by a group of black South African exiles and film students in London. As an ensemble, this impressive installment of the Society series afforded Grenoblois a wealth of first-hand and expert testimony about the apartheid system and an opportunity to participate in the mounting cultural resistance movement.

The following month, the series broached an issue closer to home: the French prison system.301 Topics under consideration ranged from “Prisons in the City” to “Life in Prison,” from “Criminal Justice” to “Rehabilitation and Subsequent Offenses,” as well as “Prison and

Psychiatry.” The repertoire of events included public talks, debates, readings, film screenings, and a graphic art exhibition. It combined personal accounts, journalistic portrayals, and scholarly inquiries; and brought together judges, prisoners, psychiatrists, politicians, prison administrators, filmmakers, and writers. The late 1970s and early 1980s were a time of reform for the French penal system, with the implementation of detention centers geared towards rehabilitation and alternative sentencing in 1975 and the abolition of the death penalty in 1981.

As a subject of intellectual preoccupation, the event’s topicality was compounded by the growing impact of Michel Foucault’s seminal work, Discipline and Punish (1975), which analyzed the development and role of prisons as a micro-power structure in modern society in an effort to understand how dominant socio-cultural norms and authorities are maintained. Bernard Gilman, the Maison’s newly appointed director, envisioned the Prison event performing a similar

301 Rouge et Noir No. 109 (January 1980); No. 110 (February 1980). 119 function, its debates and expositions combining to “lift up some part of the veil with which this society discretely and hypocritically adorns itself.”302

Gilman continued his mission to pull back the curtain shrouding the gritty realities of the

French penal system with an installment of Society in October 1980 consecrated exclusively to the question of capital punishment. In crafting and staging 15 Days Against the Death Penalty in conjunction with the Grenoble section of Amnesty International the series very visibly coupled its project of intellectual animation with active socio-political engagement. 15 Days was organized as a multi-media affair, combining debates, public readings, film screenings, and a theatrical performance. The two debate themes put before the public were “Security and

Repression,” featuring Casamayor, one of France’s leading thinkers on the theme of justice, and

“For the Abolition of the Death Penalty,” with Amnesty International.303 Alongside these debates, the Maison screened two films: Death By Hanging (1968), by the acclaimed Japanese director Nagisa Oshima, and The Jackal of Nahueltoro (1969), by the exiled Chilean cineaste

Miguel Littín.304 The poet and novelist Philippe de Boissy presented a series of public readings from relevant texts, such as Pierre Bourgeade’s prize-winning work Les Immortelles and George

Orwell’s classic essay “A Hanging.” Lastly, the two-week event was rounded out with a one- man show in which actor Marc Vial interpreted scenes from Victor Hugo’s 19th-century novella

Le dernier jour d’un condamné. Taken as a whole, 15 Days Against the Death Penalty offered the men and women of Grenoble a politically resonant spectacle, comprised of a diverse and

302 Rouge et Noir No. 111 (March 1980). 303 From his participation at the Nuremberg Trials to his position as President of the Appellate Court of Versailles, Serge Fuster, who published under the name Casamayor, led a long and productive judiciary career in the decades following the Second World War. During the same years, he wrote extensively on matters of justice (and instances of injustice), famously criticizing the handling of the Ben Barka Affair in 1965 and contributing regularly to Esprit. 304 Littín was expelled from Chile in the wake of the 1973 coup d’état by General Pinochet. 120 transnational array of cultural forms, which blended entertainment and engagement in order to foster public awareness of pressing contemporary issue.305

Engagement in East Paris

If affirmations of spoken reviews’ civic and didactic value for individual members of the public constituted one pillar of efforts to market this unique genre of cultural programming, assertions of their social value by way of their engagement constituted the other. As Luc

Decaunes phrased it on the occasion of TEP-Magazine’s third anniversary, “the dual task of the intellect is to understand the world and act upon it in order to effect change .”306 TEP-Magazine performed these functions simultaneously—informing the lay public and fostering intellectual cross-fertilization for invited speakers—while acknowledging that “no stage of civilization ever has the last word.”307 With change inherent in society, there are forever new problems demanding examination by qualified members of the intelligentsia.308 The public, by turning up in the audience and participating in the proceedings, not only came away from TEP-Magazine with an enhanced knowledge of the world around them, but had the added opportunity of being a part of the intellectual ebb and flow of the Maison’s activism. They, too, could be “engagé.”

Among the issues the spoken review engaged between 1964 and 1967 were juvenile delinquency, racism, housing, women’s position in society, syndicalism, overpopulation, anarchism, the assassinations of John F. Kennedy and Patrice Lumumba, Algerian independence and the presidency of Ahmed Ben Bella, black Africa, and Maoist China.

305 Rouge et Noir No. 114 (October 1980). 306 Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 307 Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 308 Decaunes singled out “writers, scholars, artists, [and] sociologists.” Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 121

As the 1960s drew to a close, staffers in Ménilmontant emphasized the socio-cultural commitment of the spoken review with increasing frequency and solidified the prominence of engagement as a selling point in their efforts to market the series. In the lead-up to the 1967 season, for instance, Decaunes framed the issue in ethical terms: “Are we,” he demanded, “going to turn a deaf ear and blind eye so we no longer see and hear that which disturbs our precious tranquility? Is not our foremost duty, on the contrary, to keep our eyes open?”309 After all, the fortunes, happiness, and even the lives of French men and women depended upon events transpiring around the globe; from which it followed that they had to have an accurate understanding of world affairs. In short, “the whole world is our business,” and the vocation of

TEP-Magazine was therefore to serve as a “prise de conscience,” spreading awareness of those current issues that concerned one and all.310

Consequently, the 1967 season premiered with the review zeroing in on a selection of the most pressing matters from the international arena. Roger Garaudy, then still a member of the

PCF, spoke about events taking place in China following the beginning of Mao’s Cultural

Revolution. A pair of American journalists (Thomas Buchanan and William Smith) presented on the Civil Rights movement in the United States. Stratis Someritis, the Secretary General for the

Hellenic League for the Rights of Man, appraised the situation in Greece in the aftermath of

April’s military coup. Lastly, the author Charles-Olivier Carbonell commented on the Soviet

Union on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the October Revolution. Such a lineup meant that some branches of culture that TEP-Magazine normally featured would be sacrificed.

However, Decaunes maintained steadfastly that, “there are times when History matters more than

309 Luc Decaunes, “Les yeux ouverts,” TEP 67 No. 39 (October 1967). 310 Decaunes, “Les yeux ouverts.” 122 all the rest.”311 Here Decaunes showed himself to possess a shrewd mind for marketing. Beyond augmenting the air of importance attributed to TEP-Magazine as a source of edification and engagement, his intervention served as a subtle, though evocative, call to arms, imploring the public to attend.

Center staffers reprised the theme of engagement in December of 1967, heralding the interest demonstrated by followers of TEP-Magazine’s presentations on social and political matters as proof that Maisons were indeed places where “received ideas” could be challenged.

Reproducing one of the most frequently invoked truisms of engagement in the postwar era, they declared emphatically: “the Maison de la Culture is not an ivory tower; it must open itself up to the world.”312 This rhetorical emulation succinctly reflects the degree to which administrators at the Théatre de l’Est Parisien sought to associate themselves with the sensibilities that typified

France’s intellectual milieu in the decades following the Second World War.

Given its commitment to the ideal of engagement, it is fitting that TEP-Magazine remained active during the events of May 1968. With schools closed and workers beginning to strike, the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien kept its doors open; and on May 14, following the one-day strike and demonstration called by the Confédération Générale du Travail, the animation team

311 Decaunes, “Les yeux ouverts.” 312 Since the time of the Dreyfus Affair, the moment when “intellectuals” emerged in the modern sense of the term, the debate has been ongoing as to whether intellectuals should apply themselves to understanding society or simultaneously understanding and changing society. The events and experiences of the Second World War—from defeat at the hands of the Germans, to collaboration and resistance, not to mention the extensive purges which followed Liberation—tipped the scales heavily in favor of the latter, and provided a conceptual springboard for the direct intervention of intellectuals in worldly affairs. The Sartrean existentialists are perhaps the most famous champions of postwar engagement (or commitment), positing that abstention from one’s social existence is philosophically impossible, that even inaction is a form of action, and therefore each and every person is profoundly responsible for shaping his life and world in which he lives. In a lecture dating from October 1945, Jean-Paul Sartre succinctly articulated this imperative with his declaration against quietism: “First I ought to commit myself and then act my commitment.” “L’heure des choix,” TEP 67 No. 41 (December 1967). Jean-Paul Sartre, “Existentialism is a Humanism,” in Walter Kaufmann, ed., Existentialism From Dostoevsky to Sartre (New York: Meridian, 1975), 358. 123 for the spoken review staged an evening gathering entitled, “France and the French.” All of the guests that evening reflected the spirit of that time in their agendas and commentary. The theme of François Nourissier’s intervention, for example, was that of the French, face-to-face with themselves. Likewise, Hélène Michel-Wolfrom tackled the debate—so central to the growing rift between traditional and youth culture—surrounding sex and contraception. The last two speakers of the evening, Pierre Viansson-Ponté and Jean Rousselot, presented on politics and poetry, respectively; a fascinating convergence in light of the proliferation of slogans, such as

“Poetry is in the street” and “All power to the imagination,” calling for a fusion of these two seemingly disparate domains.313

TEP-Magazine maintained its engagement with the events of May 1968 in the wake of their denouement as well. In December, part of the monthly production was devoted to the

“Lesson of May 68,” and featured Jean-Marie Domenach on the three recent issues of the review

Esprit analyzing the events and their implications for France, Europe, and the world.314 The following April a special edition of TEP-Magazine addressed the lingering issues associated with education and its reform. To shed light on this “crucial problem,” animateurs brought together a marquee lineup of experts, with each weighing in on one area of contention.315 The Dean of the

Faculté de Droit in Paris discussed the exam process; the Principal at the Lycée de Saint-Cloud tackled student liberty and discipline; the Inspecteur Départemental for the 20th arrondissement, assessed going pedagogical methods; a representative of the Syndicat Général de l’Éducation

313 Viansson-Ponté, director of the politics section at Le Monde, had recently come to prominence for his article “Quand la France s’ennuie,” published in March 1968. His piece, which warned of a coming social crisis much like the one unleashed so shortly thereafter, was proximally associated with the unfolding imbroglio. Feenberg and Freedman, When Poetry Ruled the Street. Pierre Viansson-Ponté, “Quand la France s’ennuie,” Le Monde (March 15, 1968). 314 The issues in question were: “Mai 68,” “La Révolution suspendue,” and “Le Partage du savoir.” TEP 67 No. 50 (December 1968). 315 “Notre fête de printemps,” TEP 71 No. 54 (April 1969). 124

Nationale (allied with the C.F.D.T. trade union) critiqued the increasing prolongation of education and its effects; an assistant professor at the Faculty of Letters in Rouen appraised the training and remuneration of teachers.316 Writers and politicians, instructors and administrators, all came before the Parisian public in the name of understanding and improving the nation’s educational system, and with it the younger generation’s professional and personal prospects for the future.

The Social Sciences Depart the Academy

In keeping with the ideal of affording intellectuals alternatives to the ivory tower, the

Grenoblois facility unveiled its Social Sciences series in the autumn of 1971. That Maisons had been conceived of primarily as centers for the performing arts did not, according to Laemlé, prevent them from “being more” than merely entertainment destinations.317 While there was no way that they would ever become centers of thought and learning capable of singlehandedly furthering the evolution of society, he maintained that there was no reason the institution should not contribute in some manner to bringing about change. And though they could not compete with universities as repositories for research and pedagogy, they could cooperate with institutions of higher learning in a mutually beneficial fashion; and so the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble and the University of Grenoble had entered into collaboration with one another in establishing the new series.

On the academic side, the Social Sciences allowed scholars from the university to connect their research and teaching more directly to the problems of the citizenry as these were

316 “Notre fête de printemps,” TEP 71. 317 Jacques Laemlé, “Les sciences sociales à la Maison de la Culture,” Rouge et Noir No. 32 (November 1971). 125

“lived,” bringing an otherwise elusive immediacy and nuance to their work. Additionally, the series put the university’s teachers and students in more regular contact with “an exterior world of which they are too often unaware.”318 In the process, the university would be helping to cast off the fetters of tradition that, for too long, had reserved “knowledge about Man and analysis of the society in which he lives” for elites.319

For the Maison, collaboration with the University of Grenoble made it possible for the center to expand its cultural offerings into the domain of the social sciences. However, far from representing a reorientation of the facility’s “cultural” mission, far from altering the fundamentally cultural complexion of the center, this move into the social sciences was essential to the pursuit of these ends, according to Laemlé, in light of the manifest interdependence of cultural problems and economic, social, and political affairs. Collaboration with the school’s faculty and students was also a practical expedient from an organizational standpoint, affording the center a wellspring of ideas for programs and guests to speak at events. Affiliation with the university carried with it a guarantee of sorts against “sectarianism” and a degree of “prudence” necessary for tackling topics where confrontation between competing interpretations and visions was of the utmost importance.320

The theme for the 1971-72 season was “Social Change,” and featured speakers whose occupations ran the gamut from sociology (Michel Crozier and Jean Baechler) and philosophy

(Jean-François Revel and Paul Ricoeur) to politics (Pierre Juquin) and labor (René Buhl).

During its inaugural season, the series was organized around a sequence of twice-monthly events, all of which were held on Saturdays so as to maximize participation by students and

318 Laemlé, “Les sciences sociales à la Maison de la Culture.” 319 Laemlé, “Les sciences sociales à la Maison de la Culture.” 320 Laemlé, “Les sciences sociales à la Maison de la Culture.” 126 members of the community. At the first installment, the speaker presented a public lecture of his

(or her) choosing, pertaining to some aspect of the series’ theme, which was followed by a debate with those in attendance. Afterwards, the speaker engaged in further discussion with one or more study groups, generally comprised of students from the university, and offered instructions for additional study and reflection. Two weeks later, the speaker returned to the

Maison in order to follow up with the study groups on their work.

In June 1972, the Social Sciences series welcomed Simone de Beauvoir and Gisèle

Halimi for an evening of discussion and debate on the topic of family planning and abortion rights for women.321 Both had signed the “Manifeste des 343,” drafted by Beauvoir and published in Le Nouvel Observateur in 1971, thereby admitting—along with Marguerite Duras,

Agnès Varda, Jeanne Moreau, Françoise Sagan, Dominique Desanti, and numerous other high- profile female cultural figures—to having had illegal abortions.322 From the publication of the so-called “Manifesto of the 343 Whores” until the legalization of contraception and abortion in

1975, the question of a woman’s right to choose—linked to broader debates about sexual freedom—remained among the country’s most controversial and hotly debated issues.323 The topic was especially poignant in Grenoble, which, in 1961, had become the site of the first family planning center in France.

321 Rouge et Noir No. 39 (June 1972). 322 Established in July 1971. Choisir la cause des femmes, http://www.choisirlacausedesfemmes.org/histo1970.htm. 323 At Halimi’s urging, concerned as she was that the signatories of the petition might face criminal prosecution, not to mention other forms of extra-legal persecution, the two intellectuals subsequently collaborated in founding the group Choisir la cause des femmes, with Beauvoir serving as its first president, which dedicated itself to educating the public about sex and contraception, bringing about the repeal of the law of 1920 which proscribed abortion in France, and assisting in the defense of women being pursued for having had an abortion. This is not to say that efforts to repeal the Law of 1920 were not underway prior to 1971. As a public act of civil disobedience, however, the publication of the Manifesto brought the pro-repeal movement a visibility and legitimacy vastly beyond what it had previously attained. 127

Another association to pass through the Grenoblois center in the hopes of taking its message directly to the public was the Groupe des 10–Sciences et Politique, a research collective formed in the wake of 1968 by ten intellectuals from across the disciplinary spectrum with the stated objective of using psychological, physiological, and sociological methods in order to insert politics into the very heart of science as a field of inquiry and repository of objective knowledge.324 The topic they sought to elucidate in October 1972 was “Violence, Aggressive

Behaviors, and Politics.” Jack Baillet and Henri Laborit, a professor of medicine and a biologist, respectively, kicked off the proceedings with a presentation of what they termed scientific and sociological “facts” about aggression as a disposition and form of behavior. Advancing from aggression to violence, Edgar Morin and Alain Laurent outlined a sociological theory of violence. Lastly, the economist and former MRP deputy Robert Buron addressed the place and limits of violence in politics. While the political agenda of the Groupe des 10 may not have been as clear cut as that of Beauvoir and Halimi, the determination of each to wed theory and socio- political engagement, as well as their embrace of the Maison de la Culture as a milieu for carrying out this task, are striking in their similarity.

Intellectual Homage as Spectacle

Beyond the spoken review genre, the Théatre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la

Culture de Grenoble developed and staged a number of spectacles centered on the life and legacy of noteworthy thinkers. These tributes frequently combined several forms of cultural expression, incorporating theater, public readings, film, and debates, which were occasionally held in conjunction with the centers’ speaker series. If the spoken review format was tacitly

324 Rouge et Noir No. 41 (October 1972). 128 performative in nature, the more elaborate of the Maisons’ intellectually-oriented spectacles were so explicitly and unmistakably.

As a practice, all of the stage productions at the Théatre de l’Est Parisien were set against a backdrop of relevant contemporary aesthetic and moral issues. When casting about for a new project, organizers placed a premium on identifying quality works that would resonate with “men and women of this era,” and in particular works that “touch upon contemporary sensibilities such as love and justice.”325 Along these lines, for instance, Rétoré credited “the issues of power and fairness, which are so complex…and above all that of finding a happy medium in justice,” as underpinning his desire to stage Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure in 1964.326

Some productions took this ambition even further, using contemporary intellectual subjects—including thinkers themselves—not only as a springboard, but as a focal point. The first intellectual homage organized at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien (in November 1968) was devoted to the prolific author and literary critic, Jean Paulhan. The Academician had passed away the month before, leaving the influential Nouvelle Revue Française without a director and a conspicuous void in Parisian (and French) culture. Compared to later tributes, this was a modest affair, with Brice Parain eulogizing the deceased icon and actors from La Guilde

325 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42, SERES.” 326 In light of this criterion, the staging of individual plays—such as Measure for Measure—afforded another salient genre of intellectual spectacularization, and a far more expansive one at that, since the Théatre de l’Est Parisien put on an enormous number of plays, many the work of leading contemporary thinkers such as Césaire, Camus, and Sartre. The staging of an entire intellectual oeuvre, however, affords a more clear cut illustration of the lengths to which Maison organizers went in order to promote and disseminate intellectual culture to the general public. Nevertheless, Herman Lebovics corroborates this use of theater at maisons, noting the frequency with which center directors played classic works in order “to emphasize modern problems,” and recounts Jean Vilar’s assertion that “The problem of Cuba is treated in Corneille’s Nicomède, the problem of people’s rights before the lat is treated in Antigone by Sophocles. General de Gaulle’s problem with the rebellious generals is perhaps handeled Corneille’s Cinna and Zalméa’s Alcade.” CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Crise de croissance au TEP qui présente ‘Mesure pour mesure,’” Etude 42, les relations. Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 126. 129 performing selected readings from Paulhan’s oeuvre.327 Though relatively simple, the event established a template of sorts for subsequent commemorations. Eulogies became a staple feature of these spectacles, as did theatrical readings of a thinker’s work. Moreover, the participation of Parain, a philosopher by training and a noted scholar of existentialism and evolution of language (hence, two connections to Paulhan), inaugurated another common trope: the participation of a guest speaker who was either an expert on the honoree’s work, an accomplished thinker in his (or her) own right, or both.

The most elaborate tribute staged by Rétoré’s cadre of actors and animateurs was given in honor of André Gide in order to mark the 100th anniversary of the famed thinker’s birth.

Though the event itself was held in October 1969, the build-up for André Gide Amongst Us began eight months prior, with a biographical sketch of Gide’s personal life and intellectual itinerary penned by Luc Decaunes. “One might say that André Gide,” he pronounced, “in the course of his long life, confronted virtually all of the intellectual and literary movements that marked this time of great change deeply.”328 With a career that spanned sixty years—from the publication of his first book in 1891 to his last in 1951—Decaunes averred that even those who took issue with Gide’s actions and ideas could not avoid their influence. His legacy was therefore all the more important for the history it bespoke and the lessons it carried. In keeping with these laudatory opening remarks, Decaunes went on to repeatedly affirm the profound social use value of Gide’s work as a public intellectual. He stressed Gide’s engagement, highlighting the ethical bent of his oeuvre, referencing his ongoing “struggle against dogmatism

327 TEP 71 No. 49 (November 1968). 328 Luc Decaunes, “Rebelle André Gide,” TEP 71 No. 52 (February 1969). 130 and prejudice” in their many forms, and, in particular, praising his willingness to take on

Catholic intellectuals, bourgeois society, and even his own family.329

On another occasion, center staffers publicized the approaching spectacle with a collection of Gide’s better-known quotes. Readers of TEP 71 were treated to gems such as: “The world will only be saved, if it even can be, by insubordinates;” “No theory is good except on the condition one uses it in order to go further;” “Religion and family are the two worst enemies of progress;” and “Believe in those who search for the truth; question those who have found it.”330

Individually and collectively, these quotations present Gide as a committed intellectual with a wealth of insight into society and the human psyche to impart.

The tribute itself continued this theme, bringing together cultural figures and family members, and blending discourse and performance.331 Not surprisingly, writers abounded at the event, with Marc Beigbeder, Max-Pol Fouchet, Pierre Naville, Gaëtan Picon, Gilles Plazy, and

André Wurmser all in attendance. Beigbeder, a prominent member of the Esprit family, was the author of a 1954 book devoted to the evening’s honoree, while Fouchet’s reputation as a sublime eulogizer had been well-established during his tenure on the popular literary television program,

Lectures pour tous. Picon was an essayist in addition to his work on behalf of the Ministry of

Culture, and Plazy split his creative energies between art criticism and poetry. All were in some way linked to the iconic wordsmith, whether intellectually, personally, or both. Naville, for instance, a scholar and activist whose diverse intellectual itinerary took him from surrealism, through Communism and Trotskyism, and ultimately to the Parti Socialiste Unifié and the

329 Decaunes, “Rebelle André Gide.” 330 TEP-actualité No. 58 (October 1969). 331 TEP-actualité No. 58 (October 1969). 131 psycho-sociology of Carl von Clauswitz, also happened to be the son of one of Gide’s old friends.

Gide’s unconventional personal life, most notably his homosexuality, was in many ways as intriguing as his literary production; and the event’s organization reflected the public’s fascination with the intimate details of his biography. In addition to Naville, Gide’s only biological child, Catherine, took to the stage to share her thoughts and reflections with those in the audience. What’s more, the second portion of the evening featured a screening of Avec

André Gide, a 1952 documentary film by Marc Allégret, one of Gide’s former lovers. The prolific cineaste had known Gide since childhood, as Allégret’s father, Elie, was the Gide’s personal tutor and longtime friend (he was, in fact, a member of the wedding party when Gide married Madeleine Rondeaux). Allégret’s first film, the documentary Voyage au Congo, was the product of a trip with Gide, during their love affair, to French Equatorial Africa in 1926-1927.332

André Gide Amongst Us was capped off with a roundtable discussion and public debate on the contemporary relevance of Gide’s body of work and a series of dramatic readings selected from

Œdipe, his 1931 take on Sophocles’ classic play in which Gide explored the confrontation between individual freedom and social constraints, with institutional religion chief among these.

Other tributes followed, most notably those devoted to Jules Vallès, the great 19th-century writer, revolutionary, and founder of Le Cri du peuple during the Paris Commune, and the surrealist polymath Max Jacob, in recognition of the 25th anniversary of his death at the Drancy deportation camp in 1944. The novelist Louis Guilloux, author of La Maison du peuple and Le

Sang noir, along with the philosopher Yvon Belaval, an expert on Jacob, were among the

332 Indeed it was this trip to Africa with Gide that prompted Allégret’s decision to pursue a career in filmmaking. 132 featured speakers at this latter event.333 Nonetheless, André Gide Amongst Us remained the most substantial homage staged by the Théatre de l’Est Parisien during these years.

At the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, the practice of paying tribute to influential intellectuals began in April 1970 with an event consecrating one of the city’s most celebrated native sons, the “great philosopher” and “father of Personalism,” Emmanuel Mounier, on the 20th anniversary of his passing. This was an unelaborate affair, featuring reflections on “the man and his oeuvre” by Jean LA Croix, a philosopher and personal friend of Mounier’s.334 From this foundation, the center organized a number of other tributes in the course of the following decade, frequently in conjunction with its spoken review rubrics, some of which were equally simple in format—such those devoted Charles Péguy (1973) and Albert Einstein (1980)—and some significantly more involved—like those for Mounier (honored again in 1974) and Jean-Paul

Sartre (1977).

This last event, the Semaine Jean-Paul Sartre, was by far the most extravagant intellectual homage organized by the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble. So copious was Sartre’s intellectual production and import that, for the better part of a week in December 1977, the facility devoted the “bulk of its activities” to this iconic philosopher’s oeuvre in an effort to lay bare the “development of [his] thought” across his lengthy career. There were three principal components to the retrospective: a nightly performance of the Sartre stage production; two performances of Erostratus, the disturbing tale of misanthropy and self-loathing from The Wall

(1939), recently turned into a hit production in Paris by a troupe of young thespians; and two

333 TEP-actualité No. 64 (April-May 1970). 334 Rouge et Noir No. 17 (April 1970). 133 screenings of Alexandre Astruc and Michel Contat’s seminal documentary, Sartre par lui-même

(1976).

The marquee event, however, was unquestionably the show Sartre, which featured dramatic readings by actor Gérard Guillaumat of the Théâtre National Populaire in Villeurbanne and under the direction of Robert Gironès from the Centre Dramatique National de Lyon.335 The task of choosing which texts to include in Sartre fell to Jeanette Colombel, a professor of philosophy in Lyon, who made her selections according for their capacity to represent key

“moments” in Sartre’s career. Given this agenda, it comes as little surprise perhaps that

Guillaumat began his ninety-minute performance with an excerpt from Sartre’s breakout work, the 1938 novella Nausea. From these literary origins, however, Guillaumat proceeded to guide audience members into distinctly less-mainstream territory, reading from Saint Genet (1952),

Sartre’s reverential psycho-literary analysis of Jean Genet; his autobiography, The Words (1964); and his Situations series of essays (IV, V, VIII, IX, and X), published at intervals between 1947 and 1976.336

According to event organizer Jean Delume, the Sartre spectacle constituted a wholly new type of cultural undertaking.337 For unlike stories and poetry, which naturally lend themselves to listening, which “flow, leap, or steal” from one’s lips to another’s ears, Sartre’s philosophically laden prose moved along differently, “sometimes with a measured pace and at other times hurriedly,” intended, as it was, chiefly for individual and assiduous reading.”338 Thus a recitation of Sartre called for a performer, such as Guillaumat, capable of embodying the iconic thinker’s

335 Guillaumat was known for his aptitude as well as his affinity for the “conter” genre of performance, having discovered it during his time in London following the war. 336 Situations IV and V (1964), VIII and IX (1972), and X (1976). 337 Jean Delume, “Une semaine Jean-Paul Sartre,” Rouge et Noir No. 90 (December 1977). 338 Delume, “Une semaine Jean-Paul Sartre.” 134 wide-ranging and frequently complex writings and bringing them together into a spoken ensemble so that they form the “direct and present expression of an intellectual world.”339

An ambitious agenda, no doubt; but the goals of the tribute’s organizers went still further:

As arguably France’s most vocal proponent of intellectual engagement, Sartre long espoused a doctrine whereby a one’s ideas were meaningless unless linked to concrete actions in the world.

Within a Sartrean frame of reference, therefore, which, after all, it was one of the show’s aims to evoke, one’s oeuvre was necessarily that of “a life, a philosophy, and a [course of] action,” all rolled into one.340 In terms of crafting a show, staying true to Sartre’s ideals meant showing how the pages he penned corresponded to the pages of his life. Put differently, if Guillaumat’s task was to incarnate the words and phrases which comprised Sartre’s intellectual itinerary, Gironès’ function as the show’s director was like that of a “cartographer,” situating Guillaumat’s words

“in space” by creating a visual backdrop mapping the places—such as the Café de Flore—Sartre visited in his journey through life.341

The documentary film, Sartre par lui-même, afforded residents of Grenoble a second and substantively different opportunity to “hear” the legendary intellectual.342 Unlike the montage of texts recited in Sartre, which may be seen as Sartre’s ‘official’ take on matters of philosophy, politics, and culture at different moments in his career, Astruc and Contat’s documentary privileges spontaneity, informality, and reflection on moments past. For these reasons, Delume characterizes the film as an “invaluable document,” before assuring prospective audience members that, despite the documentary’s protracted length—it clocks in at nearly three hours—

339 Delume, “Une semaine Jean-Paul Sartre.” 340 Delume, “Une semaine Jean-Paul Sartre.” 341 Delume, “Une semaine Jean-Paul Sartre.” 342 Rouge et Noir No. 90 (December 1977). 135

Sartre par lui-même holds viewers’ rapt attention by virtue of the aged writer’s captivating visual and audible “presence” on-screen.343

To further drum up interest in the event, Rouge et Noir published a lengthy excerpt from an interview with Sartre in which he shares his thoughts on the film’s merits and shortcomings.

With respect to the former, Sartre speaks first to his satisfaction with having an opportunity to explain what he believes it means to be an intellectual, specifically, “how he thinks and feels about things, and how to understand the life” of such a person.344 In addition, he comments on the appeal of the project’s off-the-cuff nature, deeming it an appealing, even “chic,” way to approach autobiography. For viewers of the film, the interest of this spontaneous approach lies in the window it affords into the ‘real’ Sartre, comporting himself in the manner of one who is

“with [his] friends.”345 Thus Sartre par lui-même presented its public with a chance to be with

Sartre, to spend a meaningful chunk of time in his presence, to experience the man while at the same time learning something about his ideas as an intellectual.

As an intellectually-oriented spectacle, the Semaine Jean-Paul Sartre stands virtually in a class of its own. But this exceptionality should be regarded more as the apotheosis of a broader phenomenon than a unique and isolated occurrence. Its aims—edification and entertainment—as well as its genre blending format could be found in other programs at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble (and the Théatre de l’Est Parisien), particularly in these centers’ periodic tributes to

France’s intellectual mandarins, but also in many of their spoken reviews and roundtables. In so doing, Maisons contributed in meaningful ways to the spectacularization of intellectual culture in

343 Rouge et Noir No. 90 (December 1977). 344 Jean-Paul Sarte, from “Sartre par lui-même,” Rouge et Noir No. 90 (December 1977). 345 Sarte, from “Sartre par lui-même.” 136 the second half of the twentieth century, which places these facilities at the very heart of this emergent phenomenon.

Curtain Call for the Ménilmontant Maison?

Integral to the concept of engagement is the belief that one must take possession of one’s own existence, which is to say that an individual (or group) must play an active part in shaping his (or its) circumstances. As Sartre famously put it, “Man is nothing else but what he purposes, he exists only in so far as he realizes himself, he is therefore nothing else but the sum of his actions, nothing else but what his life is.”346 True to Sartre’s words, organizers repeatedly engaged issues central to the well-being of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien. In April 1970, for instance, the animation team for TEP-Magazine convened a special installment dedicated to the current state of action culturelle in France. A more dramatic example comes from October 1970, when staff members intervened directly in the pages of TEP-actualité in order to rally the public behind their efforts to secure reclassification of the Maison as a National Theater. Such a move, they alleged, would clarify the center’s juridical status, provide a guarantee of support for the future, and augment the caliber of its programs without altering their nature, balance, or multiplicity.347 Though Ministry officials had signaled their approval of the facility’s reclassification for some time, no official action had come to pass. This state of prolonged ambiguity, they claimed, jeopardized the well-being of an institution in which the east Parisian public had invested a great deal of energy and, moreover, had been shown to be necessary for the

346Sartre, “Existentialism is a Humanism,” in Kaufmann, ed., Existentialism From Dostoevsky to Sartre, 358. 347 This last claim held true for much of the 1970s. However, the center shifted its programming priorities in the 1980s, placing a far greater emphasis on theater, cinema and, to a lesser extent, dance, music, and the visual arts. Lectures and debates were few and far between by mid-decade. 137 community.348 That center organizers agitated openly on behalf of a legal change, one they believed would ameliorate the caliber of their cultural offering, makes this episode a particularly poignant illustration of the deeply held commitment to engagement on the part of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien. True to their ideals, they took action.

Reclassification as a National Theater came in the autumn of 1971. In commemorating the occasion, Minister of Culture Jacques Duhamel reiterated the state’s dedication to supporting the brand of cultural programming developed by Rétoré and Decaunes. “The growing success of this enterprise,” he announced, along with the “depth of its relationship with its loyal public and the diversity of its initiatives, have made it an original and model organization [oeuvre]. One need only consider the extent to which it has been copied to gauge its fecundity.”349 Continuing,

Duhamel proposed that, “by giving it a stable and clear legal foundation, the state intends for the

TEP to carry on and develop its mission of cultural animation in east Paris with the same attention to quality and eclecticism that has characterized its history.” “Until now,” he concluded, “the TEP was an approach, a spirit, a troupe, a public. It is now an institution.”350

Flattering though these comments were, Rétoré was quick to preempt any fears on the part of the public that the vivacity of yesteryear would give way to lethargy and ossification.

After all, the state had only granted a three-year contract as a National Theater, which was a far cry from a “soft pillow” upon which organizers could “doze off to sleep.”351 What the center’s codification as an institution did prove, however, was that the facility’s administration—along

348 Here we see a key characteristic of the TEP’s engagement, namely the determination of center organizers to address problems at both the macro and micro levels. In other words, organizers sought to demonstrate how the “bigger picture” (in this case, the legal status of the center) was connected to the interests of individual members of the public, an understanding which optimized the social use value of a given program or editorial (etc.). 349 TEP-actualité No. 76 (1972). 350 TEP-actualité No. 76 (1972). 351 TEP-actualité No. 76 (1972). 138 with its faithful public—had been correct in demanding that it be acknowledged as every bit as necessary to the life of the city as the school system and mayor’s office.352 In short, the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s status change served as a confirmation of its significant social and cultural value.

TEP-Magazine remained an important component of the programming repertoire at the

Théâtre de l’Est Parisien for much of the 1970s, affording a lively setting for the dissemination and critical interrogation of a wide array of social, political, and cultural topics relevant to contemporary France and the world at large. In this manner, the series continued its two- pronged mission of providing, on the one hand, a forum for the intellectual engagement of invited guests and, on the other hand, a concrete manifestation of socio-cultural commitment in its own right. Multi-media intellectual tributes, though less frequent, endured as well.

As the decade wound down, and as the center grew into its new identity as a National

Theater, administrators came to place an ever greater emphasis on theater and cinema. The increased focus on theater is scarcely surprising given that Rétoré and La Guilde had provided the nucleus of the center since its inception; for them, theater was—and always had been—their raison d’être. As for the cinema, this genre of cultural programming required minimal organizational exertion on the part of staffers and was readily accommodated by the facility’s physical design. While these activities consistently drew the most sizeable audiences, the center continued to dabble in dance, music, and the visual arts, albeit to a lesser extent. Lectures and debates, however, became increasingly scarce and were all but absent by the mid-1980s.

Interestingly, this consolidation of programming priorities corresponded with the end of the investment stage of the Maison de la Culture initiative. For this reason, it is tempting to assume

352 TEP-actualité No. 76 (1972). 139 that the closing of the ranks at the Théatre de l’Est Parisien was indicative of a broader crisis, namely the diminution of the Maison de la Culture ideal of all-inclusive local cultural centers.

Not all Maisons, however, shared this trajectory. In Grenoble, Magazines Parlés thrived across much of the 1980s, even as the center’s programming balance trended ever more towards creation. George Lavaudant, who assumed direction of the center in the autumn of 1981, made his agenda abundantly clear, declaring emphatically that, “artistic creation will be the center, action culturelle will take its impulses from there.”353 Despite this realignment of priorities, the facility premiered its Philosophical Encounters sequence in 1983, running it alongside its existing current events series, Society. And it was during these creation-centric years that Rouge et Noir, the Maison’s long-running monthly newsmagazine, was rechristened as an intellectual- style “revue,” beginning with the October 1982 edition of the publication.

Face-to-Face with the Intelligentsia

Through their commitment to bringing ideas to life and presenting engagement in praxis, the intellectual cultural productions at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble and the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, and in particular their “encounters” series and spectacles, furthered the commodification of intellectual culture at Maisons de la Culture, incarnating the grandiose ideals espoused by the Ministry of Cultural Affairs in a series of concrete practices. Assertions of these programs’ didactic and civic use value for individual members of the public, coupled with professions of the socio-cultural engagement of the “encounters” formulae, constituted the overarching publicity strategy in both Paris and Grenoble. In order to sell the public on these

353 By “artistic creation,” Lavaudant meant theater, music, dance, cinema, literature, and painting. Georges Lavaudant, “Transit,” Rouge et Noir No. 121 (October-December 1981). 140 ideals, organizers habitually stressed the contemporary and—as much as possible—quotidian relevance of the subjects under consideration at center events. These ran the gamut from the social strife in May ’68 to the penal system, and touched upon a vast array of hot-button issues, such as apartheid, working-class conditions, abortion, and the war in Vietnam.

