Albert Camus’ “The Fall.” Getting on and off a Guilt-Trip: Morality in an Amoral Universe.

 Albert Camus’ The Fall.

Getting on and off a Guilt-Trip:

Morality in an Amoral Universe.

 

Burton Weltman

“It is in the thick of calamity that one gets hardened to the truth

 – in other words, to silence”

Albert Camus.

Precis: Making a Longish Story Short.

Albert Camus’ novel The Fall is a book about guilt, shame, responsibility, and whether it is possible to live a moral life in what is arguably an amoral universe.  First published in 1956, the book focuses on one of the most difficult of moral problems: The harm that we unintentionally do to others, either out of indifference or in the name of helping them.  Not viciousness but callousness.  Not maliciousness but self-righteousness.  And despite our best intentions, selfishness and self-interest are at the root of most evil.  The book contains a message about the dangers of nihilism and authoritarianism, the importance of distinguishing guilt and responsibility, and the virtues of empathy, solidarity and responsibility, that is very relevant to our times.

The Fall dramatizes some of the moral consequences of Camus’ philosophy of the absurd that he articulated in philosophical treatises The Myth of Sisyphus (1942) and The Rebel (1951). The absurd,” Camus explained “is born of the confrontation between the human need [for reason and meaning] and the unreasonable silence of the world.”[1]  It is absurd, he claimed, to look for meaning in the universe but that doesn’t stop us from trying.  We can’t help it.  We are made that way.  Humans are reasoning beings who cannot help but try to find meaning in the universe.  But that does not mean that meaning is really there to be found.  In this context, Camus contends that traditional moral philosophies which vainly try to find eternal moral truths through reasoning are exercises in absurdity.  So, what is a person to do?

Enmeshed in absurdity, Camus proposes that human life is valuable to the extent that we continually rebel against both meaninglessness and meaning, and is moral to the extent that we act in solidarity with each other.  The honest person, what Camus calls the “absurd man,” sees through the meanings he finds and rejects them one by one as meaningless, even as he finds more.  It is a Sisyphean enterprise.

Meaning and meaninglessness, solidarity and self-centeredness, are in constant contradiction in ourselves and in our world, and we must live with this tension if we don’t want to fall into a fatalistic nihilism – all is selfishness and anything goes –  that could descend into an oppressive totalitarianism – all must do what they are told in the name of law and order.  Nihilism and totalitarianism are the extremes that Camus rejects in favor of a moral practice based on empathy, responsibility, solidarity, and a militantly modest and moderate permanent rebellion.[2]

There are two characters in The Fall, a main character who goes by the name of Jean Baptist Clamence and who does all the talking, and a second unnamed character (hereafter the Listener) who is totally silent and just listens to Clamence.  In a prolonged diatribe, Clamence insists that we live in a fallen universe embedded with evil, and that humans are fallen and inherently immoral beings.  He is a self-styled prophet of universal guilt – that is, that we are all of us guilty all of the time.  Moral codes, he claims, are a sham and when people claim to follow a moral code, they are invariably hypocritical.

Clamence contends that self-interest and selfishness prevail everywhere, and harm is inevitably done to others out of inattention, inaction and indifference even when it is not done intentionally.  He makes no difference between intentional harm and unintentional harm.  They are both evil.  And given the interconnectedness of everyone and everything, Clamence insists, it is impossible to live without harming others and so, he contends, we are all of us inveterate evil-doers whether we intend it or not.  Nihilism, Clamence concludes, is the logical illogic of reality.  In a meaningless universe, anything goes, and usually goes wrong.

Most interpreters claim that Clamence is speaking for Camus.  They contend that he represents Camus’ absurdist philosophy as it is articulated in The Myth of Sisyphus.  That book deals for the most part with the effect of absurdity on the individual person, and whether there is any reason to live.  The book opens with the famous line “There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.”[3]  Camus essentially resolves that problem by concluding that if there is no reason to live, there is also no reason to die, so we might as well live on.  That is essentially Clamence’s view but he also adds to it that life is one long guilt trip, and that we are and should feel guilty all of the time, a view that most interpreters of The Fall attribute to Camus.  I don’t agree.

Most interpreters of The Fall also claim that Clamence is the central character in the book since he does all the talking.  And most of them also imply that even though there is a second, albeit silent, character in the story, Clamence is somehow speaking directly to us, the readers.  We are supposedly his audience.  Again, I don’t agree.

I think that The Fall is better seen as a dramatization of some of the main themes in The Rebel.  Suicide is the central problem in The Myth of Sisyphus.  Murder is the central problem in The Rebel.  In a meaningless universe, how can we live together and how can we combat evil without murdering each other?  Empathy, solidarity, and responsibility are essentially Camus’ answer.

Contrary to Clamence, Camus sees the universe as amoral and not immoralHe contends that while in the absence of an authoritative God everything is permitted, that doesn’t mean nothing is prohibited and that there is no morality.  Morality is what we humans make of it, with an emphasis on “we” as the starting point.  Whereas Clamence is an individualist and is obsessed with his own private vendetta against humanity and the universe, Camus’ emphasis is socialistic.  “I rebel therefore we exist,” he insists.  Human solidarity is the source of value in life and a way to overcome self-centered selfishness.  Given Clamence’s professed nihilism, rather than speaking for Camus, I think that Clamence is an example of the extremism that Camus rejects.

Clamence is on a guilt trip that he wants everyone to join. It is the sort of thing that Camus repeatedly rejected.  Camus promoted the idea of universal responsibility, which means that we are all responsible all of the time, individually and jointly, but not guilty.  Camus repeatedly insisted that “There may be responsible persons, but there are no guilty ones.”  Guilt is remorse over a past act that is over and done with and about which nothing can be done except feel bad.  Responsibility is an ongoing process that extends action from the past into the present and projects itself into the future.  If what we have done has been wrong, we must try to fix it.  We must do what we can whenever we can, but not feel guilty if we can’t do everything.[4]

I agree with the reviewer who described The Fall as follows: “the thesis of this philosophical novel in one sentence: We are all responsible for everything.”  I disagree, however, with that reviewer’s claim that Clamence represents this thesis in what he says and says he has done.[5]  I contend that it is the behavior of the Listener, who sympathetically listens to Clamence’s diatribe – his litany of harms that he has unintentionally done to others for the most part out of indifference – that represents Camus’ idea of responsibility.

The Listener accepts responsibility for Clamence’s anguish with a sympathetic silence, demonstrating to Clamence a form of clemency, even though he does not express agreement with Clamence’s nihilism.  For these reasons, I contend that while Clemence is the main character in the book, the Listener is the central character around whom everything revolves and who speaks for Camus in his silence.

In sum, I think that Camus’ answer to Clamence’s challenge as to how one can be moral in an amoral or even immoral world is empathy.  The Listener personifies empathy, an empathy that comes from the recognition that we are all responsible for everything and that genuine confession is a matter of assuming responsibility and not guilt.

Prologue: A Moral Morass.

The title of The Fall (La Chute in French) is a multiple-entendre, referring, among other things, to Satan’s fall from heaven, Adam’s fall from the Garden of Eden, and the fall of Clamence from a position of high repute and professional success to a life of shame and dissolution.  It also refers to a woman falling from a bridge into the Seine River, which event seemingly precipitated a moral crisis in Clamence and led to his own descent.  The French word “chute” means fall but also downfall.  Falling and downfalling are central metaphors in the book.   

The Fall is an intriguing book and, for a philosophical novel, a page-turner. The book tells the story of a retired lawyer who calls himself Jean-Baptist Clamence.  Clamence is a self-described fallen man who has seemingly done something so bad that it has ruined his life.  The book consists of Clamence’s recounting of his life story with a host of philosophical implications.    The Fall is a highly regarded book in the canon of Camus’ works.  It has been heralded as “Camus’ chef d’oeuvre” and described by Jean-Paul Sartre as Camus’ “most beautiful” book.  But it is also, according to Sartre, “the least understood” of Camus’ works.[6]

The Fall is a sparse book.  It has only two characters and no action.  It is all talking and Clamence does all the talking.  The other character, an unnamed man whom Clamence meets by chance in a bar, and whom I call the Listener, does virtually nothing.  Over the course some one hundred fifty pages, Clamence holds forth in a monologue to the Listener who utters not one word.  A difficulty of The Fall arises, I think, in large part from its unusual format – a monologue overheard by the reader in which one character, Clamence, speaks to another character, the Listener, who never speaks at all.  Many readers misinterpret the monologue as being addressed to the readers, instead of to the Listener.  Another difficulty of the book is the complex moral questions it poses.  These are, at the same time, its most interesting features.

