The Wisdom of the Sands by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

First published: 1948

Type of work: Philosophical observations and reflections

Critical Evaluation:

THE WISDOM OF THE SANDS, or CITADELLE, as it was titled in French, was published posthumously, Saint-Exupéry having been shot down in 1944 while on a scouting mission in World War II. This book differs from his earlier ones, all of which had action and story line. THE WISDOM OF THE SANDS represents a kind of diary, not of what he did, but of what he thought. He kept the manuscript by him wherever he traveled, added to it daily, and apparently intended it to sum up his ideas on all the moral and spiritual questions confronting mankind. He particularly stresses the French military tradition of devotion to duty, discipline, and sacrifice for one’s native soil. However, this book was not as well received as were his previous ones, perhaps because it is circuitious, repetitious, and without action or development of scene or character. The “I” is presumably the ruler of a desert empire, and the reader is included in his private musings on both the problems of state and his own personal problems. “I” recalls his father, who ruled before him and who was assassinated, and recounts some of his wise sayings and encounters with the people. The structure of the book is horizontal, a slight development being indicated by the speaker’s frequent references to his father at the beginning and indications of increasing age toward the end.

Saint-Exupéry’s choice of a ruler of an ancient desert empire to be his spokesman is apt, for it reflects his own decision to be a flyer, thus putting himself at a point where he could contemplate earth and man from a distance. Flying also brought him long periods of solitude similar to the loneliness of the ruler isolated by virtue of his position. It is also fitting for a king to speak as a religious prophet, a dedicated mystic, and an authoritarian.

The king’s concerns were two: to be a just and wise king and to be a wise, fulfilled human being. As a king, he felt himself to be all powerful and rightly so. Men individually count for nothing, but if they can be part of an empire they can then achieve significance. It is the significance of things that alone counts for men. Thus, building an empire is the creation of a heart; it brings men together, makes them brothers. If one wants men to hate one another, do not have them build but throw them corn. For the creation of an empire unites men and gives them a purpose larger than themselves. Going into battle is good, for it binds them closer, and dying for one’s country brings the joy of self-sacrifice for a concept larger than oneself.

When the king, wandering alone through the city at night, comes upon a sleeping sentinel, he is touched by the young soldier’s child-like innocence and meditates for some time as to whether or not he should be executed. He fully understands how youthful the sentinel is, how he may have stood faithfully awake for many watches, how overcome he may have been, and what his death would mean to his parents. But he concludes that a sleeping sentinel is the first step toward the disintegration of the empire. He believes that to explain to the sentinel how important a part he plays in the formation of the empire and what the empire means to all men will give him the willingness and nobility to face his execution like a man. As a king he has also learned not to pity the poor, the beggars, or the dying. As a youth he had tried to help them, only to learn that they grew bored with their improved conditions and eventually returned gladly to their former state. As for the dying, they have an independence that no one can touch.

The king had a program for teaching the young. They should be taught no formulas, only visions. They should not be given dry bones of knowledge but a mode of thought that will enable them to grasp the Here and Now. Their talents if any, should not be assessed at an early age, but they should be made to work hard against the grain. They should be taught respect for their elders and for some concept greater than themselves, to pray, to meditate, and to love. All liars must be severely punished. One should not begin teaching forgiveness and charity because these lead to condoning injuries and developing ulcers.

The king encountered many paradoxes in his meditations. A major one is that he loves only that which resists; he hates complaisance. Thus he admires both the man who obeys him and faces death in battle and the man who defies him and is thrown into jail. He loves particularly a nearby, rival king, a man older than himself. Their armies fight every year, and every year the two kings meet for a parley in the middle of the desert. Their men withdraw and the two sit isolated and speak together. They are beloved enemies. When the ruler hears that the older king has died, he mourns and thereafter goes every year to the site of their meetings and sits alone, communing with the dead, his horsemen at a distance with orders to shoot dead anyone so rash as to enter the area. For the king, all men’s smiles will be enriched by having known the dead king’s smile; he will discern Man’s countenance the better for having looked this one man straight in the eye. To know one sunset, one mountain, one rose, one woman is to know them all. One cannot weep over the death of many people but only over a specific person. The little fox, who also appears in Saint-Exupéry’s THE LITTLE PRINCE, is an example that is referred to many times throughout the book. In one instance, a soldier has captured a cub fox which he loves. When the fox finally runs away, the soldier weeps, but says he will not try to catch another one because he has not enough time to learn to love another pet. In actuality the fox has already taught him how to love all foxes.

Another paradox is that the enemy is really not an enemy, for he does you a service. By setting limits for you, or trying to, he shows you your true form. By the same token, evil is also good, for it forces you to oppose it. Also, paradoxically, the king establishes the empire so as to fulfill men and inspire them; the empire counts less than the man, but in order to establish real men the king subordinates each man to the empire. He is never to judge or act on his judgment, for unless a man’s actions fit exactly into the policeman’s rule book, anything he has done can be made to seem at least foolish if not criminal. The policeman only forbids certain acts without knowing why; if he were to set up a society, it would be base.

As an individual working out his own destiny, the king felt he should ignore the opinion of others. The only thing that mattered was his effort. Happiness was not to be thought of because it would not be an end but a reward. His greatest satisfaction would be to achieve permanence through enduring works and sons to take his place. Nor would he seek worldly goods. Wherever worldly goods are abundant, man has a much greater chance to deceive himself about what makes him happy; he may come to attribute happiness to those things when in reality it is due to the meaning behind them. True happiness is “becoming.”

One must think in the Present. Establishing the present is but preparing for the future. One consolation the king found in growing old was the gift of peace and silence. He concluded that Man’s “progress” consisted in the gradual discovery that his questions have no meaning. Love means an end of questionings, and in silence all questions die away. He praises God and appeals to him for guidance constantly, but expects no answer. There is no vulgar commerce with God. If He answered, God would not be God. The king discovered in life but one freedom, that of the mind. As for equality, that comes within God alone; with men one has only brotherhood. The king often visited a carpenter whose skill he greatly admired. He would sit in his home and accept his food and admire his work, but no one should ever consider them equals, for they were not. There must be a hierarchy, and every man of position must hand down his home and inheritance so that the empire will have dwellers, not campers, within its borders.

The book ends with a long prayer; but while it contains many such prayers, much description of the desert, sunsets, and stars, it is chiefly a political statement couched in terms of nature, beauty, justice, and eternity.