At every step of the way, animateurs made sure to underscore the accessibility of intellectually-oriented programs, eschewing academism and discouraging unnecessary grandiloquence. Organizers in Paris and Grenoble also and at all times cast their center’s repertoire of intellectually-oriented events as recreation. This was particularly clear-cut in the case of intellectual tributes and spectacles, but applied equally to the spectrum of “encounters” series, thanks in large part to the inherently performative nature of these events. In no uncertain terms, entertainment and enlightenment formed the structural double helix of efforts to market intellectual programming at Maisons. In the lead-up to one program, animateurs might place a premium on accessibility over topicality, or vice versa, but they never pitched edification without also promising entertainment.

Spoken reviews and intellectually-oriented spectacles generally drew smaller audiences than other types of programs, such as plays, dance performances, and film screenings. But those who did partake regularly of the opportunity to meet and engage with guest thinkers were typically staunch in their support. And while intellectually-themed activities occupied modest positions in the centers’ overall programming hierarchies, with the performing arts always at the forefront, and particularly as creation came to increasingly replace diffusion as the focal point of

Maisons’ action culturelle, animateurs never ceased to affirm the importance of cultivating and disseminating intellectual culture.

141

CHAPTER 4

Maisons de la Culture and the Creation of Demand

In the lead up to the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble’s tribute to Charles Péguy in

February 1973, the writer and noted Christian thinker Jean Bastaire took to the pages of Rouge et

Noir, the center’s monthly magazine, publishing a lengthy essay which was every bit as analytical as it was promotional. What stands out about “Péguy, anarchiste” is this hybridity. It closes not with a conclusion, but with a declaration of intention for the roundtable. Bastaire intends to “finally prove” once and for all that Péguy was no traitor to socialism and to the rights of man, but an intellectual libertarian who worked his whole career in defense of these ideals.354

In building towards this climax, he presents a thoughtful reading of Péguy’s career, touching upon the principal preoccupations of his thought and the most contentious moments of his public life, in the process crafting an argument about the coherence of the anarchistic tendencies that underlay his ideas and actions. In this fashion, Bastaire’s article effectively bridges the gap between intellectual cultural product—with the aim of presenting the journal’s readers with an original, even if simplified, analysis—and marketing device—intended to publicize and pique the public’s interest in the upcoming event.

The present chapter focuses on the wide range of publicity strategies employed by animateurs and visiting thinkers at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la Culture de

Grenoble in order to valorize and create demand for intellectually-oriented programming on-site, as well as other facets of intellectual culture that lay beyond the Maison. To begin, organizers

354 Jean Bastaire, “Péguy, anarchiste,” Rouge et Noir No. 45 (February 1973). 142 seized every opportunity to laud these encounters as a unique cultural form, one available only at

Maisons de la Culture. In so doing, they sought to brand spoken review series, making a case for their unprecedented and one-of-a-kind nature. Their pitch relied heavily on the twin pillars of edification and entertainment, with animateurs promising to craft illuminating encounters while simultaneously fostering spectacle and affording access to intellectuals as people.

They regularly stressed the appeal of visiting thinkers’ personalities and presence in addition to the value of their ideas. By presenting guests to the public as both subject and object, animateurs cast intellectuals as more than the sum of their parts. In the process intellectuals became—and shared in the construction of—personae, no longer faceless or disembodied. More than just individuals, more than just academics and artists, guest thinkers came to personify

“intellectuals” as a category. They became the “intellectuals” who gave shape and meaning to the intellectual programming at Maisons de la Culture, and who played so important a role in creating and critiquing the broader cultural field in France.

At every step of the way, organizers emphasized the experiential dimension of intellectual encounters, predicated on face-to-face interactions and the cultivation of a stimulating, while simultaneously enjoyable, atmosphere. This experiential component has been commonly either overlooked or misrepresented in historical accounts of the mainstream fascination with intellectuals’ public profile and the spectacular consumption of their published work in postwar France. Existing scholarship generally focuses on the book (or journal, newspaper, film, etc.) solely as a material commodity, while analyses of intellectual power typically characterize thinkers’ mainstream cultural interventions as a one-way street, motivated chiefly by the self-promoting desires of intellectuals. In actuality, the situation was far more fluid. Assertions of thinkers’ credentials, which were crucial to selling the public on the merits 143 of a forthcoming event, also served as publicity for the fruits of intellectuals’ labor—thereby weaving together the material and experiential. By placing a premium on accessibility and utility, Maison encounters obliged guest thinkers to market themselves, their work, and the importance of their ideas to the public.

The imbrication of culture, commodities, and commerce at Maisons de la Culture fueled an ongoing debate regarding the paradoxical need to “sell” cultural experiences and products without appearing to having “sold out” along the way. Maison organizers had to navigate between the imperative of engaging in forms of cultural commerce and the deleterious consequences associated with commercial culture—a prejudice they often shared wholeheartedly. Nevertheless, despite frequent and passionate proclamations against commercialization, Maisons remained an institution whose stated purpose was the creation, promotion, and dissemination of cultural products.

“An Original Creation of the Maison de la Culture”

In January 1967, as TEP-Magazine celebrated its third anniversary, Luc Decaunes heralded the spoken review as a one-of-a-kind production, “an original creation of the Maison de la Culture, for which there is presently no equivalent anywhere else in France.”355 TEP-

Magazine, he asserted, was the sole form of cultural programming that simultaneously engaged the gamut of current affairs—including literature, the arts, science, philosophy, sociology, contemporary history, theater, music, cinema, et cetera—and combined in the course of its gatherings activities ranging from interviews with key figures and dialogue with the public to film screenings, theatrical and musical performances, as well as readings aloud and song recitals.

355 Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 144

This mixed repertoire guaranteed that TEP-Magazine was the only place where the east Parisian public was assured of finding “men of thought and action” each and every month, who, thanks to the distinctive spoken review, “established a direct relation between culture and modern life.”356

Decaunes’ appraisal of the series’ singularity constitutes a salient instance of cultural branding.

In one fell swoop, he situates TEP-Magazine as the spoken review par excellence, primordial in genesis and preeminent in quality.

For all its trailblazing, however, TEP-Magazine was now increasingly a known quantity, thanks to in-depth profiles—like Decaunes’—which ran in the center’s monthly newsmagazine.

Familiarizing the public with a product is crucial to any marketing endeavor, and these advertisements did just that by removing some of the mystery shrouding the series. As a genre of cultural production, the “spoken review” was of recent provenance and therefore not immediately comprehensible to the public in the same sense as a play or musical performance.357

As the center’s public became more accustomed to the format and thematic foci of the series, elaborate explanatory pieces, which were commonplace in the early years, were gradually phased out. This is not to say that Decaunes and other organizers abandoned their efforts to laud the program and persuade the public to partake of its offerings, nor that iterations of the review’s socio-cultural value vanished, but simply that they tended to concentrate more on recapping its accomplishments and, when addressing its raison d’être and modus operandi directly, opted for a more abbreviated or synoptic tone.

356 Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 357 The idea being that familiarizing the public with a product is central to winning over that public. Though some measure of allure (or mystique) may also help sell a product, it is important that the public comprehends what the product is and what purpose it serves. 145

In the spring of 1970, administrators at the Maison de la Culture distributed a questionnaire in the hopes of ascertaining whether TEP-Magazine lived up the public’s expectations. To this end, the survey’s preamble briefly sketched the general contours of the series as it was intended. In lieu of a drawn out presentation, simplicity prevailed; organizers merely furnished lists of invited guests (“meet people as eminent, as representative as…”), topics

(“tackle questions as varied, as topical as…”), and retrospectives (“take part in tributes to…”) on offer in the preceding year.358

While ostensibly an unbiased solicitation for feedback from center members, this exposé appears to have been tailored to elicit favorable responses. For though there is no overt call for support, the acclamation of its authors is palpable from start to finish. In one particularly telling passage, they note that, in the past seven years, thanks to TEP-Magazine more than 250 figures hailing from all backgrounds (including writers, scholars, artists, sociologists, and politicians) have—each in his or her own way—helped to shed light on an aspect of modern life.359 One is hard-pressed to interpret such an assertion as anything other than an endorsement. It is evident throughout that center organizers believed in the series and its accomplishments, and that they wanted the public to see the value of the review as well. By presenting TEP-Magazine in the best possible light, center organizers attempted to “sell” members of the public on the review before asking them to evaluate it. From this it is apparent that there was more to organizers’

358 Selected for inclusion on this people such as “Jean-Louis Barrault and Louis Guilloux, Jaques Duclos and Thierry Maulnier, Roger Blin and Vercors, Jean-Pierre Melville and Claude Roy, Serge Reggiani and Albert Ducroq, Alain Cuny and Lucien Bodard, Georges Vedel and Edouard Pignon,” etc.; questions such as “justice with Casamayor, transformations of the Church with Father Oraison and Dom Bernard Besret, the sexual revolution with Daniel Guerin, the monetary situation with Mr. Bonety, the drama of overpopulation with Edouard Bonnefous,” etc.; and tributes to “André Gide, Jean Paulhan, Jules Valles, Max Jacob,” etc. TEP-actualité: mensuel du Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, maison de la culture No. 64 (April-May 1970). 359 TEP-actualité No. 64 (April-May 1970). 146 marketing efforts than just trying to get people to attend the series. They also worked persistently and in subtle ways to instill a positive perception of the review.

Assembling an “issue” of TEP-Magazine was a process comprised of two distinct phases—the first speculative, the second pragmatic. Animateurs began by analyzing socio- cultural happenings from the past two or three months, determining which were the most significant and guessing which were most likely to elicit the public’s interest. In tandem, they generated a list of “desired” guests who, in addition to their expertise in a given area, would attract and engage a broad audience.360 From here, they proceeded down the list in order of preference, making personnel concessions and thematic modifications where necessary so that the resulting panel of speakers worked as a coherent whole.361 In this manner, and in keeping with the broader policy objectives of “culture-divertissement” (entertainment) and “culture- interrogation” (questioning), TEP-Magazine’s organizers endeavored each month to assemble the most inviting and relevant program possible, featuring the most alluring and qualified panelists available.

Early indications suggested that the public responded favorably to this formula. One audience member, a 24-year old who worked at a local bookstore, lavished praise on the series, declaring it the “innovation” at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien which he “held closest to his heart,” and describing the first installment of the 1964-65 season as a “fireworks display” that had remained with him ever since.362 Others singled out for praise aspects of the program’s format.

A 28-year old archivist, for example, commented that as a type of spectacle (or show) he

360 “Tep-magazine,” TEP 65 No. 17 (June 1965). 361 Flexibility in setting the series’ roster of speakers was absolutely necessary given that, on the one hand, TEP- Magazine was held on a set schedule and, on the other hand, members of the Parisian intelligentsia often had teeming professional calendars (and some of those who did not preferred not to make public appearances). 362 “Tep-magazine,” TEP 65. 147 considered TEP-Magazine to be “absolutely extraordinary and original.”363 Likewise, a 52-year old comptometer operator announced that the series had “enriched [his] meager knowledge,” by virtue of the fact that the “debates which take place are of such simplicity” that he felt sufficiently heartened to join in the discussion by explaining his views and asking questions.364

Of course, not everyone shared an appreciation for the center’s efforts. One such individual, a 34-year old packer, felt that the series had as of yet failed to address the “vital problems” of day-to-day life in contemporary France. “It should take our lives as its starting point,” he opined; “not theories from books.”365 Nor for that matter did all those in attendance respond positively to Decaunes’ style as an animateur. “Scarcely suitable for a popular theater,” is how one young women, a 19-year old secretary, framed her appeal for his removal, before going on posit that, at a minimum, he was “disagreeable to the majority of spectators” as a result of his tendency to goad the program’s guests towards his views.366

On balance, however, staffers felt assured that for each detractor there were several who appreciated the series’ aims and configuration. Nevertheless, they felt compelled in the summer of 1965 to justify why they had set the format of TEP-Magazine as they did. In particular, they wanted to clarify their decision not to reduce the number of guests at each program (from roughly half a dozen to only two or three). This modification would have enabled speakers to delve more deeply into their topic and engage in lengthier discussions with audience members.

Such a change, however, misconstrued the core function of TEP-Magazine, which was meant to

363 “Tep-magazine,” TEP 65. 364 A comptometer is a mechanical adding machine. “Tep-magazine,” TEP 65. 365 The implication here seems to be that this individual disliked the way in which TEP-Magazine aimed to integrate “theories from books” with the quotidian concerns of the general public. It thus appears that while he wants the series to be informative and educative, theorizing (i.e. abstract or scholarly theorizing) was undesirable. “Tep- magazine,” TEP 65. 366 “Tep-magazine,” TEP 65. 148 offer a “rapid survey” of recent developments in literature and the arts, theater and cinema, society and science.367 The variety of subjects covered compensated for the brevity of the presentation. After all, if piquing the public’s interest was the springboard for intellectual acculturation, then the current format afforded the most effective means to achieve this end.

All the same, organizers proclaimed their openness to the possibility of creating spinoff programs where the depth of discussion might take precedence to the breadth of the presentation.

While TEP-Magazine would remain the flagship series and a mainstay in the center’s programming, they envisioned two candidates for additional series falling within the

“encounters” genre, the first being lecture series with narrower topical foci, and the second being roundtables that would bring together a handful of specialists dealing with a single issue. In each instance, the experts’ interventions would be followed by dialogue with the public. As it turned out, the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien played host to a stunning array of these sorts of programs in subsequent years. That they expressly wanted to keep these spinoff programs distinct from TEP-

Magazine provides another indication that animateurs acknowledged importance of branding.

They understood that, to sell, a product (cultural or otherwise) must have a clearly defined and recognizable identity so that prospective as well as habitual consumers know what to expect.

The most ambitious offshoot was TEP-Magazine Permanent. Premiering on March 8,

1969, the new series preserved the name recognition of the center’s flagship spoken review but extended the duration of the program to span an entire afternoon and evening. Given its length,

TEP-Magazine Permanent was held on a Saturday, running uninterrupted from 3 pm to midnight.

Having a full nine hours at their disposal carried three main advantages: the program could accommodate a greater number of guests, span a larger array of topics, and offer spectators more

367 “Tep-magazine,” TEP 65. 149 flexibility in choosing a time to attend (some or all of) the event. Staging the review on the weekend also allowed it to unfold in a more relaxed setting and to attract audience members from the popular classes.368 To pitch the new program, center staffers offered a commerce-based analogy, describing the day-long spectacle as affording—at a mere 3 francs for members and 5 francs for non-members—the public an “à la carte” choice of cultural offerings, as opposed to the “set menu” of the normal series.369 Such a format promised members of the public greater agency—or “freedom of movement”—as cultural consumers, allowing them to spend their money on the speakers and topics that interested them the most, and at times that suited their schedules.370

The debut installment of TEP-Magazine Permanent included more than a dozen speakers, boasting expertise from across the spectrum of French intellectual and cultural life. Jacques

Duclos, the prominent Communist senator, presented and responded to questions about the first volume of his memoirs; the journalist Albert Ducrocq offered his observations on the space race; a group of young people sought to collaboratively address the wants and needs of youth in contemporary society; Father Marc Oraison, known for his work in moral philosophy and psychology, led a discussion of his autobiography, Tête dure; Dominique Dallayrac and André

Baudry, founder of the underground review Arcadie, offered their observations on the plight of homosexuals; the journalist and critic Thierry Maulnier shared his views on the problems confronting culture; Octave Mannoni expounded upon his recently published study of Freud and his psychoanalytical legacy; and from the world of entertainment culture, famed theater director

368 Whose working and living conditions frequently prevented them from venturing out on weeknights and who, as a result, were seldom in attendance for TEP-Magazine. 369 TEP 71 No. 53 (March 1969). 370 TEP 71 No. 53 (March 1969). 150

Jean-Louis Barrault dissected his production Rabelais at the Élysée Montmartre; Maurice Pialat offered commentary on his first feature-length film L’Enfance nue; and noted comedian and clown Raymond Devos took to the stage to discuss his innovative and often surreal take on humor.

In the wake of this marathon production, animateurs praised TEP-Magazine Permanent for having “revived our current affairs spoken review and created around our center a whole day of activities without precedent.”371 By lauding its socio-cultural relevance and one-of-a-kind nature, organizers vocally affirmed their commitment to remaining at the cutting edge of French cultural life and programming. In fact, they were so pleased with the success of the first iteration of TEP-Magazine Permanent that beginning in November 1969 the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien implemented an alternating monthly rotation between it and the standard-format spoken review.372

Concurrent with the Ménilmontant Maison’s development of the daylong spoken review format, the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble premiered its Semaines series. Unlike its Parisian counterpart, Semaines presented a sequence of thematically linked evening events spread across the week, with topics drawn from across the spectrum of French cultural and intellectual life.

But like TEP-Magazine Permanent, they offered a breadth of coverage and depth of inquiry that was not possible in the course of a solitary (two- or three-hour) evening.

The series premiered in March 1969 with the Semaine Jean Rouch, which featured screenings and discussions of the ethnographic filmmaker’s rich oeuvre. Publicity for the

371 “Par dessus l’épaule,” TEP 71 No. 56 (June 1969). 372 Subsequent installments of TEP-Magazine Permanent continued to attract prominent speakers from across the spectrum of French culture. To provide but one example, in November 1969, Vercors, Claude Roy, Jean Lacouture, Daniel Guerin, and Jean-Pierre Melville, among others, took to the stage in order to present their ideas and engage in discussion with the public. 151 extravaganza stressed Rouch’s intellectual credentials, noting that he held a doctoral degree in anthropology, as well as a research position with CNRS. Moreover, he was committed to the principle of engagement through his approach to the art of filmmaking. For some, film was an end in itself; but not in the case of Rouch, for whom it afforded the means to a greater end. The distinction lay in Rouch’s realization that the medium of cinema afforded an instrument for social change. The filmmaker, in his capacity to record, study, and depict the world

(characterized as “the only thing that really matters”) as it is, was also in a position to use his cinema to try and “change the face of the world.”373 The most famous example of this cinematographic engagement to be featured as part of the Semaine Jean Rouch was his 1960 documentary, Chronique d’un été, which received the International Federation of Film Critics’ prize at the Cannes Film Festival in 1961. Produced in his trademark cinéma vérité style and in collaboration with the noted sociologist Edgar Morin, Chronique depicts a series of interviews with passersby on the street, followed by those same individuals’ self-critiques of their responses, in order to engage questions as diverse—yet interrelated—as politics, class, authenticity, and happiness.

The following summer, the Maison staged an epic installment of Semaines devoted to the topic of Cuba. The stated aim of this two-month program was to provide a comprehensive overview of a country on the cutting edge of political, social, cultural, and artistic development.374 In terms of tone, the Semaines cubaines were to be part celebration and part critical analysis. Center organizers enlisted a stunning array of leading thinkers and cultural figures from the island nation, such as Alejo Carpentier and Roberto Fernandez Retamar, as well

373 Jean-Jacques Henry, “Montréal à Treichville,” Rouge et Noir No. 8 (March 1969). 374 “Visage de Cuba,” Rouge et Noir No. 10 (May 1969). 152 as France, including Michel Leiris, Michel Gutelman, and Max-Pol Fouchet.375 Of the French contingent, Leiris presented his ethnological views on the originality of cultural creation in Cuba and Latin America. Gutelman, an economist by training, assessed the economic and agricultural development of the Cuban nation in the decade following the revolution of 1959. The writer, critic, and television personality Fouchet offered his thoughts on the intersection of art and society in Cuba, and previewed his two-part TV film on the same theme.376

A decade later Semaines remained a part of the center’s diverse repertoire of programs geared towards fostering face-to-face interactions between Grenoblois and the creators of culture. In February 1978, to cite one particularly rich instance, the Maison opened its doors to the review Esprit for a “Week of Reflection” organized and animated by contributors to the intellectual journal. Four debates were scheduled, including “How to Make a Review,” in conjunction with the editorial team from Silex, “The Labor Crisis,” “The End of Christendom,” and “The Modern State in Practice.”377 Pierre Rosanvallon, along with Jean Leca and Lucien

Nizard, took to the stage in this last roundtable in order to discuss the pros and cons of the government’s steadily increasing reach into all aspects of public life, and the feasibility of finding alternate ways to remodel society other than via recourse to state power.

The Semaine Esprit affords a rich instance of inter-institutional cooperation with the shared purpose of promoting intellectual culture. To have journal of Esprit’s profile agree to assemble a series of events spanning four topics, six days, and involving still more participants speaks to the potential the review’s directors and contributors saw in the Maison, its constituents,

375 Carpentier was among the most influential Cuban writers of the twentieth century. He spent time in France on several occasions, first when in exile in the 1920s-1940s and later as an ambassador under Castro (1966), where he remained until his death in 1980. Retamar is a poet and president of the Casa de las Americas review with strong ties to Fidel Castro and Che Guevara. 376 “Cuba, Art and Revolution in Cuba” (Part 1) and “Cuba: Poetry and Reality” (Part 2). 377 These events were staged on February 4, 6, 7, and 9, respectively. Rouge et Noir No. 92 (February 1978). 153 and the Semaine formula. With all of the topics chosen for consideration being staple preoccupations of the publication, the Semaine Esprit presented the review’s organizers a unique opportunity to engage directly and substantively in a “live” setting with matters they deemed important. Moreover, it offered them an opportunity to encourage a largely uninitiated public to take an interest in a selection of specific issues, while simultaneously gauging audiences’ receptivity to the publication’s point of view.

The Semaine Esprit was one in a long series of programs that brought members of the

Esprit family to the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble. In the winter of 1974, the center staged a

Magazine Parlé on the life and legacy of the journal’s founder Emmanuel Mounier, without doubt one of the most significant intellectuals of the early twentieth century.378 The event featured Jean-Marie Domenach, who had assumed the direction of Esprit in 1957, and Jean

Bastaire, a frequent contributor and noted Christian intellectual.379 Along with Paul Thibaud, another Esprit associate, Bastaire had participated in the February 1973 “Roundtable on Charles

378 From humble origins among the peasants of the Isère, Mounier had gone on to become the leading thinker of Personalism, which garnered rapid acclaim among interwar thinkers for its inspiring vision of human and communitarian betterment through proactive engagement with both the self and the world at large. In 1932 he founded Esprit, which fast became the principal organ for personalists and the Non-Conformists Movement in the 1930s, as well as an important forum for Catholic intellectuals. Following the war, a more ecumenical Esprit reappeared, particularly in its attitude towards the communist Left. To this day it remains among the most respected and erudite of intellectual revues in France. For a succinct overview of the Personalist movement, see Jean-François Fourney, “Personalism,” in Kritzman, ed., The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, 84-85. 379 Bastaire was, moreover, a specialist on the thought of Charles Péguy, one of Mounier’s mentors. (In fact, Mounier credited Péguy with inspiring his vision of Personalism.) In order to publicize the event, Bastaire penned an article for the Maison’s monthly publication, Rouge et Noir, in which he endeavored to establish a link between the two thinkers, who Bastaire considered kindred spirits. Beyond the fact that Mounier’s first publication was an in-depth study—the first such study to appear—of Péguy’s oeuvre, Bastaire suggested that the more “striking parallel” between the philosophers was that both had renounced university careers in order to “cast themselves into the fray” of socio-political engagement through the founding and direction of a publication.” In light of Bastaire’s curriculum vitae, as well as his agenda, this intervention in the pages of Rouge et Noir is fascinating for its hybridity: on the one hand, an intellectual product and, on the other hand, a clear-cut example of marketing and public relations. In a single stroke, Bastaire set the stage for the forthcoming event, providing the Maison’s members with a wealth of background information on Mounier’s ideas and personal itinerary as a primer of sorts for the Magazine Parlé and in the hopes of whetting their appetite for more of the same. Jean Bastaire, “Péguy et Mounier,” Rouge et Noir No. 54 (February 1974). 154

Péguy.”380 Thibaud’s first visit dated back to November 1972, when he spoke as a representative of the publication at the Social Sciences’ debate on “The Role of Readers and Journalists Faced with the News.”381 He returned again in October 1974, accompanied by Domenach, for an installment of the spoken review entitled “The Crisis of Civilization as Seen by Esprit.”382 The premise of this event was part presentation and part public debate. To begin, Domenach and

Thibaud posed a string of questions regarding contemporary society, after which the two thinkers engaged in an open dialogue with one another and the public in attendance.

The regular presence of Esprit-affiliated intellectuals at the Maison de la Culture de

Grenoble owed in large part to the revue’s wartime relocation to the nearby city of Lyon, where

Mounier hoped Vichy censors would prove less repressive than those of the Nazis in the

Occupied Zone.383 Though Mounier moved Esprit back to Paris following Liberation, the publication’s administrators and contributors remained connected to Rhône-Alpes region. This association between the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble and Esprit played a considerable role in making and maintaining the vitality of the former’s intellectually-oriented activities over the long haul.

380 Jacques Viard and Wladimir Rabé participated. The purpose of this retrospective, according to Bastaire, was one of rehabilitation. At his best, Péguy was a “master writer,” an exemplar of “Catholic poetry” in all its glory. However, the onetime Dreyfusard was also commonly regarded as one of fascism’s intellectual forbearers. To make matters worse, he had become a “nobody” in the eyes of the youth in France at present. Serious stakes, therefore, for a centenary “celebration” of Péguy’s birth. In tandem with the event, Bastaire published an overview of the philosopher entitled, “Péguy, anarchiste,” in Rouge et Noir No. 45 (February 1973). 381 Rouge et Noir No. 42 (November 1972). 382 Rouge et Noir No. 59 (October 1974). 383 Lyon is approximately 110 kilometers northeast of Grenoble. Mounier moved Esprit to Lyon at the time of the armistice, where it fell under the jurisdiction of the Vichy government rather than that of the Nazis. However, the revue quickly fell out of favor with Vichy authorities and was banned in 1941. Mounier moved the publication back to Paris, where it has remained since, in 1945 following the Liberation of France. 155

For the Love of Truth: Incarnating Intellectual Culture

Daniel Bougnoux, a philosopher and instructor at the University of Grenoble III-

Stendhal, served as animateur for the Philosophical Encounters series at the Maison de la

Culture de Grenoble, which launched in January 1983. Bougnoux’s scholarship focused on notions and networks of information and communication, a field of study that no doubt served him in good stead as he worked to facilitate the transfer of philosophical knowledge from experts to amateurs.384 His participation assured a high degree of expertise in the operation of the series, as well as maintaining a proximal link between it, the university, and other intellectual milieus in

France.

The premise was elegant in its simplicity: to ask roughly ten questions of a noteworthy author, who, in the course of answering, would communicate a fairly detailed snapshot of his (or her) research.385 Having established a foundation of basic knowledge, the event transitioned into a face-to-face conversation between the guest philosopher and the public in attendance. These

“encounters” were to unfold in as relaxed a manner as possible and grandiloquence was spurned.

Bougnoux’s principal concern as animateur was to ensure clarity of communication without sacrificing intellectual rigor. To foster a congenial atmosphere, programs were held in the

Mobile Theater, its modest size cultivating a greater sense of intimacy and its design specifically intended to break down the barriers between performers and the audience by placing the former directly in the midst of the latter.386 In the hopes of attracting as sizeable a public as possible, the

384 He was also founder of the journal Silex, which featured in the 1978 installment of the Semaines series, “How to Make a Review,” and was therefore familiar with center’s approach to intellectual programming and what this entailed for guest speakers and thinkers. Given Bougnoux’s area of interest as a philosopher, it may come as little surprise that he developed a close collaborative relationship with Régis Debray. 385 The series was conceived as a permanent version of the formula Bougnoux had put to use when Edgar Morin visited the center the previous year. Journal du mois (December 1982). 386 Some installments were staged in the Petite Salle. 156 series ran on Saturday evenings (generally beginning between 6:30 and 8:30pm), thereby minimizing the likelihood of workaday obligations hampering attendance.387

As animateur, Bougnoux tasked himself with identifying noteworthy thinkers from across the discipline of philosophy who met two criteria: devotion to the search for “truth” no matter how difficult and “susceptibility” to reaching only a limited public given the cerebral nature of their work.388 By extension, the Philosophical Encounters series served two main purposes: to bring Grenoble’s lay public into contact with the search for philosophical truth and help France’s philosophers disseminate their work in the cultural mainstream.389

Of the four thinkers who participated in the first season of Philosophical Encounters,

Cornelius Castoriadis and Réné Girard were the best-known.390 The Greek-born Castoriadis had played a prominent role in the intellectual life of his adoptive France since exploding onto the scene in 1949 with the creation of Socialisme et Barbarie, which he co-founded with Claude

Lefort. Girard achieved celebrity as an academic philosopher for his provocative theories on the interlocking relationship between mimetic desire, expiatory violence and victimization, and the maintenance of social order—with his visit to the Grenoblois Maison following closely on the

387 Admission to the series was free. The appearance of Jean-Pierre Dupuy, the rubric’s first guest, was followed by a small, by-invitation seminar on Sunday afternoon, much like those organized in conjunction with the Social Science series. 388 Journal du mois (December 1982). 389 Robert Perrin, who operated largely outside the traditional institutional structures of French intellectual culture, affords a clear-cut illustration of this ambition. At the time of his appearance in January 1983, no portion of his “abundant production,” as Bougnoux phrased it, had been published. Rather than pursuing his vocation from within the French academic system, he threw himself headlong into founding his own school of humanist philosophy in Grenoble. Nonetheless, Bougnoux felt that Perrin, precisely because of his openness to the authors and ideas “banished from ‘culture,’” had a great deal to share with the Grenoblois public. Rouge et Noir No. 126 (December 1982). 390 Jean-Pierre Dupuy and Robert Perrin round out the list. (Michel Serres was originally slated to appear in lieu of Girard.) Dupuy was a CNRS-affiliated researcher and instructor at the École Polytechnique whose work centered on epistemologies of the social sciences and the philosophical principles underpinning political economy. Like so many other of the Maison’s guest thinkers, he was a member of the Esprit family. Journal du mois (December 1982). 157 heels of the publication of his book The Scapegoat. Both were intellectual heavyweights in

France during the era (despite the fact that Girard spent most of his career teaching in the United

States) and their participation constituted a major success for the center, one that reflected the importance attached to the series by thinkers.391

In the course of a lengthy announcement in Rouge et Noir, Bougnoux lauded Castoriadis as the consummate intellectual—a veritable “athlete of knowledge,” who, since the Second

World War, had continued to “fight on multiple intellectual and political fronts.”392 It is his diversity of expertise and engagement that makes Castoriadis extraordinary; and so Bougnoux presented a remarkably detailed overview of Castoriadis’ career to date. He took readers through the establishment of Socialisme ou Barbarie.393 He addressed Castoriadis’ treatment of May

1968, his critique of Marxism, his break with Freudian psychoanalytical methodologies, and his foray into the epistemology of science, before concluding with a brief sketch of his contemporary economic work on Soviet national finance with which he attempted to demonstrate the military supremacy of the USSR and the usurpation of power by an emergent military- controlled “stratocracy.”394 In the process, he cited eight of Castoriadis’ texts by name and provided publication details for four. On the whole, Bougnoux offered a ringing endorsement of

Castoriadis the intellectual polymath and an effusive advertisement for the forthcoming event.

391 So, too, did the fact that the series, though it premiered near the mid-point of the 1982-83 season, nonetheless staged five installments between January and the season’s close in May. In February 1984, the center consecrated an edition of the spoken review to the journal Aléa featuring, among others, Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe and Jean- François Lyotard. Rouge et Noir No. 127 (February 1983). 392 Rouge et Noir No. 128/129 (March-April 1983). 393 Bougnoux credits Castoriadis with authoring the foundational texts for both the group and journal, asserting the libertarian autonomy of the former and setting the agenda for the latter, and goes so far as to indicate where one might track down his writings from that era. 394 Rouge et Noir No. 128/129 (March-April 1983). 158

As the Philosophical Encounters series continued in subsequent seasons, two themes emerged that helped define its approach to intellectual programming: For one, organizers adopted a more flexible interpretation of what constituted a ‘philosophical’ encounter. In addition to credentialed philosophers like Gilles Lipovetsky and Pierre Sansot, the series also welcomed a diverse array of writers (such as Philippe Sollers and Danièle Sallenave), along with figures from the visual and performing arts (most notably Gilles Aillaud), so long as these individuals incorporated philosophical concerns into their scholarly, literary, or artistic production.395 Second, while the discipline of philosophy directs itself towards the search for eternal truths, animateurs made a practice of remaining au courant with the debates and preoccupations shaping contemporary intellectual culture. Thus the visits of Lipovetsky and

Sollers, respectively, afforded occasion to delve into the much-discussed resurgence of individualism within advanced democratic societies in the 1980s and the alleged emergence of

“media intellectuals,” with Sollers—an intellectual icon, but also, undeniably, a mainstream celebrity—put on the spot as a possible symptom of this phenomenon.396

By giving themselves over to the public, thinkers who participated in the repertoire of intellectually-oriented “encounters” at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble and the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien became something more than just scholars or writers, more merely philosophers or sociologists or anthropologists; they became personae (their own) and, moreover, came to personify “intellectuals” as a category. The institutional context here is crucial; visiting thinkers were presented by animateurs, depicted in center publications, and viewed by the public as

395 During the 1940s, prior to dedicating himself to painting, Aillaud studied philosophy at the École normale supérieure. Journal du mois, supplement to Rouge et Noir No. 135 (April 1984). See also Journal du mois (February 1984) and Rouge et Noir/Le Monde No. 7 (January-February 1986). 396 Pierre Péju, Journal du mois, supplement to Rouge et Noir No. 133 (February 1984). 159 embodying intellectual culture writ large. They were the “intellectuals” who gave shape and meaning to the intellectual programming at Maisons de la Culture.397

Integral to this shift from person to persona, and from intellectual to Intellectual, was the performative nature of the interview format. Christopher Johnson, in his study of Claude Lévi-

Strauss’ celebrity, advances a similar interpretation of the interview as a cultural genre, arguing that, “as distinct from the solitary and singular act of writing, the interview is a dialogue, an interpersonal exchange requiring the immediate presence and performance of the subject.”398 By extension, “the public of the interview is no longer a virtual one: it is present in the form of the interviewer, who speaks on behalf of that public; who acts as the delegate and intermediary of their interest and curiosity.”399 It bears noting, then, that the public was doubly “present” at

Maisons de la Culture, since, in addition to having its interests represented by animateurs, it was allowed a direct interrogative role in the proceedings.

Spoken reviews were therefore akin to mini-spectacles, through which a center’s public learned something of guest thinkers’ views and came away with an idea, in the form of an embodied representation, of what it meant to be an intellectual. They were the foremost source for “men of thought and action.”400 Castoriadis was an “athlete of knowledge,” who intervened

397 Philosophers and historians, novelists and filmmakers, professors and priests were grouped together on panels bearing titles such as “Intellectuals in the City.” 398 Johnson, “The Intellectual as Celebrity: Claude Lévi-Strauss,” in Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 170. 399 Johnson goes on to contend that the “medium” of the interview” encourages “self-disclosure” on the part of the subject, as a part of which he is propelled to make “pronouncements on subjects unrelated to his own immediate area of expertise,” thereby satisfying “what is perhaps one of the essential requirements of the French intellectual: that he or she should never be simply a specialist, that intellectual power should be associated with something more than mere expertise.” It is in this manner, according to Johnson, that Lévi-Strauss the ‘scholar’ becomes Lévi- Struass the ‘intellectual incarnate’ and ‘celebrity.’ Johnson, “The Intellectual as Celebrity,” in Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 170-171. 400 Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 160 on numerous “intellectual and political fronts” for the betterment of society.401 Writers such as

Mounier and Péguy were lauded for having, “cast themselves into the fray” by spearheading publications that tackled pressing socio-political and cultural issues.402 In each instance, erudition and engagement combine—these were the building blocks of an intellectual legacy.

The impulse to stress guests’ (or subjects’) intellectual credentials was so pronounced that even Albert Einstein, a theoretical physicist, was cast in the role of public intellectual. In tandem with the March 1980 debate “Pourquoi le mythe Einstein?” for instance, the Maison de la

Culture de Grenoble presented members with a selection of Einstein’s “reflections” on himself, school and education, the atomic bomb, and even capitalism and socialism.403 Physics—and

Einstein’s contributions to the field—is virtually absent. Rather the focus is placed on his personality and socio-political opinions. With a measure of ironic humor, Einstein speaks from beyond the grave about his intellectual authority; his sense of complicity at having remained silent about so much of the misfortune and misery in the world, despite having publicly expressed his views regarding the “conditions of life” in society from time to time; his belief that education ought to foster independent thinking while simultaneously exalting “service to the community” as the highest virtue in life; his certainty that only international cooperation and shared responsibility avert disaster in the nuclear age; and his valorization of socialism as the only tenable solution to the social and economic crises afflicting the modern world.404 The following month, the center published a lengthy excerpt of an article by philosopher Pierre

Thuillier from the review La Recherche, the purpose of which was to demonstrate how

401 Rouge et Noir No. 128/129 (March-April 1983). 402 Bastaire, “Péguy et Mounier.” 403 Rouge et Noir No. 111 (March 1980). 404 Rouge et Noir No. 111 (March 1980). 161

Einstein’s personal history informed the development of his Theory of Relativity.405 Here, as with the debate on the “myth” of Einstein, the emphasis lay squarely on his life experiences and demeanor. In both cases, the nature of the attention given to the 20th century’s most famous physicist fits the persona-centric paradigm that consistently shaped the representation of intellectuals at Maisons de la Culture.