Clamence tells a highly emotional story, and in telling it and pleading with the Listener for understanding, he professes a negativistic philosophy of life and nihilistic view of morality.  His negativism is based on his contention that we are all of us guilty of immorality all of the time.  Citing his own life as an example, Clamence insists that philosophies and pretenses of morality are merely covers for immorality, and that the idea of a moral life is a contradiction in terms.

Clamence’s diatribe is complicated and convoluted.  Cutting through his overwrought rhetoric, I think that at least two key moral questions arise out of Clamence’s narrative.  The first is whether and how one can live a moral life in a universe full of evil.  We live in a world in which evil doers routinely inflict unmerited suffering and death on people.  As Clamence poses the problem, if we want to live moral lives, we must do all we can to eliminate evil.  Morality requires zero tolerance for the suffering of others.  We must not only not profit from others’ suffering, we must not tolerate it.  We must not live at ease while others are suffering and dying.

In this context, Clamence contends, inaction is itself evil.  We are effectively accomplices in any evil that occurs anywhere and anytime if we have not given our all toward eliminating it.  And giving your all means dying for the cause.  Dying for the cause is the only moral act.  If we are alive and well, we are, in effect, guilty of at least tolerating the suffering and death of others.  We are also almost certainly contributing to evil in the world because of the interrelatedness of all things.  Only by dying can we demonstrate our moral commitment to eliminating evil and, thereby, also eliminate the evil we inevitably inflict on others just by living.  Living, in Clamence’s telling, is inherently immoral, and a moral life is seemingly impossible.

The second question is whether and how one can live a moral life when self-interest seems to permeate everything we do.  Clamence claims that everything we choose to do is a function of self-interest.  If we chose to do a thing, that thing is, by definition, something in which we are interested, which is why we choosing it.  Selfishness and self-interest underlie even the most seemingly selfless acts if we have chosen to do those acts, because then we are only doing what we ourselves want to do.  Slavery, Clamence contends, which means doing only what others make you do, is the only way to avoid selfishness.  In Clamence’s telling, selflessness is a contradiction in terms, selfishness pervades everything, and a moral life is seemingly impossible.

These are tough questions and the format of The Fall adds to the difficulty of fathoming them. The format may itself also be a source of misunderstanding to readers.  In this book, unlike in most monologues, the speaker is talking to someone else in the story and not directly to us, the readers.  This makes the book different than Camus’ earlier novel The Stranger (1942), which is a sustained monologue in which the speaker addresses the reader.

In The Stranger, the main character, Merseault, is talking directly to us, the readers.  In The Fall, the main character, Clamence, is talking to a second person, the unnamed and unheard Listener.  We readers are overhearing their conversation.  In most interpretations of the book, Clamence is seen as the central character and a spokesperson for Camus’ existentialist and absurdist philosophy.  I disagree.  And I think this conventional interpretation is a misreading that is in part based on a misunderstanding of the book’s format.

Most interpretations of The Fall ignore or dismiss the role of the Listener and assume that Clamence is effectively talking to us, the readers.[7]  But Clamence is not talking to us and it makes a difference.  Camus knew how to write a monologue addressed to the reader.  He did it in The Stranger.  So, he must have had something in mind by inserting into The Fall a second person with whom the main character is talking and pleading.

I suggest that what Camus had in mind was that the Listener is the central character in the book and that his silence suggests a nuanced answer to the moral questions posed by the book, an answer very different than the extreme negativism promoted by Clamence.  In short, the Listener does not fall for the nihilistic arguments of Clamence and his empathetic silence, unlike the silent indifference of the universe, is telling.

Camus and Silence: Ivan Karamazov and the Grand Inquisitor.

Silence plays a big part in many of Camus’ works.  Camus’ father died during World War I when Camus was just a child and his mother was deaf.  As a result, Camus lived most of his youth surrounded by the sounds of silence.  There are many different kinds of silence.  There is the silence of ignorance.  The silence of indifference.  Silence as assent.  Silence as dissent.  Scornful silence.  Supercilious silence.  And, silence of support.  Camus used all of these in his writings.  The silence of the Listener in The Fall parallels the silence of Jesus in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s novel The Brothers Karamazov.  It is a book that Camus repeatedly returned to in his writings, particularly to both the character Ivan Karamazov, whom Camus considered a pioneer of absurdist philosophy, and a chapter in the book called the “Grand Inquisitor.”

In the chapter on the “Grand Inquisitor,” Ivan Karamazov recounts to his younger brother Alyosha a parable about Jesus returning to earth in the midst of the medieval Spanish Inquisition.  Ivan is an atheistic intellectual who is looking for rhyme and reason in the universe, but finding only meaningless brutality.  Alyosha is a novice and naïve monk.  In Ivan’s story, Jesus wanders about preaching His message of salvation through faith and love, and performing a few miracles.  Jesus is duly arrested for disturbing the peace and taken to be interrogated by the Grand Inquisitor.  The chapter consists of a long monologue on the part of the Inquisitor, during which Jesus says nothing despite being asked to respond and encouraged to admit His failings.  Jesus’ failing, according to the Grand Inquisitor, is his inveterate humility.

The Inquisitor chastises Jesus for rejecting the three temptations to earthly power that he had been offered by Satan in the desert.  If He had accepted them, He could have become the dictator of the world, which is what the Catholic Church had been attempting to do ever since.  Alluding to the original sin of Adam, The Inquisitor complains that “Man was made a rebel; but can rebels be happy?”  The answer, he insists, is “No” and, therefore, people must be enslaved, while thinking that they are free, in order to relieve them of the responsibility for making moral choices.  Responsibility is a burden.  Freedom from responsibility will make people happy.

The Inquisitor explains that enslaving people and relieving them of moral choices is what the Church has been attempting to do in Jesus’ name since His death, even though Jesus preached and practiced just the opposite.  And that is why the Inquisitor wants Jesus to leave and never come back again.  When the Inquisitor finishes, Jesus continues his silence, but then kisses the Inquisitor and leaves.  And, Ivan concludes, He hasn’t been heard from since.[8]  Ivan’s response to the silence of Jesus is scornful, but I think one can also see His silence as empathetic and understanding of the Inquisitor, even if He disagrees with him.  It is the same, I think, with the Listener in The Fall.

The theories and practices of the Inquisitor represented for Camus the epitome of that which he opposed.  Camus inveighed against “would be Caesars” who espoused a “despairing nihilism” and took advantage of people’s weaknesses to control them.  Referring to Dostoevsky’s novel, Camus complained that “These are the Grand Inquisitor who imprisons Christ and tells Him that His method [of love] is not correct, that universal happiness cannot be achieved by the freedom of choosing between good and evil, but by the domination and unification of the world.”[9]

In The Fall, Clamence represents the nihilism and will-to-power over others that Camus abhors.  At the same time, Camus portrays in the story an empathetic Listener whose silence compares with that of Jesus in Dostoevsky’s chapter on the Grand Inquisitor.  Just as in The Fall, Dostoevsky raises questions in his novel about whether and how one can be moral in a world steeped in evil.  Dostoevsky was a devout Christian and apparently found answers to these questions in God.  Camus was a non-believer who found solace in human solidarity.

The Plot(s): Circles Within Circles.

There is virtually no action in The Fall.  The story takes place over five days during which the characters meet in a bar in the red-light district of Amsterdam and elsewhere in and around the city.  In the course of the book, Clamence regales the Listener with tales of his fall from grace to damnation.  The “action” consists of Clamence talking, telling what he claims is his life story, with the Listener seemingly making an occasional gesture, and possibly uttering an occasional word that is not recorded in the book, to which Clamence reacts in the course of his monologue.  That’s the plot of Camus’s story.

The plot of Clamence’s story is in the form of a confession of all the immoral things he has done and of which he is supposedly ashamed.  They are not intentional harms that he has inflicted on others but unintentional byproducts of acting selfishly.  His story is a sustained guilt trip of selfishness.  The plot or plan which underlies Clamence’s story consists of his effort to get the Listener to join him on his guilt trip.  It is important to distinguish between Clamence’s life story, which he strategically reveals in bits and pieces over the course of the five days, and Clamence’s plot, which is to seduce the silent Listener into admitting his own guilt.  Clamence’s goal is for the Listener to come to see himself as an evil person, be ashamed of himself, and admit it.  That way, Clamence later admits, Clamence can feel superior to the Listener and less ashamed of himself.  He wants most of all to avoid being judged, and so he wants to be able to judge others instead.  That’s his plan.

Clamence’s life story is strategically told to induce the Listener to admit to a guilty conscience.  The story proceeds in stages, some of which are not consistent with each other except in their intent to sway the Listener. Clamence says that he is a lawyer and that seems evident in his adopting a shifty defense lawyer’s tactic of saying whatever might be convincing at any point in time even if it is inconsistent with what he has said before.  Many interpreters of the book take what Clamence says at face value as what actually occurred in his life.[10]  But his repeated admission that he is an unreliable narrator prevent both the Listener and we readers from knowing whether anything Clamence says happened actually did happen.