Just as Maison organizers highlighted the intellectual credentials of their subjects, so too did they carefully tailor publicity for “encounters” in order to convince the public of thinkers’ user-friendliness. Take the visit of Christiane Olivier, who, in April 1981, came to the

Grenoblois Maison to share insights from her recent psychoanalytic monograph, Les Enfants de

Jocaste. In pitching this event, animateurs stressed the convergence between psychoanalysis (as an intellectual undertaking) and “la rue” (or the socio-cultural mainstream). Additionally, they underlined the accessibility of Olivier’s academic inquiry, which probed the affective consequences for families where mothers preside over children’s early education and fathers, as the sole breadwinner, take responsibility for everything else. They noted that, in crafting her analysis, she blended psychoanalytical and sociological methodologies, and wedded the concerns of contemporary feminism with those of humanism more generally. In short, as an intellectual

Olivier strove to offer something to everyone; and the Society event promised to reciprocate.406

Pierre Rosanvallon’s visit to the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble in January 1984 affords another illustration of organizers’ efforts to craft events ensured audience comprehension and participation. Rosanvallon proposed to lay bare the complex crisis afflicting the French

405 Thuillier devoted much of his work to understanding the relationship between scientific discovery and social context. La Recherche was—and remains—one of France’s leading scientific news magazines. Rouge et Noir No. 112 (April 1980). 406 The event’s organizers placed particular emphasis on the importance of Olivier’s work for women—especially feminists—in the here-and-now, to whom she offered “the first rudiments for changing the role of mothers.” Rouge et Noir No. 120 (April-May 1981). 162 government’s policies of social protection and to assess whether, at its core, the present problems were chiefly financial in nature, with the government’s balance sheet for social security vacillating constantly and frequently in the red; whether the current system was inefficient and in need of reform; or whether the guiding principle of the welfare state had fallen into disrepute.407

As an academic at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris, an accomplished economic journalist, and the author of a recent text tackling that very issue, Rosanvallon was in a unique position to comment on this pressing question. Moreover, beyond simply sharing his thoughts, the event was organized to include a lengthy question and answer session, emceed by

Gilles Lipovetsky, in which Rosanvallon fielded queries put to him by the public in attendance.408

Makers as Marketers

From the perspective of securing the participation of leading intellectual luminaries, two of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien’s greatest successes came in early 1973.409 In March, Jean-Paul

Sartre lead a discussion entitled “A Newspaper for the People, by the People” in order to mark the arrival on the scene of the new daily paper, Libération, which he had helped found.410 In

407 Journal du mois, supplement to Rouge et Noir No. 132 (January 1984). 408 Lipovetsky was a respected sociologist from the University of Grenoble. 409 Since the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien technically ceased to be a Maison de la Culture in the autumn of 1971, one might be tempted to argue that our account of it should conclude here as well. However, as the continuation of the center’s spoken review rubric in its various guises demonstrates, staffers remained committed to the policy priorities which underpinned the Maison de la Culture initiative, such as polyvalence in programming and a combination of “culture-interrogation” and “culture-divertissement.” In fact, organizers carried on referring to the center as a Maison de la Culture in the pages of TEP for some time following reclassification. 410 Libération began publishing in February 1973, however the inception of the project dated back to 1972, when Sartre and a handful of his contemporaries decided to create a “revolutionary” newspaper as a response to the mainstream (or, as he termed it, the “bourgeois”) press, which Sartre charged with failing to properly inform and reflect the people as a whole, most recently and egregiously during the events of May-June 1968. Sartre’s appearance on behalf of a newspaper whose ideological roots (not to mention anti-hierarchical organization) were a direct product of 1968 affords yet another example of TEP-Magazine’s long-running commitment to interrogating 163

May, the center’s animation team performed another coup by bringing Jean Daniel to

Ménilmontant. A respected writer and social observer, Daniel was also the founder and editor in chief of the hugely influential Le Nouvel Observateur, a news magazine known for blending intellectual rigor with non-specialist readability; and his presentation at the Théâtre de l’Est

Parisien, entitled “A Life, a Profession, a Man” coincided with the publication of his professional autobiography, Le Temps qui reste.411

Daniel’s appearance in TEP-Magazine, like Sartre’s before him, testifies to the fact that efforts to market intellectual culture extended beyond the Maison de la Culture initiative and were, in fact, a condition of intellectual life in France. On each occasion, a major intellectual figure took to the stage at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien in order to inform and interact with the public. However, the guest of honor also took to the stage in both cases with a personal agenda.

Sartre and Daniel each sought to plug a cultural product (Libération and Le Temps qui reste) in which they were personally and professionally invested. Sartre, after all, had lent his name and credibility as much as his expertise to the fledgling newspaper. And Daniel was quite literally tasked with selling himself—his persona and track record in the public sphere—to the audience on hand.412 Both therefore endeavored to increase public interest in their respective publications

the events and after effects of that cataclysmic spring. To this end, Sartre pledged: “We want to consult the actual participants in an event, want them to speak for themselves.” Libération’s revolutionary aspirations found further expression in the paper’s horizontal approach to internal organization at the outset. Cohen-Solal, Sartre, 485 & 487. 411 TEP-actualité No. 86 (May-June 1973). 412 Christopher Johnson and Jennifer Ratner-Rosenhagen observe similar phenomena in their work on Claude Lévi- Strauss and Friedrich Nietzsche, respectively. Johnson asserts that Lévi-Strauss’ mass appeal and iconic status in the cultural mainstream owed more to the nature and cultivation of his persona than to the content and merit of his ideas. Even within the French intellectual milieu, Johnson demonstrates that Lévi-Strauss’ rise to prominence was due to the mediation of his thought and persona. Likewise, Ratner-Rosenhagen posits an inextricable “linkage between the dissemination of ideas and the spread of images of their creators” in her analysis of Nietzsche’s legacy in the United States. Johnson, “The Intellectual as Celebrity,” in Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 154-55, 167. Ratner-Rosenhagen, “Conventional Iconoclasm,” 731. 164 by participating in TEP-Magazine; both sought to convince consumers of the value of their intellectual work.

That guest thinkers deliberately marketed themselves to the public is especially clear-cut in the many cases where participants in “encounters” programs at Maisons de la Culture offered up publicity on their own behalf. In December 1971, for example, Jean Baechler, a disciple of

Raymond Aron and a lecturer at the École Pratiques des Hautes Études, took the stage at the

Maison de la Culture de Grenoble in order to present a lecture on “The Rules of the Social

Game.”413 Prior to his arrival, the historical sociologist contributed an article to Rouge et Noir, penned in the future tense. In it he introduced the broad thematic contours of his upcoming talk and encouraged the center’s public to attend the event by asserting the pressing relevance of the ideas he would cover. He promised to lay out some of the underlying “rules” that order modern societies, which, as he termed it, encapsulate the “tragic greatness of the human condition” in its entirety.414 In tandem, the editorial staff at Rouge et Noir appended a brief résumé of the “young historian,” describing him as an accomplished and well-connected thinker. The reference to his youthful age—he was 34 at the time of his visit—offered a point of compatibility between

Baechler and the bulk of the center’s membership, more than 75% of which was below the age of

40. As the author of three texts in as many years, a teaching record that included stints in Le

Mans and at the Sorbonne, as well as a research affiliation with the CNRS and an ongoing collaboration with Raymond Aron in the context of his work with the Centre Européen de

Sociologie, Baechler comes across as something of a dynamo: as much an expert in sociology as in history, with an abundance of energy and experience to share with the center’s public. By

413 Jean Baechler, “Les règles du jeu social,” Rouge et Noir No. 33 (December 1971). 414 Baechler, “Les règles du jeu social.” 165 stressing his intellectual qualifications—including his relationship with the iconic Aron—this extended byline lends credence to Baechler’s own assertion that he’s someone well worth coming to see.

Most of the thinkers who participated at Maisons shared a close connection to print culture. Whether philosopher or anthropologist, established academic or ambitious upstart, the vast majority were the authors or editors of published work. And in selling themselves and their ideas to the public, they were also making a case for the quality and relevance of their books, journals, or newspapers. Sometimes the link was tacit, as when authors’ visits coincided with the publication of a new monograph. Réné Girard’s passage through Grenoble in 1983, for instance, corresponded with the release of The Scapegoat, with the theme for his intervention dovetailing with that of his book. Maisons organizers helped cultivate the connection by offering bibliographic information to center members in advertisements for programs.415 The Maison de la Culture de Grenoble even ran a sequence of Magazines Parlés in the 1970s and 1980s entitled,

“An Author, A Book.”416 Philippe de Boissy, who publicized Max Gallo’s stopover in April

1979, commented that the installment would allow the noted writer to further enlarge his already substantial readership, which is to say, his customer base.

Commercialization and Maisons de la Culture

Maisons de la Culture periodically tackled the link between culture, commerce, and consumption. In November 1972, Grenoble’s Social Sciences series hosted a roundtable on

415 Of the eight texts Bougnoux cited by name while publicizing Castoriadis’ appearance in the Philosophical Encounters series, he gave the publication details for four. 416 Rouge et Noir No. 103 (April 1979) and No. 104 (May 1979). 166

“The Role of Readers and Journalists Faced with the News.”417 The event brought together a vast array of commentators from the world of journalism, including representatives of the

Syndicat National des Journalistes, the Confédération Générale des Cadres, Interpeller la Presse, and Esprit.418 Situating the press as a commercial enterprise, the discussants examined the shifting balance between its responsibility to inform (including the nature of its coverage) and the need to sell in order to stay solvent, if not profitable; and they questioned whether or not the journalist inevitably lost some measure of his authorial freedom as a consequence. They suggested that readers were empowered as never before, finding themselves in the unique position of being both the producers and consumers of news, setting the agenda for what qualified as newsworthy and how it was covered, as well as purchasing the finished product.

While the roundtable centered exclusively on the written press, the questions it broached were equally relevant to other cultural institutions in France, including Maisons de la Culture. In fact, these concerns long occupied the attention of center organizers, providing an ongoing topic of debate as far back as the early 1960s.

Few inveighed more passionately against the commercialization of culture than Luc

Decaunes, chief animateur at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien. “For some time now,” he observed in 1964, “much has been said about culture,” particularly the role it plays in shaping peoples’ social existence, as well as its diffusion among the masses.419 In effect, he noted, “culture is à la mode” (in vogue) at present in France.420 And among all those speaking of culture and the need for democratization, among all the cultural philanthropists of recent provenance, whose

417 “Rôle des lecteurs et des journalistes devant l’information,” Rouge et Noir No. 42 (November 1972). 418 The Syndicat National des Journalistes (Desbruyeres and Pierre-Daville), the Confédération Générale des Cadres (Reynier and Clerc), Interpeller la Presse (Nizard), and Esprit (Thibaud) 419 Luc Decaunes, “La culture n’est pas à vendre,” TEP No. 10 (October-November 1964). 420 Decaunes, “La culture n’est pas à vendre.” 167 declarations bore an eerie resemblance to an advertising campaign, Decaunes could not help but suspect that some were driven by motives ulterior to the “intellectual and moral advancement of their fellow man.”421 He highlighted the trend towards speaking of action culturelle in the same manner as one would a newly opened sector of the market, by invoking market research, determinations of need and prospective clienteles, as well as recourse to sociologists, statisticians, and psychologists; all of which conjured an image of the public as “consumers” needing to be enticed into the “boutique” that is culture.422

Yet, for all of Decaunes’ trepidation upon discovering the inroads made by commercial thinking in the cultural arena, Maisons de la Culture (including the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien) were openly involved in precisely the sort of targeted market research, which approached action culturelle through the optic of commercialization, Decaunes sought to proscribe.423 The very fact that Decaunes felt compelled to voice his opposition to the commercialization of culture not only speaks to the mounting scope of this phenomenon within the French cultural arena as a whole, it validates the extent to which commercialization factored into the operations of Maisons de la Culture. After all, if Decaunes did not regard commercialization as a wolf at the door of the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, there would be little need to initiate a polemic.424 Nor would he

421 Decaunes, “La culture n’est pas à vendre.” 422 Decaunes, “La culture n’est pas à vendre.” 423 CAC, 19840753, Article 8: “Etude 42, SERES.” Other studies that were of particular relevance to the Maison de la Culture initiative include “Une enquête par sondage sur la Maison de la Culture de Bourges” (Etude 41), carried out by the Comité national pour un amenagement des temps de travail et des temps de loisirs; “Le colloque de Bourges” (Etude 49), conducted by the Association d’Etude pour l’Expansion de la Recherche Scientifique; “Etude 68,” carried out by the Société civile d’études pour la programmation du TEP; “Etude 79,” conducted by the Société Civile d’Etudes pour la programmation de la Maison de la Culture de Nanterre; “Compte rendu de l’entretien entre M. François Perrous, Professor au Collège de France, et M. Dumaine, Directeur du Cabinet de M. le Ministre d’Etat chargé des affaires culturelles (April 14, 1970),” (Etude 97); and “Etude visant à déterminer les options et les objectifs à long terme d’une politique d’accès à la culture,” (Etude 98), carried out by Jean-Marie Domenach in conjunction with the Ministry’s Service des Etudes et de Recherche. 424 In other words, the critical opinions proffered by Decaunes and Simon should not be taken as an indication that the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien remained somehow beyond the pale of the commercialization of culture, i.e. as the 168 feel compelled to admonish center members of the need to “take care that culture does not fall into questionable hands,” so that the “sudden craze” of which it is the object does not wind up affording a “pretext for disruptive commercial exploitation,” as had proven to be the case for vacation and education as a result of tourism and audiovisual aids (namely, television and radio), respectively.425

Alfred Simon, another of the Maison’s most emphatic voices against the trend towards cultural consumption and commercialization, advanced similar views. He argued that the primacy of economics in advanced industrial societies such as France almost forcibly bisected men’s lives into an ongoing cycle of alternation between production (during work hours) and consumption (during leisure time). At present, he lamented, few individuals really create anything while at work; they simply produce. And few truly enjoy themselves in their spare time; rather they consume merely for the sake of it, so much so that consumption has become synonymous with leisure and, as of late, matters of culture as well. In defense of this claim, he stressed the trend among “specialists” to speak only in terms of the “production of cultural goods” and exhibited great concern for insuring their consumption.426 The trouble, Simon surmised, was that “the consumption of culture occasions a culture of consumption,” thereby setting in motion a vicious cycle with potentially ruinous results for the caliber of French cultural creations (or productions, as the case may be).427 He considered it only logical that “quantitative advances” in the nation’s cultural productive capacity would come to be treated as the equivalent passing of judgment from observers external to the situation. They articulated a form of dissent aimed at a phenomenon that directly impacted the policies and milieu of the Parisian Maison de la Culture. Despite being state-subsidized institution, expressions of dissent were common in TEP, with center organizers using the publication as a means to criticize various aspects of the state’s action culturelle (most notably its cultural “elitism”), funding of the Maison de la Culture initiative, response to the events of May 1968, and so on. 425 Luc Decaunes, TEP 65 No. 15 (April 1965), as cited in Simon, Le TEP, 55. 426 Alfred Simon, “Où va le public?” TEP No. 10 (October-November 1964). 427 Simon, “Où va le public?” 169 of “qualitative progress” in the cultural arena itself.428 As with Decaunes, Simon’s palpable concern, in both his reading of the present and forecast for the future, confirms the prevalence of commercialistic thinking within the Maison de la Culture venture.

Ultimately, though, there existed no fundamental contradiction between Simon and

Decaunes’ anti-commercial views and the Ministry’s commercialistic approach. What they feared was the reduction of culture to mere commodity status as an “a convenience item for everyday life,” valuable to consumers chiefly as a creature comfort and to producers foremost as a source of financial gain.429 Decaunes dreaded a scenario whereby the democratization of culture came to be seen as analogous with the “dreams” of some “philanthropists” to put a refrigerator and central heating in each and every home.430 For culture was more than just a consumer good; it responded to a far more basic (almost ontological) need on the part of mankind to create and belong.431 Consequently, he maintained that authentic and ongoing action culturelle required a “disinterested” approach.432 Fortunately for Decaunes and Simon, those at the Ministry charged with overseeing Maisons de la Culture shared his belief in culture’s intrinsic, supra-monetary value.433 At the core, their commercial thinking was not economic in nature, but rather socio-cultural. While Ministry representatives averred that the French economy stood to profit in a holistic sense from the commodification of culture, the socio- cultural benefits of culture trumped any and all financial considerations; and it was for the

428 Simon, “Où va le public?” 429 Decaunes, in Simon, Le TEP, 55. 430 Decaunes, in Simon, Le TEP, 55. 431 For Decaunes, creation is both a form of self-expression and a way of forging community. 432 Decaunes’ choice of words is fascinating, as disinterestedness is a quality that has long been associated with intellectual culture in France (see, for instance, Julien Benda’s Treason of the Intellectuals, first published in 1927), serving as a guarantee of sorts of the authenticity and objectivity of a thinker’s ideas. 433 Which is to say that culture’s value was so great as to be priceless. 170 purpose of advancing these social and cultural goals that commercial strategies were put to use at

Maisons.

Marketing Efforts, Commodificatory Effects

Organizers and guest thinkers embraced an array of marketing techniques in order to valorize and generate interest in intellectually-oriented programming at Maisons de la Culture, as well as other aspects of intellectual culture (both its creators and the fruits of their labor) lay beyond the centers’ walls. From the outset, animateurs cast the spoken review as an “original creation” of Maisons de la Culture, the only source of regular, face-to-face contact between the general public and experts from all areas of artistic and intellectual culture. They gladly called attention to its one-of-a-kind nature, and proudly affixed the Maison stamp on the genre.434

Additionally, centers in Paris and Grenoble both employed descriptive branding in baptizing their encounters series, with the Parisian Maison applying variations of its “TEP” label and the

Grenoblois facility tailoring names to the shifting thematic foci of their programs.

In the process, center organizers and their guests created a milieu compatible with a more figurative “branding” of intellectuals’ labor. Take, for example, Sartre’s visit to Ménilmontant in support of Libération. As significant as the editorial role he played, and as meaningful as the articles he contributed, was the fact that Sartre lent his name and reputation to the fledgling newspaper; and his appearance at the Parisian Maison afforded an opportunity to promote that association. Though the apex of his fame had passed by 1973, he remained one of the world’s most prominent thinkers, so much so that “Sartre” was in all likelihood as close to a universally recognized “intellectual” moniker as existed in the realm of intellectual culture. Libération,

434 Decaunes, “TEP Magazine a 3 ans.” 171 through its close affiliation with and endorsement by Sartre the man, profited from the visibility and sales potential of “Sartre” the icon.

In the lead-up to events, organizers frequently ran elaborate personal and professional biographies of the intellectuals being featured as speakers or subjects. Through these advertisements, as well as the face-to-face nature of events themselves, animateurs fashioned a means of embodying intellectual culture, personifying “intellectuals” as a category, and

“persona-fying” individual thinkers. Recall Vladmir Jankélévitch’s appearance at the Grenoblois

Maison, where he put his formidable presence and a live performance on piano to use in elucidating the concepts he wished to communicate. Or think of the mythologizing treatment accorded to Albert Einstein, with the theoretical physicist being cast as the consummate intellectual. Or consider the sensationalizing “A Life, A Profession, A Man” event, staged by the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien, consecrating the living legacy of Jean Daniel.

In making a case for intellectually-oriented activities, the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble both habitually underscored the experiential dimension of their programs, enticing members of the public with the opportunity to see, hear, meet, and engage. This should come as little surprise since, as a set of practices, the commodification of intellectual culture at these Maisons was built around various forms of experience consumption; accordingly, marketing intellectual programs meant selling them as worthwhile and enjoyable experiences. Edification, animateurs affirmed, could also be entertainment. Likewise, they endeavored to involve the public directly in the proceedings and afford access to intellectuals as people, whether by privileging face-to-face interactions, which they believed resonated especially well with the less culturally initiated segments of the public, or offering follow-up seminars for anyone desiring more of an in-depth and personalized experience. 172

Furthermore, animateurs and speakers alike engaged in a whole spectrum of practices meant to create demand for other facets of intellectual culture beyond the Maison de la Culture; though boosting sales of intellectuals’ published work was far and away the most common intended consequence. The secondary motive of the “An Author, A Book” sequence of

Magazines Parlés, for example, could scarcely be more apparent. Much the same may be said of the convention of including bibliographic information in publicity for the centers’ speaker series.

I would contend, moreover, that the frequent appearances at the Grenoble Maison by members of the Esprit family of thinkers fall within this framework. Altruism undoubtedly accounts for some of the verve evinced by writers affiliated with the journal; nevertheless it is difficult to imagine that a desire to attract new readers to Esprit did not figure in as well.

Though intended to combat the cultural disenfranchisement of large swaths of the French populace, the commodification of culture carried with it new challenges for organizers at

Maisons de la Culture, perhaps above all the contradictory imperative of selling the public on a center’s cultural offerings without being suspected of having “sold out” to commercial culture, or, in other words, producing and disseminating desirable cultural commodities fit for mainstream consumption without “going commercial” in the process. This paradox was especially pronounced in the case of intellectual culture, as the theories of intellectuals are more often than not addressed to other thinkers, often abstract, and frequently presuppose familiarity with a given discipline or methodology. Additionally, intellectuals are commonly thought to be impervious, or, at a minimum, committed to maintaining a critical distance, from worldly considerations like fame and profit. At the same time, public intellectuals require a public audience for their work; and at no time in France’s history have intellectuals elicited more fascination on the part of the grand public than in the period following the Second World War. 173

Yet the mass distribution of one’s work and mainstream notoriety proved just as capable of irreparably tainting the reputations of some as it did conferring iconic status to others.

As the implications, both positive and negative, of this dilemma came to light, it became increasingly important to construct institutions capable of championing cultural products successfully while simultaneously safeguarding them against potentially ruinous accusations of having become vulgarized, “mediatized,” or commercialized. The postwar period, and particularly the 1960s through the 1980s, stands as a key moment in the development of this trend. It has been most evident in the mass media, where the debate has typically focused; but it applies equally to non-mass cultural institutions such as Maisons de la Culture. Such breadth speaks to the significance of this phenomenon, one that continues to this day in a wide array of cultural milieus.435

435 Consider for instance the derogatory connotations (of vulgarization or trivialization) and labels (chiefly, médiatique, insofar as intellectual culture is concerned) associated with mainstream or pop culture creations or crossovers, as compared to the deference commonly accorded by the arbiters of taste to that which is avant-garde, underground, and independent, or, in the world of music for example, that which has “street credibility.” 174

PART III

Appropriations and Parallel Evolutions

CHAPTER 5

Out with the Old, In with the Pompidou

Beginning in the late 1960s, a growing number of center organizers and Ministry officials came to believe that the vastness of Maisons de la Culture—characterized by Malraux as veritable “cathedrals of culture”—intimidated sizeable portions of the general public and structurally predisposed the institution to the reproduction of an elite culture. These objections gave rise to a decade-long movement to reorient the guiding principles and practices of Maisons along new lines, one born of the cultural populism of 1968 and codified as official policy through the combined efforts of reform-minded center directors and a post-Malraux cohort of professionally-trained administrators.

Proponents of reform pushed to shift the focus of Maisons’ activism away from its original emphasis on the diffusion of “great works” so as to carve out a more substantial place for amateur creation and direct participation. In so doing, they hoped to at last whet the cultural appetites of the populous “non-public” in France, which from the outset had proven markedly ambivalent to the “high” cultural offerings at Maisons de la Culture, despite the Ministry’s good intentions, grandiloquence, and lavish monetary investment. The reform movement found traction through a combination of political-ideological and economic factors, which, while instrumental in recasting the state’s approach to action culturelle (or cultural policy), ultimately 175 cost Maisons their place as the Ministry’s flagship institution in its ongoing endeavor to democratize access to culture.

Despite their eventual marginalization, Maisons’ legacy for the commodification of intellectual culture is significant. Established in 1977, the Centre National d’Art et de Culture— or the Pompidou Center as it is commonly known—applied the model for intellectual

“encounters,” first elaborated at Maisons de la Culture, on a grand scale. Following the reorientation of the Ministry’s cultural policy in the late 1970s, the Beaubourg facility afforded just the sort of venue to turn out the public en masse while simultaneously securing the services of France’s highest-profile thinkers. The tenor of the Pompidou Center’s promotional efforts, particularly the ever-present discourse of “value,” as well as its penchant for cultivating “la pensée spectacle,” align closely with the principles and practices of the Maison de la Culture initiative when it came to the making and marketing of intellectual culture.

Accounting for the End of the Investment Stage

As early as the late 1960s, critics denounced Maisons de la Culture for being intrinsically elitist by virtue of their missionary approach to cultural democratization.436 Writing in Le Monde in 1969, Gaullist author Edmond Michelet, serving at the Ministry of Cultural Affairs in Jacques

Chaban-Delmas’ government, lambasted what he considered the present failure of these

436 For an overview of the argument against Maisons de la Culture, see “Les Maisons de la Culture: ouvrons le dossier,” Rouge et Noir, No. 65 (April, 1975). The writer and critic Guy Dumur was particularly hostile towards the institution, going so far as to declare that no Maison de la Culture had ever served to promote any intellectual activity and, on another occasion, describing the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble as a “great empty building where nothing happens.” From Le Nouvel Observateur, No. 494 (April 29, 1974) and “Le masque et la plume,” ORTF (October, 1974), excerpted from “Les Maisons de la culture,” Rouge et Noir, No. 65 (April, 1975). 176 institutions to reach the masses with “an account of contemporary intellectual, artistic, and even scientific thought,” as such knowledge was equally relevant to elites and non-elites alike.437

Concurrently, a growing chorus of center administrators began in the final years of the

1960s to speak in terms of reaching the “non-public,” a group whose cultural disenfranchisement, they surmised, owed as much to psychological factors as to socio-economic and geographic considerations.438 How else to explain the fact that, despite opening state-of-the art Maisons in working-class areas and provincial cities, the mass populace remained perpetually at arm’s length. Approaching this thrice-excluded “non-public” meant going back to square one and re-conceptualizing both the nature of the French state’s vision of “culture” and how the process of acculturation occurs. Their critique placed much of the blame on the “top-down” approach to action culturelle, with its strong emphasis on the diffusion of an elitist and all-too- frequently Paris-centric high culture, demanded by Malraux and the Ministry since the outset.439

One might carefully disguise it with eloquent rhetoric, but it remained essentially the same at its core: a culture made by “notables” for other “notables.”440 How could anyone, they asked,

437 Edmond Michelet, Le Monde (October 12-13, 1969), cited in “Les Maisons de la Culture: ouvrons le dossier,” Rouge et Noir. 438 Since the early 1960s, studies conducted on-site at Maisons de la Culture, both by the centers themselves and professional analysts in the employ of the Ministry, regularly found evidence of “elitism” and “alienation” on the part of the public. What changed across the 1960s and 1970s was the degree of optimism evinced by organizers and policymakers that Maisons de la Culture could win the battle against these negative connotations. Susan Weiner has argued that the cultural Jacobinist tendencies of Maisons de la Culture contributed directly to their marginalization as an institution. In presenting her case, she highlights the manner in which the top-down model for cultural democratization Maisons championed came to be seen as tending inevitably towards an elitist (in the sense of being non-pluralist, non-individualist) and therefore “anti-democratic” take on animation and diffusion. Weiner, in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 312. See also AMG, 517 W 61: “Débat: politique culturelle de l’état, m.j.c. et action culturelle,” Dossier constitué par Claude Gilbert, chercheur au CNRS. 439 This “elitist” culture finds its origins the Gaullist ideological underpinnings of action culturelle at Maisons de la Culture as they were initially conceived and implemented, according to which democratization and decentralization—regardless of all lofty rhetoric to the contrary—was treated as a top-down and largely Paris-centric process, meaning that the Ministry, comprised of notables from the world of high culture and vetted functionaries, assumed responsibility for defining what constituted “culture” and which types of activities predominated. Roger Caracache, as cited in Cabret, Quelle Maison pour la culture?, 66-67. 440 Jean Caune, as cited in Cabret, Quelle Maison pour la culture?, 153. 177 expect salt-of-the-earth men and women, whether urban or rural, to relate to this “culture cultivée,” which, for all the idealistic proclamations to the contrary, they either did not regard as their own or did not consider relevant to their lives? Why, moreover, would working-class individuals devote their limited free time to cultural presentations and performances that smacked of indoctrination?

It is no coincidence if the tenor of this critique resembles closely the iconoclastic thinking of students and activists in the spring of 1968, as the spirit of cultural populism unleashed in those fervid months inspired many center directors and animateurs. As early as the end of May, a number of France’s most prominent theater and Maison directors, including Jean Dasté and

Roger Planchon, gathered in Villeurbanne to examine their “objective complicity in their institutions’ failure to reach the masses.”441 If cultural elitism—real or imagined—led to exclusion, then as insiders they were part of the problem. Playing Brecht and Beckett alongside

Molière did little to mitigate the perception on the part of members of the popular classes that the culture residing in Maisons belonged and applied to others. This is not to say that there was no room for the classics or the avant-garde, simply that they must form part of a “pluralist,” rather than an “elitist,” action culturelle. Adhering to a diffusion-heavy brand of “culture- interrogation,” which came at the expense of amateur creation and privileged a vision of acculturation as assimilation rather than as a process of equipping all individuals with the “tools for self-expression,” perpetuated the alienation of the masses they were charged with engaging.442 In short, they advocated scrapping the “aller vers” approach in favor of a

441 Looseley, in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 226-227. 442 Looseley, in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 227. 178 collaborative, “agir avec” modus operandi that would meet the non-public on its own terms and democratize access to culture from the bottom-up.

Codifying these reforms as policy at the national level, however, took the better part of a decade, and it was not until the late 1970s that Cultural Ministers Michel d’Ornano and Jean-

Philippe Lecat amended the state’s action culturelle in favor of pluralism and grassroots activism. In the interim, converts such as Didier Béraud, Director of the Maison de la Culture de

Grenoble, used their administrative autonomy at the local level to reorient the practices of individual centers, which, in turn, offered important points of reference for the national conversation about cultural policy. At the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, for instance, treating culture as “an asset that belonged to all” came to imply far more than guaranteeing the uninitiated access to France’s historic and living patrimony.443 It meant recognizing that since culture at its core is the product of contrasting as well as common ideas and ways of life, all people contribute to the creation and maintenance of culture, even seemingly anonymous members of the non-public. After all, whether or not one is aware of it, everyone lives his or her life culturally; and therefore plays a part in shaping culture. As such, it fell to Maisons de la

Culture to foster activities and interactions that reflected France’s “common heritage” in all of its various incarnations.444

If leading figures in the state-sponsored push to democratize culture such as Dasté and

Planchon believed in the merits of reforming Maisons’ activism, and were joined by growing numbers of center directors like Béraud, why did it take so long to tip the scales in favor of change? The crux of the answer lays in the changing composition of the Ministry across the

443 AMG, 517 W 58: “Un objectif pour 1968.” 444 AMG, 517 W 58: “Un objectif pour 1968.” 179

1970s and in particular the growing strength of reform-minded, typically Left-leaning, career functionaries in positions of influence at the national level. As the state’s cultural apparatus expanded in the 1960s and beyond, so too did the need for qualified administrators; and thus the cadre of self-taught civil servants issuing from the theater and arts milieu, who had done much of the heavy lifting on their own during the early years of the Ministry, were joined and eventually supplanted (at least numerically) by professionally-trained civil servants such as Catherine

Tasca. Graduating from the École Nationale de l’Administration in 1967, Tasca cut her teeth working on Maisons under Malraux. In 1973 she was named as Béraud’s successor at the

Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, a post she occupied until 1977, when she accepted an assignment at the Office National de Diffusion Artistique. Thus, in just over a decade, Tasca ascended from a fledgling functionary to a position of influence at the municipal level, to an appointment at the national level where she was able to help shape official policy in accordance with her Socialist, cultural pluralist ideology.445 Without diminishing the significant role played by cultural luminaries, exemplified by Dasté and Planchon, and local activists such as Béraud, the emergence of like-minded professional civil servants like Tasca—who were administrators and policy hounds first and foremost, and artists second, if at all—proved an essential catalyst in precipitating the realignment of the Ministry’s agenda for Maisons in the late 1970s.

When success came, however, it proved a hard pill to swallow. For while the state began to pour steadily more of its resources into capturing the “non-public” and fostering people’s creativity at the individual level, it did so by investing increasingly in institutions other than

Maisons de la Culture. Proposals for the Sixth Plan (1971-1975) called for the elaboration of a

445 It bears mentioning that Tasca would go on to hold a seat in the National Assembly (1997-2000), serve as Minister of Culture and Communication under Lionel Jospin (2000-2002), and win election to the Senate (2004- present). 180 different type of cultural institution that could accomplish what Maisons could not. The idea was to create and implement a series of new cultural facilities that, while similar to Maisons in their mission, were tailored specifically to meet the demands of medium and small-sized cities. This would thus allow the Ministry to satiate the cultural appetites (and rights) of communities whose limited size precluded the establishment of a Maison, and where the challenge of cultural development presented itself in different terms.446 In the process, the Ministry would be able to fill in some of the geographic gaps in its national network of state-sponsored cultural centers.

All the same, the Commission for Cultural Affairs maintained that, “it would be inadvisable to abandon the practice of setting up Maisons de la Culture.”447 Thus, at this point, the aim was not to abandon or even significantly modify the Maison de la Culture format, but to supplement it.

In practice, this reorientation initially entailed a significant augmentation of the funding for Centres d’Action Culturelle. As an institution, they dated back to the Fifth Plan; however they received comparatively little support during this period, drawing only 3% of the total operational funds made available for action culturelle.448 Their fortunes changed dramatically under the Sixth Plan, during which time their take of the Ministry’s operational funds ballooned to 22%, with an average annual increase of 37% (as compared to 2% for Maisons de la Culture).

Centres d’Action Culturelle continued to fare comparatively well in the first two years of the

Seventh Plan (1976-1980), collecting 32% of the total operational funds for action culturelle and, despite the national economic slowdown, posting an average budgetary increase of 26% per

446 Rapport de la Commission des Affaires Culturelles, sur les options du VIème Plan, in “Les Maisons de la Culture: ouvrons le dossier,” Rouge et Noir, No. 65 (April, 1975). 447 In much the same vein, another passage in the report declared: “The commission does not reject the policy of substantial facilities for the provinces, particularly in the form of Maisons de la Culture.” Rapport de la Commission des Affaires Culturelle, in “Les Maisons de la Culture: ouvrons le dossier,” Rouge et Noir. 448 “Operational funds” went to programming and salaries, whereas “facility funds” were made available for the construction and maintenance of centers themselves. 181 year, more than twice the average increase of total credits for action culturelle (12%) and three times that of Maisons de la Culture (7%).449

If Maisons de la Culture nevertheless continued to take in the lion’s share of available credits during this period, the same could not be said after 1978. This year, one in which government oversight of the initiative was reassigned to the Ministry of Youth Affairs, Sports, and Recreation, marked the beginning of a new age of austerity for France’s network of

Maisons.450 From this date forward, their budgetary fortunes declined noticeably. In 1979, for instance, the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble received an 8% augmentation. While this was no paltry sum, the center’s director, Henri Lhong, calculated that it was nevertheless insufficient for the maintenance of the Maison’s current operations.451

Dominique Wallon, president of the Association for the Maison de la Culture de

Grenoble, concurred, labeling the 1979 budget “appalling.” 452 Despite his dismay, Wallon surmised that the predicament was not so much political as economic in nature. He conceded that, in a crisis situation the likes of which France currently faced, with growth having slowed considerably following the denouement of the Thirty Glorious Years, it would be inconceivable for the state to continue to guarantee increased subsidies on the same scale as in more prosperous times.453 As a caveat, however, he noted that even if the state confined itself to linking its

449 Percentages based upon values in francs constants. 450 Given the overwhelmingly youthful profile of the public at Maisons de la Culture, the Ministry of Youth Affairs, Sports, and Recreation—which oversaw various other decentralized cultural entities, including Maisons des Jeunes et de la Culture—made for a logical destination. “L’action culturelle en danger,” Rouge et Noir (No. 96, June 1978). 451 Henri Lhong, “Editorial,” Rouge et Noir, No. 101 (February, 1979). 452 Dominique Wallon, “Dossier: l’action culturelle: fin?” Rouge et Noir, No. 105 (June-July, 1979). 453 David Loosely has show the manner in which this fiscal austerity carried forward in the 1980s, noting that, even after the Socialist triumph in 1981, Maisons de la Culture—along with Centres Dramatiques Nationaux—were “required to combine their original public-service aims with a more rigorous economic logic.” Looseley, in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 233. 182 funding for Maisons de la Culture to national growth rates, Maisons should have benefited from a 13-14% increase in their operational budgets, which, as he put it, lessen “the scope of our troubles markedly.”454

Alas, the new decade brought no discernable change; and in 1980 Wallon once again inveighed against the paucity of the 9% budgetary increase proposed by the state. He declared that, unaltered, the current funding situation, which did not even keep up with the rate of inflation, would necessitate the reduction of their budget for programs and activities by more than half when compared to their level in 1978.455 While the economic outlook was ominous to be sure, the scale of the discrepancy between national growth rates and the allocations made to

Maisons de la Culture versus competing cultural institutions suggests that Wallon’s presumption concerning the non-ideological nature of the initiative’s recent budgetary woes was ill-informed or, at a minimum, wishful thinking.

In actuality, by 1978, the status of Maisons de la Culture as the privileged vehicle for cultural democratization had been usurped by another institution, the Maison des Jeunes et de la

Culture (MJCs, as they were known, actually predated Maisons de la Culture, forming part of the

Fourth Republic’s efforts to decentralize culture and cultivate French civic identity).456

However, unlike Centres d’Action Culturelle, Maisons des Jeunes functioned according to an antithetical set of ideals; and their ascendency signaled a decisive shift in the government’s

454 Wallon concluded with the following admonishment: “If this choice must be made, before long nothing will remain other than an industrial and commercial sector for leisure activities and standardized cultural products, and we would then enter progressively into a period of cultural “standardization.” Wallon, “Dossier: l’action culturelle: fin?” 455 The rate of inflation in 1980 was 13.56%. It had been 10.63% in 1979 and 9.25% in 1978. Dominique Wallon, “Editorial,” Rouge et Noir, No. 110 (February, 1980). For rates of inflation in France, see: Inflation.eu, Worldwide Inflation Data, http://www.inflation.eu/inflation-rates/france/historic-inflation/cpi-inflation-france-1980.aspx 456 MJC were first established in 1944, but fell out of favor as the state’s privileged institution for cultural activism at the local level by the dawn of the Fifth Republic. See Looseley, in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 220. 183 cultural policy. This institutional about-face derived from a convergence of economic factors and political considerations, with the former compounding the latter.457

The culmination of the reform movement coincided with the denouement of the postwar era of sustained economic growth (running from 1945 to roughly 1974) and, since Maisons de la

Culture were substantial facilities that required a great deal of capital and carefully organized human power to operate at full capacity, the state’s ominous economic projections made it all the more galling that they should fail at one of their principal objectives: reaching the masses.

Moreover, none of France’s Maisons de la Culture were financially self-sustaining; and the

Ministry could ill afford to budget for unnecessary—and conspicuous—losses in a period of recession.458 (Despite copious investments, the centers in Caen, Thonon, Saint-Etienne, and

Angers had all fallen neglect by 1975.459) By virtue of being smaller-scale facilities, Maisons

457 Careful analysis of official explanations for the state’s shift in policy reveals, time and again, a combination of ideological aspirations and economic rationales. For instance, policy makers called for the “suppression of the current method of funding for Maisons de la Culture and Centres d’Action Culturelle, where people enjoy themselves in the name of an elitist culture, and without the possibility of State supervision.” Another report advocated the “development of people’s creativity at the individual level, as opposed to expensive productions.” (The specific phrasing was: “...opposé à la création qui coûte cher.”) Gilbert, “Débat: politique culturelle de l’état, m.j.c. et action culturelle.” The desire to re-focus on creation was not simply foisted upon Maison de la Culture from on high, nor was it something that center administrators necessarily opposed. For instance, Bernard Gilman, director of the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, issued a stirring plea in defense of creation (and local pluralism) in the pages of Rouge et Noir in February 1981, one that also sought to preserve a place for the presentation of intellectual culture. Bernard Gilman, “Editorial,” Rouge et Noir (No. 118, February 1981). Jean-Louis Schwartzbrod’s account of the crises at the Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, especially in 1980 and 1990, corroborates such an interpretation, whereby the re-orientation of action culturelle and the troubles encountered by Maisons de la Culture being the result of ideological changes—regarding, specifically, the nature of the state’s stance on cultural democratization and decentralization—which were then reinforced and compounded by economic considerations. Jean-Louis Schwartzbrod, as cited in Cabret, Quelle Maison pour la culture?, 109. 458 Having observed that culture’s overall “share of state spending gradually fell from 0.6 percent in 1974 to 0.47 percent in 1981,” Looseley goes on to contend that, while cutbacks were made across the board, these decreases left “the forty or so MCs and CACs hardest hit with a drop in real terms.” Looseley, in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 229. 459 Taking into account the four center closings mentioned above, fifteen Maisons de la Culture remained in the late 1970s (the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien having been re-designated a Théâtre National in 1971). One only one additional center was established in the course of the 1980s, in Chambéry (1987), after having been in the planning stages for twenty-four years. By 1988, however, the number of operational Maisons de la Culture had fallen to eleven, more than half of which faced grave financial difficulties. David Looseley notes that, “at the end of 1988, the public theater sector generally had an overall deficit of eighty million francs, more than 40 percent of which derived from 184 des Jeunes et de la Culture were nowhere nearly as costly to operate. Additionally, the budgets for Maisons des Jeunes allocated credits for specific activities, rather than in lump sums as was the case at Maisons de la Culture, which allowed for greater oversight on the part of the state.

Thus, on the whole, Maisons des Jeunes were the more economical institution.

For policy makers, these monetary advantages compounded the ideological appeal of the

Maison des Jeunes model. If, as Dasté and Béraud alleged, the hallmark of genuine cultural democratization was the capacity to innovate and modify dominant forms of expression, then

Maisons des Jeunes, with their “strategy of decentralized initiatives and diversified experimentations,” afforded the most effective means to this end.460 It was a more adaptable institution and, as such, better suited to offering an individualized, pluralistic cultural experience.

As “smaller-scale” facilities, there were fewer rigid institutional structures in place; the “one-off” nature of their funding accommodated variety; and their “loose” staffing policy reduced bureaucracy without abandoning the use of animateurs to mediate between creators and the public. Such a framework, advocates promised, would enable these centers to organize programs that were more directly relevant to those with less education or from the working class, and more activities that celebrated French peoples’ unique regional identities, class and community subcultures, and ways of life.461

six of the eleven remaining MCs, with La Rochelle and Rennes in particular peril.” In the next two years, the centers at Firminy would be municipalized (July, 1989), La Rochelle and Nevers closed (December, 1989 and 1990, respectively), and Rennes was affiliated with a local Centre Dramatique National (January, 1990). The remaining Maisons, along with Centres d’Action Culturelle and Centres de Développement Culturel, were re-grouped under the appellation “Scènes Nationales,” which denoted, according to Looseley, “a narrowing of the notion of polyvalence to include only theater, dance and, to a lesser extent, music.” Looseley, in French Culture Since 1945, ed. Cook, 234. 460 Gilbert, “Débat: politique culturelle de l’état, m.j.c. et action culturelle.” 461 Gilbert, “Débat: politique culturelle de l’état, m.j.c. et action culturelle.” Susan Weiner labels these “sociogeographic identities” in her essay within The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 314. 185

Despite the fact, as Michel Beaujour has surmised, that Maisons de la Culture were forced to mount a rearguard action against competing interests for much of their existence, it remains true that for over fifteen years this institution represented the state’s preferred model for cultural interactions at the local, grass-roots level.462 During these years they achieved a remarkable degree of success when it came to putting the mainstream public and members of

France’s intellectual community into direct contact with one another. Even when after being marginalized, the institutional model of cultural commodification Maisons helped develop did not disappear altogether. Most notably, it was applied successfully and in spectacular fashion in the aspirations and operations of a new cultural institution: the Pompidou Center in Paris, which first opened its doors in 1977.

New Destinies for Intellectuals at the Pompidou Center

Unlike Maisons de la Culture, which struggled perpetually to attract the attention of the masses, the Centre National d’Art et de Culture (CNAC), better known as the Pompidou Center, was vividly etched in the public eye long before it welcomed its first visitor in 1977. The complex courted controversy from the outset: The decision to unite the Musée National d’Art

Moderne, the Bibliothèque Publique d’Information, the Institut de Recherche et Coordination

Acoustique/Musique, and the Centre de Création Industrielle, which fell under numerous administrative jurisdictions, but proved unavoidable given the lack of multiple suitable sites for large-scale public works in Paris, prompted much consternation and became a significant policy obstacle. In turn, the choice of Beaubourg, a historic neighborhood in the city’s 4th

Arrondissement, for the construction of a massive monument to modern culture raised still more

462 Beaujour, in The Columbia History of Twentieth-Century French Thought, ed. Kritzman, 183. 186 eyebrows. And the center’s high-tech design, which boldly displayed the building’s mechanical skeleton on its exterior in an array of bright colors, compounded the sense of disjuncture and in some cases provoked overt hostility. That President Georges Pompidou, who regarded this

“grand projet” as one of his priorities, passed away prior to its realization, making its completion a matter of legacy, only served to boost public awareness. The CNAC was, in short, an instant icon.

The promotion of intellectual culture was not initially intended to form a principle occupation of the Pompidou Center when planning began in 1970. Despite its mission to foster the “creation of works of art and intellect,” organizers at the nascent facility envisioned it as working primarily on behalf of “all forms of artistic creation,” particularly the fine arts, research in acoustics and music, industrial aesthetics, cinematic art, as well as public reading (“lecture publique”).463 Despite this initial omission, intellectually-oriented events quickly became a staple activity in Beaubourg. In the words of center president Jean Millier, “the confrontation of ideas found its place” at the facility “spontaneously.”464 By the end of its first year of operation, the spoken review was as a programming mainstay, with two to three sessions each week, and a much-lauded one at that, providing a means of bringing the center’s sizeable public into direct contact with the most relevant contemporary writers and thinkers.465

Make no mistake; this was a facility where size mattered when it came to enticing and engaging the public. From the outset, the Pompidou Center was imagined as an “instrument of

463 Bibliothèque nationale de France (henceforth BNF), 4-LF242-339 (1974): Centre national d’art et de la culture Georges Pompidou (Paris) – Rapport d’activité 1974. Loi no. 75-1 du 3 janvier 1975, Article 1. 464 BNF, 4-LF242-339 (1974): Rapport d’activité 1977. 465 BNF, 4-LF242-339 (1974): Rapport d’activité 1977. 187 cultural development at the disposal of the greatest possible number of people.”466 All facets of its location and design were geared towards “attracting the largest possible public,” not just its location in Beaubourg, a “popular” neighborhood at the “heart of the capital,” but also its

“radical configuration” as a physical structure.467 Why such an emphasis on the masses?

According to Claude Mollard, its Secretary-General, reaching out to the general public represented the “driving force” behind “all policy, and cultural policy in particular.”468

Accordingly, the “value” of affording the population at large access to the “most elevated forms of contemporary knowledge and creation” was incontestable, and therefore provided the operational blueprint for center’s organizers and promoters.469 Framed in these terms, the spoken review—and intellectual encounters more generally, whether onstage or on the page in center publications—stand as the facility’s response to this mandate, its means to this end.

In its inaugural season, the spoken review’s events were spread across three thematic foci: Literature, under the direction of the surrealist poet Andre Frénaud; Philosophy Today, organized by Jean-Marie Benoist and Bernard-Henri Lévy, two avatars of the recently ascendant

New Philosophers; and Civilization and Societies, with the globetrotting anthropologist and geophysicist Jean Malaurie at the helm.470 These thematic contours, however, were not to be thought of as “exclusive domains,” but rather “signposts” that would offer a common thread—or inroad—to speakers and public alike. As such, it was entirely permissible for poets and playwrights to appear under the auspices of “literature,” and for economists, linguists,

466 BNF, 4-LF242-339 (1974): Rapport d’activité 1974. 467 BNF, 4-LF242-339 (1974): Rapport d’activité 1974. 468 BNF, 8-JO-20111: Le Bulletin – Centre national d’art et de culture Georges-Pompidou (1977-1979). Le Bulletin 1 (Jan. 1977). 469 BNF, 4-LF242-339 (1974): Rapport d’activité 1974. Le Bulletin 1 (Jan. 1977). 470 This last theme proved short-lived, and in subsequent years a number of additional rubrics—devoted to ethnology, sociology, and other fields of social scientific inquiry—took turns rounding out the series. The literature and philosophy themes, however, remained throughout. 188 sociologists, ethnologists, historians, novelists, politicians, and even lawyers to take part in the

Pompidou Center’s philosophical soirées.471

Along with maximizing audience turnout, securing the participation of widely known writers and thinkers constituted another driving concern for organizers—in fact, these may be seen as two sides of the same coin. The Literature and Philosophy Today series, for instance, featured two high-profile writers—Francis Ponge and Philippe Sollers—in their inaugural installments.472 Staffers averred that this precedent had been in place from the outset, ever since the staging of Eugène Ionesco’s “Impromptu” by prolific thespian Jacques Mauclair in commemoration of the center’s grand opening on January 31, 1977.473 The preference for celebrity was furthered codified through the choice of animateurs for the spoken review series, with each boasting established cultural personalities in positions of influence within their particular fields of expertise.

Following Ponge and Sollers, a remarkable array of thinkers and writers featured in the spoken review’s first season, such as Max Gallo, Maurice Clavel, André Glucksmann, Michel

Leiris, Julia Kristeva, and Nathalie Sarraute.474 In subsequent years, the Center’s roster of guest thinkers expanded exponentially, and now stands as a veritable who’s who of France’s intellectual and cultural elite during the late 1970s and 1980s. Some of the most notable participants include: Serge Moscovici, Roland Barthes, Jean-François Lyotard, Pierre Bourdieu,

471 Blaise Gauthier, “Un parloir: la Revue parlée,” Le Bulletin 5 (Dec. 1977-Jan. 1978). Jean-Marie Benoist and Bernard-Henri Lévy, “Les soirées philosophiques,” Le Bulletin 5 (Dec. 1977-Jan. 1978). 472 This is not to say that fame was the sole consideration. On the contrary, introducing the public to younger and less-known writers was one of the rubric’s secondary objectives. “La revue parlée c’est quoi?” Le Bulletin 4 (Oct- Nov. 1977). 473 Le Bulletin 1 (Jan. 1977). 474 Others to appear included Roger Caillois, Jean-Toussaint Dessanti, Bernard Kouchner, Jacques Attali, and Christian Jambert. 189

Paul Ricoeur, Claude Lévi-Strauss, Michel Serres, Jacques Derrida, Henri Lefebvre, Eugène

Ionesco, Régis Debray, Jean Baudrillard, and Edgar Morin.475

Beyond those who appeared in the flesh, many thinkers—their theories, along with their personal and professional itineraries—were made the subject of analysis and commemoration.

As was true at Maisons de la Culture, these tributes ran the gamut from intimate to spectacular, frequently combining multiple activities—film, dramatic reading, theatrical performance, roundtable discussion—and often in conjunction with an installment of the spoken review.

Albert Camus, Michel Foucault, Jean-Paul Sartre, Emmanuel Levinas, Jacques Lacan, Søren

Kierkegaard, Walter Benjamin, and many others, found themselves back in the spotlight in such a fashion.476

The titles accorded to spoken review programs afford another clear indication of the

“intellectual” bent of the Pompidou Center’s debates, colloquia, and spectacles. “Why Continue

Philosophizing,” “Postmodernity,” “The History of the French Intelligentsia,” “The

Philosophical Dilemmas of the 1950s,” and “New Destinies for Intellectuals” are but a selection.477 The same may be said of the proliferation of events, such as “The Role of Journals in Intellectual Life,” devoted to intellectual publications (and generally staged with their direct assistance), ranging from established paragons of the genre, such as Esprit and Les Temps

475 Kostas Axelos, Jean-Marie Domenach, Jacques Rancière, Jean Duvignaud, Antoine Prost, Alain Finkielkraut, Roger Chartier, Olivier Mongin, Claude Roy, Serge July, and Guy Hocquenghem also featured. To this may be added a number of marquee cultural figures hailing from abroad, among them Jean Starobinski, Richard Rorty, and William S. Burroughs. 476 Such as Michel de Certeau, Paul Nizan, Gaston Bachelard, José Ortega y Gasset, Georges Dumeznil, Simone Weil, and Jean Paulhan. 477 Others include: “The social sciences and structuralism,” “What is ethnology?” “Priority to ethics,” “Philosophy and anthropology,” “Semiotics,” “What is civilization?” “The displacement of philosophy by thought,” and “The rights of man in question.” 190 modernes, to more recent periodicals like Le Débat and even influential, albeit defunct, journals like Arguments.

This impressive résumé owes in no small part to the fact that, by 1977, the spoken review was an established cultural form. Whereas organizers at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the

Maison de la Culture de Grenoble created and refined the genre en route, animateurs in

Beaubourg forged their take on the spoken review deliberately, drawing upon thirteen years of experimentation at municipal cultural facilities around the country. The benefits of knowing a priori what a spoken review entailed proved twofold, enabling animateurs to organize the rubric purposefully and pitch it to the general public effectively. Put differently, the precedent set by

Maisons de la Culture made it possible for the Pompidou Center to make and market intellectual cultural productions that wove together theory and “the burning problems of our time” in a manner applicable and appealing to the largest public possible.478

In practice, this meant crafting events that were decidedly non-academic in nature, even if, as was commonplace, they broached scholarly topics and featured speakers drawn from the university milieu. Advertisements for the spoken review thus emphatically and repeatedly stressed that the series’ programs were of common interest to all, whether expert or layman, cultural creator or consumer. Such was the promise behind events such as: “The Ethnology of the Occident” (April 1978); “Racism: myths and science” (March 1981); “How to eliminate unemployment” (November 1982); “Science or ethics: must one choose?” (June 1983); “Crisis or mutation? The emergence of new cultural models” (April 1987); “Women: after the conquests of the 1970s” (May 1987); “Secularism and religious pluralism in France” (February 1989); and

“Communication: a philosophical inquiry” (March 1990). Across the board, the aim was to

478 Le Bulletin 4 (Oct-Nov. 1977). 191

“make known the important currents of contemporary thought to a lay public.”479 In terms atmosphere or setting, they were to transpire as if in a parlor rather than a classroom: a milieu both easily accessible and conducive to enlightened sociability.480 The fact that the best-attended spoken reviews in the inaugural season drew audiences upwards of 1,500 lent instant credibility to this model.481 Balancing edification and entertainment, while remaining relevant: this was the surest means of generating interest in intellectual culture.

A close examination of “The Ethnology of the Occident” illustrates the translation of this principle into practice. Robert Jaulin, best known for his reinterpretation of ethnocide, joined

Dessanti, Moscovici, and Daniel Sibony in headlining the four-part colloquium. Jaulin also assumed the role of principal publicist, taking to the pages of the Pompidou Center’s bi-monthly magazine, Le Bulletin, to whet the public’s appetite and elucidate the general conceptual contours of his recently published work, Les Chemins du vide (1977).482 For Jaulin, the relevance of “le vide,” or the void, lay in its function as a defining characteristic of the West’s ethnological evolution, which he believed to be increasingly emptied of unique characteristics, concrete relations, and even “real freedom.”483 The stakes for this event were thus very real, he alleged. And while he granted freely that his was a provocative assertion, he assured the public that all those slated to appear shared his sense of the event’s importance.

479 Gauthier, “Un parloir.” 480 Gauthier, “Un parloir.” 481 There were three installments of the spoken review that drew crowds of this size: one featured an interview of Desanti by Clavel and the other two saw Glucksmann and Lévy take to the stage in order to explain and defend their anti-totalitarian philosophies. Benoist and Lévy, “Les soirées philosophiques.” 482 Jaulin had recently appeared in an installment of the spoken review entitled, “The Paths of Emptiness” (February 1978). 483 The “Les Chemins du vide” sequence ran in February 1978. Moscovici appeared as the featured guest for the second of these. Robert Jaulin, “Ethnologie de l’Occident,” Le Bulletin 6 (Feb.-March 1978). 192

The only other certainty was that of unpredictability. Given the diversity of guests and flexibility of format, Jaulin pronounced, no one could anticipate how it would all unfold, and herein lay the intrigue: In the absence of any rigid protocol, off-the-cuff reflections and interactions were certain to ensue among thinkers and with the public—all the more so given that the featured authors were definitely not going to find themselves in accord with one another, apart from their collective “astonishment” at the precarious path being charted by Occidental culture.484 Those curious to know more, to see firsthand where the pieces fell, should make their way to Beaubourg and, from there, to and (just maybe) through the void. Fascinating, yes.

Illuminating, eminently. And without doubt relevant to contemporary society. In this fashion,

“The Ethnology of the Occident” sequence promised to weave together entertainment and edification, all within a framework of engagement.

Bear in mind that the entertainment value of the spoken review genre lay in its capacity to stimulate.485 This was entertainment as edification, not as an empty diversion for a tuned out public. This active dimension was key, preventing a slide into the transmission and passive consumption of “ready-to-think” theories.486 Unfortunately, the proliferation of prefabricated philosophies was well-documented, according to Christian Delacampagne, who stepped in as guest animateur for a three-part installment of the review in 1983, entitled “Why continue philosophizing?”487 While they offer “easy” answers to all of our questions, these invariably

484 Jaulin, “Ethnologie de l’Occident.” 485 It is perhaps instructive to think of the spoken review’s “brand” of entertainment as something akin to a crossword puzzle or other brainteasers, which is to say, an activity that is simultaneously recreational and mentally challenging. 486 BNF, 4-JO-339925: Centre Pompidou, CNAC Magazine (1983-1990). Christian Delacampagne, “Pourquoi philosopher encore?” CNAC Magazine 15 (May-June 1983). 487 The series began with “What purpose does language serve?” (May 30), followed by “Science or ethics: must one choose?” (June 1) and “What remains to hope?” (June 2). Delacampagne, “Pourquoi philosopher encore?” 193 prove “illusory.”488 For philosophy to offer meaningful insight into the issues of the day, whether metaphysical or socio-political, it must be constantly challenged by novel ideas, and challenging to its practitioners.

The spoken review sequence did just that, affording a wide range of “young” French philosophers a forum to revivify the discipline, one whose sense of certainty had yet to fully recover from the “severe blow” delivered by recent history (the experience of World War II, the

Algerian War, not to mention May 1968) and culminating in the “crisis” of postmodernity.

Among those who would attempt to make the case for philosophy’s continued relevance, so that it might once again “shed light on this adventure we call ‘our time,’” were marquee personalities such as Jacques Rancière, Lévy, and Glucksmann.489 Underpinning Delacampagne’s pitch are two assertions: first, that the forthcoming sessions would present those in attendance with a worthy and authentic encounter with philosophy, as opposed to deceptive and commercially- driven “ready-to-think” alternatives, and second, that philosophical inquiry has the potential to shape our experience of life even in the face of events as momentous as the aforementioned.

Just as edification served as a check on the nature of entertainment on offer, so, too, did the opposite hold true, with entertainment requisite to the mandate of edification. Take, for instance, the “Albert Camus” exposition in the spring of 1981, at the heart of which lay some thirty years of correspondence between the famed existentialist and his childhood philosophy teacher, Jean Grenier. The two exchanged 235 letters on topics both personal and philosophical prior to the Camus’ premature death in 1960 and, with an eye towards unpacking his evolution as

488 Delacampagne points an accusatory finger at editors and media outlets for their role in pushing intellectuals to these ends, though he maintains that “too many” thinkers willingly accede to this practice. Delacampagne, “Pourquoi philosopher encore?” 489 A selection of the less well-known participants includes Vincent Descombes, Robert Maggiori, Catherine Clement, and Christian Descamps. Delacampagne, “Pourquoi philosopher encore?” 194 a writer, this cache was due to be published in its entirety by Gallimard. With the publisher’s express cooperation, excerpts of the collection were put on public display at the Pompidou

Center before the volume hit the shelves at bookstores. This epistolary “sneak peak,” along with the photos, sound recordings, and press clippings that rounded out the exhibition, sought to capitalize upon the public’s fascination with Camus as a person in order to aid in the

“rediscovery” of his ideas and oeuvre. Perhaps he might once again serve France as a moral compass, having “influenced an entire generation” in the postwar period.490

While enlightened acculturation was most assuredly one of the exhibit’s driving aims, human interest afforded the chosen means to that end. Put simply, we enjoy pulling back the curtain on our fellow man, and this tribute did just that. This is not to reduce the exposition to an example of empty voyeurism; merely an acknowledgement of the motive power of human interest in the person behind the philosophy and the potential to harness our attraction to the individual as point of entry to his ideas. The “Albert Camus, or Respect for Man” spectacle, which helped mark the opening of the six-week exhibition and featured Camus’ ideas incarnated onstage by members of the Théâtre du Nain Jaune, similarly blended leisure and pedagogy; and this admixture is what ultimately unites the various elements of the tribute. Yes, the public was meant to learn about Camus’ philosophical and literary legacy, and they did so while enjoying themselves.

The Pompidou Center’s mixed-media spectacles also share much in common with the model established by Maisons de la Culture. They combined talks and debates, frequently in conjunction with the spoken review series, along with film and sound recordings, visual

490 BNF, 4-JO-339925: Centre Pompidou, CNAC Magazine (1981-1982). “Correspondance Camus/Grenier,” CNAC Magazine 2 (March-April 1981). 195 iconography and textual artifacts, and guest columns in center publications that featured prominent thinkers participating in the center’s “live” events. The “Arguments, 1956-1962” tribute, organized in commemoration of the short-lived journal by the same name in January

1984, offers a salient illustration of these parallels: The two-day event, which proposed to reunite the thinkers behind the revisionist Marxist organ, kicked off with a screening of the acclaimed film by Jean Rouche and Edgar Morin, Chronique d’un été, with the latter—a founding member of the publication—in the audience. Later in the day, Morin was joined onstage by Jean

Duvignaud, Kostas Axelos, and François Fejtö for a retrospective account of the formation of

Arguments, its ideological bent and modus operandi. The following evening, Jean-Marie

Domenach, Claude Lefort, and Alain Touraine shared their impressions of Arguments’ role in shaping the intellectual and political debates of the period, as well as its contemporary legacy.

Concurrently, the Pompidou Center hosted an exhibition of photos, letters, and audiovisual montages offering a behind-the-scenes look into the journal’s operations and engagement.

Lastly, Morin penned a lengthy article for Le Bulletin to both drum up interest in the forthcoming tribute and contextualize the motivations underpinning creation, organizational ethos, and dissolution of Arguments.491 As at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and Maison de la Culture de

Grenoble, this hybridity of formats offered the public range of ways to access the event.

If the Pompidou Center’s tributes stand apart from their counterparts at Maisons de la

Culture, the differences lay primarily in the finesse of those hosted at the former, including the remarkable frequency with which thinkers of the highest celebrity made the journey to

491 In the simplest terms possible, Morin attributed the publication’s disbanding to the “intellectual thawing” of 1956, in the wake of Nikita Khrushchev’s condemnation of Stalinism, and subsequent re-freezing that occurred as early as 1957, at least in the Eastern bloc, as the USSR clamped down anew on intellectual dissent. Edgar Morin, “La réforme de pensée,” CNAC Magazine 19 (Jan.-Feb. 1984). 196

Beaubourg and contributed guest columns to publications such as Le Bulletin and CNAC

Magazine. This is not to say that Maisons failed to attract famed intellectuals, only that the

Pompidou Center did so with unmatched regularity. Its intellectually-oriented programs were also more commonly synchronized with the release of a new publication or the scheduled broadcast of a television program. Such was the case with the Camus tribute’s preview of

Gallimard’s forthcoming volume, Correspondance Albert Camus, Jean Grenier (1981). The same applied to the “Arguments, 1956-1962” event, which followed on the heels of the publication of the journal’s entire collection in unabridged form—and under the same title—by

Les Éditions Privat (1983), with the assistance of the Ministry of Cultural Affairs. So, too, with

Jaulin’s Les Chemins du vide (1977) and “The Ethnology of the Occident.”

That Pompidou Center programs were meant to whet the public’s appetites for related intellectual products may be seen clearly in the common practice of providing detailed information, whether a book’s title and publisher or a show’s air date and channel. On some occasions this practice was extended to include the price of the work in question. In these instances, the facility was not only publicizing its own activities, but also advertising directly on behalf of its collaborators’ other projects, an exercise that offers a particularly striking illustration of the proximal connection and mutual reinforcement between the forms of experience consumption available at the Pompidou Center and the physical commodities— books, journals, films, newspapers—that served as the more traditional conduit for the dissemination of intellectual culture. 197

It was fitting that Morin, as a co-founder and director of Arguments, should preface the

Center programs devoted to the periodical in the pages of CNAC Magazine.492 For, at the time of

CNAC Magazine’s launch in 1981, Jean-Claude Groshens, President of the Pompidou Center, laid out a policy of open access for the publication. Its aims were essentially twofold: first, to publicize, contextualize, and comment upon the facility’s myriad cultural programs, as well as relevant events elsewhere in France and abroad. Second and above all, it should “as frequently as possible enable creators themselves to speak about their work, situate their approach, and assert its impact.”493 True to this pledge, the magazine served frequently as a forum for direct communication between the creators and consumers of culture, as had been the case with its predecessor, Le Bulletin (1977-1980), thereby supplementing the facility’s “live” encounters as a means of fostering meaningful contact with intellectual culture for members of the general public.

This transfer took three main forms in addition to the “guest column” format: Staff writers assembled synoptic accounts of visiting intellectuals’ theories, which were frequently accompanied by photo spreads, logistical information, and publication information on thinkers’ works. They ran interviews with guest thinkers on their experiences at the center and current preoccupations, offering an occasion for off-the-cuff reflections on culture and society, the public, as well as the Pompidou Center and its activism. Third, they published excerpted transcriptions of event proceedings. Individually and in aggregate, these journalistic tropes served to preserve and contextualize intellectuals’ on-site interventions in published form and further their dissemination to the general public.

492 Morin similarly penned the preface to the Éditions Privat volume. 493 Jean-Claude Groshens, “Éditorial,” CNAC Magazine 1 (Jan.-Feb. 1981). 198

By way of illustration, consider three pieces drawn from CNAC Magazine tackling the topic of postmodernity, one of the driving concepts of intellectual life in the late twentieth century and arguably the most misunderstood.494 After Jean-François Lyotard’s visit in May

1984 to promote his most recent book, The Differend, Bernard Falga put together a review of the event, which philosopher-cum-animatrice Christine Buci-Glucksmann used as an opportunity to grill Lyotard on his method of conceptualizing the unique nature of the contemporary age.495

Interestingly, Falga’s exposition of Lyotard’s vision of postmodernity, along with the place of disagreement (“le différend”) therein, does not draw upon Lyotard’s own assertions from the encounter but rather Buci-Glucksmann’s impressions after the fact. Those keen to engage with the mandarin directly could do so by tackling the lengthy passages of The Differend that followed the column. Buci-Gluckmann thus assumes the role of expert intermediary, offering

Falga and CNAC Magazine’s readership a concise explication of one of the period’s principal topics of intellectual inquiry by one of the period’s leading thinkers. But this preliminary elucidation was just that, a preface; it was an enticement to enter into further contact with the penseur himself.

Lyotard again graced the pages of CNAC Magazine the following year, this time in an interview arranged in relation to an exposition he helped to curate, entitled “Les Immatériaux,” devoted to offering the public a first-hand experience of postmodernity, one that would strip away visitors’ sense of corporeality (or physical certainty) and leave them in a state of immateriality shaped by language alone. On this occasion, the philosopher spoke directly, responding to the questions posed by magazine staffers. The purpose for the interview, beyond

494 The proliferation of events and articles associated with postmodern art and ideas should come as little surprise, given the privileged place accorded to contemporary artistic and intellectual movements at the Pompidou Center. 495 Bernard Falga, “Differend et post-modernité,” CNAC Magazine 22 (July-Aug. 1984). 199 publicity, was to bring the public up to speed on this “unique” installation, which might confound the uninitiated in the absence of at least a modicum of foreknowledge.496 The exchange, however, also gave Lyotard the chance to explain why something as seemingly abstract as non-corporeality matters—or may come to matter in the not-too-distant future. CNAC

Magazine thus afforded him a venue to outline his ideas and place them in a context that would resonate with the facility’s largely lay public. He was quite clear in affirming his express desire to “philosophize towards the general public.”497 If gallery space at the Pompidou Center offered one means of fulfilling this ambition, so too did the pages of CNAC Magazine.

The publication made yet another foray into the realm of postmodern thought in the summer of 1990, presenting readers with an extensive spread on one of the previous spring’s marquee spoken reviews, a four-way debate between Jean Baudrillard, Michel Maffesoli,

Francesco Alberoni, and Serge Moscovici.498 The piece took the form of an extended sound byte, with one per thinker, drawn from their remarks during the debate itself. By way of introduction, CNAC Magazine’s editors asked only one question: “does postmodernity really exist?”499 Putting this issue of ontology to rest—in the affirmative, mind you—was the principal aim of the feature, with the transcribed segments chosen for their capacity to evince the reality of

496 Jacques Saur and Philippe Bidaine, eds., “Les Immatériaux: un entretien avec Jean-François Lyotard,” CNAC Magazine 26 (Mar.-Apr. 1985). 497 He was quick to stipulate, however, that he sought to achieve this aim in a manner that did not “betray thought” in any way, shape or form. Concurrently with “Les Immatétiaux,” the facility ran a series of comparative seminars on the topic of postmodernity in architecture, science, and philosophy, aimed at examining the similarities and differences in each field’s understanding of the phenomenon. These spoken reviews, according to Descamps, were intended to popularize the question of postmodernity, but (as with Lyotard) this was to be a “popularization that is not a vulgarization.” Saur and Bidaine, eds., “Les Immatériaux;” and Christian Descamps, “Les Immatériaux: Séminaires ‘architecture/science/philosophie,’” CNAC Magazine 26 (Mar.-Apr. 1985). 498 The debate was organized in order to mark the publication of La transparence du mal and Au creux des apparences, by Baudrillard and Maffesoli, respectively. As was commonplace, the article provided publication details for these texts. “Idées: La postmodernité selon Jean Baudrillard, Michel Maffesoli, Francesco Alberoni et Serge Moscovici,” CNAC Magazine 58 (July-Sept. 1990). 499 “Idées: La postmodernité,” CNAC Magazine. 200 postmodernity in a manner tangible to the journal’s readership. Fortunately, the importance of this question did not elude the thinkers themselves, and each in his own way incorporated an argument for the existence of postmodernity into his commentary.500 What makes this piece remarkable is its patchwork quality. Not only does it bring together the reflections of four different theorists in a single spread, it selects from within each thinker’s discourse as well, paring down their lengthy spoken interventions to vital passages that are, in turn, woven together into a tidy whole. The finished product offers readers an exceptionally compact overview of four prominent intellectuals’ current scholarship: tens of hours of reading condensed first into two hours of “live” edification, and out of this first distillation an extraction of just four paragraphs of essential material, readily comprehensible and widely diffusible.

The making and marketing of intellectual culture at the Pompidou Center thus mirrored closely the forms developed at Maisons de la Culture, particularly in its “encounters” series and associated publications. This convergence similarly carries over to the branding of intellectually-oriented programs, as well as efforts to “embody” intellectual culture and create demand for further intellectual acculturation. With regard to the first, organizers in Beaubourg employed much the same branding tactic as animateurs at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the

Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, repeatedly stressing the one-of-a-kind nature of their series and expositions. From the outset, Benoist and Lévy lauded the novelty of the spoken review as a type intellectual communication, “an experiment in debate and dialogue” freed from the

“sectarianism” and “academism” that transected so much of France’s intellectual life.501 As a

500 Thus we learn, for instance, that, for Baudrillard, postmodernity proceeds from the “exacerbation” of “political, economic, [or] sexual phenomena” to the point where, as at present, there is no longer any consensus regarding the “rules of the game.” “Idées: La postmodernité,” CNAC Magazine. 501 Benoist and Lévy, “Les soirées philosophiques,” Le Bulletin 5 (Dec. 1977-Jan. 1978). 201 consequence, the rubric was truly “public” in the sense of being available and comprehensible to anyone who took an interest, not merely those who subscribed to a particular school of thought or boasted a high degree of education. The only prerequisite was curiosity; Benoist and Lévy, as

“maieutic interlocutors” in the tradition of Socrates, saw to the rest.502 The use of name branding was equally present in Beaubourg, with the Center’s spoken reviews regularly bearing the nominal stamp of their intellectual subjects. “Jean-Paul Sartre and Freedom,” “Paul Nizan:

Literature and Politics,” “Gaston Bachelard Day,” and other such titles abounded, lending the weighty names of featured thinkers to installments of the spoken review and tributes, and linking their monikers to intellectual culture more generally.

Just as at Maisons de la Culture, these famous names—and the individuals to whom they corresponded—came to stand for “intellectuals” as a class or category. In brief, they personified the “intellectual” in intellectual culture. Such was the case with the 1987 seminar on social justice, featuring Paul Ricoeur as the headline guest.503 To Jean-Michel Besnier, who chronicled the event for the readers of CNAC Magazine, the extravaganza was an unmitigated success. But if plaudits were due, he proposed that they go to the venerated philosopher’s whole body of work, both on the page and in the world, for it was this “oeuvre” that bore witness most convincingly to the “move from text to action, which to an intellectual is like a test of its reality, like the recollection of the philosopher’s civic responsibilities.”504 It was Ricoeur’s activism, considered holistically, that instantiated the intellectual vocation as it was meant to be.

502 Benoist and Lévy, “Les soirées philosophiques.” 503 Some of the other scholars who participated in the seminar include Jean-Pierre Dupy, Jean-Marc Ferry, Bernard Manin, and Jacques Donzelot. Jean-Michel Besnier, “Textes et actions avec Paul Ricoeur,” CNAC Magazine 41 (Sept.-Nov. 1987). 504 Besnier, “Textes et actions avec Paul Ricoeur.” 202

Additionally, the Pompidou Center contributed in meaningful ways to the cult of personality that came to surround intellectuals as individuals, whether established icon or ambitious debutant, guest or host. The mythologizing treatment that the “Albert Camus” exposition (1981) accorded the existentialist writer affords a vivid illustration of this tendency.

The inclination to pull back the curtain on the person behind the ideas was practically ubiquitous, and one that organizers acknowledged readily. “Before turning to your work,” Philippe Bidaine remarked in an interview with Christian Descamps, animateur of the 1988 “International

Encounters in Philosophy” sequence and a philosopher in his own right, “we would like to get to know you better, as well as your ‘take’ on philosophy.”505 Not that Descamps’ theories were of secondary importance; but they were all the resonant for a mainstream public when presented in concert with the details of his life and self-assessment of his profession. Contextualization lent substance, making that which was abstract (philosophy as a set of ideas) more concrete by linking it with something tangible (the philosopher as a personality).