Clamence admits that “It’s very hard to disentangle the true from the false in what I am saying.”  But it doesn’t matter, he claims, because “Lies eventually lead to the truth…So what does it matter whether they are true or false?”[11]  That’s Clamence’s plot: to say whatever he must in order to get at what he thinks is the truth of the Listener’s sins, and get the Listener to admit it.  Everything Clamence says is centered around persuading the Listener, who is thereby the central character in the book.  But Clamence’s plot fails.  The Listener patiently listens for five days, seemingly sympathetic and even empathetic with Clamence’s anguish, but he leaves unpersuaded, undaunted and unbowed.  And that’s why I think he is the hero of the book.

Clamence’s Story: What a Tangled Web. 

As Clamence tells it, his life story is of a seemingly virtuous and successful man who does a very bad thing which leads to his downfall.  For the first half of the book, Clamence hedges around what this bad thing is, but then, exactly half-way through the book, he describes the event.  He says that he was walking one evening across a bridge over the Seine River in Paris.  “On the bridge I passed behind a figure leaning over the railing and seeming to stare at the river.”  When he had walked on for another fifty yards, he heard the loud splash of a body hitting the water and then “a cry repeated several times.”  He thought “Too late, too far” and went on home, informing no one and avoiding the newspapers for several days thereafter.[12]

Clamence’s failure to act, even though it is not clear that he could have done anything to save the woman or even that the woman actually drowned, is the turning point in his life, leading him to question and disparage everything he has done or thought before.  It is seemingly not so much what he could have done as what he felt at the time that most bothers him.  He was apparently feeling tired and didn’t want to be bothered, let alone take some risk in trying to get the woman out of the river.  Callous and cowardly seems to be his judgment of himself.  He says that he has never stopped feeling shame for apparently letting that woman drown when he might possibly have saved her.  And it is seemingly on the basis of this event that he eventually comes to the conclusion that all and everyone is evil in the world, whatever the pretenses.

Clamence’s name is symbolically ironic.  He says that it is Jean-Baptist Clamence, though he admits at one point in his story that he has gone by other names as well.[13]  Clamence is one letter off from “clemence,” which is the French word for clemency.  Jean-Baptist is French for John the Baptist, the Biblical saint who dispensed clemency through the cleansing process of baptism.  Clamence is not dispensing clemency.  To the contrary, he is engaged in trying to convince the Listener and probably many similar listeners before him of their guilt and shame.

At the end of the book, Clamence describes his strategy: “I accuse myself up and down…I adapt my words to my listener and lead him to go me one better.”[14] Clamence seems to be like the Ancient Mariner who is compulsively compelled to repeat his tale of woe, albeit instead of carrying a dead albatross on his shoulders, Clamence carries a dead woman in his conscience.   He says that getting others to admit their sins makes him feel better about his own.

In his fulmination against himself and humanity, Clamence effectively makes a mockery of the three main traditions of Western moral philosophy – deontology, virtue ethics, and utilitarianism.  His arguments and examples undermine their underpinnings.  Deontology is a rule-based moral tradition.  It insists that people follow a set of moral rules such as the Old Testament’s Ten Commandments, the New Testament’s command to give your wealth to the poor, or Kant’s Categorical Imperative to do only what you would have everyone do.

Virtue ethics is a character-based moral doctrine.  It promotes the cultivation of moral character traits such as truthfulness, selflessness, sincerity, and generosity, and is associated with Aristotle.  Utilitarianism is a result-based moral precept.  It contends that one should do that which will result in the greatest good for the greatest number of people.  Jeremy Bentham was a leading utilitarian.  Implicit in Clamence’s narrative is a rejection of each of these moral traditions.  Implicit in the Listener’s silence is, I believe, sympathy with Clamence’s rejection of traditional moral philosophy, which reflects Camus’ views, but not an acceptance of Clamence’s nihilism.

The Stages of Clamence’s Descent and Lament.

Clamence’s attempted seduction of the Listener proceeds in what can be seen as six stages over the five days of the story, with each stage more vehement and pathetic than the last.  His diatribe constitutes a series of guilt-trips, ego-trips, power-trips, shaming, and shamming in an ultimately fruitless effort to get the Listener to spill his own guts and open up his own bag of sins.

In the first stage, shortly after they have met, Clamence tries a simple shaming technique on the Listener by asking him whether the Listener has given up all his possessions to the poor, claiming that he has done so himself.  The implication is that a good man would follow Jesus’ command to sacrifice oneself for others.  “I possess nothing,” Clamence proclaims.[15]  This is a lie, as we later find out that Clamence has a nice home and lots of nice things.  But it is an example of the mind games that Clamence intends to play on the Listener, and a lie that Clamence would contend is in pursuit of the truth and is, therefore, acceptable.  In any case, the Listener apparently shakes his head “No,” meaning that he hasn’t given his all to the poor, but he does not rise to the bait of either condemning or defending himself.

This leads to the second stage of Clamence’s attempted seduction on the same day.  In this stage, he portrays himself as someone who has inconspicuously practiced every virtue.  As a lawyer, “I never charged the poor a fee and never boasted of it,” he claims.  “I loved to help blind people cross streets,” he says, because they could not see who was helping them so that he was an anonymous do-gooder.[16]

But then Clamence turns the argument against himself, claiming that his virtuous behavior was really an ego-trip.  “I needed to feel above” everyone else, and doing anonymous acts of supposed virtue gave him this feeling of superiority.  Everyone looked up to him and “I looked upon myself as something of a superman.”[17]  He concludes this argument with the contention that you “can’t love without self-love,” that selflessness is really selfishness.  Having tainted virtue with vice, he seemingly hopes to provoke a response and a mea culpa from the Listener, but none comes.[18]

So, the next day, Clamence launches a tirade against virtue as a power-trip, seemingly trying to get the Listener to admit to his own lust for power.  Clamence claims that “one can’t get along without domineering or being served.  Every man needs slaves as he needs fresh air.”[19]  Love is domination, he insists, and virtue a means of control.  “When I was concerned with others, I was so out of pure condescension,” he confesses.[20]  “Power,” he declaims, “settles everything,”[21]  He seems to hope that this will provoke a response from the Listener.  It doesn’t and, frustrated with what he calls the Listener’s “polite silence,” Clamence pleads with him “But just think of your life, mon cher compatriot.”  To no avail. The Listener says nothing, but he returns the next day.

Shifting tactics somewhat the next day, Clamence tries to induce the Listener into admitting that everyone who pretends to virtue is a hypocrite  We are all in the business of judging others, he claims, and “People hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves.”[22]  With respect to their own misdeeds, people want to believe that they were the result of “unfortunate circumstances” and not their own character flaws or selfish choices.[23]

In his own case, Clamence claims, “modesty helped me to shame, humility to conquer, and virtue to oppress.”  He practiced hypocrisy as a way of life and “brought out the fundamental duplicity of the human being” in others [24]  A false and fallen angel himself, he was only doing what everyone does.  In the end, Clamence concludes, “I have no more friends: I have nothing but accomplices” in the business of hypocrisy.  “And,” he taunts the Listener, “you first of all.”[25]  But the Listener does not take the bait.  He admits nothing, but again comes back the next day.

The following day, Clamence pulls out what he seems to think is his best argument.  This should be the clincher that the Listener cannot ignore.  He insists that it is impossible to live a moral life by living as you would have others live because living is itself an immoral act.  Living in the face of others’ deaths is inherently immoral and in living, we are effectively guilty of murder.  We are, in addition, guilty not only of our own crimes in living but also the crimes of others.  “Every man testifies to the crimes of all the others,” Clamence declares, and “we can state with certainty the guilt of all.”[26]  The Listener takes this in and seemingly does not disagree, but neither does he agree or denounce himself.  And he returns for one more day.

On the last day, Clamence resorts to his most pathetic argument, a warped form of utilitarianism.  He describes his experience in a German POW camp during World War II, having been captured while trying to flee France to safety abroad.  A self-confessed coward, he describes how he became the informal head of a group of prisoners, the “Pope of the prison camp,” and was given the power to dole out supplies.  He admits that he gave himself a larger share of the supplies and even drank the water of a dying man.  His rationale for this behavior was that he was needed by the other prisoners and so his first duty was to save himself.[27]

But then Clamence reverses course again, denounces this explanation as a rationalization of his selfishness, and makes his final plea to the Listener.  He explains to the Listener how he has been trying to seduce him into confessing his own sins.  It’s a method he has apparently used on many others.  Describing the method, Clamence says that he starts by “saying ‘I was the lowest of the low.’ Then imperceptibly I pass from the ‘I’ to the ‘we,” and then “I provoke you into judging yourself.”[28]  He corrals his listeners into identifying with him and then when he denounces himself, he gets them to denounce themselves.  But it hasn’t worked with the Listener.

Clamence closes his monologue with a plaintive plea to the Listener to confess.  The Listener remains silent.  So, Clamence pleads that the Listener should at least “Admit, however, that you feel less pleased with yourself than you felt five days ago.”  The Listener still says nothing.  Clamence concludes with a pathetic challenge.  “Now I shall wait for you to write me or come back.  For you will come back, I am sure.”[29]  Still no response.  Piteously, Clamence can’t let go.  “Say now that you are going to talk to me about yourself,” he whines.  No response.

In his final words, Clamence wishes that he could go back to that fateful evening and have once again the choice to try to save the woman.  But he no sooner wishes for that opportunity for redemption than he cynically dismisses it.  “Brr…!,” he complains as he imagines the scene, “The water’s so cold! But let’s not worry!  It’s too late now.  It will always be too late.  Fortunately!”[30]  There is no redemption and Clamence is grateful for that because undergoing redemption would be so hard.  He would rather be damned, or so he says.

Confession without Contrition: Universal Guilt v. Universal Responsibility.

Camus was raised as a Catholic and although he left the Church, he operated intellectually to a large extent within a Catholic framework.  His interest in confession, which is the form of both The Stranger and The Fall, is an example.  However, although Clamence’s monologue is in the form of a confession – he characterizes it as such – it is actually nothing of the sort.  He even confides at one point that the “authors of confessions write especially to avoid confessing,” and that seems to go for him too.[31]

For Catholics, confession is the prelude to penance and restitution, and to reconciliation with oneself and the world.  Clamence specifically rejects this process.  His goal is to admit to anything and everything bad that he can think of in order to put himself out of reach of any penance and reconciliation, and in order to induce others to admit to their guilty actions.

Clamence is mired in what Jean-Paul Sartre would call “bad faith.” He doesn’t want forgiveness from others or from himself because that would leave him in the position of having to make new moral choices.  He wants to plead guilty continuously so that he won’t have to face up to those choices and take responsibility for them.  In the course of his rantings, Clamence admits to ever more heinous thoughts and actions, amassing an ever-increasing debt of guilt.  This leaves an impression with the reader that he may be making most or even all of it up as a means of trying to manipulate the Listener, and Clamence even admits that he is making up at least some of it.[32]

So, it could be that Clamence’s so-called confession is all a lie, but if it is, it is a lie based on an undeniable underlying truth that there is evil in the world, and that most of us ignore most of it most of the time.  In proclaiming himself guilty for ostensibly having let a young woman die without trying to help her, Clamence may be just inventing what he conceives of as an extreme example of evil so as to highlight the general problem.  But whether he is lying or not, we are still left with the problem of evil in the world, and whether and how we can live moral lives in a world full of evil.

Clamence thinks we can’t.  He believes in what could be called “universal guilt,” which is that we are all guilty all of the time.  Given our chronic guilt, we must, in turn, live with perpetually guilty consciences and continuous judgments of guilt from others and from ourselves.  In this view, the human condition is a piteous situation.  Most reviewers seem to take Clamence’s lament at face value as expressing Camus’ views.[33]  I disagree.

Camus holds to what could be called “universal responsibility,” which means that we are responsible for everything, which means that we cannot sit around wallowing in guilt like Clamence does when we fail and fall.  We must pick ourselves up and get on with the next thing, which is what Dr. Rieux, the hero of Camus’ novel The Plague, does.  Faced with an impossible situation, an unstoppable and untreatable plague that is decimating the population, he continues to do what he can to help people.  But what comparable does the Listener do in The Fall?

I think the Listener does two important things.  First, he comes back every day for five days to hear Clamence out until Clamence is finished.  Second, he thereafter leaves and apparently gets on with his life.  Whereas Clamence is guilty of “bad faith,” I think the Listener should be credited with good faith as an empathetic listener to Clamence’s tale of woe, and as someone who is then literally ready to get up and get on with things.  That he is silent throughout is not an abdication of responsibility.  Having encountered Clamence in a bar, the Listener accepts responsibility for emotionally supporting Clamence even if he disagrees with Clamence’s conclusions.  The Listener’s actions are an example of the human solidarity that Camus promotes.

The moral and morale support which I think Camus ascribes to the Listener in The Fall is a key to Camus’ moral philosophy.  As Camus explains in his treatises The Myth of Sisyphus and The Rebel, and portrays in his novels The Stranger, The Plague, and, I contend, in The Fall, Camus believes that the indifference of the universe and the hostility of others can be overcome through acts of solidarity with others and a commitment to living with them in what could be called a caring community.

Camus’ Theory of Rebellion and Solidarity: All or Nothing v. All for One and One for All.

Camus’ The Rebel is an exploration of extremism and an exhortation to rebellion as an alternative to nihilism and totalitarianism, and human solidarity as an alternative to the reasonings of moral philosophy.  Rebellion is the legitimate response to meaninglessness in the universe, and solidarity is the answer to the question of how to try to be moral in an amoral universe.  The Listener in The Fall represents this answer.

Humans are inherently rebellious, Camus claims, and rebellion is “the first piece of evidence” that we exist.  Babies cry rebellion against their discomfort, and someone responds.  Babies know from then on that they exist.  In rebellion, individuals realize they have selves and are separate from other beings.  But, at the same time, they find through rebellion that they are not isolated beings.  One cannot rebel alone but only in connection with others.  If there is no response, there is no rebellion and no self-awareness. “I rebel – therefore we exist.”[34]  Selfhood starts with recognition of others and acceptance of them as comrades and equals   Rebellion starts with solidarity with others.  “Man’s solidarity is founded upon rebellion, and rebellion, in turn, can only find its justification in this solidarity.” [35]  In turn, solidarity starts with empathy.

Empathy is the root of rebellion but the antithesis of revolution.  Revolution is an all-or-nothing gambit.  Camus rejects revolution because it inevitably leads to murder and to the rationalization of murder as necessary for the cause.  Revolution also almost inevitably leads to oppressive and authoritarian regimes.  The Grand Inquisitor was the leader of such a regime.  Revolutions are organized around a theory of “us” versus “them,” and “them” deserve to be repressed.  Rebellion, to the contrary, is an incremental approach to social justice that emphasizes people’s commonalities, not their differences, that we are all in this together and that I can accept your disagreement as long as you can accept mine.  Rebellion must be militant but modest.

Camus’ answers to the questions posed by Clamence’s diatribe, as to how can one be moral in the midst of evil and how can one overcome selfishness, are empathy and solidarity.  Empathy – I feel your pain and your joy – enables you to identify with others and, thereby, define yourself.  It is the foundation of morality.  Solidarity – we are all in this together, and it’s one for all and all for one – subsumes self-interest and sublimates selfishness.  It is the means of reconciling the conflict between the One and the Many.  Empathy and solidarity are the antidotes to Clamence’s cynicism and nihilism.

The silence of the Listener is sympathetic and even empathetic.  He is seemingly not shocked or dismayed by what Clamence tells him, and he keeps coming back for more until Clamence is finished with his tale and his plea.  The Listener seemingly does not judge Clemence.  Based on Clamence’s reactions, the Listener seems to feel that “But for the grace of God, there go I,” which is a feeling that Clamence is aiming at.  But the Listener does not go from empathy to identity, as Clamence had hoped, and does not condemn himself.  Implicit in the Listener’s comradely support of Clamence is the possibility that Clamence will see in the Listener a model for how to get out of the vale of despair in which Clamence is mired.  It is not likely.  But in any case, the Listener is a model for us, the readers, as to how we might deal with nihilism and negativism in others.

The Listener politely and patiently listens to the whole of Clamence’s diatribe and then seemingly bids him farewell and leaves.  That, I contend, is for Camus a way of living morally in an amoral world.  It isn’t the only way but it is a legitimate response to the anguish of others.  It is the Listener’s empathy with Clamence that is his cardinal virtue, and is one of the cardinal virtues that Camus preached in all of his works.  Empathy is the best response to absurdity, and silence can be a legitimate form of empathy.  Although we can and should avoid deliberately harming others, we cannot always avoid doing so unintentionally.  It’s absurd but true.