Thinkers who participated as organizers or guests in the center’s intellectual programs often expressed a desire to embody their ideas in perceptual form so that they might better reach the public at large, though they typically did not consider themselves the “vessel” for this process, and instead favored the audio-visual and performing arts. “Take an idea about how the world is changing,” Lyotard ventured. “Can we pull it out of a book and inscribe elsewhere?”506

The thrill of this undertaking, along with the challenge, he went on, lay in reaching the general public with as sophisticated an intellectual offering as possible. In practical terms, he concluded, it boils down to “seeking to reach [these people] all while knowing that [they] are not

505 Philippe Bidaine, ed., “L’agora des philosophes,” CNAC Magazine 44 (Mar.-May 1988). 506 Saur and Bidaine, eds., “Les Immatériaux.” 203 philosophers, but assuming that [they] are receptive to the same questions philosophers attempt to explain.”507 Descamps similarly professed an aspiration to think beyond the text as the sole form of philosophical communication. He was particularly intrigued by the prospect of “putting philosophy to image” through collaboration with leading filmmakers.508 “That would be exciting!” he proclaimed, in part because embracing “infrastructure” and “technology” might offer access to a vastly expanded public, both in its size and composition, by making it possible for non-experts to comprehend “difficult” concepts.509

Why were these thinkers so motivated to embody intellectual culture in novel ways?

Certainly their desire to aid comprehension constituted an end in its own right. The evidence, however, suggests they were driven as well by the goal of creating further demand for intellectual culture. Descamps’ captured this two-pronged aspiration eloquently by describing his project at the Pompidou Center as one of taking ideas and “making them known,” which is to say, getting them into “mainstream circulation.”510 Pressed to elaborate, he spoke in terms of

“popularizing” philosophy, not in the sense of vulgarizing the discipline through reductive oversimplification, but by demonstrating that many of philosophy’s burning questions are not solely of interest to specialists. On the contrary, “the questions asked by the great philosophers—Plato and the state, for example—can and should concern everyone.”511

Descamps thus viewed the Pompidou Center’s programs as a way to generate widespread and lasting awareness for a major vector of intellectual culture. This demand could be readily fulfilled by the institution’s diverse intellectually oriented offerings, including other spoken

507 Saur and Bidaine, eds., “Les Immatériaux.” 508 Bidaine, ed., “L’agora des philosophes.” 509 Bidaine, ed., “L’agora des philosophes.” 510 Bidaine, ed., “L’agora des philosophes.” 511 Bidaine, ed., “L’agora des philosophes.” 204 reviews, tributes, expositions, and publications. Interested parties, Descamps injected parenthetically, might even consider purchasing his recent book, Les idées philosophiques contemporaines en France (1960-1985), which offered an inventory of France’s current crop of philosophers; and to that end he appended all the bibliographic details necessary to track down a copy. He likewise noted the availability of two volumes, Philosophie et histoire and

L’interrogation démocratique, published by the Pompidou Center’s own press and sold for 95 F apiece, devoted to chronicling the contributions of the spoken review’s intellectual guests. As always, the promise of enlightenment was accompanied by a guarantee of entertainment. “We seek to present an image of philosophy,” Descamps declared, “that is connected to life, and that is beyond boredom.”512 After all, he concluded, it had been the venerable Spinoza who first proclaimed “joy” to be the ultimate indicator of “truth.”513

***

George Pompidou often expressed his wish that, “Paris possess a cultural center that is simultaneously a museum and a place of creation, where the fine arts neighbor with music, cinema, books, and audiovisual research.”514 It was, in fact, this vision that provided the template for the facility that posthumously bears his name. In light of the robust and continued presence of intellectually-oriented programming at Beaubourg, it is interesting to note that

Pompidou seems to have largely excluded intellectual culture from the equation, opting instead to prioritize the arts. Other than the place he preserved for “books,” which came to mean “public reading” in the time between Pompidou’s grand vision and the Center’s grand opening, there was nothing to suggest that intellectual culture would factor into the facility’s programming

512 Bidaine, ed., “L’agora des philosophes.” 513 Bidaine, ed., “L’agora des philosophes.” 514 Le Bulletin 1 (Jan. 1977). 205 repertoire. This marks a clear difference vis-à-vis Maisons de la Culture, where artistic and intellectual culture operated in tandem from the outset, per the Ministry of Cultural Affairs’ stipulation.

Yet events and publications devoted to intellectual culture began almost immediately and fared extraordinarily well in Beaubourg. As a case study in cultural commodification, the presence and success of intellectual offerings at the Pompidou Center is highly instructive. For one, they suggest a knowledge and appreciation for the commodificatory forms developed in the course of the Maison de la Culture initiative; and indeed the Pompidou Center’s approach to the making and marketing of intellectual culture closely parallel those on display at Maisons, albeit at heightened levels of spectacle and visibility. Moreover, they speak to the proximal relationship between physical and experiential commodities in the promotion and diffusion of intellectual culture. This connection is evident in the jump from “books” to “public reading” in the facility’s stated mission, and again in the “spontaneous” adoption of spoken reviews and mixed-media tributes as a solution to the policy objective of reaching the mainstream public with the “highest forms of contemporary knowledge and creation.”515 In this manner, it is readily apparent that commodification is in no way limited to the sale of material goods. While physical commodities—especially books, journals, and other published materials—remained very much in the picture, insofar as the Pompidou Center’s intellectual offerings were concerned experiential commodities formed the bedrock, as was the case at Maisons throughout their heyday.

Chronicling the policy debates surrounding Maisons de la Culture in the late 1960s and

1970s therefore affords historians an insider’s view of the state’s evolving take on action

515 BNF, 4-LF242-339 (1974): Rapport d’activité 1977, and Le Bulletin 1 (Jan. 1977). 206 culturelle, from a predominantly top-down and diffusion-heavy model to one premised on pluralism and adaptability. The changing economic climate in France during the latter half of the

1970s, while lending traction to the political-ideological arguments for reform, simultaneously contributed to bringing about the eventual marginalization of Maisons as an institution. But there is more to this tale than unintended consequences alone: The reform efforts of center organizers and Ministry officials also showcase Maisons de la Culture at their pinnacle, doing precisely what they were created to do, namely finding meaningful ways to democratize access to culture for the least initiated segments of the population, even if it undermined their institution’s preferential status. Their victory was thus anything but Pyrrhic, as has so often been surmised.

207

CHAPTER 6

A Virtuous Cycle: Intellectual Culture on Television and in Journals

“In eighty-nine episodes, we have called upon scores of specialists from all disciplines.

Our approach, it would seem, is clear: begin with a question and put it to someone who knows how to explain it, or draw lessons from it, for our viewers.”516 So began the opening monologue to the 90th installment of the televised newsmagazine Vendredi, directed by Jacques Fansten, which aired on public television (France Régions 3, or FR3) on September 30, 1977.517 In the case of Vendredi, that worked out to forty-three psychologists, twenty-five psychiatrists, twenty- six economists, forty-one sociologists, thirty-two philosophers, sixty doctors, eleven ethnologists, twenty-two legal practitioners, twenty historians, and nineteen psychoanalysts. “In each instance, however,” the host mused, “are we not essentially charging one person to think on behalf of the rest?”518 The purpose of the broadcast, provocatively entitled, “They Think for

You,” was therefore to gauge the merits of this practice by evaluating the nature and power of the “intelligentsia” in contemporary France.

Fansten and his many erudite guests framed their appraisals of France’s intellectual milieu in terms of its proximate connection to a range of cultural institutions, including the print press, the publishing industry (books, journals, magazines), television, the Centre national d’art et de culture (known as the Pompidou Center), and the Collège de France.519 These were the sites where the “ordination” of intellectuals transpired; it was through these bodies that thinkers

516 “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 517 First created in 1972, France 3 was known as “France Régions 3” between 1975 and 1992. 518 “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 519 Edgar Morin, Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie, Paul Thibaud, André Glucksmann, Bernard-Henri Lévy, Pierre Nora, and Jean Duvignaud count among those featured on the program. 208 vied for authority over one other, as well as the affinity of the general public; and it was in these settings that the phenomenon of “thinking as spectacle” had blossomed in recent times into an accepted and widespread cultural form.520 The common thread throughout was that the character and relative influence of these institutions was in flux, and with it the complexion of intellectual life.

This chapter seeks to shed further light on these structural and iconographic permutations by analyzing the commodification of intellectual culture within two institutions—television and journals—that occupied places of prominence in postwar France, and chronicling the most striking conceptual and representational convergences between them and Maisons de la

Culture.521 At first glance, this may appear an unlikely pairing, as journals have long held sway as one of France’s most venerated repositories for enlightened thought, while television is frequently impugned as its vulgarizer-in-chief. Nevertheless, a careful examination of the historical record reveals that, for all their differences, these institutions argued the case for intellectual culture’s use value in strikingly similar terms.

My analysis begins with television, the predominant mass cultural form of the last sixty years, demonstrating that there existed strong parallels between the representation of intellectuals on the small screen and at Maisons de la Culture. As the medium of television developed between the 1950s and 1980s, it came to reinforce the use value attached to intellectual culture in much the same way as at Maisons. The gradual transition from public to private did not alter this commodificatory impulse, nor did it diminish the presence of intellectuals on the small screen.

520 “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 521 For the sake of clarity, let me stress that my aim is not to analyze the commodification of intellectual culture from square one for each of these three institutions, which would be considerably beyond the scope of the present project, as the phenomenon of commodification developed differently within each institutional setting. There are, for instance, significant differences between the audiovisual and print media, and the same may be said of the public and private sectors. 209

In making my case, I zero in on the production and diffusion of two program genres in particular: documentaries, both those that enlisted intellectuals in order to commemorate France’s historical and cultural patrimony, along with biopics that showcased intellectuals and asserted their importance to contemporary society; and debate shows of a literary or political nature that featured intellectuals as guests. Where applicable, I chart the evolving publicity strategies adopted by TV guides to promote these programs. I document the ways in which the television industry came to focus on intellectuals’ personalities and private lives in addition to the content of their ideas. While this development accorded intellectuals unprecedented access to a mass audience, it also significantly altered their image in the public eye. I also take stock of the role played by the small screen in legitimizing and propagating various schools of thought as

“brands,” and appraise TV’s extraordinary motive power in the promotion of print culture.

Where other historians have tended to scrutinize noteworthy series (Apostrophes or Lectures pour tous) or the presence of particular categories of thinkers on the small screen (as with

Tamara Chaplin’s insightful study of philosophers), my analysis seeks to highlight the broad scope of intersection between the intellectual and televisual milieus in postwar France.522

Journals (or revues), commonly regarded as the supreme form of intellectual expression and one of the most credible means for the mainstream dissemination of intellectual productions in postwar France, provide the second case study for this chapter. To begin, I assess the changing fortunes of two well-respected intellectual publications, Esprit and Critique, in order to convey the deep inroads made by commodification into these intellectual ventures. I track their publicity strategies, relations with readers, ties to publishing houses, budgetary discussions, and debates regarding the balance between content, readership, and commercial marketability. This

522 Chaplin, Turning on the Mind. 210 was an era when large swaths of the public and intellectuals alike were turning to mainstream news magazines as readers and contributors; and the editorial staffs at these journals sought to respond decisively to this changing environment in order to ensure the commercial success of their intellectually-oriented products. They did so, as early as the 1950s, by asserting their status as material commodities, stressing their use value, and endeavoring to create demand on the part of a broad public.

They Think for You! Intellectuals on the Small Screen

A vocal cohort of scholars and cultural critics has long decried the deleterious effects of television on intellectual life in France.523 The narrative they have assembled and propagated accuses television of voiding intellectual culture of its ‘real’ value, which is to say, the profundity and rigor and nuance and importance it ought to have in the name of mass accessibility and vacuous entertainment without a deeper purpose. In formulating their critique of the “media cycle” that presently defines and debases intellectual culture, to cite Régis Debray, these observers frequently give voice to a deep nostalgia for a bygone era when ‘authentic’ intellectuals put their ideas in service of society by speaking truth to power.524 While some of these accusations no doubt have merit, the all-encompassing nature of their hostility to television

523 See Pierre Bourdieu, Sur la télévision (Paris: Liber, 1996); Debray, Le Pouvoir intellectuel en France; Hervé Hamon and Patrick Rotman, Intellocrates: expédition en haute intelligentsia (Brussels: Editions Complexe, 1985); Bertrand Poirot-Delpech, on “Ils pensent pour vous, Vendredi (September 30, 1977); François Aubral, on “Les nouveaux philosophes sont-ils de droite ou de gauche,” Apostrophes (May 27, 1977). For coverage in the secondary literature, see Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 93; Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 10; Winock, Le Siècle des intellectuels, 761-62; Jeremy Jennings, “Introduction: Mandarins and Samurais: The Intellectual in Modern France,” in Jennings, ed., Intellectuals in Twentieth-Century France, 3-8; Nora, in Jennings, ed., Intellectuals in Twentieth- Century France, 188-192. 524 Debray, Le pouvoir intellectuel en France. 211 as a medium for the promotion and dissemination of intellectual culture does not stand up to the evidence.

Far from devaluing intellectual culture, intellectually oriented television programs systematically championed its great use value in a fashion consistent with the efforts of the

Ministry of Cultural Affairs and Maisons de la Culture. The overlap is all the more striking when we recall that television in France was a state-owned and operated institution until the

1980s.525 While entertainment factored prominently in the equation, the making and marketing of intellectual culture on television was always a tripartite affair, meaning that edification and engagement were constants as well. Moreover, the very thinkers that critics wistfully point to as exemplars of authenticity, whether members of the old guard of postwar mandarins—such as

Raymond Aron or François Mauriac—or the leading lights of the subsequent generation—like

Michel Foucault or Paul Ricoeur, were in fact the first to achieve stardom by way of the small screen. In the process, they helped to set the parameters of intellectuals’ mass media personae and the televising of intellectual culture as set of practices.

Intellectual culture afforded fodder for the small screen as far back as the early 1950s. In

1951, for instance, the Actualité françaises news program ran a feature segment on

“Existentialism in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.” Later in the decade, the philosopher and thespian,

Albert Camus, became the first penseur to have his live and oeuvre profiled on Gros Plan

(1959).526 Meanwhile, Lectures pour tous, the acclaimed and genre defining televised literary

525 First under the auspices of Radiodiffusion-télévision française (RTF), from 1949 to 1964, and then the Office de radiodiffusion-télévision française (ORTF) until 1974. ORTF split into multiple distinct organizations in August 1974, including Télévision Française 1 (TF1), Antenne 2, and France Régions 3 (FR3)—the three channels that broadcast all of the intellectually oriented programming under consideration. While Antenne 2 and FR3 remained public, TF1 was privatized in 1987. Jean-Noël Jeanneney, L’Écho du siècle: dictionnaire historique de la radio et de la télévision en France (Paris: Hachette Littératures, 2001). 526 In fact, Camus was the first non-actor featured on the series. 212 magazine hosted by Pierre Dumayet, Pierre Desgraupes, and Max-Pol Fouchet, premiered in

1953.527

From this initial trickle, a steady stream of intellectually-oriented television coursed across the airwaves in subsequent decades. A few of the more noteworthy documentaries include, “Le Désordre à vingt ans,” which zeroed in on the cultural effervescence of the existential era (1970); “Paris-Paris, ou le temps d’une génération,” a two-part retrospective lauding the country’s “artistic and intellectual life” from 1936-1944 and 1945-1958, respectively

(1983); and “Le vent d’hiver,” which offered an intellectual history of the postwar era in two installments (1986).528 The biopic became a programming mainstay as well, building upon the model established by the favorably reviewed Gros Plan. Series such as Portrait Souvenir (1960-

70), Panorama (1962-74), Un certain regard (1964-75), Des idées et des hommes (1977-1983), and Témoins (1983-87) pulled back the curtain on a wide array of famous intellectual personalities, including François Mauriac, Claude Lévi-Strauss, Emmanuel Mounier, Jean-Marie

Domenach, Bernard-Henri Lévy, Edgar Morin, and Simone de Beauvoir.

527 “Magazine” is employed in France as shorthand for televised literary or news magazines. For a detailed account of Lectures pour tous’ illustrious run (1953-1968) and enduring influence, see Chaplin, Turning on the Mind. 528 “Le Désordre à vingt ans,” Un certain regard (August 16, 1970); “Paris-Paris, ou le temps d’une génération,” Antenne 2 (September 3 & 10, 1983); “Le vent d’hiver,” Les modernes (December 4, 1986). While by no means exhaustive, a few additional documentaries that tackled French intellectual culture directly or called upon prominent thinkers’ expertise as a means of legitimating French culture and history include: “Le rayonnement d’Albert Camus” (1962); Camera III’s five “Feuilletons intellectuels” (1968); “Au dela de la vulgarisation,” with the participation of Claude Lévi-Strauss, Gaston Bachelard, and Roman Jackobson (1971); the two-part “Le métier de penser,” which profiled a number of notable contemporary thinkers, such as Julia Kristeva, Christian Jambert, Guy Landreau, and Georges Duby (1985); as well as many of the programs devoted to commemorating the bi-centennial of the French Revolution in 1989. In addition to these one-off productions, a number of documentary series broached these same themes, such as Autour d’une grande école (1962-78), Archives du XXeme siècle (1969-78), and Le journal d’un siècle (1984-86). Moreover, news shows frequently commemorated the passing of noteworthy intellectuals, such as Jean-Paul Sartre, Michel Foucault, Simone de Beauvoir, and Louis Althusser; and periodically devoted full programs to appraising intellectuals’ image, role, and influence. Two of the best examples are, “Ils pensent pour vous” (“They think for you,” Vendredi, 1977) and “Les nouveaux maîtres à penser” (“The new master thinkers,” Aujourd’hui la vie, 1983). 213

In much the same fashion, the televised news magazine became a pillar of the program grid, particularly from the mid-1970s through the 1980s. Shows such as Ouvrez les guillemets

(1973-1974), Apostrophes (1975-1990), Droit de réponse (1981-1987), and Océaniques (1987-

1994) brought together panels of thinkers, politicians, journalists, and other well-known figures to share their views on a relevant cultural or political topic, generally by way of a discussion of recently-published books.529 The atmosphere on these programs ran the gamut from highly civil and refined to downright cantankerous and risqué, occasionally in the course of a single episode.530 Of the many, two magazines quickly distinguished themselves, both in terms of their quality and popularity, with viewers and guests alike: Apostrophes, hosted by Bernard Pivot, and the show that began it all, Lectures pour tous. To this day, these two programs, which coincidentally afford tidy chronological bookends to the period, remain the standard bearers for

“intello” television programming.

Even the gradual commercialization of the television industry in the 1980s, which culminated with the privatization of its flagship channel TF1 in 1987, did not spell the end of intellectual culture on the small screen. Documentaries and magazines continued to fare remarkably well, thanks in particular to Antenne 2 and FR3 (which both remained public, albeit increasingly dependent upon private-sector advertising revenues) remaining committed to

529 Other magazines to feature intellectuals as guests include: Post-scriptum (1970-71), La rage de lire (1970-1971), Italiques (1971-74), Questionnaire (1973-1981), and Le Divan (1987-1994). 530 The trend across the period was from discussions focused almost solely on authors’ texts or ideas to interviews of a more personal nature (touching upon a figure’s upbringing, major life events, and personality), and to increasingly spectacular interactions (debates, personality clashes, political questions, etc.). By the 1980s, the personal and spectacular approach to televising intellectual culture had become the new norm, carving out a place on even the highest quality programs. Régine Chaniac and Sylvie Dessault credit the transition from public (pedagogical) to private (commercial) television for catalyzing this shift, with the latter privileging entertainment above all else. Régine Chaniac and Sylvie Dessault, La télévision de 1983 à 1993: chronique des programmes et de leur public. Institut national de l’audiovisuel (France), Service juridique et technique de l’information et de la communication (Paris: La Documentation française, 1994), 94. For more on the stylistic differences among “magazines,” see Douze ans de télévision, 1974-1986, Commission nationale de la communication et des libertés (Paris: La Documentation française, 1987), 143. 214 producing and broadcasting these genres. 531 FR3, for instance, premiered Le Divan in 1987, a psychiatry-inspired magazine on which thinkers ranging from Gisèle Halimi and Michel Serres to Edgar Morin and Alain Finkielkraut had their brains picked by host Henry Chapier. This was also the decade in which Apostrophes reached the peak of its popularity, with an Audimat ratings report from 1984 indicating that the viewership for Antenne 2’s smash hit surpassed 4.6 million, meaning that roughly ten percent of France’s population tuned in at 9:30pm on Friday evenings for seventy-five minutes of unscripted intellectual conversation broadcast live to their homes.532

Moreover, the proportion of total airtime for magazines and documentaries taken together actually grew from 14.1% to 22% between 1983 and 1993.533

This programming ensemble (and the promotional publications associated with it) presented viewers with a powerful case for the use value of intellectual culture. It did so, moreover, in much the same terms as had the Ministry of Cultural Affairs in the context of the

Maison de la Culture initiative, casting intellectual culture as essential to the social development of France; its reputation as a leader in culture and politics; and even its economic prosperity.

With regard to the first of these assertions, a remarkable proportion of programs trumpeted the

531 Chaniac and Dessault, La télévision française de 1983 à 1993, 20, 43 & 94. Monique Dagnaud, L’âme des chaînes: Évolution des programmes de TF1 – Antenne 2 – FR3 de 1977 à 1990, Rapport au Conseil Supérieur de l’audiovisuel (CSA: 1991), 73 & 131. 532 Gisèle Holtzer, La page et le petit écran: culture et télévision. Le cas d’Apostrophes (Paris: Peter Land, 1996), 165. Another ratings analysis finds Apostrophes’ audience reaching its peak at 10.2% of the total population in 1986. Douze ans de télévision, 242-243. 533 Jumping from the fourth most prevalent program genre to the second (behind fiction, with 29.6%). No station accorded a greater place of prominence to documentaries and magazines than FR3. Bear in mind that these figures pertain to the program genres in general, and do not enumerate the precise distribution of programs devoted to intellectual or cultural issues. Chaniac and Dessault, La télévision française de 1983 à 1993, 43. While the presence of these genres (in concert) grew 11.4% on Antenne 2 (as compared to a decrease of 20.1% onTF1), they posted a 421% increase on FR3 (from 208 to 1,084 hours of total airtime). Dagnaud, L’âme des chaînes, 121. Program longevity, however, was greatest on Antenne 2, with the station maintaining a stable balance between different the different genres comprising its lineup, and this fact contributed to the sustained presence of “literary and social studies” series on air across the 1970s and 1980s. To some extent, the prevalence of “magazines” on television was also a reflection of this genre’s compatibility with the “panel” format, which was highly cost effective in terms of overhead and generally garnered stable audience sizes from week to week, making it a “best bet” of sorts from studios’ perspectives. Douze ans de télévision, 146 & 241. 215 socially transformative impact of intellectuals, such as “Emmanuel Mounier: Un combat pour aujourd’hui” (Un certain regard, 1970), and their ideas, such as “La Post Modernité”

(Océaniques, 1989). At the heart of the Mounier retrospective laid the assertion that the great

Personalist thinker “had much to teach us about contemporary events.”534 The program’s narrator, Jacques Duquesne, characterized him as a “sort of prophet,” which made it all the more lamentable that he was not known more widely at present. Redressing this deficiency was one of the documentary’s objectives, and thus Duquesne set about drawing parallels between the “crises of civilization” against which Mounier had agitated in the 1930s and 1940s, and those

“manifesting themselves anew” in the here and now, most notably the seismic and still-fresh events of May-June 1968.535 Nearly twenty years later, host Michel Cazenave introduced an episode of Océaniques on the theme of postmodernity in much the same way. Whatever one’s preconceived notions, he promised that viewers would quickly come to see that the topic

“concerns everyone,” shedding important light on one’s “position in the world” and relationship to the “society in which one lives.”536 In the former instance, Personalism offered a means to combat society’s ills; in the latter, coming to understand postmodernity was imperative because

French men and women were living it.

Just as these were “intellectual” cultural forms, so too were they characteristically

“French.” Program hosts and guests affirmed this national connection on countless occasions across the period. On a broadcast of La rage de lire, aired just twenty-four hours after the death of Jean-Paul Sartre in April 1980, host Georges Suffert invited his guests—Pierre Daix, Jean d’Ormesson, and Catherine Clément—to share their thoughts on the deceased icon, a man who

534 Jacques Duquesne, in “Emmanuel Mounier: un combat pour aujourd’hui,” Un certain regard (October 25, 1970). 535 Duquesne, in “Emmanuel Mounier,” Un certain regard (October 25, 1970). 536 Michel Cazenave, on “La Post Modernité,” Océaniques (January 9, 1989). 216 was in no uncertain terms, “one of the most important figures” of the present age.537 While each of the guests admitted differences vis-à-vis Sartre, they all acknowledged his influence—upon their lives as individuals and the course of recent history. Of the three, two directly invoked his

Frenchness. Daix credited Sartre for having offered a “French voice” of the highest quality, and one that ranked among the century’s greatest.538 Shortly thereafter, d’Ormesson rebuffed

Suffert’s proposal that Sartre was “a neighborhood man” (in reference to Saint-Germain-des-

Prés), labeling him instead a “characteristically French intellectual” as a consequence of his ideological universalism.539 He had been, after all, unrelenting in his advocacy of the proletariat, meaning his activism transcended the 6th Arrondissement and even the nation (class being without borders). In this regard, Sartre remained paradigmatically French, embodying the best that French intellectual culture had to offer.540

Few programs were this explicit in connecting France and intellectual grandeur. On the whole, subtler assertions were the norm. With remarkable frequency and to great effect, broadcasts whose purpose it was to comment upon and commemorate aspects of France’s past accorded a place of prominence to the country’s famous thinkers. Not surprisingly, this trope found its fullest expression on documentary-style programs, such as the “Paris-Paris”

537 Georges Suffert, on “Hommage à Sartre,” La rage de lire (April 16, 1980). 538 For Daix, what set Sartre apart was the way his writing—especially in works such as Nausea and “The Wall”— contributed to shaping people’s consciousness of the world in a way that was both profound and immediate. Pierre Daix, on “Hommage à Sartre,” La rage de lire (April 16, 1980). 539 Jean d’Ormesson, on “Hommage à Sartre,” La rage de lire (April 16, 1980). 540 D’Ormesson and Daix were far from alone in positing a connection between Sartre and France’s cultural- intellectual legacy. As d’Ormesson notes, the massive response to Sartre’s death bears all the hallmarks of a “national funeral,” replete with politicians—many whom were vehemently critical of the departed—seizing the opportunity to “sing the glory of Sartre—the mouthpiece of French culture.” D’Ormesson, on “Hommage à Sartre,” La rage de lire (April 16, 1980). Rolland Dailly memorialized Camus in similar fashion in the pages of Radio- Cinéma-Télévision, labeling him “a sort of human miracle” and “one of the truly noble Frenchmen of our time.” Roland Dailly, “TV: Albert Camus,” Radio-Cinéma-Télévision No. 523 (January 24, 1960), 8. Télérama’s review of Mauriac’s appearance on En direct avec also posits a connection between thinker and nation, lauding the octogenarian for having been witnessed and influenced every milestone in the history of France during the present century. “Nous avons vu, avez-vous vu?” Télérama No. 948 (March 17, 1968), 27. 217 retrospective.541 With the capital city as its backdrop, this tribute celebrated the country’s numerous cultural achievements during the twenty-two years separating the Popular Front and the creation of the Fifth Republic. Stories, images, and sound bytes drawn from the intellectual milieu speak to the vibrancy of French cultural life during the period, while interviews with still- living thinkers like Henri Lefebvre and Claude Lévi-Strauss serve to legitimize this narrative of cultural leadership, and confirm parallels between French intellectual activism and world affairs.

This may have been the age of the Spanish Civil War and the Cold War, women’s liberation and decolonization, but it was also the era of engagement, existentialism, the nouveau roman, and structuralism. All had left their mark on the world; and therefore so had France, thanks in no small part to its penseurs.

As for assertions regarding the third vector of intellectual culture’s use value—its economic potential—the evidence is scant at best. Hosts and guests on magazines and documentaries regularly called attention to the power of television in creating consumer demand for the fruits of intellectual labor in the form of books, journals, magazines, and newspapers. But none sought to define the economic dimension of intellectual life as a virtue. If there was one place where the commercial effects of televising intellectual culture did come in for discussion, it was in pages of TV guides. As early as 1953, Father Raymond Pichard, a Dominican priest and regular contributor to Radio-Cinéma-Télévision, advocated bringing television into as many

French homes as possible by reason of its positive “economic function.”542 Too many people, he opined, held the regrettable view that the small screen served no purpose beyond the “spectacle

541 “Paris-Paris, ou le temps d’une génération,” Antenne 2 (September 3 & 10, 1983). 542 Raymond Pichard, “La télévision n’est pas uniquement un spectacle,” Radio-Cinéma-Télévision No. 195 (October 11, 1953), p. 35. 218 of entertainment.”543 Quite the contrary, as the case of Lectures pour tous proved. Each week, he noted, the show introduced viewers to an array of new books, and each week the sales of these books spiked. If the whole of France were to tune in, he reasoned, then bookstores and publishers across the land would reap all the more fully the rewards of this phenomenon. What

Lectures pour tous proved was that an intellectually-oriented television program could be both socially and economically valuable.

A Tripartite Affair: Edification, Entertainment, and Engagement

Much like organizers at Maisons de la Culture, television producers and hosts stressed the tripartite of edification, entertainment, and engagement.544 Even a cursory glance at the titles of individual episodes (or collections) suffices to convey the prevalence of this tendency. Viewers could scarcely misconstrue the explicit educational dimension of programs boasting titles such as, “The new master thinkers,” “Beware of the march of history,” and “The profession of thinking.”545 However, just as these productions presented the viewing public the opportunity to learn something new, they also promised an enjoyable foray into the intellectual milieu.546 The premise of “Don’t Tan Like an Idiot” (1987), for example, was to offer book recommendations to soon-to-be vacationing French men and women that, while mentally stimulating, would also afford a leisurely read. Other titles, ranging from “Are the New Philosophers on the Right or

543 Pichard, “La télévision n’est pas uniquement un spectacle.” 544 Tamara Chaplin has written extensively on the first two of these objectives in the context of Radiodiffusion- Télévision Française’s stated mission to “entertain, inform, [and] educate.” Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 54. 545 In the original French, these titles were: “Les nouveaux maîtres à penser” (Aujourd’hui la vie, 1983), “Attention à la marche de l’histoire” (Apostrophes, 1982), Le métier de penser (1985). 546 Lauding the first season of Lectures pour tous, André Bazin confirmed this connection as far back as 1953. “Here is a show,” he waxed, “which proves that a high intellectual standard […] is not incompatible with the entertainment sought by all viewers who are capable of at least a small measure of curiosity and good will.” André Bazin, “Grâce aux Lectures pour tous, tous les spectateurs ont envie de devenir lecteurs,” Radio-Cinéma-Télévision No. 184 (July 26, 1953), 34. 219

Left” (Apostrophes, 1977) to “Chic and Cheap” (this the name a 1986 installment of Droit de réponse devoted to so-called “trendy” intellectual publications such as Les Nouvelles littéraires,

L’Autre Journal, and Actuel), were deliberately provocative, portending a different form of entertainment, namely the guarantee of no-holds-barred verbal sparring between discussants chosen for their adversarial stances.547 But whether intellectual programming sought to cultivate confrontation or consensus, part of its purpose was to provide activist thinkers with a forum for engagement. Consider the subtitle of the Emmanuel Mounier biopic, “A Struggle for Today,” which explicitly presented his Personalist campaign to change people and society as applicable in the here and now. Other titles were equally direct, such as “Philosophy versus Power,” “The

Responsibility of Intellectuals,” or even “The Age of Engagement.”548 Intellectually-oriented television was thus a heady mixture—cerebral, captivating, and committed all at the same time, even if the precise balance varied from program to program.

These productions were, moreover, meant to be accessible, facilitating intellectual acculturation on the part of a diverse viewing public. Programs typically ran along one of two lines. Either they covered a vast topic in a condensed manner, as with “Paris-Paris,” which surveyed over twenty years of artistic and intellectual happenings in just over two hours; or they zoomed in on a more narrowly delineated subject, whether a person (such as Edgar Morin or

Roland Barthes), a moment in time (ranging from the French Revolution to the year 1950), a publication (whether a magazine such as Le Nouvel observateur or Raymond Aron’s monograph

547 In his opening monologue, Michel Polac, the host of Droit de réponse, noted with bemusement that “Chic and cheap” was a title that had already led to significant “tooth grinding” on the part of his guests from the aforementioned journals. For while they no doubt took exception to the negative appellation, they knew what lay in store: a grilling about the value of their publication before—and with the participation of—a boisterous live audience. Marc Polac on “Chic et toc,” Droit de réponse (January 18, 1986). 548 In the original French, these titles were: “La philosophie contre le pouvoir” (Questionnaire, 1977), “La responsabilité des intellectuels” (Apostrophes, 1987), and “L’Age de l’engagement” (Caméra III, 1968). 220

Dix-huit leçons sur la société industrielle), a school of thought (such as postmodernism or structuralism), or a combination.549 As was the case with other institutional settings, the trick lay in finding an appropriate balance between breadth of coverage and depth of analysis.

The intellectuals who appeared on such shows played an important role in promoting accessibility as well, above all by choosing their words carefully. By speaking in a modified language that was erudite but broadly intelligible to attentive viewers, guest thinkers were able to walk mainstream audiences through fairly complex academic and conceptual terrain. Lyotard, during his appearance on Océaniques, for instance, articulated his vision of postmodernism by way of literary analogy. Eschewing academic jargon, he invited the audience to think of

Winston from George Orwell’s dystopian masterwork, 1984.550 Using this widely-known fictional character’s profound sense of alienation and subsequent efforts to resist against the

Party, Lyotard proffered a concrete illustration of what he meant when invoking “postmodernity” as a way to describe contemporary society and our prospects for individual agency in a world where we often feel ourselves being acted upon by forces beyond our control.

Even when the lines of communication broke down, not all was lost, thanks to the intermediary efforts of program hosts. In the course of their interviews or monologues, they pushed their subjects for clarifications, offered comprehensible distillations of labyrinthine sound bytes, and interjected when the pace of conversation or debate accelerated too quickly. In short, they served as liaisons, much like the animateurs at Maisons de la Culture and the Pompidou

Center. Some, of course, were more adept than others when it came to playing the role of

549 “Edgar Morin” (L’homme en question, 1977), “Roland Barthes” (Ouvrez les guillemets, 1974), “François Furet ou la Révolution française” (Apostrophes, 1988), “Les 20 ans du Nouvel observateur” (Droit de réponse, 1984), “Dix-huit leçons sur la société industrielle,” (Lectures pour tous, 1963), “La Post Modernité” (Océaniques, 1989), and “Le structuralisme” (Un quart d’heure avec Jean-Marie Domenach, 1968). 550 Jean-François Lyotard, on “La Post Modernité,” Océaniques (January 9, 1989). 221 translator or go-between; and few observers consider it coincidental that those who excelled in this regard—with the most renowned being the Lectures pour tous team, along with

Apostrophes’ Pivot—presided over the most successful and influential programs.551 Aiming the spotlight squarely on the hosts of Lectures pour tous, the critic André Bazin declared it—after a mere six months on the air—to be the best regularly scheduled program on French television.552

What Desgraupes, Dumayet, and Fouchet had done was to “find a tone that, without ever ceasing to be intelligent,” avoids appealing only to a select clique of “cultivated” viewers.553 Rather, they addressed one and all, whether culturally initiated or not, in the same articulate manner.

Much of a host’s appeal lay in his (or her) capacity to put audiences at ease, so that viewers would feel confident in their efforts to engage with new concepts. But this is only half the equation, for contending with what mainstream viewers did not understand was equally important. Hosts needed to convince their public that it was perfectly acceptable if aspects of the program were too complex to decipher. Before probing Raymond Aron on his newest work of philosophy, Histoire et dialectique de la violence, Pivot prefaced a 1973 broadcast of Ouvrez les guillemets in precisely these terms.554 “Don’t develop a complex,” he implored, addressing the home audience directly, “if there are things you don’t comprehend.” Instead, “remind yourself that that there are people on this set who don’t understand, notably me.”555 If even Pivot fell short, with his seemingly insatiable appetite for knowledge, then viewers need not worry if they,

551 Tamara Chaplin, for instance, draws a similar connection between the sustained critical and commercial success of Lectures pour tous and Apostrophes and the virtuosity of their hosts. Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 52-58 and 132-138. The results of a public opinion survey conducted in the late 1980s offer further confirmation of Pivot’s deft touch as a cultural intermediary, with respondents naming him the most influential member of the intelligentsia in French (taking top honors just ahead of Claude Lévi-Strauss). “Pivot: pouvoir des intellectuels,” JA2 20H (February 1, 1989). 552 Bazin, “Grâce aux Lectures pour tous, tous les spectateurs ont envie de devenir lecteurs,” 34. 553 Bazin, “Grâce aux Lectures pour tous, tous les spectateurs ont envie de devenir lecteurs,” 34. 554 Ouvrez les guillemets (June 4, 1973). 555 Ouvrez les guillemets (June 4, 1973). 222 too, came away with only a partial understanding of Aron’s assertions. It was, after all, Pivot’s vocation to decipher texts; for the rest, it was but an edifying pastime.