We live in a time of guilt-tripping on all sides.  On the political right, anti-abortionists try to guilt-trip women who want to terminate their pregnancies by labelling them as baby-killers.  On the political left, human rights advocates try to guilt-trip anyone who ever committed any act that could be construed as racist or sexist, no matter if it was unintentional or how long ago.  These are only examples of what seems to a plague of ill-will in our society today.  Empathy for the difficult positions and different conditions in which people lived in the past and live in the present is scarce.  In the midst of the diatribes, denunciations, guilt-tripping and hypocritical rationalizing that engulf us in our world today, the example of the Listener in The Fall can perhaps be a lesson for us.

[1] Albert Camus. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. P.28. 

[2] Albert Camus.  The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956.P.302.

[3] Albert Camus. The Myth of Sisyphus.  New York: Vintage Books, 1955. P.3.

[4] Albert Camus. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. P.50.  Albert Camus. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956. P.301.  

[5] “Camus: The Fall.” The Philosophy.com

[6] Jacqueline Wallace. “What Albert Camus’ ‘The Fall’ Has to Say About Modern Society.” The Artifice. 3/23/2014.

[7] For example, “The Fall by Albert Camus.”  Shmoop. The Teaching Encyclopedia.  Jacqueline Wallace. “What Albert Camus’ ‘The Fall’ Has to Say About Modern Society.” The Artifice. 3/23/14.  “Camus: The Fall.” The Philosophy.com

[8] Fyodor Dostoevsky. The Brothers Karamazov. New York: Farrrar, Straus and Giroux,2011. eBook Edition, P.295.

[9] Albert Camus. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956. P.60.

[10] Scott Horton. “Camus – The Fall.”  Harpers Magazine. 8/8/2009.

[11] Albert Camus. The Fall. New York: Vintage Books, 1991. P.119

[12] The Fall.  Pp.68-71

[13] The Fall.  P.125.

[14] The Fall.  P.139.

[15] The Fall.  Pp.9-10.

[16] The Fall.  P.20

[17] The Fall.  27-28.

[18] The Fall.  34.

[19] The Fall.  44.

[20] The Fall.  48.

[21] The Fall.  45.

[22] The Fall.  80.

[23] The Fall.  81.

[24] The Fall.  84.

[25] The Fall.  73.

[26] The Fall.  108, 110, 112.

[27] The Fall.  122-123, 126-127.

[28] The Fall.  140.

[29] The Fall.  140.

[30] The Fall.  147.

[31] The Fall.  P.120.

[32]  The Fall. P.119.

[33] See for example: Patrick Kennedy. “Study Guide for Albert Camus’ ‘The Fall.’” Thoughtco. 5/25/2019.

Jacqueline Wallace. “What Albert Camus’ ‘The Fall’ has to say about Modern Society.” The Artifice. 1/23/2014.

Daniel Just. “From Guilt to Shame: Albert Camus and Literature’s Ethical Response to Politics.” Project Muse. 4/21/2011.

[34] Albert Camus. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956. P.22.

[35] Albert Camus. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956.P.22.

Strangers in an Estranged Land: A Reexamination of Camus’ “The Stranger” and Review of Daoud’s “The Meursault Investigation.”

Strangers in an Estranged Land.
A Reexamination of Camus’ The Stranger
                  and Review of Daoud’s The Meursault Investigation               

Burton Weltman

Do not mistreat or oppress a stranger,

for you were strangers in Egypt.

Exodus 22:21

 A.  Dead Men Talking: Albert Camus’ Meursault and Kamel Daoud’s Musa.

“If the world were clear, art would not exist.”

Albert Camus. The Myth of Sisyphus.[1]

Does it matter if a literary work is widely misread in a way that is contrary to the intentions of its author and/or the plain meaning of the text?  It clearly matters if a legal text is misread.  The Second Amendment to the United States Constitution, for example, has recently been misread by a majority of the Justices on the United States Supreme Court to function as a guarantee of the right of people to keep guns in their homes and carry guns with them almost anywhere they want.  This is a misunderstanding of the intentions of the Second Amendment’s authors and a misreading of the plain language of the Amendment’s text that is so unreasonable and so contrary to the facts of the Amendment’s adoption as to be absurd.[2]  It is a misreading that has, however, contributed to the proliferation of guns and the epidemic of gun violence in the United States, and people are dying because of it.  It clearly matters.  But what about the misreading of a literary text?  Does that matter?

The premise of Kamel Daoud’s recent novel The Meursault Investigation[3] is that the misreading of a literary text does matter, and the narrator of Daoud’s book claims that Albert Camus’ novel The Stranger has almost invariably been misread for over seventy years since its publication in 1942.  The Stranger is the story of the murder of an Arab by a Frenchman in colonial Algeria.  The murderer’s name is Meursault and he is the narrator of the book.  Meursault has, much to his surprise, been found guilty of premeditated murder and sentenced to death for shooting the Arab.  He had assumed that he would be found guilty of the lesser offense of unpremeditated manslaughter or not guilty by reason of self-defense.  Although an appeal of his sentence is pending, Meursault tells his story while facing possible execution, and death envelops the book.  It opens with the death of Meursault’s mother, is punctuated by the Arab’s death, and closes with the prospect of Meursault’s death.  Meursault tells his story in deadpanned language, and portrays himself as an emotionally deadened person who has endured life in a chronically depressed state.

For many reviewers over the years, Meursault has been seen as the ideal of an honest and dispassionate man, and an existentialist or absurdist hero.[4]  This seems also to be the view of the general reading public, based on comments provided on popular websites that can be taken as reflecting mainstream public opinion.  These websites include Wikipedia (Meursault is “often cited as an exemplar of Camus’ philosophy of the absurd and existentialism.”)[5] and Sparknotes (Meursault represents “Camus’ philosophical notion of absurdity.”).[6]  Amazon reports that The Stranger remains a best seller to the present day, as it is “a staple of U.S. high school literature courses.”[7]  It is, thus, a widely read and potentially influential book.

The narrator of The Meursault Investigation is an old man named Harun who seeks to dispel Meursault’s heroic image.  His argument is based on a critical rereading of The Stranger, and on providing a side-story to Meursault’s narrative, as well as a sequel to the events in the book up to the present day.  Harun is ostensibly the brother of the Arab murdered by Meursault, and he claims to speak for his dead brother.  Harun complains that decades of readers have failed to react to the fact that his brother (whose name is Musa) is not even named in The Stranger (he is merely called “the Arab”) and that nothing is told in the book about Musa or his family.

Since no one has previously spoken for Musa, Harun claims that readers have missed the underlying meaning of the events in The Stranger.  Only Meursault’s side of the story has been told, and Musa’s death has been seen only in the light of Meursault’s brilliant portrayal of his own pathetic life.  As a result, Harun argues, Meursault has effectively gotten away with murder in the public mind, and Meursault’s account of the killing has both trivialized murder and perpetuated racist views of Arab Algerians.  Although the story dates from 1942, Harun contends that people are still dying today because of the attitudes toward murder and toward Algerians presented by Meursault in the book.  In Harun’s mind, the public’s misunderstanding of the story clearly matters.

History is full of dead men talking, and the meaning of what they said and did is often important to us.  They help us to figure out who we are and what we ought to do.  That is why historians and Supreme Court Justices continually review and revise what they think the Founders meant to say in the Constitution.  The thesis of Daoud’s book is that it is also important to set the record straight as to the meaning and message of fictional dead men.  Fiction can influence people as fully as facts can.  There are, for example, lots of young people today who cite the wisdom of Professor Dumbledore from the Harry Potter books as though he is a real person.  Daoud has provided us with the novel case of a fictional character calling out another fictional character in order to get a fictional situation right.

Getting things right in a work of fiction is not, however, always easy.  It has been said that great books are those that can be reread over and over again with the reader getting something different each time.[8]  Great books, such as The Stranger, can legitimately be interpreted many different ways.  The same can be said for the United States Constitution.  One of the things that makes the Constitution great is that it is a living document that can be interpreted in different ways as circumstances change.  However, there are some interpretations of the Constitution that are just plain wrong, such as the Supreme Court’s recent ruling on the Second Amendment.  Similarly, there are some interpretations of a novel that are just wrong, and they can have consequences.

Both The Stranger and The Meursault Investigation are written with first-person narrators. Interpretation is particularly tricky with first-person narration because it raises hard questions about to what extent and in what ways does and does not the narrator speak for the author.  It also raises questions as to the reliability of the narrator.   Conflating a first-person narrator with a book’s author, or assuming that the narrator is reliable, can lead to misunderstanding of a book.  In the cases of The Stranger and The Meursault Investigation, this problem has been exacerbated by the tendency of reviewers to focus on what they see as Camus’ philosophical views and Daoud’s social and religious views, and to ignore the psychological nuances and character development of the narrators in the course of the books.  The result is often a misunderstanding of both the authors’ views and the narrators’ characters.

It is my contention that neither Meursault nor Harun has been intended by their creators as a hero or a role model, and that neither of them can be taken as either reliable narrators or spokespersons for their authors.  Meursault’s narrative is essentially an exercise in what existentialists call “bad faith.”[9]  Jean Paul Sartre, the existentialist-in-chief, described bad faith as dodging responsibility for the effects of one’s choices.  He claimed that one has to realize that when one chooses to do or not do something, one is choosing not only what one wants to be oneself, but also “choosing at the same time what humanity as a whole should be.”  People act in bad faith when they “believe their actions involve no one but themselves.”  For Sartre, “any man who takes refuge behind his passions, any man who fabricates some deterministic theory, is operating in bad faith.”[10]

Meursault fits this description.  He does not take responsibility for his actions or for the way his actions affect others, and he seeks to explain away the harms he has done to others.  The book begins with the excuse he gave when he asked his boss for time off to go to his mother’s funeral (“Sorry, sir, but it’s not my fault, you know”), and ends with him giving himself absolution for his actions (“I’d been right, I was still right, I was always right.”).[11]  His narrative is a sustained attempt to exonerate himself for his actions.

Harun’s story is essentially a guilt trip.  It is at first an attempt to avoid guilt, then a reluctant admission of guilt and, finally, an attempt to purge himself of guilt.  It is a circuitous narrative that starts with his blaming Meursault and the world at large for the death and indignity suffered by his brother, and the hardships suffered by him and his mother.  It ends with a confession and a mea culpa for committing the murder of a Frenchman.  He begins his story by distinguishing himself from Meurault and ends by identifying with him.  They are, he acknowledges, blood brothers under the skin.[12]

Harun is an alcoholic, a self-described blowhard, and a murderer.  He is no hero and he is not Daoud.  The consequences of misreading Daoud’s book have, however, been frightening.  As a result of things that Huran says about religion, a death sentence fatwa has been issued against Daoud by a radical Muslim cleric in Algeria.  Daoud has responded that “It was a fictional character in the novel who said those things, not me,” but to no avail thus far.[13]

The thesis of the present essay is that The Stranger has been widely misread and that The Meursault Investigation seems in danger of being similarly misunderstood.  With respect to The Stranger, I think that reviewers and readers often miss that Meursault is relating and reconstructing past events, not telling about things as they happen.  They also miss that Meursault is telling his story in the immediate aftermath of being condemned to death.  They mistakenly think that Meursault is speaking for Camus.  And, they mistakenly think that Meurault represents the absurd man that Camus promoted in his book The Myth of Sisyphus.

Critics often extol the at-best amoral Meursault as some kind of existentialist hero or romantic anti-hero.  This sort of misreading demeans the work of Camus who was, above all else, a passionate moralist.  In conflating Meursault with Camus, these critics have missed what seems to be Camus’ intent that readers empathize with Meursault and see something of themselves in him, even as they hopefully disagree with him and reject his behavior.  These critics effectively undermine the moral value of the book.

With respect to The Meursault Investigation, I think that reviewers are in danger of mistakenly treating Harun as a hero, a reliable narrator, and a spokesman for Daoud.  These mistakes would diminish the social and political meaning of the work.  And that matters.

B.  Meursault in the Face of Death: The Stages of Grief.

We live “as man condemned to death.”

Albert Camus. The Myth of Sisyphus[14]

“Aujourd’hui, maman est morte.”  These are the opening words of The Stranger.  They are generally translated as mother or mama died today.  The words seem to situate the narrator, Meursault, in the present, as though he is learning of his mother’s death at the time he is telling us about it.  The rest of that paragraph and the next also give the appearance that the narrator is describing what he is currently experiencing.  But then the narrative abruptly turns into what is clearly a description of the past, of thoughts, feelings, and events the narrator has previously experienced, and the narrative continues that way for the rest of the book.

Camus wrote The Stranger in the present perfect tense in which “etre” or “avoir” is added to the past participle of a verb in French, just as “have” is added to the past participle in English.[15]  The effect of using that tense is to produce the feeling of an indefinite past, as though the past continues into the present.  This seems to be part of what Camus is proposing in the book, that one cannot escape the past or responsibility for one’s actions.

Meursault’s story opens with a description of his mother’s death and her funeral.  These events are the alpha and omega of his story.  The facts he relates include that his mother died in a nursing home to which she had been sent by Meursault over her strenuous objections, and that he wandered about at her funeral without showing any interest or emotion.  The overwhelming importance of these facts to Meursault stems from his contention that the way he treated his mother and behaved at her funeral were the main reason he was convicted of first degree capital murder.

Meursault repeatedly complains that his murder trial seemed to be more about disparaging his character over the way he treated his mother and her death than about ferreting out the facts of the shooting.[16]  The prosecutor repeatedly railed against Meursault, insisting he was “morally guilty of his mother’s death,” and was “an inhuman monster wholly without a moral sense.”  The court was seemingly more concerned with Meursault’s mother’s death than with the Arab’s, and Meursault was apparently convicted of the premeditated murder of the Arab because he was found to have behaved badly toward his mother.[17]

Camus once facetiously said that the moral of The Stranger was that “In our society any man who does not weep at his mother’s funeral runs the risk of being sentenced to death.”[18]  And Camus’ narrator, Meursault, tries to use the absurdity of his trial to portray himself as the victim in his case.  Camus was not, however, justifying Meursault’s actions or criticizing Meursault’s conviction for murder.  Camus was criticizing a society that seemed more concerned with enforcing social conventions than with enforcing laws against murder, especially when the victims were Arabs.  And he was asking us to identify with Meursault, despite our objections to Meursault’s behavior.

Opinions of Meursault’s state of mind as a narrator, and as a character in his own story, have been varied over the years.  To some reviewers, he is the soul of objectivity[19], sensitivity,[20] and honesty.[21]  To others, he is “a clinical psychopath,”[22] who “cares about practically nothing.”[23]  But one thing these reviewers have had in common is that they treat Meursault as a reliable narrator and take his version of events on face value.  This is not plausible and does not seem to have been intended by Camus for at least two reasons.

First, Meursault is still in the process of appealing his death sentence as he is narrating his story.  He has a life-and-death interest in making himself look as sympathetic as possible.  We have to see his story as potentially self-serving, and as not necessarily reflecting events as they actually happened.  Camus portrays Meursault as an ingenious fellow, and Meursault tells what seems to be a tale designed to gain our sympathy and minimize our antipathy.  For example, he leaves out any account of what happened in the immediate aftermath of the shooting.[24]  The artfulness of his narrative is emphasized in The Meursault Investigation by Harun, who insists that Meursault’s story is a fiction designed to justify himself to posterity.[25]

Meursault comes across as a distressed person.  He repeatedly describes himself to the people around him, and portrays himself to us readers, as a person without deep emotions.  Most commentators take it for granted that Meursault was, in fact, that kind of person.  But we cannot take Meursault’s portrayal of himself as being the way he always was.  He may have been rendered emotionally numb by his recent experiences and his narrative may reflect that effect, or he may be dissembling for sympathy.

Second, Meursault had just been sentenced to death when he begins telling his story.  This is a key to his psychological state and his character development as he goes on.  His deadened picture of himself could be a result of shock.  He is seemingly in a state of shock as he begins the story, and his anxiety level increases toward the end as his execution date approaches.  As a result of his emotional wavering, Meursault’s story does not come out as well as he would have liked it.  He does not make his best case for himself, either for his appeal or for posterity.  This is seemingly part of the story that Camus is telling us, through Meursault, about humans facing death.

Most reviewers treat Meursault’s narrative as being of a piece and his narrative tone as being uniform throughout.  This does not do justice to the psychological subtlety and complexity of Camus’ book.  The Stranger was Camus’ first published novel.  In his other works of fiction, the characters tend to be one-dimensional representatives of philosophical or social positions rather than complex persons. That is not the case with Meursault.   He is a complex character who morphs in the course of his tale.

Meursault’s narrative, in fact, seems to unroll in stages, almost like what have been described as the five stages of grief.[26]  He has just been told he is going to die, and his story seems to proceed from denial, which is ostensibly the first stage of grief, then to the next stages of anger, bargaining, depression and, finally, acceptance.  This is not to say that the book can be explained by some psychological formula, but that analyzing it in those terms can help illustrate the changes in Meursault’s narrative tone as he tells his story.

In the first stage of his story, Meursault essentially portrays himself as a victim of circumstances.  His mantra in this phase is “it’s not my fault.”[27]  He repeats this sentiment throughout the scenes of his mother’s funeral, which go on for many pages.  In a foreshadowing of his complaint about his trial, he complains that people at the funeral kept looking at him askance because he did not exhibit any emotion.  “I had an absurd impression,” he says, “that they had come to sit in judgment of me.”[28]  Meursault’s affect at this point is that of a pathetic person in a state of denial.