Intellectually-oriented programs further streamlined the process of acculturation by introducing audiences to scores of books in the course of a single broadcast. Not only were viewers spared the arduous task of identifying worthy texts out of the immensity of available published works, but, for those mentioned on the air, they were treated to synopses, critical reflections, and all the publication information necessary for them to acquire those that piqued their interest. While this convention was especially prevalent on magazines, it also figured in documentary programs, and even in the promotional blurbs of TV guides.

Recall Aron’s 1973 appearance on Ouvrez les guillemets: In addition to Histoire et dialectique de la violence, much of the conversation centered on République impériale, Aron’s analysis of the United States’ postwar global influence. These were his major works of the moment, and a fitting focal point for the program. Additionally, it was Pivot’s practice to end each episode by presenting a handful of mass-market paperbacks, and on this occasion he selected six from his principal guest’s extensive oeuvre: La philosophie critique de l’histoire

(Éditions du Seuil), Dix-huit leçons sur la société industrielle (Gallimard), L’opium des intellectuels (Gallimard), and Démocratie et totalitarisme (Gallimard). Thus, in a little under an hour and a half, the viewing public came to know six of Aron’s works—two in significant detail.556 Noël Nel has aptly characterized this habit, which reached its apotheosis on Pivot’s

556 Moreover, six additional publications drawn from across the cultural spectrum received meaningful attention during the program, ranging from Gustave Flaubert’s correspondence (presented by the literary critic André Bourin) to a discussion of the satirical weekly, Charlie Hebdo (in the context of an interview with its editor-in-chief, Georges Wolinski). Ouvrez les guillemets (June 4, 1973). 223 next project, Apostrophes, as enabling television audiences to “economize” cultural experience.557

Personification and Persona-fication: Representations of Intellectuals

Near the beginning of Vendredi’s 1977 broadcast, “They Think for You,” the program’s host declares with gravitas that, “At only a stone’s throw from the Latin Quarter, the 6th

Arrondissement of Paris is the heart of the intelligentsia.”558 “It is in this neighborhood,” he continues, “that you may catch sight of the big names in French thought seated outside a café, in a bookshop, or even at a cocktail party if you manage to procure an invitation. Within these few streets, more than sixty percent of all that’s published in France is dreamed up, written, and printed. This concentration of grey matter, which one finds nowhere else, does not function without giving rise to myths.” Chief among these “myths,” according to Jacques Fansten, who wrote and directed the show, is the “maître-penseur,” or intellectual mandarin, to whom society looks—and even defers with some regularity—for explanations of ‘why’ things are a certain way and ‘what’ we ought to do next. French intellectuals, therefore, occupy a position of bonafide power in society. They are our “experts” on all matters, whether political, economic, or cultural.559

Across the remainder of the program, a range of well-placed observers—including Edgar

Morin, Jean Daniel, Bernard-Henri Lévy, and Pierre Nora—appraise the provenance and validity of intellectuals’ expansive influence and iconic profile. Not surprisingly, the role of the media

557 Nel refers specifically to an economization vis-à-vis the “direct” experience of culture, one made possible and to some extent inevitable by the quantity of books cited each week on a program such as Apostrophes. Noël Nel, A fleurets mouchetés, 25 ans de débats télévisé, Institut national de l’audiovisuel (Paris: la Documentation française, 1988), 128. 558 “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 559 “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 224 comes in for significant discussion. Bertrand Poirot-Delpech, for instance, accused television of exercising a “veritable dictatorship” over cultural and political life, and this includes

“designating” the country’s intellectual “leaders.”560 Not all, however, regarded the media as the lynchpin of intellectual power; nor for that matter did all consider its influence deleterious. Such was the case with Jean Daniel, the founder of Le Nouvel Observateur, who counted himself among those who saw in the media an “accelerator” of movements, fashions, and infatuations.561

Television, radio, the print press; these are catalysts for meaning, not creators of meaning. While

Poirot-Delpech and Daniel differed on the question of origins, they concurred that the mass media, as the principal means through which the general public came face to face with the intelligentsia in France, had a substantial role to play in shaping the character of contemporary intellectual life. Accordingly, as television developed as a representational medium, it became a fertile milieu for the embodiment of intellectual culture, its realities along with its mythologies.

Across thousands of hours, television contributed directly to the reification of

“intellectuals” as a socio-cultural category, with the thinkers featured on documentaries and debate shows being presented in this fashion—even when they sidestepped the classification in their self-identification, often opting to call themselves “writers,” or “philosophers,” or

“ethnologists.” Consider the 1987 broadcast of Apostrophes, which brought together two novelists (Roger Grenier and Gabriel Matzneff), two philosophers (Etienne Balibar and Bernard-

Henri Lévy), and a biographer (Maurice Bardèche) under the rubric, “The Responsibility of

Intellectuals.”562 Pivot began the program by asking his guests to offer their definition of an intellectual, at which point the six immediately proceed to proffer dramatically different

560 Bertrand Poirot-Delpech and Jeanne Favret, on “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 561 Jean Daniel, on “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 562 “La responsabilité des intellectuels,” Apostrophes (April 3, 1987). 225 explanations, with Bardèche denouncing the undertaking in its entirety, and declaring that he does not even know what the term means. Of the five, Lévy is the only one to self-describe as such from the outset, although Matzneff later applies the label to the whole panel. However, merely by virtue of appearing on a program bearing that title, this collection of thinkers and writers became a part of intellectual culture—and stood as its figurative embodiment. For anyone tuning in to Antenne 2 at 9:30 pm on April 3, 1987, the group of personalities they encountered were the very personification of intellectuals: intelligent, keenly interested in concepts, and ready to speak their mind.563

“Sartre and the Intellos,” an installment of Droit de réponse from October 1983, provides an even more direct illustration of this process at work. One of the program’s themes, as host

Michel Polac phrased it, was to assess whether or not the expression “intellectual” carried a negative connotation.564 The panelists, including the philosopher Jeannette Colombel, along with the writers Michel Contat and Francis Jeanson, agreed that “intello” ought not to be a pejorative, albeit without ever managing to arrive at a consensual definition. Yet, even though they cannot precisely articulate what an intellectual “is,” they are nonetheless understood by the public to be just that: intellectuals doing what intellectuals do. Making this impression explicit, one audience member interjected at the close of the program, “We, the non-intellos, depend on you,” among other things, “to evaluate ideas and ameliorate thought.”565 Here again, we see representation shaping reality, creating meaning by viscerally molding the perceptions of the

French viewing public.

563 In a 1983 interview given to Télérama, Pivot acknowledged Apostrophes’ role in “making” his guests. “An author who does not appear on Apostrophes,” he observed, “is not recognized as a writer by his family, his friends, or the shopkeepers with whom he interacts. Once he appears, that’s it, he’s taken seriously.” Bernard Pivot, Télérama, No. 1759 (September 28, 1983). Cited in Holtzer, La page et le petit écran, 140. 564 “Sartre et les intellos,” Droit de réponse (October 1, 1987). 565 “Sartre et les intellos,” Droit de réponse (October 1, 1987). 226

Television also played a formative role in the construction and dissemination of intellectual personae. The thinkers who graced the small screen did so as both subjects and objects, offering themselves along with their ideas to the viewing public and, at the same time, allowing themselves to be portrayed by producers, directors, and hosts. In this manner, intellectuals who featured in documentaries and on televised debates became more than the sum of their parts, with the penseur recast as a personality—an icon.566 The discursive and representational practices underpinning this phenomenon of persona-fication centered on

‘pulling back the curtain’ to reveal the individual behind the name, and the lived experiences that sparked the ideas and activism.

One thinker whose star status owes a direct debt to the televised mediation of his thought and personality is Raymond Aron. His was a vast intellect: first place in the agrégation for philosophy at the École Normale Supérieur in 1928 and, subsequently, a doctorate for a thesis whose arguments his teachers resented but whose caliber they could not deny; a professor at the

Institut d’Études Politiques and, ultimately, the Collège de France; a prodigious author whose interdisciplinary work frequently weighed in on the issues of the day (often correctly, with the benefit of hindsight). Yet, through much of his early career Aron did not share the same profile enjoyed by many of his intellectual contemporaries. He did not publish fiction, as did François

Mauriac or André Malraux. His academic work shared nothing of Albert Camus’ readability in a text like “The Myth of Sisyphus.” His name was certainly not synonymous with any broader cultural movement, as was true for his one-time classmate, Jean-Paul Sartre, and other existentialists. He did not pioneer a new field of intellectual engagement, as with Simone de

566 In 1962, for instance, Télé 7 jours introduced François Mauriac as a “celebrity.” Not a writer; not a thinker; but a celebrity. “Une semaine s’achève,” Télé 7 jours No. 144 (December 22, 1962), 58. 227

Beauvoir or Michel Foucault. Moreover, his political stances were driven by pragmatism and his opposition to Marxist ideology put him at odds with the Left. The tenor of his argumentation was calm; and to cap it off, his lifestyle was modest. From the late 1960s, however, Aron’s star began to rise and by the twilight of his life he was one of France’s most visible and venerated intellectual figures. His presence on the small screen during the 1960s and 1970s played a vital role in this regard, introducing him to a mainstream public and remaking him as an object of fascination. Aron: the consummate intellectual; the charming individual.

The 1969 episode of Un certain regard, “A Philosopher in Journalism: Raymond Aron,” opens with the sound of footsteps. On-screen, the camera follows Aron as he enters the Centre de Sociologie Européenne. Then a cut to Aron outside his country home, as the narrator covers the basics, intertwining the personal and professional on this abridged vitae in much the same fashion as the images on film: “Raymond Aron, born March 14, 1905; doctorate in philosophy; professor at the Sorbonne from 1955 to 1967; instructor at Harvard and Columbia in the United

States; editorialist at Le Figaro; twenty-five books published in thirty years; married; father of two children; specialties: philosophy, sociology, economics, and policy.”567 When the interview begins, Aron is seated behind his desk, framed by bookshelves in the background. But books will have to wait, for the first question posed by Georges Suffert is one of origins: “Where were you born?” Thus it is clear from the outset that, even with a title like “A Philosopher in

Journalism,” this is very much a show about Raymond Aron the man.

As the program progresses, it is through his biographical reflections that the audience encounters Aron the thinker. He credits Hitler’s rise as his political awakening, which prompted him to abandon his metaphysical proclivities in favor of the social sciences. He recounts his

567 “Un philosophe dans le journalisme: Raymond Aron,” Un certain regard (December 7, 1969). 228 early exposure to Marxism, and describes in detail how a desire to justify his opinions vis-à-vis this seductive and problematic ideology led to him to take up his pen and enter the fray. He is happily animated as he sketches the broad contours of his anti-Marxist opus, The Opium of the

Intellectuals. In fact, he appears perfectly at ease sharing the details of his life, using these as a foil for a discussion of his views on society (including the Fifth Republic, the university system, and the industrial age), events and individuals (May 1968 and Charles de Gaulle, for instance), disciplines (journalism and economics), concepts (capitalism or pessimism), and so on. Across the hour, the man and the ideas become one; and Aron the persona emerges for all to see. He is rationalism, compassion, and civility incarnate. Moreover, he is the archetype of engagement, as when, with his final word, he affirms that: “everything is always in question, everything is always for the saving, nothing is definitively established, and there will never be a moment of rest on earth for men of good will.”568

The cultivation of intellectual personae served multiple purposes. For one, it helped to generate interest in these thinkers on the part of the viewing public. One reviewer for Télérama, for instance, expressed his utter fascination at seeing François Mauriac’s “real and strong personality” come through in his self-portrayal on the En direct avec… documentary series in

568 Nearly fifteen years later, the 400th episode of Apostrophes, entitled, “Raymond Aron’s 20th Century,” served much the same function. The pretext on this occasion was the highly anticipated publication of his memoires, the subject of so much media attention that Aron had suddenly become, in Pivot’s words, the “star” of the season. Though configured as a group discussion—with Aron joined on stage by the historian Jacques Julliard and the philosopher François George—the show’s approach shared much with Un certain regard. Once again, Pivot began with a selection of biographic anecdotes from Aron’s past, including his skill as a tennis player and his participation in a play during his youth, which flesh out the “writer, philosopher, professor, [and] journalist” as a man like any other. Throughout the remainder of the program, Aron’s personal interactions with “essential figures”—from Sartre and de Beauvoir to de Gaulle and Malraux—provide the springboard for a discussion of his ideas on society and politics. Thus, as with Un certain regard, viewers develop a strong sense of who Aron was as an intellectual in addition to what he did, and how his personality shaped the nature of his engagement. “Un philosophe dans le journalisme,” Un certain regard (December 7, 1969) and “Le vingtième siècle de Raymond Aron,” Apostrophes (September 23, 1983). 229

March 1968.569 A developed persona also functioned as a sort of signpost to mainstream viewers, communicating the gist of a given intellectual’s public visage, priorities, and methods; and doing so in a manner that was easy for audiences to internalize. “Aron,” for example, came to stand for something tangible; it connoted a particular approach to the intellectual vocation, a certain “brand” of intellectual.

Aron was far from alone in this regard. For instance, if one event issuing from the intellectual milieu in France stood above all the rest in 1974, it was surely the publication of

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s masterwork The Gulag Archipelago in translation. Ouvrez les guillemets feted its arrival with an episode devoted to its remarkable author—a man, Pivot noted wryly in his introductory remarks, who had become “so famous that we no longer even print his first name.”570 He was simply, and definitively, “Solzhenitsyn.” With this moniker, one knew precisely what to expect: gritty realism, brutal honesty, even at great personal risk, and steadfast opposition to Stalinist totalitarianism. And while television did not set this phenomenon in motion, as the most sophisticated form of mass media in wide use across most of the late twentieth century, it brought a degree of visibility that was without precedent. Via the small screen, the iconic names of intellectual figures (Solzhenitsyn) and trends (anti-totalitarianism) made their way into exponentially more French homes than ever before.

Few intellectual movements received greater brand recognition by way of television than the Nouvelle Philosophie, which burst on the scene in 1976-77, riding the wave of anti-Marxism into a sweeping denunciation of totalitarianism in all its guises. Suddenly, New Philosophers—

Bernard-Henri Lévy, André Glucksmann, Jean-Marie Benoist, Guy Lardraeu, Christian

569 “Nous avons vu, avez vous vu,” Télérama (March 17, 1968). 570 Bernard Pivot, on “Alexandre Soljenitsyn,” Ouvrez les guillemets (June 24, 1974). 230

Jambet—were seemingly everywhere: penning columns in magazines, lining the shelves of bookstores, under scrutiny in newspaper opinion pieces, and, of course, featured as guests on television programs. Lévy and Glucksmann, arguably the two best-known of the bunch, each appeared on television on six separate occasions in 1977 alone—a remarkable number by any standard and particularly for the period. The term “Nouvelle Philosophie” owes to a 1976 essay in Les Nouvelles littéraires, penned by the movement’s principal figurehead, the charismatic and provocative Lévy.571 Interestingly, he frequently expressed ignorance as to its provenance, despite having coined the expression himself. On one particularly memorable occasion, which transpired on the stage of Apostrophes, Lévy suggested that it was his detractors—in this case,

François Aubral and Xavier Delcourt—who had come up with the appellation.572 When

Aubral’s turn came to speak, he was quick to reject Lévy’s assertion. Producing a copy of Les

Nouvelles littéraires with Lévy’s headline story plastered on the cover, he triumphantly exclaimed: “It was he who launched the brand!”

There was thus little doubt that the brand existed. The controversy—and there was controversy aplenty—lay in determining what the marker, “Nouvelle Philosophie,” denoted and whether the intellectual product on offer was worthy or not. As Pivot, with his usual eloquence, mused: “Is this the effervescence of a few gifted minds in Paris or indeed a true philosophical movement—structured, profound, and durable? Is this a poker-like move, an instance of

571 Lévy has become a brand in his own right, replete with a trademark “look”—flowing hair and a partially unbuttoned dress shirt—and an instantly recognizable name—his initials, “BHL.” 572 Aubral and Delcourt were the authors of the highly polemical tract, Contre la nouvelle philosophie (“Against the New Philosophy,” 1977). With characteristic bravado, Lévy continued to problematize the origin and accuracy of the expression even after being called out on Apostrophes (the broadcast aired in May 1977). For example, when featured on the documentary program, L’homme en question, in November of that year, Lévy introduced himself to viewers at home in the following terms: “Now an editor, I publish books by those whom rumor has baptized the ‘New Philosophers.’” “Les nouveaux philosophes sont-ils de droite ou de gauche,” Apostrophes (May 27, 1977) and “Bernard-Henri Lévy,” L’homme en question (November 27, 1977). 231 intellectual marketing, or rather a spontaneous form of cultural revolution? Is this pulling the wool over our eyes, or an intelligent and original pursuit of the truth?”573 Having established the stakes in dramatic fashion, he promised his viewers “a response, or rather, an attempt to respond to these questions” live on-air during the ensuing episode of Apostrophes.574

9. “BHL,” Bernard-Henri Lévy 10. Launching the “New Philosophers”

Pivot’s remarks are telling, for it was in the media that much of this debate played out.

The New Philosophers became the celebrity figures they did as a direct result of the mass media.

In point of fact, it was frustration with the copious media attention accorded to these thinkers that inspired Aubral’s and Delcourt’s angry rebuttal, Contre la nouvelle philosophie (1977).575 Yet, as they note with a mixture of irony and ire, here they were on television talking about the phenomenon of New Philosophy, furthering its visibility and according it a de-facto legitimacy as a philosophical current. Even their attempt to object to this situation ended up feeding back into it—a remarkable feat, and one Aubral interpreted as evidence of Lévy’s “marketing genius.”576

573 Pivot, on “Les nouveaux philosophes sont-ils de droite ou de gauche,” Apostrophes (May 27, 1977). 574 Pivot, on “Les nouveaux philosophes sont-ils de droite ou de gauche,” Apostrophes (May 27, 1977). 575 François Aubral and Xavier Delcourt, Contre la nouvelle philosophie (Paris: Gallimard, 1977). 576 Aubral, on “Les nouveaux philosophes sont-ils de droite ou de gauche?” Apostrophes (May 27, 1977). 232

“I don’t see,” Lévy retorted on Vendredi in the autumn of 1977, “why one cannot succeed at marketing and thinking simultaneously.”577 He was also quick to contend that upon closer examination he was doing nothing new or odious in seeking to brand and promote the “Nouvelle

Philosophie.” The only substantive difference was a matter of means, not ends, with the New

Philosophers embracing television as a platform for growing its public where others have favored different avenues. Lévy pointed to the “Nouvelle histoire” and the “Nouveau roman” as evidence. The former, he contended, owed much of its profile to the marketing efforts of the

Gallimard publishing empire and, in particular, Pierre Nora. Nora and his affiliates, including

Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie, Jacques Le Goff, and Georges Duby, had, in Lévy’s estimation, harnessed the power of the mainstream press—above all by carving out a visible presence in the daily newspaper Le Monde and the Le Nouvel observateur—in order to favorably review one another’s books and trumpet their methodological commonalities. The latter, he averred, was virtually inseparable from the Éditions de Minuit publishing house, and its champions had comported themselves in a similar fashion to Nora’s circle at Gallimard.578

Each of these “new” intellectual-cultural tendencies profited from robust institutional apparatuses geared towards generating attention and interest.579 So, if the exceptional rise to

577 Going further, he rejected the notion that an intellectual should (or even could) compartmentalize the various aspects of their vocation. How do you differentiate between publishing, on one hand, and marketing on the other? Likewise, how do you separate your thought from your audience? To condemn those who appeared in the media on those grounds alone, as if featuring on a television program or newsmagazine was all it took to contaminate one’s thought, was, he suggested, the height of contempt for how others form judgments. Only faulty logic or scorn could divine a direct connection a philosophy’s public diffusion and its quality. Bernard-Henri Lévy, on “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 578 Against this backdrop, Lévy’s role as an editor at Éditions Grasset was hardly remarkable. 579 Nor, for that matter, was the “Nouvelle Philosophie” the sole beneficiary of television’s promotional power. Pierre Nora’s first appearance on the small screen, for instance, dates back to 1964, when he featured on the literary program Pour le plasir. He was a regular presence on TV in the following decades, including as the subject of an episode of Apostrophes in January 1988. The program devoted an episode to the “Nouvelle histoire” in February 1979. Le Roy Ladurie, another principal figure associated with this school of thought, had first graced a television screen in 1969. Compared to Lévy’s six appearances in 1977, Le Roy Ladurie logged four. The following year, he 233 prominence of the “New Philosophy” and its practitioners stands apart, it is as an indication of television’s parallel ascendency as the most powerful mainstream cultural medium for the creation of demand for intellectual culture in postwar France. As Pierre Dumayet, the former animateur of Lectures pour tous, affirmed: “We cannot learn to do philosophy in fifty-two minutes or even twice that. What we can do is touch people, if you will, or something akin to that. We can get you interested in philosophy.”580

“I Am Here to Do Publicity”

The promotion of books—and other material forms of intellectual production—offers perhaps the purest expression of television’s motive power in piquing people’s interests and shaping their opinions. Though one finds ample evidence of this practice on documentary-style programs and even TV guides, nowhere was this custom more widespread, overt, and visually striking than on magazines.581 Take the installment of Apostrophes on “The Responsibility of

featured on three more programs than Glucksmann. Similarly, the “Nouveau roman” was feted in documentaries such as “Paris-Paris: le temps d’une génération,” while its leading personalities featured on televised magazines, as when Butor (October 23, 1957; December 12, 1957; and March 7, 1962) and Robbe-Grillet (June 19, 1957 and December 1, 1965) visited Lectures pour tous, or when Robbe-Grilled appeared on Apostrophes (January 18, 1985). 580 Fifty-two minutes was the actual running time of many hour-long television programs. Dumayet, interview with Chaplin, in Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 83. The practice of offering viewers transcripts of programs affords another illustration of this aim of fostering sustained interest in intellectual culture. The conversations that transpired between guests and hosts, while informative and entertaining in the moment, were not intended to be merely ephemeral. They were recorded verbatim and made available to the public, as on the news program Questionnaire, where advertisements for these transcripts would flash on the screen during broadcasts. Thus, if a viewer cared to re-engage with the assertions of, say, André Glucksmann, after his appearance in September 1977, they could do so by sending in a postcard with their name and address. “La philosophie contre le pouvoir,” Questionnaire (Sept 18, 1977). 581 We have already seen one clear example of this practice in the context of Aron’s visit to Ouvrez les guillemets. Similarly, we have noted the laudatory manner in which documentaries presented authors’ works. With regard to TV guides, in its advertisement for the episode of Apostrophes on the “New Philosophers,” for instance, Télé 7 Jours offered prospective viewers detailed summaries, along with publication information, for relevant texts by Lévy (Barbarism with a Human Face, Grasset) and Glucksmann (The Master Thinkers, Grasset), Aubral and Delcourt (Contre la nouvelle philosophie, Gallimard), as well as Maurice Clavel (Nous l’avons tous tué, Seuil), an established figure in France’s intellectual milieu, who featured on the program as a vocal defender of the “New Philosophy.” Télé 7 Jours No. 886 (May 21, 1977). 234

Intellectuals” (1987), which, following the opening credits, begins with close-up shots of the invited guests’ books with their faces superimposed: Lévy framed against his Éloge des intellectuels, Bardèche overlaying Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Grenier on Albert Camus, soleil et ombre—in each instance, the thinker and the commodity depicted as one. The simultaneous portrayal of producer and product offers a stark reminder that, beneath it all, Apostrophes is a program on which authors are invited in order that they may present their published work to the viewing public. Whatever else came under discussion onstage proceeded from this foundation.

11. and 12. Apostrophes, book show

That Apostrophes was, at its heart, a show about books and authors may be seen in its customary closing, during which Pivot ran through a litany of books—literally holding them up in front of the camera for viewers to see—related to the evening’s broadcast, whether penned by his guests or relevant to the show’s theme. On this occasion, he displays other works by Lévy and Matzeneff, as well as texts by Aron, Emmanuel Levinas, Friedrich Nietzsche, and Pierre

Bourdieu, as well as about Céline and Camus. As the parting credits roll, the camera lingers on these books. Along with the bibliographic information rolling past, they are the final image onscreen. 235

The common understanding among hosts and producers, critics and viewers, as well as publishers and even thinkers, was that one of the functions of intellectually-oriented television was to sell books and other print commodities. As Pivot declared, in response to Aubral’s invective: “I am here to do publicity, a little bit.”582 And though Apostrophes may have represented the apotheosis of this phenomenon, the commercial component of magazines was nothing if not widespread. The host of Sept sur sept, Anne Sinclair, paused in the midst of a

1988 broadcast in order to plug a forthcoming issue of the review, Le Débat, which aimed to take stock of the changes to French society since the time of Stalin’s death in 1953.583 Though hosts and guest thinkers seldom came right out and implored audiences to purchase specific books, the point was not lost on the viewing public and critics.

Since the inception of the televised literary magazine as a genre in the 1950s with

Lectures pour tous, spectators registered the “advertising” role of these programs.584 While many found the show’s commercial subtext inappropriate, others responded favorably. “It is the role of television,” one individual declared in a letter to Radiodiffusion-Télévision Française in

December 1959, “to be the great propagandist of human wisdom.”585 Another, writing in April

1959, saluted Lectures pour tous for having directly spurred the “purchase of excellent

582 Pivot, on “Les nouveaux philosophes sont-ils de droite ou de gauche,” Apostrophes (May 27, 1977). 583 What is most striking about this on-air advertisement is the apparent disconnect between the issue of Le Débat and the focus of the program that evening, the 18th-century philosopher the Marquis de Condorcet. (Sinclair’s guests on the program were Robert and Elisabeth Badinter, who were on hand to discuss their recently completed a study of the enlightenment-era theorist, entitled, Condorcet, un intellectuel en politique.) As Minister of Justice (1981-1986), Robert Badinter had presided over the abolition of the death penalty and was thus in a unique position to comment on social change in France. According to Sinclair, however, the connection lay in the fact that both pertained to the “debate over ideas,” thus it was no significant stretch to jump from Condorcet’s role as an intellectual concerned with politics to a sales pitch for a publication such as Le Débat. Sinclair, who wrapped up the program by presenting several of the Badinter’s other books, exclaimed, “I am acting like Bernard Pivot this evening!” Anne Sinclair, on Sept sur sept (June 26, 1988). 584 See the extensive correspondence between spectators and Radiodiffusion-Télévision Française administrators. CAC, 19880562, Article 1: ORTF: traitement du courier des auditeurs et téléspectateurs, 1952-1959. 585 CAC, 19880562, Article 1: ORTF: traitement du courier des auditeurs et téléspectateurs, 1952-1959. 236 books.”586 In June 1957, a correspondent expressed his (or her) desire for the show to relate the complete details (authors, titles, and publishers) for the works under discussion on the program, as this practice had not yet become the norm. None of this would have come as a surprise to the critic André Bazin, who commended Lectures pour tous in July 1953 for instilling the desire to read in its audience.587

The publishing industry certainly shared the sentiment. In the brutally honest words of

Grasset’s press secretary, asked in 1985 to comment on the commercial impact of an appearance on Apostrophes: “It drives sales.”588 She went on to note that, while not all authors make out the same in the wake of a visit to the program, even those who perform poorly typically see their sales double.589 The most famous beneficiary of “Pivotization” was the philosopher Vladimir

Jankélévitch, who in a few weeks sold more books (some thirty thousand) than throughout his entire prior career, stretching back nearly fifty years.590 Noël Nel suggests that whether or not a book was “apostrophable” came to be a determining factor for publishers in selecting which works went to press.591 Such was the experience of the ethnologist Jeanne Favret. With a monograph on sorcery set for release in 1977, she spoke about the “obligation” of doing the media circuit—imposed as a “sine qua non” by her publisher before they would set the size of her print run—the “minimum” being Le Monde, Le Nouvel observateur, and “Pivot’s show.”592

586 CAC, 19880562, Article 1: ORTF: traitement du courier des auditeurs et téléspectateurs, 1952-1959. 587 Bazin, “Grâce aux Lectures pour tous, tous les spectateurs ont envie de devenir lecteurs,” 34. 588 Holtzer, La page et le petit écran, 140. 589 Holtzer, La page et le petit écran, 140. 590 Jankélévitch featured on Apostrophes on January 18, 1980. His first book, on Henri Bergson, was published in 1931. Chaplin, Turning on the mind, 13. On “Pivotization,” see Nel, A fleurets mouchetés, 52. 591 Nel, A fleurets mouchetés, 52. Pivot acknowledged that publishers had occasionally sought to pressure him into inviting certain authors onto his program (though he labeled himself “an incorruptible”), and conceded that publishers and authors alike seemed to have a preference for his show. Pivot, as quoted by Franklin Didi, “Bernard Pivot: à livre ouvert,” Télé 7 jours (September 17-23, 1983), 36-37. 592 Favret, on “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 237

Even where the commercial correlation was less overt, intellectuals who appeared on television programs furthered the creation of demand for print commodities. During a 1971 appearance on Post Scriptum, for instance, Michel Foucault obliged host Michel Tréguer’s request to be the “deep” guest, and discuss why he accorded the biologist François Jacob’s La logique du vivant a favorable review.593 Foucault makes his case for the text’s value by fleshing out the socio-intellectual context for the work, explaining what he feels La logique vivante teaches us about the systematic nature of life. As one of France’s preeminent thinkers, his exposition offers a legitimization of Jacob’s ideas and a weighty endorsement of his book.

Michel Polac assigned his guests a similar task on the July 25, 1987 installment of Droit de réponse, entitled “Don’t Tan Like an Idiot.”594 Recent statistics suggested that reading rates in France were alarmingly low vis-à-vis other leading European nations. West Germans read four times more than the French, while Britons read eight times more. With summer on high,

“Don’t Tan Like an Idiot” proposed to redress this imbalance in France’s “intellectual consumption” by presenting vacationers with reading recommendations from an array of cultural experts, including the sociologist Edgar Morin, Laure Adler from France Culture, Françoise

Xenakis from L’Express, and Pierre Ajame from Le Nouvel observateur. These “summer books” were to be light but not vacuous, stimulating but not toilsome; something one could “read at the beach,” as Polac phrased it.595

Morin, for one, vouched for the quality of Les années rouges, an autobiographical account of the Cultural Revolution in China by Hua Linshan. He then challenged the notion that

593 Michel Foucault, on Post Scriptum (February 15, 1971). 594 The title is likely a reference to the successful Les Bronzés comedy film franchise (its first two installments premiered in 1978 and 1979), whose satirical take on the mindless (and libidinous) behavior of French vacationers brought audiences to the cinema in droves. 595 Michel Polac, on “Ne bronzez pas idiots,” Droit de réponse (July 25, 1987). 238 complicated works were unsuitable for vacation reading. “A lot of people are very busy during the workday,” he noted. “They’re bombarded by telephone calls; they have a thousand things to do. The only time when they can read something difficult is at the beach on holiday.”596 Morin thus asserted the compatibility of edification and leisure, making vacation the perfect time to take an interest in the offerings of intellectual culture.

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Between 1983 and 1993, the total annual airtime of magazines and documentaries grew by eight percent, making these types of programs the second most prolific (behind fiction series) on the small screen.597 Therefore, if the commercialization and privatization of the television industry in France precipitated radical changes to the profile of intellectual programming, its on- air availability was not affected adversely. Rather, the shift was qualitative in nature, having to do with the character, or style, of shows featuring intellectuals. Régine Chaniac and Sylvie

Dessault have sought to explain this development in terms of the move from public to commercial television, which they see as blurring the priorities enumerated by RTF’s foundational mantra to “inform, educate, [and] entertain,” thereby giving rise a substantively new, emotive fixation on the personalities of hosts and guests, whether recognized celebrities or newcomers.598

In contrast, I hold that what typifies the decade of the 1980s is more the maturation of longer running trends towards entertainment value and the cult of personality than the sudden adoption of a distinct approach. The fascination exerted by charismatic individuals like Camus, for example, may be seen as far back as the 1950s. Similarly, the turn towards the spectacular,

596 Edgar Morin, on “Ne bronzez pas idiots,” Droit de réponse (July 25, 1987). 597 Chaniac and Dessault, La télévision française de 1983 à 1993, 43. 598 Chaniac and Dessault, La télévision française de 1983 à 1993, 94. 239 best exemplified by the “live” debate format, was solidly established by the 1970s. Even the use of television as a vehicle for the marketing of books and other forms of print culture stretches back to the very first literary programs in the 1950s.

Furthermore, while it is undeniable that television significantly recast the terms of intellectuals’ interactions with the public in France, its approach to the promotion and dissemination of intellectual culture was anything but anomalous. On the contrary, the evolving repertoire of documentaries and magazines presented a vision of intellectual culture’s use value that was remarkably consistent with articulations at Maisons de la Culture and the Pompidou

Center, which similarly emphasized its relevance to French social development and national grandeur. Likewise, intellectually-oriented programs on the small screen frequently and emphatically stressed the accessibility of their offerings. While the topics under consideration and the thinkers on display were often cerebral, none were intended to leave behind mainstream viewers.

Close analysis of the form and content of these programs, along with the advertisements that ran in conjunction, reveals that television cultivated the same commodificatory tropes we saw at Maisons and the CNAC. As a representational medium, television contributed to the personifying of “intellectuals” as a category, as well as the “persona-fying” of individual figures.

In addition to these forms of embodying, the small screen played a role in the branding of intellectual movements, validating the use and furthering the diffusion of various labels such as the “Nouvelle philosophie.” Lastly, television offered a powerful tool for the creation of demand. Nowhere is this motive capacity more readily apparent than in the medium’s role in the promotion and sale of books. While not all thinkers, nor schools of thought, basked in 240 television’s warm glow to the same degree, the intellectual milieu as a whole profited from unprecedented levels of visibility.

Intellectual Journals and the Business of Enlightenment

Given the extraordinary esteem in which journals are held by the creators and commentators of French intellectual culture, it is all the more remarkable that these erudite publications were every bit as actively engaged in commodification as other cultural institutions.

What is more, the evidence reveals that they ventured down this path many years prior to the unveiling of Maisons de la Culture, decades before the inauguration of the Pompidou Center, and at a time when the development of television as a cultural medium was still in its infancy.

Furthermore, journals went about their commodificatory work much more literally than these other institutions; and this applies to even the most rarified publications, such as Esprit, begun by

Emmanuel Mounier in 1932, and Critique, founded by Georges Bataille in 1946.

These periodicals were pillars of intellectual excellence and integrity, and yet editors at both situated them as commercial products, arguing that they must be treated accordingly in order to survive and thrive, which, in turn, they must because of the great use value of the intellectual culture to which they give voice. Leaders at Critique and Esprit asserted the importance of intellectual culture to the maintenance of a healthy society and vibrant cultural milieu. In pursuit of these ends, they promised their readership—one that was often fairly elite in its composition, but becoming increasingly heterogeneous as the postwar era progressed—a forum for engagement, edification, and even enjoyment. A careful examination of these publications’ behind-the-scenes interactions with the members of their own editorial boards, 241 contributors and affiliates, and organizers of other periodicals reveals the remarkable extent to which they worked tirelessly to create demand for intellectual culture.

A Commodity Like Any Other?