In the second part of his story and the second stage of grief, Meursault portrays himself as just an ordinary fellow who goes along to get along, and who follows the path of least resistance as he claims most people do.  He describes his relationships with his neighbors, his friend Raymond, and his girlfriend Marie in this segment.  Raymond is a pimp who beats up his Arab girlfriend, and who repeatedly says that he wants to be “pals” with Meursault.  Meursault claims that he does not know what that means.  But he hangs around with Raymond and helps him in his schemes, which eventually leads to Meursault shooting the Arab.  Meursault also repeatedly tells his girlfriend, Marie, that he does not love her, that the word love “had no meaning” for him.  But he also tells her that if she wants to marry him, “I didn’t mind.”[29]  The affect in this part of the story is defensive, as of a person who is upset at being picked on and just doesn’t want to be bothered.

It is at the close of this segment that Meursault commits the murder.  He, Raymond, and Marie are at the beach when they came upon “the Arab” and another Algerian Arab.  Meursault believed that the Arab was the brother of the girlfriend who Raymond had assaulted, and that the Arab had a knife and might be out for revenge.  Meursault was holding Raymond’s gun.  Meursault claims he was overpowered by the heat and confused by the glare of the sun so that, standing there with Raymond’s gun in his hand, “it crossed my mind that one might fire, or not fire – and it would come to absolutely the same thing.”  He had seemingly lost his sense of reality and self-control.  Later, when he shoots the Arab, he describes holding the gun in his hand and then “The trigger gave,” as though the shot just happened and he was not responsible for it.[30]  His attitude toward the murder is completely passive, a “things just happen” tone.  It is as though in describing the event, he is either still in a state of shock or he is trying to avoid responsibility for his action.

In the next stage of the story, Meursault describes the police interrogation and the trial, and the failure of his attempts to work things out with the authorities.  He begins to sound persecuted and even paranoid.  It is not only that the police and the prosecutor keep describing him as “callous” and “inhuman,”[31] but that “there seemed to be a conspiracy to exclude me from the proceedings.”  The lawyers, court officials, reporters, and spectators all seemed to know each other, and fraternized as though they were members of a club that excluded him.  He felt like “a gate crasher.”  He wanted to tell them that “I was just like everybody else, quite an ordinary person,” but they would not listen to him.  He says that he realized then “how all these people loathed me,” and were out to get him.[32]

Following the verdict and sentencing ,Meursault describes going into a state of anxiety and depression.  He is desperate to find a way out of being executed.  He says that to find “a loophole [in the law] obsesses me.”  Although he still has an appeal pending, and repeatedly expresses hope that the appeal will be successful, his tone is increasingly agitated.  He is assured by a visiting priest that “my appeal would succeed,” but he is, nonetheless, admittedly possessed by fear, and he goes into a rage at the priest when the priest suggests that he repent.[33]

Finally, on the last page of the book, Meursault says he has become “emptied of hope” and that “for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the tendre indifference of the universe.”[34]  This statement is generally taken by reviewers to mean that he has come to accept his fate and has realized the absurdity of life.  But, of course, he still has at this point an appeal of his sentence in the works, so it is not clear that he has really given up hope.  In addition, the French word tendre can be translated as “benign” or “tender.”  In using the word tendre to describe the universe, Meursault has essentially contradicted the idea that the universe is indifferent or that he has given up hope.  A benign or tender indifference is not indifferent.  It is sympathetic, caring, and agreeable.  The universe will, he seems still to hope, help him.

In sum, Meursault is a cunning but not entirely consistent apologist for himself.  My purpose in analyzing The Stranger in this way is not to reduce Camus’ complex novel to a series of formulaic stages.  It is merely to demonstrate that the emotional tone of Meursault’s story evolves as he narrates it, and that the narrator is not to be taken as totally reliable.  It is also the case that he is not a spokesperson for Camus nor is he intended as an existential hero.

C.  Meursault and the Myth of Sisyphus: Apathy versus Absurdity.

“To an absurd mind reason is useless and there is nothing beyond reason.”

Albert Camus. The Myth of Sisyphus.[35]

Meursault has been seen by most commentators as a spokesman for Camus, and as an ideal exemplar of the absurd person that Camus promotes in his philosophical work The Myth of Sisyphus. They see The Stranger and The Myth of Sisyphus, which were both published in 1942, as companion pieces, with Meursault representing Camus’ philosophy of absurdism.  Some of these commentators admire Camus’ philosophy and extend this admiration to Meursault as its exemplar.[36]  Others are appalled by what they see as Meursault’s callous and inhuman behavior, and extend this negative opinion to Camus’ philosophy.  Some have even accused Camus of racism based on Meursault’s attitude toward “the Arab” he has killed.[37]

Conflating Meursault with Camus and The Stranger with The Myth of Sisyphus began with an influential review of The Stranger in the mid-1940’s by Camus’ then friend Jean Paul Sartre.  Sartre, who was already a famous philosopher and novelist, gave the neophyte Camus and The Stranger a strangely ambivalent review.  In the review, Sartre repeatedly insists that The Stranger is a fictional rendering of the philosophy in The Myth of Sisyphus, with the message that life is absurd.  Along the way, he also comments that Camus “seems to pride himself on quoting” philosophers in The Myth of Sisyphus “whom he seems not to have always understood.”   And he says that Camus’ methods of writing can be best compared to those of Charles Maurras, who was a notorious anti-Semite and fascist.  Sartre concludes that The Stranger, as a novel about absurdity, “aims at being magnificently sterile,” and succeeds.  With friends like this… [38]

The problem with all of these opinions, from that of Sartre on down to the present, is that The Stranger and The Myth of Sisyphus do not function as companion pieces.  They deal with very different issues.  The Myth of Sisyphus opens with the declaration that “There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.”[39]  The book is, thereafter, a sustained argument that although life is absurd, it is for that very reason worth living.  Life and living with others are all that we have for sure, so we ought to hang onto them.  The Stranger is not a novel about suicide.  It is about murder.  It deals with the reaction of a character to having committed a murder and to his impending execution.  In any case, Meursault is in no way an exemplar of Camus’ philosophy in The Myth of Sisyphus.  To the contrary, he is better seen as a negative foil to Camus’ ideal of the absurd person.

In The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus describes and prescribes a philosophy of absurdity.  Absurdity is a “feeling of strangeness in the world” that results from the contradiction between our attempts to find transcendent meaning in the universe and our inevitable failure to do so.  The absurd person recognizes that “I don’t know whether this world has a meaning that transcends it.  But I know that I do not know that meaning and that it is impossible for me just now to know it.”  As a result, the absurd person tries “to live without appeal” to any higher authority, which includes God, the gods, or any metaphysical concepts, and to live without hope for life after death.[40]  This is not an easy thing to do.

Absurdity, according to Camus, is not a stable or secure position.  We are forced to live in a state of “permanent revolution” against ourselves because what we can rationally establish as truth conflicts with what we feel ought to be the case.  We are perpetually caught up in a contradiction between the inescapable conclusion that we cannot reasonably find any final answers, and our incorrigible feeling that they must exist.  “There is so much stubborn hope in the human heart,” Camus warns, “that hope cannot be eluded forever and that it can beset even those who wanted to be free of it.”  He concludes that “Absurdity, hope and death carry on their dialogue” in the mind of an absurd person, all of which makes for an impossible situation, but it is one the absurd person has to live with.[41]

The absurd person is best exemplified for Camus by the mythological figure of Sisyphus.  Sisyphus is variously portrayed in ancient Greek mythology as a villain and a hero, but all accounts agree that he was the craftiest of mortals, and that he frequently defied and outwitted the gods.  At one point, he even succeeded in enchaining Hades, the god of death, and thereby put a halt to humans dying.  Sisyphus was eventually defeated by Zeus, so that Hades was able to go back to work, and he was sentenced by the gods to eternally push a rock up a hill, only to have it fall back again so that he would have to push it up again.