As Mounier re-launched Esprit in the wake of the Second World War, he confronted a combination of opportunities and obstacles. On the one hand, Liberation made it possible for the journal, banned by Vichy in 1941, to resume publication and re-orient its ideological bent along new and more contemporary lines. Exciting as these prospects were, they also meant re- establishing its base of readers, and doing so in the late 1940s was no short order, for the financial and material constraints of the war period carried over into frugality on the part of consumers and elevated prices for paper. All of this made for tight margins and, by 1948,

Esprit’s founder and editor decided the time was right to fight back in the form of an

“uninterrupted recruitment campaign,” beginning with the May issue.599

At the heart of this recruitment drive lay an assertion that might startle those familiar with

Esprit’s avowed opposition to the “tyranny of money” in modern society, namely that the periodical was a commercial product like any other, that its existence hinged upon its viability as a saleable good.600 “Everything you demand from us,” Mounier declared, “is a function of the means you—and you alone—give us,” in light of the fact that the journal remained resolute in its

599 Esprit’s editors decided to make public the budgetary precariousness of their enterprise in the hopes that transparency would lead to an uptick in subscriptions. They began from the premise that Esprit boasted a healthy readership, one they believed outstripped their sales revenues by some distance. L’Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine (henceforth IMEC), ESP2.J2-03.01: Documentation sur ce que faire un abonné isolé pour Esprit. Letter to Esprit’s readership in May, 1948. 600 IMEC, ESP2.B4-04.01: Brouillon de la presentation d’Esprit pour une plaquette publicitaire (1950s). 242 aim to maintain financial autonomy by relying only on profits from sales for its operational budget.601

Esprit aimed its recruitment campaign at two categories of readers: those who paid their way and those who did not. With regard to the former, there were some who purchased the journal at newsstands and others with subscriptions. In a bold move, Mounier suggested that neither was doing enough to support the periodical. Those who picked up their copies of Esprit from kiosques were essentially giving fifty percent of the cost per issue to an intermediary, rather than all of that money going to those directly responsible for making Esprit a reality.602 By

1949, the situation was such that the fees of one subscriber (105 F) were equal to three newsstand purchases (70 F going to intermediaries, 35 F to the printer, and 35 F to the review itself).603 Moreover, as appreciative as Esprit staffers were of their many readers who made a point of taking out subscriptions, they alleged that too few of them “sought to multiply their numbers” by identifying and enlisting new readers and subscribers.”604 In decidedly indelicate language, they went so far as to declare: “A subscriber who does not recruit others is an ungrateful friend.”605 Finally, they requested that current readers take a few minutes to browse their address books and then send in the “names of people likely to be interested in Esprit.”606

601 IMEC, ESP2.J2-03.01: Letter to Esprit’s readership (May, 1948). 602 In exchange for buying Esprit directly, prospective subscribers were promised that they would receive issues before they arrived at newsstands, without having to worry that it might sell out, and were guaranteed no price increases for at least six months. Given that “you would assist us considerably, with advantages for yourself,” the board could not help but wonder, “what are you waiting for?” IMEC, ESP2.J2-03.01: Letter to Esprit’s readership (May, 1948). 603 IMEC, ESP2.J2-03.01: Letter to Esprit’s readership (1949). 604 IMEC, ESP2.J2-03.01: Letter to Esprit’s readership (May, 1948). 605 IMEC, ESP2.J2-03.01: Letter to Esprit’s readership (1949). 606 Referrals leading to new subscriptions would be rewarded with a 10% refund. IMEC, ESP2.J2-03.01: Letter to Esprit’s readership (May, 1948). 243

With respect to those who read the journal without paying the cover price, now was the time to do the fair thing, in recognition of the fact that Esprit was indeed a commercial commodity, and pay their share. After all, “what products, other than intellectual products, can one use freely in this manner without paying for them?”607 For just because one could access

Esprit free of charge did not mean that one should do so: “If you read the journal without buying it, i.e. somebody else’s issue, whether there are 2, 3, or 5 of you, ask yourself the following question: would I consider it normal to expect the butcher to provide 1, 2, or 5 cuts of meat free of charge? How would he balance his books? This is what we are up against.”608 An unlikely analogy perhaps; but instructive nevertheless, on the one hand confirming that the journal was indeed a commercial product with a price tag attached and, on the other, placing in relief what is both a blessing and a curse for “intellectual” commodities, namely that they may be readily and repeatedly shared.609

It is significant that Mounier situated Esprit as a commodity despite his deeply rooted antipathy for capitalism and consumerism. Even after his death, at which point Jean-Marie

Domenach took over the directorship, the review carried on in its mission to promote a “rupture with the world of money.”610 That a publication so hostile to the almighty franc, and at the same time so committed to fostering a communitarian society, would openly criticize readers who did not pay the cover price, take out subscriptions, and drum up additional adherents, confirms that

Esprit’s editors, regardless of their ideals, nonetheless accepted that they were in the business of

607 IMEC, ESP2.J2-03.01: Letter to Esprit’s readership (May, 1948). 608 IMEC, ESP2.J2-03.01: Letter to Esprit’s readership (1949). 609 This was a sizeable group in the board’s estimation, with somewhere between five and ten people reading a single copy in some instances. IMEC, ESP2.J2-03.01: Letter to Esprit’s readership (May, 1948). 610 IMEC, ESP2.B1-01.05: Congrès à Draveil en Septembre 1957 autour du thème: ‘La relance d’Esprit, le réexamen à la lumière de la situation et de nos moyens, de nos thèmes principaux, et, si possible, un engagement pour une nouvelle étape. Schéma du rapport de Jean-Marie Domenach. 244 enlightenment. In other words, one need not embrace commodity culture as a virtue to engage in forms of commodification. For better or worse, Esprit was a commercial venture that made and marketed a physical commodity with an exchange value necessary to sustaining the review and enabling it to carry out its intellectual project.

Jérôme Lindon, director of Les Éditions de Minuit, which assumed full responsibility for editing Critique as of 1950, addressed the commercial dimension of the intellectual review in a

1957 letter to Jean-Baptiste Piel. “Critique’s financial situation is not good,” he informed

Bataille’s successor. In fact, it was so dire that, if extensive cost saving measures could not be agreed upon and enacted in the next few months, the publishing house would be forced to sell its stake in the journal to another enterprise.611 In order to reduce the review’s 900,000-franc debt,

Lindon proposed a combination of new subsidies, subscriptions, and advertisers. Most of these revenues would come from the state, either directly or indirectly. The Centre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS), for instance, had agreed to increase the aid it paid to the publication, nationalized industries such as Électricité de France and Air-France were going to buy additional ad space, and the Ministry of Education would purchase additional subscriptions.

Additionally, Lindon laid out a series of changes to the format of the review, most notably slashing Critique’s page count by 16 pages per issue (from 96 to 80, for an annual saving of 300,000 francs) and publishing two “double editions” each year rather than one (which, with only 32-pages of additional content, would resect a further 100,000 francs from the budget).

These reductions show clearly that financial solvency, and this includes a manageable debt, were never merely a subordinate concern when it came to putting together a periodical such as

Critique or Esprit, but directly and significantly impacted the nature of these reviews as

611 IMEC, JPL2.A14.07: Correspondance Minuit-Critique. Lettre de Lindon à Piel (March 29, 1957). 245 intellectual products. In fact, Piel conceded this very point while speaking at a colloquium on

“The Status and Future of Reviews” in 1975, granting that “socio-economic considerations,” such as party affiliations, research vectors, and, lest one suppose otherwise, budgetary constraints all combine to “dictate the intellectual orientation and look” of a given publication.612

How, then, did the directors at Esprit and Critique justify the commercial dimension of their projects? In brief, they asserted the profound use value of their publications as a forum for informed discussion and engagement, not to mention a means of legitimating and creating interest in intellectual culture. Put differently, they validated one form of commodification

(pecuniary) with another (socio-cultural). Thus, affirmations of reviews’ use value constituted the bedrock of marketing efforts and, more often than not, were interwoven with assessments of publications’ financial situation and pricing in their relations with the public. Esprit, for example, self described as “more than a review,” with its organizers wholly committed to the mission laid out by Mounier to carve out a new, alternative way of thinking and living, one that charted a middle path between “bourgeois society and statist collectivism,” with the end goal of bringing about the “flourishing of the human person.”613 More broadly, Esprit promised content that departed from the standard dichotomy of Left or Right, and that took stock of the whole of a person’s life, both spiritual and physical. In these regards, their contribution to contemporary society was vital and even “irreplaceable.”614

612 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Textes et documents sur la revue. Jean Piel, Revue: recherche et critique des idées. Intervention dans le cadre du colloque “Situation et avenir des revues,” Nice (May, 1975). 613 IMEC, ESP2.B4-04.01: Brouillon de la presentation d’Esprit pour une plaquette publicitaire (1950s). 614 IMEC, ESP2.H1-04.07: Lettre pour amener les lecteurs à s’abonner ou pour leur rappeler que leur abonnement est terminé, 1983. 246

Similarly, Critique performed a valuable service by, “bearing witness to the newest facets of French thought,” along with recent works and ideas from abroad.615 No other publication was as plugged in to the intellectual cutting edge; nor were others equally up to the challenge of striking a fine balance between presentation and interpretation. In so doing, Critique did not just comment upon what was new but actually drove innovation, having set in motion a positive feedback loop for creators and critics alike. Critique’s value lay in its blend of deep thinking and forward thinking; and it was the review’s success in selling the educated public on its usefulness that enabled the journal to survive, despite frequent budgetary shortfalls and periodic interruptions to its publication. Even in the precarious economic climate of the mid-1970s,

Critique’s existence was secure, Piel maintained, by virtue of its having become an “institution” of global repute in the course of the preceding twenty years. Though profitability remained ever elusive, there was no discernable risk of perishing, due to the “strong personality” of founder

Georges Bataille and the growing “influence of his oeuvre” since his passing in 1962.616

For Paul Thibaud, who assumed direction of Esprit in 1976, the motive power of intellectuals extended far beyond cultivating a healthy readership by way of association and reputation; it constituted another vector of reviews’ use value in the sense that intellectuals formed part of any tenable—and desirable—democratic society. Moreover, he predicted that they were poised to “become the principal holders of power,” possessing the technical capacities necessary for the exercise of power and pushed increasingly to the fore by the heavily

615 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Textes et documents sur la revue. Texte de Jean Piel sur la trajectoire de la revue (1986). 616 The proliferation of marquee thinkers on its editorial committee, including the likes of Foucault, Barthes, Derrida, and Serres, no doubt served a similar function. 247 ideological nature of power in modern times.617 According to Thibaud, these factors placed intellectuals (and their place in society) squarely in the middle of any debate concerning the political future of France—and democratic societies the world over. Esprit mattered now more than ever precisely because intellectuals mattered now more than ever.

Thibaud’s assessment of intellectuals’ mounting social relevance came in the midst of a transitional period for the publication, accompanying the change of leadership necessitated by

Domenach’s decision to end his tenure at the helm. Before his departure, however, the two invited approximately fifty of Esprit’s collaborators—Jean-Pierre Dupy, Jacques Julliard, Olivier

Mongin, Jean-Pierre Rioux, Pierre Rosanvallon, and Michel Winock, among others—to a symposium whose purpose was to “reexamine the review’s reasons for being and modes of being.”618 In addition to reshuffling the organization of labor, Thibaud and Domenach spoke of a more sweeping need to “reorient ourselves with respect to our environment, taking account of its evolution as well as our own,” by which they meant reevaluating Esprit’s place in the socio- cultural landscape of contemporary France.619 Part of this undertaking entailed thinking deeply about issues considered vital to the future of Esprit and the democratic society it called home, including, other than the role of intellectuals, the place of the state in the political life of society,

France’s legal system, developments in popular culture, as well as the connections between the economy and environmentalism. Appraising the changing nature of their readership and culture comprised another important aspect of this collective examination.620

617 IMEC, ESP2.B2-03.01: Réunion des 25 et 26 sept 1976, près de Melun, autour du depart de JM Domenach de la direction de la revue: “Quelle orientation la revue doit-elle prendre?” 618 IMEC, ESP2.B2-03.01: Réunion des 25 et 26 sept 1976.” 619 IMEC, ESP2.B2-03.01: Réunion des 25 et 26 sept 1976.” 620 Accordingly, this colloquium may be seen as a top-down activity aimed at ascertaining how to make and market intellectual culture, while the practice of engaging in reader relations constituted the bottom-up compliment—or counterpart—to this same effort. 248

Gauging Tastes and Fine-Tuning Content

Endeavoring to take stock of readers’ desires and perceptions was nothing new in 1971, with the publication having engaged in the practice for decades. As far back as the mid-1950s,

Esprit’s directors were well aware of a rift in the appetites of their readership when it came to the optimal balance between sophistication and accessibility. One reader poll, dating from 1956, asked respondents to classify themselves according to whether they found the review’s articles to be overly long and complex, or, on the contrary, too light in tone and skimpy in detail.621 To shed further light on the composition of their public, Louis Bodin, who assembled the questionnaire, solicited information on respondents’ reading habits beyond Esprit. He asked which (if any) daily newspapers they read, and the same for weekly and monthly newsmagazines. He queried readers on their taste in books, specifically whether they gravitated to novels, poetry collections, technological or scientific literature, or philosophical, historical, economic, or political essays. For context he polled respondents on their cultural practices beyond the realm of print culture, including the frequency with which they went to movies and whether or not they owned a record player and television.

Organizers at Critique also made every effort to gauge their public’s tastes. Questions on their reader polls probed for information on demographic, socio-economic, and educational background, along with political-ideological affiliations. They asked for specifics on the writers and works featured by the review that had left the most profound mark on respondents and what they would most like to see gracing the pages of future issues. However, it is their interest in readers’ perceptions of what was best in French intellectual culture more globally—and

Critique’s place therein—that are most remarkable. For example, one poll prompted respondents

621 IMEC, ESP2.H2-01.01: Questionnaire de Louis Bodin (January 1956). 249 to rank ten reviews (L’Arc, Critique, Diogène, Esprit, Europe, La Nouvelle Revue française, La

Pensée, Preuves, Les Temps modernes, and Tel Quel) in order from zero to ten according to the relative prestige they enjoyed in people’s minds.622 Others inquired as to which intellectuals’ opinions carried the most weight for the reader, or which thinkers mattered the most at present.623

From these questionnaires, Critique’s staff sought to ascertain not just who constituted their public, they also attempted to extrapolate how to adapt the review’s content accordingly.

By the late 1960s, they had come to the conclusion that, increasingly, Critique catered to two distinct types of readers; and here we see a clear convergence with Esprit. The data indicated that the inclinations of these two groups differed in just about every regard: One group of readers was older, more elite in its cultural pedigree and appetites, comprised largely of academics, and regarded Critique as a source of information and scholarship. The other cohort was younger, newer to the journal, growing in size, and comparatively mainstream. These recent devotees were especially interested in “following fashionable debates and polemics, and like to think of themselves as being—in the future if not at present—part of the intellectual avant-garde.”624

Exacerbating this disconnect was copious evidence that the first group vocally opposed changes to Critique’s format, above all the introduction of polemical articles and works of “general interest,” which were on the upswing and interpreted as portending a move to emulate Les Temps modernes and Tel Quel.

622 This questionnaire is not dated, but ran some time between 1966 and 1986. IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Textes et documents sur la revue: Enquête sur les lecteurs. 623 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Enquête sur les lecteurs. 624 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Enquête sur les lecteurs. 250

Despite such feedback from their established readers, the editors at Critique resolved to do everything possible to satisfy their new public. Their overall numbers and rate of growth were rising, and they were the most likely to make their purchases at a newsstand, rather than taking out annual subscriptions. The fact that they were not locked in to a contract meant that they needed to be enticed to purchase the journal anew each month. Of course, Critique’s directors were determined not to alienate their more elite readership in the process, and this meant coming to a decision regarding “at just what point” to draw the line in making overtures to the mainstream.625 “Prestige” was to serve as the litmus test in setting the threshold, specifically the maintenance of the publication’s reputation in the eyes of its “first public,” one that, in addition to having embraced Critique earlier, collectively occupied a position of great authority in the intellectual milieu.626 This cohort also happened to comprise some of those who contributed to Critique, or, it was hoped, might be convinced to do so in the future. Their participation as collaborators would only be secured if the review retained its lofty place in their estimation.

Such attention to Critique’s intellectual profile was intended to assure rigorous standards of excellence and the continued support of its elite public; it was not a repudiation of the journal’s mainstream audience. Both groups were to be targeted simultaneously; and the publication would therefore continue to function as a sort of “mix” between “scientific journal” and “general interest review.”627 This hybrid approach remained the norm across the final decades of the twentieth century, during which time it was frequently defended as an estimable extension of Critique’s devotion to interdisciplinarity. After all, polymath intellectuals are the

625 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Enquête sur les lecteurs. 626 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Enquête sur les lecteurs. 627 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Enquête sur les lecteurs. 251 exception; most are experts in but a single field. The breadth of coverage contained with

Critique required collaborators capable of bridging the gap between intellectual rigor and readability. Thus scientific detail and general interest came to coexist. Speaking in 1986 on the selection criteria used to recruit contributors, Piel affirmed the ever-present need for people “who are simultaneously authorities in their specialty and capable of making themselves accessible to a large public without succumbing to vulgarization.”628

Fostering Demand and Driving Innovation

Review directors frequently framed their pursuit of a more mainstream or “generalist” public as a means of creating demand for intellectual culture. Piel employed precisely these terms in describing Critique’s foundational mission. As the review’s moniker suggested, he noted, one aspect of its mission was to “comment upon” important works.629 Its other function was to “make known” under-the-radar texts and authors by providing an introduction and generating interest, hence its original focus on foreign works and, since 1950, emergent trends in

French intellectual life. Put differently, the review ascribed to a form of “creative criticism,” as a result of which it not only created demand for intellectual culture on the part of its public but contributed to the “birth of innovations” in intellectual life as well, their brand of dissemination serving as an impetus to consumers and creators alike.630 Admittedly, Critique was a comparatively small publication with modest means. But it managed to sustain its “cultural

628 Piel’s formulation of expertise, accessibility, and credibility closely mirrors the blueprints adopted by organizers at Maisons de la Culture and the Pompidou Center. Again and again those in the business of producing and promoting intellectual culture invoked this triad, a tendency that underscores its centrality to the project of commodification. IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Texte de Jean Piel sur la trajectoire de la revue (1986). 629 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Texte de Jean Piel sur la trajectoire de la revue (1986). 630 On another occasion, Piel spoke in terms of cultivating the “seeds of that which should shape the ‘face’ of culture” in the course of the following decades. IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Textes et documents sur la revue: Notice sur la revue Critique (1986). IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Jean Piel, Revue: recherche et critique des idées. 252 revolution” by operating as a company of “sharpshooters,” which is to say, by identifying a select cadre of highly skilled collaborators and tasking them with the mission of zeroing in on targets of great value.631 Thus Critique waged a campaign of “cultural competition,” one that rewarded innovators with increased visibility and critical validation; and it was in this way that

Critique exemplified the intellectual review as “promotional tool.”632

For proof of Critique’s success in fostering demand for the fruits of intellectuals’ labor,

Piel highlighted its track record in helping to launch authors and texts that had gone on to receive significant acclaim. He lauded his review’s role as champions of the “Nouveau roman,” with

Critique presenting one of the first works by Alain Robbe-Grillet in 1951, a full two years before the publication of his landmark breakout novel, Les Gommes, by Les Éditions de Minuit. In similar fashion, he recalled that Michel Butor graced the pages of the journal in 1953, a year before the release of Passage de Milan. What is more, Critique had featured the first major study of the experimental novel in 1954, running “Littérature objective” by noted literary critic,

Roland Barthes. This was three years before the emergence of the “Nouveau roman” as a genre and appellation. In addition to supporting members of the experimental novel movement, Piel credited Critique with having advanced the careers of Michel Foucault and Jacques Derrida, according the former much needed page space in the years prior to his emergence as an intellectual heavyweight and printing portions of the latter’s Of Grammatology in 1965, two years prior to its publication in complete form, once again by Les Éditions de Minuit.633 When one considers the enormity of literary and intellectual production, not just in France but the world around, the prescience shown by organizers at Critique for prizing out the “rare jewels that

631 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Jean Piel, Revue: recherche et critique des idées. 632 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Jean Piel, Revue: recherche et critique des idées. 633 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Texte de Jean Piel sur la trajectoire de la revue (1986). 253 we will be discussing in short order” is remarkable.634 And that the educated public had, by

1975 in Piel’s estimation, come to regard Critique as a leading source for these cultural gems confirmed the value of the journal’s promotional vocation.

Of course, none of this is meant to imply that Critique was directly involved in the sale of the texts it featured, even with its proximal connection to Minuit. However, there is ample evidence of a virtuous cycle at play, with the former promoting authors and endorsing works, and the latter posting profits that fed back into maintaining the financial stability of the review.

In other words, where Critique’s function was to assist in the discovery and validation of talent,

Minuit’s was that of the productive patron, producing and selling the resulting material commodities.

There was, however, one area where Critique was directly involved in promoting commercial products, namely through its special editions, in which the whole of an issue was devoted to tackling a single topic of contemporary interest through a series of thematically related articles. According to Piel, this format, which became increasingly prevalent beginning in the mid-1970s, owed its development to “commercial opportunity” plain and simple.635 In a nutshell, bookshops were far more interested in carrying journals that periodically produced special editions, as these “ensembles” could be marketed more like books and sold in greater numbers. This was basic supply and demand, and Critique abided.

Piel credited two related factors with driving this commercial re-orientation: profitability and readership. With its razor thin margins, Critique could scarcely afford to ignore opportunities to keep its coffers full, especially when the change in format did not imply a

634 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Jean Piel, Revue: recherche et critique des idées. 635 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Notice sur la revue Critique (1986). 254 reduction in the caliber of the review as an intellectual production. Compounding the profit motive was the fact that special editions offered Critique an effective way to attract new

“segments” of the public, who, having been drawn to the journal through its in-depth treatment of a particular issue or discipline, would be more likely to become regular readers. As the publication’s new readers were more and more liable to make their purchases on an issue-by- issue basis, it was increasingly necessary to find ways to repeatedly whet their appetites and entice previously uninitiated members of the university milieu and “cultivated public” in France and abroad.636 It is thus abundantly clear that Piel regarded the task of creating demand for intellectual culture as one of paramount importance to Critique as a publication. This

“promotional” vocation, he averred, served both the review and the cause of culture more globally by encouraging innovation and rewarding excellence.637

The editorial staff at Esprit approached the matter of creating demand in much the same terms, seeking to generate interest in their publication and whet the public’s appetite for intellectual culture more generally. In each instance, affirmations of the journal’s use value— whether as an instrument of enlightenment or a forum for informed opinion—constituted the focal point of their commodificatory efforts. Some of these involved traditional forms of direct marketing, while others transpired behind the scenes and in subtler ways. One common practice was to run press releases in newspapers and other journals, announcing forthcoming topics and noteworthy contributors to Esprit.

636 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Notice sur la revue Critique (1986). 637 IMEC, JPL2.A14.04: Jean Piel, Revue: recherche et critique des idées. 255

In October 1963, Esprit circulated an announcement for the coming issue, devoted to

Claude Lévi-Strauss’ recently published La Pensée sauvage (1962).638 With structuralist thought in the ascendant, there was little question as to the relevance of this work, which took the principles of structural analysis Lévi-Strauss had previously elaborated in his study of primitive man and applied them to advanced societies, thereby underscoring the common, primal elements of all human thought. However, assuring that a mainstream readership would be able to appreciate the full significance of La Pensée sauvage required an exercise in contextualization and clarification on the part of skilled interpreters. Such was the stated purpose of the special edition: Jean Cuisiner would place Lévi-Strauss’ newest work in sequence with his preceding ethnological studies, thereby illuminating the evolution of his thought. Nicolas Ruvet would shine a light on the essential role played by linguistics in shaping structuralism as a method of analysis. Paul Ricoeur’s contribution, which appraised Lévi-Strauss’ use of symbolism from the philosophical vantage point of hermeneutics, began by casting the structuralist project in relief so that its contributions might be fully understood in context, and then challenged aspects of this emergent interpretive schema. In other words, Ricoeur offered first elucidation and, second, critical discussion. Appropriately, the last word fell to Lévi-Strauss himself, who proffered a short piece responding to some of the questions raised—in Esprit and elsewhere—concerning his latest work and its theoretical assertions.

Taken together, Esprit’s press release trumpeted, anyone interested in acquiring the requisite “elements for comprehending” structuralism, as well as an appreciation for the debates surrounding this powerful and in-vogue mode of thought, need look no further than the

638 IMEC, ESP2.J2-02.04: Textes communiqués à insérer dans différents journaux 1963-69. 256

November issue.639 Though the primary purpose of this advertisement was to encourage the reading public to purchase the review—available at bookstores and kiosques everywhere for the modest sum of 5 francs—it also served as a call for the public to take notice of Lévi-Strauss as a thinker. There would after all be little cause for Esprit dedicate an entire issue to his work were he not doing something worthy of the public’s attention.

Behind the scenes, Esprit’s organizers used a range of tactics to generate interest. One technique was to ask intellectuals, particularly those who had previously featured as contributors, to help in spreading the word. As usual, this type of public relations centered on an assertion of the review’s profound use value. For instance, in a letter that went out to over three hundred writers and publishers in May 1974, Domenach lamented the financial difficulties engendered by the spiking costs of paper and printing before remarking that, “if Esprit were to disappear, you would no doubt regret it.”640 Those who received this dispatch—including Michel de Certeau,

René Char, Jean Duvignaud, Michel Foucault, Serge Moscovici, Antoine Prose, and Alain

Touraine—either read or had written for the review, which, in Domenach’s estimation, “means you value it.” And though Esprit boasted a storied past, “it was not immortal.” Now, he declared, it was time to protect against its demise by taking action. The most obvious thing one could do was to sign up for a personal subscription if one presently read a shared or ‘free’ copy of the publication. But there were many additional ways to show support, above all by making the review’s excellence known to others. If possible, Domenach asked that Esprit’s affiliates

639 IMEC, ESP2.J2-02.04: Textes communiqués à insérer dans différents journaux 1963-69. 640 IMEC, ESP2.B4-04.04: Appel aux lecteurs pour aider financièrement la revue à la suite des augmentations de papiers…de 1974. Letter by Jean-Marie Domenach, dated May 31, 1974. 257

“mention our publications in the press and on the radio,” encouraging the reading or listening public to take an interest and purchase the journal accordingly.641

Beyond these efforts to sell the public on Esprit specifically, the review’s staff engaged in a wide variety of marketing practices that assisted in the creation of demand for other forms of intellectual culture. The journal frequently solicited and ran advertisements for books thematically pertinent to a given issue. In the summer of 1960, Esprit’s directors reached out to the Calmann-Lévy publishing house, inquiring as to whether the press might see fit to place an ad for Claude Alphandéry’s L’Amérique est-elle trop riche in the July-August issue, which would feature a piece by Domenach on the “American model,” as well as one by Konrad Bibier on black Americans, or perhaps the September issue, which would contain the second part of

Domenach’s analysis.642 In much the same fashion, Esprit’s press secretary contacted the head of Les Éditions de la Baconnière in November 1958, encouraging the publishing house to take out ads in the following month’s special issue on Albert Béguin, who had served as director of

Esprit from 1950 until his death in 1957, and some of whose works were published by the Swiss firm.643 Advertisements such as these brought Esprit much needed revenues, helped publishers move their products, and assisted both parties in fostering the vibrant cultural milieu upon which they depended.

In addition to according promotional page space to relevant books, Esprit printed countless advertisements for other reviews and magazines. These were so copious that Esprit

641 IMEC, ESP2.B4-04.04: Appel aux lecteurs. Letter by Jean-Marie Domenach, dated May 31, 1974. 642 IMEC, ESP2.J2-01.02: Demandes de publicités payantes d’Esprit à revues et d’autres revues à Esprit. 1955- 1961, 1984. Letter to Calmann-Lévy, dated June 20, 1960. 643 IMEC, ESP2.J2-01.02: Demandes de publicités payantes d’Esprit à revues et d’autres revues à Esprit. 1955- 1961, 1984. Letter dated November 17, 1958. 258 required the services of a marketing agency, Publicité Littéraire.644 Solicitations came from a spectacular variety of periodicals, ranging from Recherches et Débats du Centre catholique des intellectuels français to France-Asie: revue bilingue des problèmes asiatiques et de synthèse.

Others came from such rarified sources as Lefort and Castoriadis’ Socialisme ou Barbarie,

Présence africaine, Morin and Barthes’ Arguments, and Critique. Though the lion’s share were

French, many came from abroad, such as Dissent (United States), Études de l’Institut Imre Nagy de sciences politiques (Belgium), or Déviance et société (Switzerland). Newer publications were often especially keen to place ads, however all advertisers shared common aspirations, namely a desire to tap into Esprit’s broad base of readers and capitalize upon the journal’s reputation as one of France’s most revered intellectual reviews in order to both spread the word and legitimize their own foray into the intellectual milieu.645

Confirmation of Esprit’s sway in creating demand for intellectual culture came from internal as well as external sources. In a letter to Armand Panigel, editor for Revue DISQUES in

1959, the press secretary at Esprit minced no words in affirming that the publication reached a sizeable subset of France’s cultured public, with a readership of roughly 50,000 at that time. As important as its size, however, was the fact that Esprit’s public, thanks to its “professional qualifications [and] intellectual influence,” enjoys an “advisory role” in shaping the cultural affinities of Frenchmen.646 A grandiose sense of self, no doubt, but one corroborated by many of those who entered into advertising arrangements with the journal. In 1959, for example, Paul

644 Costs varied across the period, but, during the late 1950s, ran in the area of 20,000 francs for a full-page ad, or 10,000 francs for a half page. 645 Yes, Esprit was making money (though I have not been able to calculate precise totals for ad revenues), but, from the perspective of those taking out advertisements, the objective of creating demand is manifest. Moreover, with regard to Esprit’s motivations, ad sales were presumably driven by either the profit motive or a desire to foster interest in other intellectually-oriented publications, both of which may be seen as commodificatory impulses. 646 IMEC, ESP2.J2-01.02: Demandes de publicités payantes d’Esprit à revues et d’autres revues à Esprit. 1955- 1961, 1984. 259

Martinet bemoaned the infrequency with which Esprit columns made mention of his fledgling review, Les Cahiers de la république, along with the fact that many of the issue summaries

Cahiers submitted went unpublished. (Of course, their paid advertisements ran without fail.)

Chalking the matter up to some sort of regrettable misunderstanding, Martinet closed his appeal by imploring Domenach not to forget the myriad trials and tribulations associated with launching a new periodical publication, nor the immense “value” that the support of one’s established elders brought to bear in facilitating that process.647 In no uncertain terms, an “amicable collaboration” with Esprit was “indispensible” to the vitality of his project.648

***

Viewed as an ensemble, the diverse marketing activities at Esprit and Critique demonstrate the extent to which these reviews endeavored to create demand on the part of the cultured reading public, not only for their own erudite productions, but for intellectual culture more expansively. At the heart of their promotional efforts lay a common assertion regarding the importance of intellectual life to the maintenance of a healthy society and vibrant cultural milieu in France, with thinkers assuming an ever-greater role in the exercise of power and as the arbiters of taste, in addition to their role as avatars of edification and engagement. Use value, however, was but one dimension of these journals’ self-ascribed commodity status. For just as Critique and Esprit stressed the socio-cultural value of their offerings, so too did they situate themselves as commercial products with a very real and ineluctable exchange value. As their editorial boards’ internal discussions, interactions with publishing houses, advertising and recruitment campaigns, and reader polls affirmed repeatedly and as far back as the 1940s, it was only by

647 IMEC, ESP2.J2-01.01: Échanges de publicités entres revues, 1953-1957-61, 1982. Letter dated August 26, 1959. 648 IMEC, ESP2.J2-01.01: Échanges de publicités entres revues, 1953-1957-61, 1982. Letter dated August 26, 1959. 260 treating their “intellectual products” like any other form of saleable commodity that they could assure the financial stability requisite to carrying out their important socio-cultural work. That

Esprit and Critique both rank among the most critically esteemed and well-known reviews of the era affirms that these were not fringe views, nor did pursuing a commodificatory agenda—by actively cultivating a more mainstream readership, as well as other commercial opportunities, through modifications to the nature of their content and the tenor of their presentation—lessen the intellectual integrity of these publications.649

Conceptual Convergences, Common Practices

This chapter has sought to highlight some of the most striking features of the commodificatory practices established on televised magazines and documentaries, as well as at

Esprit and Critique. What unites these diverse approaches to the making and marketing of intellectual culture is their compatibility—conceptually and as representational forms—with the model for cultural commodification developed at Maisons de la Culture.650 Most notably, both articulated arguments for the use value of intellectual culture, as well as their important role in its promotion and dissemination. Beyond all considerations of intrinsic value, intellectuals’ ideas

649 As the composition of their readership evolved towards the mainstream—and towards purchases at the newsstand—across the postwar period, both publications began to emphasize the breadth of their accessibility in addition to the depth of their profundity, promising comprehensible analyses of the highest caliber regardless of whether one was a learned scholar or curious “generalist.” 650 In focusing upon areas of convergence, I do not wish to downplay the scope of the differences between these institutions in terms of their ascribed vocation, dates of origin, size, ownership, geographic reach, budgets, ideological underpinnings, and public. Given this enormous variability, it would be significantly beyond the scope of this dissertation to evaluate the commodification of intellectual culture beginning at square one for each. Such an undertaking, however, offers an exciting prospect for further research and analysis, especially as each respective starting point would likely provide additional and unique perspectives on the phenomenon of cultural commodification, enabling scholars to more fully flesh out the concept and assess its applicability to other areas of inquiry. 261 and activism were presented as beneficial to France and its inhabitants. From this shared foundation, each pursued original courses of action in shaping their cultural offering.

Television’s capacity to cultivate star power was unparalleled, so much so that even as programs devoted to philosophy, for instance, waned across the postwar period, philosophers continued to grace the small screen with astonishing regularity.651 Analyzing the production and marketing of intellectually-oriented programming on the small screen therefore highlights two of the principal ingredients for the making of intellectual stars, namely the “persona-fication” of individual thinkers and the personification of “intellectuals” as a category. By offering their personalities and presence along with their ideas—in other words, by making themselves as subject and object simultaneously—the thinkers who graced the small screen became more than the sum of their parts: No longer faceless nor disembodied, they became—and shared in the construction of—personae. And more than merely scholars or writers, more than just philosophers or sociologists or anthropologists, they came to personify “intellectuals” as an idea.

They became the intellectuals who both gave shape to intellectual programming on television and played so important a role in creating and critiquing the broader cultural field in France.

Journals went the furthest in terms of openly defining themselves as material commodities like any other. Even at sophisticated publications like Esprit and Critique, editors interpreted the business of enlightenment literally, and approached the business-side seriously.

As early as the 1940s, they recognized commercial success as a practical necessity for the continuation of their important socio-cultural work. To this end, they established mutually beneficial relationships with publishing houses, engaged regularly and aggressively in publicity, sought out commercially-lucrative opportunities in the form of special editions, and tinkered

651 Douze ans de télévision, 150. 262 with their content in accordance with the changing tastes of their increasingly mainstream readership.

Despite distinctions such as these, a substantial degree of common ground remains. For no matter the specific output (whether physical or experiential), or the precise configuration of representational tropes employed (whether personifying “intellectuals,” “persona-fying” individual thinkers, branding products and practices, or creating demand for other cultural forms and experiences), both of these institutions endeavored tirelessly to foster interest in intellectuals and the fruits of their labor.

263

CONCLUSION

Intellectual Engagement in a Consumer Society

The concept of “commodification” offers a new and revelatory analytical perspective on the trajectory of intellectual culture in postwar France, one that enables historians to account more fully for its growing connections to mainstream and commercial culture across the second half of the twentieth century. The growth of a market economy in the wake of the Second World

War fueled the rise of consumer culture, while the grim legacy of Occupation and Collaboration ensured a voracious market for new symbolic goods.652 Intellectuals achieved new heights of fame and commercial success in this changed environment, catapulted into the limelight by their power of attraction as much as by their ideas and activism. Cultural promoters in both the public and private sectors contributed to this scenario by presenting intellectuals as celebrity figures, positioning them as exemplars of French national grandeur, stressing their profound value to civil society, and encouraging consumption of their ideas and published work.

To lay bare these transformations, this thesis explores four key institutions that played significant roles in recasting the terms of intellectuals’ interactions with the general public, as well as their status in society. Chapter 1 focuses upon the elaboration during the first decades of the Fifth Republic of a cultural policy under which Maisons de la Culture occupied a privileged

652 Intellectuals were one of the prime beneficiaries of this desire for new symbolic goods in France. Interestingly, histories that scrutinize the comportment of intellectuals—apart from known collaborators such as Robert Brasillach and Pierre Drieu La Rochelle—have been met frequently with an ire similar to that provoked by assertions of the influence of commercial culture upon intellectual culture. Consider, for example, the outpouring of hostility that met Ingrid Galster’s study of Sartre’s behavior during the war. Julian Jackson accounts for this sort of response by noting that it is quite understandable to desire that the thinkers and writers we admire remain “intact.” Jackson’s explanation would seem to also apply to scholarly reluctance to accept the commodification of intellectual culture. Ingrid Galster, Sartre, Vichy et les intellectuels (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2001). Julian Jackson, H-France Salon, Volume 2, Issue I, No. 3 (2010). < www.h-france.net/Salon/Salonvol2no3.pdf> Consulted January 2011. 264 position as the Ministry of Cultural Affairs’ flagship institution in its efforts to decentralize and democratize access to French intellectual and artistic culture. I then examine the development of a business model for Maisons de la Culture founded upon the notion of cultural commodification, whereby culture was accorded both exchange value and, even more importantly, use value. From here I conclude with a discussion of state funding for these cultural centers, which underscores the extent of the state’s commitment to this brand of cultural production and dissemination.

Chapter 2 introduces two case studies, focusing on the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the

Maison de la Culture de Grenoble, and chronicles the origins and early operational years of these facilities. It presents a detailed comparison of these cultural apparatuses, taking into consideration their location, architectural design, organizational personnel, membership and attendance, programming priorities, and public reception. Targeting the formative years at the

Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and Maison de la Culture de Grenoble enables me to discern how decisions made right at the outset by center organizers in Paris and Grenoble paved the way for the three genres of cultural programming that came to constitute the main pillars of the commodification of intellectual culture during the “production” and “sales” stages of the initiative. In each instance, moreover, we see that the development of these cultural centers hinged upon the elaboration of a viable commercialization strategy; one which enabled organizers to turn the abstract concept of a Maison de la Culture into a concrete and operational facility by laying out a rationale for where to establish a Maison, when to open for business, what to offer in terms of amenities and programs, how to assign an exchange value to their cultural offerings, and whom within the population to target as an audience. 265

Chapters 3 and 4 examine how the principles and policies outlined in the preceding chapters translated into concrete practices at the Théâtre de l’Est Parisien and the Maison de la

Culture de Grenoble. In short, these chapters recount the making and marketing of intellectually- oriented programs at these centers, focusing on their numerous and diverse “encounters” programs—specifically their various “spoken review” series and spectacular, mixed-media tributes to iconic thinkers—as well as their promotional publications. I argue that all three developed in a context of cultural commodification, predicated upon a deep-seated belief in the use value of the cultural programming at Maisons de la Culture, and propagated through the fusion of edification, entertainment, and engagement. Moreover, by virtue of their persistent efforts to refine, expand, and publicize their stock of intellectually-oriented programs, center organizers in Paris and Grenoble—aided by the guest thinkers who participated in these rubrics—actually furthered the commodification of intellectual culture by creating a means of embodying that culture, personifying “Intellectuals” as a category, and “persona-fying” individual thinkers; cultivating a milieu conducive to the branding of intellectuals and the fruits of their labor; and devising an effective means of creating demand both for other intellectual events on-site and other aspects of intellectual culture (its creators and products alike).

In framing my discussion, I distinguish four distinct “stages” in the process of cultural, or intellectual, commodification as developed by the Ministry of Cultural Affairs and implemented at Maisons de la Culture. This is not to say that these stages occurred independently of one another, or that the “planning” and “investment” stages were confined solely to the Ministry’s headquarters at the Rue de Valois, and the “production” and “sales” stages to the network of

Maisons. On the contrary, there was a great deal of overlap between these stages, both chronologically and conceptually, as those charged with creating and “animating” (or bringing to 266 life) Maisons de la Culture made every effort to hit the ground running. I thus differentiate these stages in the hope of offering a more comprehensive explanation of how a diverse array of lofty moral imperatives, evolving policy initiatives, fluctuating budgetary allocations, and varied cultural productions fit together as a whole over the course of nearly twenty years.

Chapter 5 offers an explanation for why Maisons de la Culture lost their status as the

Ministry of Cultural Affairs’ institution of choice in its efforts to democratize access to culture in the late 1970s, keying on the evolution from a predominantly top-down and diffusion-heavy model for cultural policy to one premised on pluralism and adaptability. At the heart of this about-face lay an emergent consensus on the virtue and expediency of at last engaging the “non- public” on its own terms. The changing economic climate in France during the latter half of the

1970s lent significant traction to the political-ideological arguments in favor of reform. I then survey the application of the Maison de la Culture model for intellectual “encounters” to the grandiose and polyvalent Pompidou Center in Paris following the reformulation of the Ministry’s cultural policy, with the Beaubourg facility offering a venue capable of attracting the highest- profile thinkers and eliciting substantial public turnout.

Chapter 6 scrutinizes the commodification of intellectual culture in the context of two other highly influential postwar cultural institutions—television and journals—and details the most significant conceptual and representational convergences between them and Maisons de la

Culture. I analyze how each of these institutions made a case for the use value of intellectual culture and illustrate the ways in which they pursued a commodificatory agenda compatible with—and to the same effect as—that of Maisons de la Culture. To begin, I examine the production, marketing, diffusion, and reception of two genres of television programming that recast the terms and nature of intellectuals’ interactions with the public in France: documentaries 267 that focused upon or invoked intellectuals in order to exalt France’s historical and cultural grandeur; and literary or political debate shows that featured intellectuals as participants. I then address the venerable institution of the intellectual journal, tracing the changing fortunes of two elite publications, Esprit and Critique, documenting their publicity strategies, budgetary discussions, ties to publishing strategies, reader relations, and discussions regarding the balance between content, readership, and commercial marketability.

Cultural Commodification, Public Opinion, and the Institutional Imperative

Beginning in the late 1950s, the Ministry of Cultural Affairs, in its efforts to create a nationwide network of Maisons de la Culture, elaborated and championed a compelling vision artistic and intellectual culture’s use value. Subsequently, organizers on the ground developed an array of intellectually-oriented “encounters” that brought the general public in France into direct and frequent contact with a vast spectrum of thinkers and ideas, all while reinforcing a narrative of intellectuals’ relevance and utility. Maisons, however, were not the only institution to pursue cultural commodification, nor even the first. The editorial boards at Critique and

Esprit, for instance, engaged in commodificatory practices as far back as the late 1940s. All the same, Ministry and Maison organizers contributed in significant ways to the growth and spread of cultural commodification as a concept and an adaptable set of practices, as well as the application of commercialization strategies to intellectual culture. Their vision of intellectual and artistic culture’s tripartite—social, political, and economic—use value was arguably the initiative’s most singular contribution. And though resonant with expressions of intellectuals’ use value on television programs and in journals, the Ministry’s was the most complete, a priori articulation; hence their central place in this project. More broadly, their activism demonstrates 268 the degree to which a commercial ethos has become constitutive of modern consumer society.

By extension, we see that commodification is a far more expansive phenomenon in contemporary culture than just the production and sale of material products with exchange value.

It became foundational to our very conception of culture, how it is cultivated and spread.

Founded upon an ethos of valorization, and brought to life through a range of practices geared towards fostering and sustaining demand for intellectuals’ ideas and activism, the commodification of intellectual culture inevitably raises questions regarding the nature and genesis of public opinion.653 In The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere, Jürgen

Habermas traces the emergence of “mass opinion” by examining the inroads made by the media into the bourgeois public sphere, a process which precipitated a shift over the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries “from a public that made culture an object of critical debate into one that consumes it.”654 He suggests that in the age of mass media, public discussion, while presented as rational-critical debate, has been reduced to a benign object of consumption.

Media magnates brought the masses into the fold by easing the economic and psychological factors that previously restricted cultural participation to members of the middle and upper classes. Accordingly, culture today is both cheaper to access and less demanding on a cerebral level.655 Habermas, thus, offers a theoretical framework for the trend towards intellectual

“vulgarization” and “mediatization” inveighed against by cultural critics ranging from Régis

Debray to Bertrand Poirot-Delpech as far back as the 1970s.

Viewed through such a lens, Habermas’ appraisal does not appear to bode well for the cultural institutions under consideration in this project, all of which, even the most rarified,

653 Jean-François Sirinelli, Comprendre le XXe siècle français (Paris: Fayard, 2005), 188. 654 Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere, 173. 655 Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere, 164-166. 269 sought unremittingly to increase the accessibility of their intellectual offerings. It is therefore deeply pertinent to examine the extent to which late modern French intellectual culture fits within Habermas’ paradigm, for in the balance lies the distinction between valorization and vulgarization. Though he deals primarily with an earlier period, his analysis raises important questions about whether the media’s control over public debate and popular ideology has indeed become all-pervasive, or whether intellectuals retain a substantial degree of free license and, by extension, direct influence over the consumers of intellectual culture.

The commodification of intellectual culture did not lead to a paradigm of passive consumption. Rather, promoting forms of direct interaction—even if mediated—between intellectuals and the public was a key factor motivating the makers and marketers of intellectual culture at Maisons de la Culture and the Pompidou Center, journals such as Esprit and Critique, and television programs such as Lectures pour tous, Droit de réponse, and Apostrophes. In each instance, the public’s role was to listen, read, and view actively. Audiences were to interpret the ideas they encountered. Cultural promoters did not advocate rote memorization or inundation; they championed self-improvement with the assistance of expert thinkers and skilled animateurs.

Nonetheless there exist limits to public intellectuals’ agency, of which there appear to be two principal dimensions, the first being the need to work through institutions. How else to reach a broad public and, for that matter, other intellectuals? Intellectuals could only take action through those institutions to which they had access. Sartre, for instance, had very limited access to television as a result of his outspoken criticism of the Gaullist Fifth Republic, which required that he pursue his intellectual agenda through other institutional channels. (And, indeed, he worked extensively with newspapers, journals, and film.) The composition of these institutions influenced the nature of intellectuals’ interventions as well. Disseminating one’s ideas via 270 television and print, for example, were entirely different propositions.656 An appearance at a

Maison de la Culture likewise constituted a specific type of encounter, one for which intellectual guests did not set the terms. Rather, these were largely determined by the Ministry’s overarching policy objectives (of culture-divertissement and culture-interrogation) as well the agendas of animateurs, who privileged “moderated” or “guided” encounters, and served as intermediaries between a speaker and the public. Thus, to visit a Maison de la Culture—or to appear on television or in a journal—required that intellectuals adapt themselves to the particularities of that institution. Similarly, in order to exert influence and successfully disseminate their message, intellectuals needed to sell themselves to the public, which made it necessary for them to participate in the market for symbolic and material cultural goods. In other words, intellectual engagement and commodification go hand in hand; they are not diametrically opposed modes of action.

While intellectuals are free to think whatever they want, they were not at liberty to say whatever they liked unless they could do so in the context of a compatible institution.

Recognizing this limitation challenges the conventional view of intellectuals as being above the law as a class, a perception perhaps best exemplified by Charles de Gaulle’s famous declaration in reference to Sartre that, “one does not arrest Voltaire.” For all of the leeway they may have been afforded, and for all of the liberty they carved out for themselves as editors of journals, columnists at newspapers, as celebrities, tacit limits to their agency remained, which speaks volumes as to the role played by institutions in shaping lives.

656 Chaplin covers these differences in detail. Chaplin, Turning on the Mind. 271

The Evolution of Engagement and the Myth of the Media Intellectual

In a 1983 article devoted to the contemporary relevance of philosophical inquiry, the philosopher and animateur Christian Delacampagne pointed an accusatory finger at editors and media outlets for their role in pushing intellectuals towards formulating “ready-to-think” theories, and noted with dismay that “too many intellectuals” willingly accede to this illusory practice.657 As a cultural artifact, Delacampagne’s piece is fascinating: on the one hand, he lays out a vision of the intellectual vocation that rails against the proximal connection between the media, commercialization, and intellectual life. On the other hand, he engages simultaneously in a mediatized act of publicity for a sequence of upcoming events at the Pompidou Center

(featuring, it bears mentioning, a number of France’s highest profile and most controversial

“media” intellectuals). There is thus a striking disconnect between what Delacampagne says and what he is doing; for his polemic against the commercialization of intellectual culture formed part of the Pompidou Center’s commercial strategy for its intellectually oriented “encounters” series. Likewise, his anti-media call to arms was itself a media intervention, published in the institution’s main promotional organ, CNAC Magazine.

Far from an aberration, contradictions of this sort cropped up again and again across the latter decades of the twentieth century. For example, François Aubral and Xavier Delcourt partook of a highly publicized, bound-to-be-sensational appearance on Apostrophes in order to pitch their recent book lampooning the circus-like media attention accorded to the personalities and publications of the New Philosophers. The result was a face-to-face, on-air showdown with the two most famous New Philosophers (Bernard-Henri Lévy and André Glucksmann) in protest of their media visibility, broadcast live in primetime. The accumulation of these paradoxical

657 Delacampagne, “Pourquoi philosopher encore?” 272 stances on the part of intellectuals and cultural critics begs the question: from where does the contradiction arise, the attitude or the act? Is the intellectual vocation incompatible with that of the mainstream media? Is there a place for engagement by way of the media?

Strictly speaking, engaged intellectuals have been médiatiques (media intellectuals) ever since the consecration of the term “intellectual” at the time of the Dreyfus Affair.658 Though

“médiatique” may be the invective of choice today for deriding an activist thinker with whom— and with whose ideas and actions—you take exception, at the dawn of the twentieth century, the word used to dishonor Captain Alfred Dreyfus’ champions in the press was none other than

“intellectual.”659 That this appellation was subsequently appropriated and reinterpreted as a term of veneration by those it was meant to wound changes nothing about the behavior it was intended to describe, namely engagement, only the connotations associated with it. Perhaps a commensurate appropriation of the term “médiatique” will occur in due time. After all, the course of action taken by Emile Zola in penning “J’accuse,” published in L’Aurore, was, at its heart, a deliberately orchestrated media intervention.660 Strange though it may seem, given the associational chasm separating “intellectuals” and “médiatiques” at present, the former exalted and the latter impugned, the foundational moment of modern French intellectual culture was quite literally an “acte médiatique” (media action).661

658 The memory of the Dreyfus Affair, according to Jean-François Sirinelli, quickly became—and has remained—so vivid that it continues to occupy a “quasi structural and identarian” place in the French understanding of engagement. Likewise, Sirinelli concurs that the explosion of intellectuals’ influence, which lies above all in their capacity to influence public opinion, was linked directly to the development of a mass distribution print press. Sirinelli, Comprendre le XXe siècle français, 185-190. 659 Sirinelli, Comprendre le XXe siècle français, 186 & 386. Michael Burns, France and the Dreyfus Affair: A Documentary History (Boston and New York: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 1999), 110. 660 Emile Zola, “J’accuse,” L’Aurore (13 January 1898). 661 So, too, was the petition Zola and Emile Duclaux drafted on January 14, 1989, which also ran in L’Aurore and garnered upwards of fifteen hundred signatures. Sirinelli, Comprendre le XXe siècle français, 186 and 386. Burns, France and the Dreyfus Affair, 110. 273

It is not the underlying nature of engagement that has changed since the fin de siècle, but its external appearance and, of course, the connotations associated with it. In other words, the cultural institutions through which intellectuals manifest their engagement may have changed significantly since the days of Zola and the dreyfusards (from L’Aurore to Antenne 2, from a mainstream to a mass media), but not the underlying character of that enterprise, which was (and still is) to “speak truth to power” by taking one’s ideas or message public, by rallying public opinion to one’s cause, by disseminating one’s values to as large a public as possible—or at least as is necessary to bring about the desired change. Engagement is therefore an intrinsically public act; and the expression of engagement is inherently cultural, since it is through the various and evolving cultural institutions comprising the public sphere that this process is carried out.

In the immediate aftermath of World War II, at a cultural level, a significant gap still distinguished the public cultivé (educated public) and the grand public (mainstream public) in

France. Change, however, was on the horizon. The seeds of mass culture—germinated by the forces of Americanization, French economic recovery, and the development of consumer culture—were beginning to bear fruit. As a mainstream French culture emerged, and as the appetites of the grand public began to alter the form and tenor of media output, the face of intellectual culture changed in kind. From an upsurge of interest in “faits-divers” concerning charismatic thinkers, to displays of intellectual sparring “live” onstage (or onscreen), the mainstream public craved ever greater access to the “spectacular realities” of elite cultural life in

France.662 These forms of mediated flânerie reveal the extent to which the phenomenon of spectacularization, born on the boulevards of the Belle Époque, had come to permeate even one

662 Vanessa Schwartz, Spectacular Realities: Early Mass Culture in fin-de-siècle Paris (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). 274 of the most select bastions of high culture. Thus we may understand the transition, visible in both the world of the review and that of the televised magazine, from the format of Les Temps modernes and Lectures pour tous to that of Le Nouvel observateur and Apostrophes.

Impelled into contact with the general public by the ideal of engagement, intellectuals quickly became immersed in France’s burgeoning commercial culture, for the very institutions they used to spread their message and ground their activism—such as cultural centers, television, and journals—were themselves increasingly driven by commercial considerations, both ideological and economic. As these institutions’ cultural production evolved in response to the explosion of market sensibilities and mass culture, so too did intellectuals’ interactions with the public and their status in French society. Where extended and often rarified analyses geared towards the public cultivé were once the norm, the sound bite, presented in simpler terms and pitched to the grand public, has become gradually more prevalent. Where a thinker’s ideas were once the principal object of public attention, the persona of the intellectual has increasingly attracted the limelight.

However, the process by which intellectual culture became increasingly commercialized and commodified was a two-way street. If commodification—which is to say the valorization, cultivation, and distribution of intellectual culture—was imposed upon intellectuals by the media, the state, or commercial considerations in certain contexts, thinkers pursued it deliberately in others. In the case of televised magazines, for instance, intellectuals played little role in the development and production of programs. Thus, the shift in format from drawn-out discussions of a thinker’s theories to one where the image of the intellectual was as important as his (or her) ideas was, first and foremost, the result of savvy producers who were responding to shifts in the tastes and viewing habits of their audiences. In the case of published journals, on the 275 other hand, thinkers were directly involved the turn towards mainstream marketing and commodification. Intellectuals played central roles in the creation and direction of journals, even as they became increasingly oriented towards the general public. Jean-Jacques Servan-Schreiber and Françoise Giroud, for example, spearheaded the creation of L’Express, while Jean Daniel and Pierre Nora did the same with Le Nouvel Observateur and Le Débat, respectively. Although

Les Temps modernes has remained more of an elite publication, it now forms a part of

Gallimard’s publishing empire (as does Le Débat), which contributes significantly to its continued commercial viability.

The (Mainstream and Commercial) Cultural Turn

The intertwining of media and intellectual culture was nothing new in the postwar era.

Rather, it was the explosion of mainstream and commercial culture as a set of mentalities and practices, as well as the corresponding reorientation of cultural institutions—including but not limited to the media—that defied pattern. Over the course of the past sixty years, the media has in this manner come to play an increasingly determinate role in “making” intellectuals’ careers, or, to quote Jacques Fansten, “consecrating” those aspiring to join the ranks of the intelligentsia.663 It has afforded intellectuals unprecedented means of reaching mass audiences and creating demand for their ideas and the fruits of their labor. Mainstream, commercially attuned cultural institutions have served these ends through a range of interrelated commodificatory forms oriented towards spreading awareness of thinkers, their views, and works. They have contributed to the branding of intellectuals’ approaches, and even thinkers as individuals. They have shaped perceptions of what (or who) “intellectuals” are, embodying the

663 “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 276 concept in corporeal form by presenting instances and images of intellectual culture incarnate and in praxis. Additionally, they have repeatedly depicted thinkers as more than the sum of their parts, as iconic personae, by blending the notional and biographical, the factual and mythical.

The cult of celebrity surrounding Bernard-Henri Lévy in 1977 may have grabbed headlines, with critics like Aubral and Delcourt lambasting his “genius” for publicity, but there was nothing qualitatively new about Lévy’s fame and persona, neither its mainstream dimension nor even his recourse to television as a method of communing with the public.664 To find the first “media” intellectual of the postwar era, according to Pierre Nora, one would have to look to the 1940s, to the period’s preeminent intellectual “mandarin,” Jean-Paul Sartre.665 More than anyone else, he shifted the paradigm. Where once intellectual milestones or trends became

“events” in the more grandiose sense of the term, with Sartre the opposite obtained. All of the

“pathos” and “anecdotes” surrounding “Sartre” in the press and popular imagination, including associations with the Café de Flore, Simone de Beauvoir, and existentialist caves (night clubs), increasingly preceded and even superseded the literal content of his books and, to some extent, stood in place of the act of reading his work.666

As Bertrand Poirot-Delpech phrased it, Sartre was at the very “heart” of the post-

Liberation youth- and jazz culture that emanated from the Latin Quarter in Paris. For students in particular he personified the “spiritual rejoicing” of that moment in their lives.667 But his utility as a point of reference in that cultural milieu went far beyond matters of metaphysics alone.

Boris Vian’s Manuel de Saint-Germain-des-Prés, published in 1951, offers an early account of

664 “Les nouveaux philosophes sont-ils de droite ou de gauche?” Apostrophes (May 27, 1977). 665 Nora, on “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 666 Nora, on “Ils pensent pour vous,” Vendredi (September 30, 1977). 667 Bertrand Poirot-Delpech, on “Jean-Paul Sartre, écrivain 1905-1908,” Apostrophes (April 18, 1980). 277

Sartre’s symbolic heterogeneity, satirizing while acknowledging the stunning degree to which the philosopher had come to be conflated with all things “existential” and “Saint-Germain,” including fashion, nightlife, sex, music, and so on.668 Nearly thirty years on, André Glucksmann gave voice to the same sentiment, recalling humorously that though he did in fact read Sartre’s dense philosophical treatise, Being and Nothingness, while in high school, the reason he purchased it in the first place was, at least in part, to pick up girls. When it came to attracting the fair sex, he admitted, “It was very useful to have Being and Nothingness tucked under your arm.”669 The philosopher Jeanette Colombel concurred, noting on a 1983 broadcast of Droit de réponse that, in her experience, the tome was only ever used for reasons of courtship. This would likely come as little surprise to Nora, given his insider knowledge of the Gallimard publishing house. As he recounted on the news program Vendredi, several successive editions of the immense philosophical bestseller had been published with a sixteen-page section missing from the text, an omission that not one person noticed (or at least reported), not even its author.

Thus for a great many, the idea of his book (what it signified) trumped the ideas in his book; and more broadly, the expansive idea of “Sartre” (what he signified) trumped the specific ideas he espoused. By way of his numerous cultural connections and connotations, Sartre became the first intellectual-as-brand of the era, with people (especially students) self-identifying as

“Sartreans.”670

Even if initially leery of the sway his iconic name carried, Sartre grew into the role, becoming more and more willing to employ his brand power in support of worthy ventures. In

668 Boris Vian, Manuel de St-Germain-des-Prés (Paris: Le Livre de Poche, 1997), 203. 669 André Glucksmann, on “Jean-Paul Sartre, écrivain 1905-1908,” Apostrophes (April 18, 1980). 670 Reflecting upon his youth, Georges Suffert, for example, commented: “When I was twenty-years old, after the Liberation, I was a Sartrean.” People embraced this appellation for a variety of reasons, whether philosophical, political, or social. For Suffert, it meant reading Les temps modernes and feeling himself part of that cultural vanguard. “Hommage à Sartre,” La rage de lire (April 16, 1980). 278

1971, for instance, he vocally affixed his stamp of approval La Cause du peuple, a Maoist newspaper struggling to carve out a stable readership as the radical zeal of 1968 waned. In 1972, he assisted in the creation of a new “revolutionary” paper, which in 1973 hit French newsstands as Libération. Though a co-founder and its first editor, the emblematic function he performed at

Libération was every bit as important as the organizational and ideological, particularly after stepping down as editor in 1974.

If Sartre was the original intellectual star of the postwar era, it was another “mandarin,”

François Mauriac, who first defended the medium of television as a forum for speaking out.

After resisting the camera’s glare for years, the august wordsmith finally relented in 1962, granting Roger Stéphane an in-depth, on-film interview for the documentary series Portrait-

Souvenir, which aired in two parts on November 29 and December 13.671 Despite his visible unease in front of the camera, he nonetheless chastised those writers who “protest against the disturbance” caused by attention from radio and television. In his estimation, these people were

“hypocrites,” for nothing could be easier than to simply say “no” and remain in isolation. To lament the media publicly makes one its “accomplice.”672 In a published interview, run in conjunction with Portrait-Souvenir, Mauriac confessed to Télérama’s Xavier Grall that his personal apprehension vis-à-vis television owed chiefly to his age (he felt himself an anachronism) and discomfort with the sound of his gravely voice (as a result of his damaged

671 “François Mauriac, première partie: Commencements d’une vie,” Portrait-Souvenir (November 29, 1962). “François Mauriac, deuxième partie: le romancier,” Portrait-Souvenir (December 13, 1962). On Mauriac’s initial aversion to the medium of television, see Roger Stéphane, “Voici comment j’ai ‘confessé’ François Mauriac,” Télé 7 jours (No. 144, December 22, 1962), 64-65. 672 “François Mauriac,” Portrait-Souvenir (November 29, 1962). 279 throat), not any antipathy towards the medium itself, which could bring entertainment and culture virtually anywhere, including to those inclined towards reclusiveness, such as himself.673

Following this initial foray, Mauriac went on to feature regularly on television in subsequent years, and he continued to vocally assert his fascination with the medium and his belief in its merits. As in 1962, Télérama published a tell-all account of his appearance on En direct avec in March 1968. On this occasion, Francis Mayor queried the now eighty-two year old novelist as to why he had yet again responded favorably to an on-screen interview, given his discomfort in front of the camera. With a chuckle, Mauriac offered up a litany of explanations.

First and foremost, he exclaimed, “I accepted because I am intrigued by television.”674

Moreover, with the technical advances of recent years, he continued, “it is [television] that is most directly changing the world” at present. Then there was the fact that television enabled one to live on, even to “outlive oneself.” What purpose does this endurance serve, he asked, other than as a form of “testimony” from a bygone time? “I am still here to bear witness, in my own manner,” he concluded; “I believe that I must.” On the heels of these remarks, Mauriac again expressed his astonishment at the contempt of cultural elites in France for the small screen. The medium had found favor with “everyone,” he noted, apart from “distinguished” individuals. Of course, he added, these were the very same people who, in characteristically hypocritical fashion, organized chic social gatherings in order to view his appearances on the idiot box.675

Though the explosive growth of the mass media, along with the mainstream and commercial “turn” of other cultural institutions, functioned as an accelerator, the “media”

673 François Mauriac, as quoted by Xavier Grall, “François Mauriac: Je ne comprends ceux qui méprisent la télévision,” Télérama (No. 673, December 9, 1962), 7-9. 674 François Mauriac, as quoted by Francis Mayor, “Mon ‘En direct avec…’ François Mauriac,” Télérama (No. 948, March 17, 1968), 7. 675 Mauriac, as quoted by Mayor, “Mon ‘En direct avec…’ François Mauriac.” 280 intellectual and, likewise, the intellectual “star” are significantly older phenomena than observers have traditionally suggested; meaning that the New Philosophers, for all their media savvy and celebrity cachet, formed part of a well-established mode of intellectual comportment. In the postwar era, Sartre served as the original archetype; and even on state-run television, from which he was personally all but excluded as a result of his fractious relationship with the political establishment (especially the Gaullists), other “mandarins” blazed the trail, including the likes of

François Mauriac.676

The star power of Sartre and Mauriac is striking, furthermore, for what it tells us about the provenance of intellectual fame in the cultural mainstream. For all of their differences with regard to their political leanings, religiosity, literary output, appearance, and temperament, both of these thinkers captured the attention of a broad public via their “presence.”677 Mauriac may have had misgivings about how he came across on the small screen, preferring to let his words on the page do the talking, rather than expose his frail physique and deteriorating voice to the camera’s scrutiny. But the public craved more than words alone; it wanted access to him.

676 Raymond Aron was another intellectual heavyweight who benefited from regular coverage on television. That TV was a publically owned and administered institution until the 1980s meant that the intellectuals who featured on the small screen (particularly during the 1950s and 1960s) were often those whom the state regarded benevolently. This is not to say that Radiodiffusion-Télévision Française (which became the Office de Radiodiffusion Télévision Française in 1964) only gave the green light to programs focused on avowed republicans, as indicated by the scope of the attention accorded to someone as vocally and politically independent as Albert Camus. But, provoking the ire of the state, or its leading statesmen, as did Sartre, could drastically reduce one’s visibility on television. 677 It was this more than anything that captivated TV critic Jacques Siclier when he encountered Mauriac on Portrait-Souvenir. Jacques Siclier, “Nous avons vu; avez-vous vu?” Télérama (No. 673, December 9, 1962), p. 28. 281

Intellectual Personae, Sign-Value, and Soft Power

There is a wonderful passage in Milan Kundera’s Immortality (1990), set in Paris, where

Goethe describes to Ernest Hemmingway a dream he has had, one that revealed to him the nature of his eternal fame. In the course of a performance of Faust, the poet recalls:

I suddenly glanced at the seats and saw that the theater was empty. That puzzled me. Where was the audience? […] Bewildered, I turned around and I was aghast: I expected them out front, and instead they were at the back of the stage, gazing at me with wide-open, inquisitive eyes. As soon as my glance met theirs, they began to applaud. And I realized my Faust didn’t interest them at all and that the show they wised to see was not the puppets I was leading around the stage, but me myself! Not Faust, but Goethe!678

Kundera, who has resided in France since 1975, touches upon a defining element in the commodification of intellectual culture, namely the mounting significance attached to the person and lived experiences of thinkers—in conjunction with and even beyond their ideas. Many recent scholars corroborate this assessment, from Tamara Chaplin, who finds the tendency of

“privileging the producer at the expense of the product” growing steadily more common across the era with regard to the televising of philosophy, to John Gaffney and Diana Holmes, who stress the public’s increasing interest in what stars—intellectual or otherwise—were, and “what they seemed to be.”679

And yet this fascination with the figure of the thinker, despite its growing ubiquity, was in no way unique to late-modern cultures. William Clark, citing Nietzsche’s assertions in the

678 Milan Kundera, Immortality, translated from the Czech by Peter Kussi (New York: Harper Collins Publishers, Inc., 1992), 83. 679 Gaffney and Holmes present this mode of fandom as constitutive of stardom more generally. While there is, “of course, a world of difference between the ordinary citizen’s relationship with a film star, a famous writer or a politician,” they note that, “in each case, the public was fascinated not just by what they did, but by what they were, or what they seemed to be.” As for the scope of the phenomenon, they contend that, “as a form of extreme, iconic celebrity,” stardom must be understood to push far beyond “the cinema or even the entertainment industries,” touching upon the spheres of “politics and—especially in France—intellectual production.” In fact, they conclude, “the intellectual life as a hallmark of Frenchness” became “one of the cohesive elements of this period of postwar stardom.” Chaplin, Turning on the Mind, 54. Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 2-4. 282

Birth of Tragedy regarding the treatment accorded to Socrates by Aristophanes (in The Clouds) and Plato (in his Dialogues), places the origins of intellectual personae in antiquity.680

Moreover, that Jennifer Ratner-Rosenhagen similarly posits a direct correlation between the

“dissemination of ideas and the spread of images of their creators” in her study of Nietzsche’s reception in the United States, suggests that manifestations of this phenomenon are not limited solely to France in recent times.681

How, then, do we account for the remarkable scope of this French penchant for the intellectual-as-star? A number of factors intertwined to make postwar France a fertile milieu for the casting and elevation of intellectual personae. Chief amongst them were the extraordinary pace of economic development during the Thirty Glorious Years, along with the concomitant growth of commercial culture and the mass media. This trifecta made it profitable and, just as importantly, possible to spread images and information regarding celebrity figures.682 The new market economy proved every bit as insatiable as its commercial logic was adaptable, suffusing even the rarified domain of “high culture” and, in the process, bringing intellectuals into the fold in previously imaginable numbers. Anything—or anyone—with the potential to capture the

680 “Socrates is a turning point of world history for Nietzsche,” Clark contends, immortalized as the inheritor of the “Apollonian persona.” “In place of the dying Dionysus, the dying Socrates offered himself as the hero of knowledge,” the archetypal intellectual persona; one that, for Clark, brought together “charismatic power and traditional authority,” two traits that recur again and again in the cultivation of intellectual personae within the cultural institutions under consideration in this project. William Clark, “On the Professorial Voice,” Science in Context, Volume 16, 1/2 (2003), 45-46. For more on the origins and evolution of intellectual personae, see: Lorraine Daston and H. Otto Sibum, “Introduction: Scientific Personae and Their Histories,” Science in Context, Volume 16, 1/2 (2003), 1-8. James Miller, Examined Lives: From Socrates to Nietzsche (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2011). 681 As with Lévi-Strauss in Christopher Johnson’s account, she finds that “American readers have been intrigued not only by Nietzsche’s powerful words and ideas but also by the image of the brilliant thinker who produced them.”681 She even suggests (again, much like Johnson) that, “from the early years of the American reception of Nietzsche, interest in Nietzsche’s person often overshadowed rather than complimented interest in his ideas.” Ratner- Rosenhagen, “Conventional Iconoclasm,” 731 & 743. 682 Gaffney and Holmes credit these with providing “both the means to disseminate star images, news and gossip, through a range of media, and a complex but coherent set of motivations for doing so.” Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 8. 283 public imagination and generate consumer demand was fair game; and the cult of personality afforded a reliable means to this end, with stars now more accessible than ever, thanks to the explosion of visual culture in print, and the unprecedented power of the audio-visual media to imitate reality and enable the public to forge a personal connection with the object of their attention.683

Against this backdrop, Jean Baudrillard’s theory of “sign-value” offers valuable insight into the formation and function of personae, with intellectuals becoming “more” than the sum of their parts, assuming something akin to a mythical place—one very real but to some extent unquantifiable—in the cultural fabric of France. In advanced capitalist society, where commodities abound and commercialization has become a mentality as much as a method,

Baudrillard sees “signs” and “spectacles” as having multiplied to the point of omnipresence, saturating our lives in the form of advertisements, branding, and packaging; fashion and design; and identarian displays of all stripes (sexuality, ethnicity, nationality, lifestyle).684 The result has been a fundamental change in the nature of commodity status, where commodities are no longer defined by exchange value and use value alone, as in Marxian accounts. Now, commodities are desirable for their sign-value—or, the image they project of (and to) consumers—every bit as much as for their practical use.685

One might readily surmise that socio-economic permutations more than anything else drove these processes. Certainly, celebrity culture and the creation of demand for material

683 “Everything,” Gaffney and Holmes observe, “including ‘high culture,’ was more likely to be packaged and made attractive through emphasis on the individual.” After all, “the growing ubiquity of visual images […] in magazines and advertising, and the media’s appetite for interviews, radio and TV appearances all made possible a new familiarity with celebrities.” Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 220. 684 Kellner, in Zalta, ed., http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/baudrillard. 685 Douglas Kellner has eloquently defined sign-value as, “the expression and mark of style, prestige, luxury, power, and so on.” Kellner, in Zalta, ed., http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/baudrillard. 284 commodities went hand-in-hand, with star thinkers contributing directly and indirectly to the sale of books, journals, newspapers, magazines, and films.686 We have seen evidence of this connection at each of the cultural institutions under consideration in this project, whether large or small, elite or mainstream, public or private sector. All endeavored through their programs and promotions to foster interest on the part of the public for further exposure to intellectual culture and products. But the prominent place of intellectuals—alongside singers, actors, models, and other types of writers, whose mass market commercial potential is more readily apparent—in

France’s postwar star culture, not to mention the extent of the state’s involvement, particularly under the Fifth Republic, suggests that there is more to the story than economics alone.

Between 1940 and 1962, the combinative effects of World War II, the Cold War, and decolonization steadily and manifestly undermined France’s status as a major power. In terms of political, economic, and military might, the balance had shifted decisively away from

L’Hexagone and towards the new American and Soviet superpowers. Meanwhile, the pace of postwar economic and social development during the Thirty Glorious Years, though sparking urbanization, agricultural and industrial modernization, financial prosperity, and population growth, simultaneously engendered new challenges to the nation’s identity and morale.687 For many, the surging presence of mass- and American culture threatened to further compound

French decline.688

A vibrant intellectual culture, replete with iconic personae, afforded a potent counteragent. As France’s position of hard power in the world waned, intellectuals offered a soft

686 In short, any product with the capacity to “play on the consumer’s desire to acquire something of the star’s aura.” Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 8. 687 Herman Lebovics goes so far as to suggest the development of a reciprocal “crisis of national identity,” one exacerbated by the trend towards secularization. Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 5. 688 De Grazia, Irresistible Empire; Kuisel, Seducing the French. 285 power alternative, influencing global affairs as the arbiters of informed opinion.689 A monopoly on “civilisation” could go a long way to mitigating other powers’ martial, financial, and imperial superiority.690 Intellectuals were integral to France’s cultural prestige in the eyes of the world— what Pierre Bourdieu has termed its “symbolic capital,” or Baudrillard its sign-value.

Intellectual stars functioned as national icons in the domestic arena as well, blending theory and praxis in response to “new forms of modernity,” including as a worldly alternative to religion.691

They provided insights on society and politics, metaphysics and ethics. As a staple of French

“high culture,” thinkers occupied a visible place in the Fifth Republican state’s cultural policy and outreach, which we have seen most clearly in the context of Maisons de la Culture and the

Pompidou Center. Thus, if the answer to America’s homogeneous “dream factories” lay in the construction of distinctly French “cathedrals to culture,” to borrow from André Malraux’s lexicon, then intellectuals formed a key vector of this response.692

689 “Passing after the war from the status of weak major power to something rather less, and soon stripped of most of its colonies,” Lebovics notes, “France deployed its culture […] to give it a comparative advantage in the new international competition.” Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 5. 690 Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 7 & 47-49. Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 2-3. 691 Gaffney and Holmes, eds., Stardom in Postwar France, 10. 692 As Minister of Culture, André Malraux coined the term “cathedrals of culture” to refer to maisons de la culture. Gilbert, “Débat: politique culturelle de l’état, m.j.c. et action culturelle.” On “dream factories,” another of Malraux’s bywords, see Lebovics, Mona Lisa’s Escort, 4. For more on the “cultural” focus of contemporary anti- American attitudes and the formative role played by intellectuals, see Philippe Roger, L’Ennemi américain: généalogie de l’antiaméricanisme français (Paris: Seuil, 2002). 286

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“Les 20 ans du Nouvel observateur.” Droit de réponse, TF1, November 24, 1984.

“Le métier de penser.” Antenne 2, September 8 and 15, 1985.

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“Le vent d’hiver.” Les modernes, FR3, December 4, 1986.

“La responsabilité des intellectuels.” Apostrophes, Antenne 2, April 3, 1987.

“Ne bronzez pas idiots.” Droit de réponse, TF1, July 25, 1987.

“Sartre et les intellos.” Droit de réponse, TF1, October 1, 1987.

“François Furet ou la Révolution française.” Apostrophes, Antenne 2, October 28, 1988.

“Plateau Robert Badinter et Elisabeth Badinter.” Sept sur sept, TF1, June 26, 1988.

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National Archives (Centre des archives contemporaines), Fontainebleau

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19840754, Article 1: Culture; Direction Développement culturel; statuts des maisons de la culture

19840754, Article 2: Culture; Direction Développement culturel; statuts des maisons de la culture

19840754, Article 3: Culture; Direction Développement culturel; statuts des maisons de la culture

19840754, Article 10: Culture; Direction Développement culturel; statistiques des maisons de la culture (1968-1976)

19840754, Article 11: Culture; Direction Développement culturel (maisons de la culture); budgets

19880562, Article 1: ORTF: traitement du courier des auditeurs et téléspectateurs, 1952-1959.

National Library (Bibliothèque nationale de France), Paris

4-JO-8368 : Radio Cinéma Télévision, 1950-1960 298

4-JO-8368 : Télérama, 1962-1968

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4-JO-339925: Centre Pompidou, CNAC Magazine, 1981-1990

4-LF242-339: Centre national d’art et de la culture Georges Pompidou (Paris) – Rapport d’activité, 1974-1977

4-V-21885 : Télé 7 jours, 1960-1990

8-JO-20111: Le Bulletin – Centre national d’art et de culture Georges-Pompidou, 1977-1980

FOL-JO-13216: TEP, 1962-1987

FOL-JO-14946: Rouge et Noir, 1968-1986

FOL-JO-15429: TEP Dossier, 1969-1986

FOL-JO-20364: Bulletin d’information (CNAC), 1975-1980

FOL-Z-2239: Le Cargo, 1987