Camus presents Sisyphus’ situation as a metaphor for the human condition.  We are all engaged in what seems like pointless activity.  But, Camus claims, Sisyphus does not despair.  Having defied the gods and rebelled against death on behalf of humankind, Sisyphus is actually happy in his perpetual toil.  In “his scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life,” Sisyphus epitomizes “the absurd hero.”  He is physically chained but metaphysically free.  And even as Sisyphus knows that the rock will roll back down each time he gets it to the top of the hill, he can feel that maybe this time it won’t.[42]

The Myth of Sisyphus opens with the question of whether suicide is warranted given the opacity of the universe.  Camus’ answer is an emphatic “No.”  An absurd person does not despair of his/her hopeless condition but, instead, revels in “my revolt, my freedom, and my passion” for life.  This is a passion that must includes others.  People, says Camus, have to make their own meaning in life, and that is a social and collective activity.  In an absurd world, he insists, there is one value that is certain and that is the value of “human relations,” “friendship,” and “fraternity.”  The isolated individual is an idiot and the isolated life is without value.  Meaning comes from solidarity.  We live with and for others, so that whatever the universe is, we are all in it and in for it together.[43]

Critics who portray Meursault as some sort of existentialist hero extol what they see as his honesty in admitting his indifference to the deaths of his mother and the Arab.  This, they contend, makes him a forthright nonconformist. [44]  They also admire what they claim is his sensitivity to those around him.  He does not deliberately offend anyone, with the exception of the dead Arab.[45]  And they commend his “emotional detachment” from the awful things he has experienced in his life.  He is in their eyes a genuine Stoic. [46]  In sum, they see his life story as a “tragedy of integrity” and a “tragedy of the ethical,” a man who was vilified at trial and convicted of murder because he failed to proclaim grief for his dead mother or love for his girl friend.[47]  Camus himself apparently once said that Meursault was condemned because “he does not play the game,” “refuses to lie,” and “agrees to die for the truth.”[48]  But none of these things make Meursault either an existentialist or an absurdist, let alone a hero.

Existentialism has been described as the doctrine that existence precedes essence, and that we are what we are not and are not what we are.  That is, it is a philosophy of becoming and change in which people are seen as having continually to go beyond themselves and make choices as to what they become next.  Existentialism insists that we must take responsibility for who we are and what we do.[49]  Given this description, Meursault is clearly not an existentialist because he continuously refuses to take responsibility for his actions, and particularly eschews responsibility for shooting the Arab.  He repeatedly describes his life as something that just came to pass, and describes the shooting as though the gun just went off almost by itself.  He also insists that he has always been the same, has never changed, and has rarely made a deliberate choice.

Meurault is also not an absurdist as Camus describes that doctrine.  Absurdism requires a person to be constantly at war with himself, looking for where and how he is starting to believe in transcendent ideas, and then rejecting them.  The absurd person has to be vigilantly self-reflective, watching what he/she thinks and feels, continually engaging in a vigorous  internal dialogue.  Meursault, to the contrary, is completely and admittedly unreflective.[50]  He is a creature of impulse, which is epitomized by his shooting of the Arab.

Some readers have mistaken Meursault’s complete absorption in the present as a sign of his existentialist and absurdist leanings.  But his self-absorption is merely a sign of selfishness and self-centeredness, which are contrary to the emphases of both existentialism and absurdism on our need to work with others to define and develop ourselves.  Significantly, Meursault is capable of sympathizing with others — he even feels sorry sometimes for his neighbor’s annoying dog — but he is incapable of empathizing with them.  He is emotionally and intellectually isolated, from others and even from himself.

Some readers have also mistaken Meursault’s unconventionality with Camus’ absurdity, but Meursault represents the apathetic person rather than the absurd person.   As he describes his life, what looks like nonconformity is really just indifference.  Deliberate rebellion is foreign to Meursault’s personality, as is passion.  He repeatedly tells his girlfriend that he does not know what love means, and he repeatedly says about choices he has to make, including the choice to shoot the Arab, that it makes no difference what he does.  The passion for life, the feeling of solidarity with others, and the revolt against injustice that characterize Camus’ absurd person are not sentiments that one could plausibly ascribe to Meursault.

Finally, while Camus emphasizes that the absurd person is energized in the face of death, defying its inevitability and gaining from it a passion for life, Meursault is depressed by his impending death and his narrative is a depressing tale told in a depressed voice.  In sum, Meursault is the opposite of the absurd person Camus is describing in The Myth of Sisyphus.

D.  Meursault and Murder: A Rebel without a Cause.

“I rebel – therefore we exist.”

Albert Camus: The Rebel.[51]

Camus’ next philosophical book after The Myth of Sisyphus was The Rebel, which was published in 1951.  It is an essay on “whether or why we have the right to kill.”  Camus says that the book extends to a consideration of murder the “train of thought which began with suicide and the absurd” in The Myth of Sisyphus.[52]  If one must not kill oneself, may one kill others?  Reviewers have generally construed The Rebel in light of the breakup of the political alliance and friendship between Sartre and Camus over the former’s support for revolutionary Communism and the latter’s support for reformist socialism.[53]

Camus argues that revolution, which tries to impose all at once a final regime of justice on society, inevitably leads to oppression and murder.  Only a reformist movement that recognizes limits on what it can do can move toward genuine social justice.  The anti-revolutionary position Camus takes in The Rebel is generally seen as a function of the end of alliances between socialists and Communists that formed during World War II and that broke up with the beginning of the Cold War.

But there is also a continuity in Camus’ thinking that goes back to the composition of The Stranger during World War  IIMost reviewers, having already taken for granted that The Stranger is a companion piece to The Myth of Sisyphus, have not made a connection between The Rebel and The Stranger.  But The Myth of Sisyphus is a book about suicide.  The Rebel and The Stranger are both books about murder.  In this light, The Stranger can be best seen as a fictional prologue to Camus’ philosophical speculations in The Rebel, not as a companion piece to The Myth of Sisyphus.  And in light of the precepts promoted by Camus in The Rebel, Meursault comes across as a negative foil to the ideal rebel.

Camus reiterates in The Rebel many key concepts from The Myth of Sisyphus.  He insists that absurdism means that “human life is the only necessary good” and that, therefore, murder, which like suicide destroys life, is wrong.  Murder splits the soul in two, which is a good description of Meursault in The Stranger, a person living a half-life.  Camus acknowledges that “The absurd is, in itself, contradictory” because it denies value judgments but judges life to be of value, which is a value judgment.  Absurdism is a prescription for contradiction because it requires us to continually rebel against beliefs that we inevitably fall into.  But these contradictions are life-giving, Camus contends, because stagnation is death.  Rebellion, which is a “protest against death” and which was Sisyphus’ crime and his glory, is life.[54]    

Camus also insists in The Rebel, as he did in The Myth of Sisyphus, that humans are social creatures, not isolated individuals, and that “Human solidarity is metaphysical,” not merely conventional.  The person who does not engage in collective activity, either rebelling against  social oppression or in favor of greater social justice, is a stranger to humanity and foreigner in the world.  The stranger is the self-imposed outcaste who does not recognize that “dignity is common to all men,” or acknowledge the ultimate truth that “I rebel – therefore we exist.”[55]  That is, Camus concludes, we only truly exist to the extent we engage in collective rebellion.

Meursault seems to think of himself as a rebel, and many critics have thought likewise, because he does not conform to social conventionalities.  But he is an unrepentant murderer who does not stand for anything or with anybody.  He has no cause to which he is dedicated.  He is merely an isolated individual, who is strange to others and strange to himself.  In Camus’ terms, a person like Meursault is not a rebel and has only a form of half-life.

E.  Brothers in Blood: Meursault and Harun.  Who is the Stranger of the two?

“The absurdity of my condition, which consisted in pushing a corpse to the top of a hill before it rolled back down again, endlessly.”

Harun, the narrator of The Meursault Investigation.[56]

The words L’Etranger, the French title of Camus’ novel, can be translated as the stranger, the outsider or the foreigner.  It is usually translated as The Stranger and most commentators see Meursault as the stranger.  He is a man estranged from himself and society.  But, the Arab he kills is also a stranger and a foreigner to Meursault, just as the Frenchman Meursault is a stranger and foreigner to the Arab.  So, who is the stranger?  Who is the foreigner?

That is a question that Huran, the narrator of Daoud’s novel The Meursault Investigation, repeatedly asks.  Both the French and the Arabs saw themselves as the genuine Algerians.  Each claimed the land was rightfully theirs, and saw the others as foreigners.  They also knew little about each other and were effectively strangers to each other in the same land.  With the independence of Algeria from France, Harun contends, this did not change.  “Independence only pushed people on both sides to switch roles,” with the oppressed becoming the oppressors and the oppressors becoming the oppressed.[57]

Harun tells his tale over the course of several days to an auditor in an Algerian bar.  He claims to be telling the story of his brother, Musa, and, thereby, reclaiming Musa’s dignity and the dignity of Arab Algerians as a whole.  His story is replete with critical comments about the French colonial regime and the current Algerian government and society.  He is himself an outsider or stranger to contemporary Algerian society.  Harun is particularly critical of the conservative Islam that has increasingly been dominating Algerian culture.  It is these latter comments that have sparked the enmity of conservative Muslims toward Daoud, as though Harun is speaking for Daoud.  Although Harun makes comments about society and religion with which apparently Daoud agrees, Harun is too unreliable and erratic a narrator to be considered Daoud’s spokesman.  He tends to discredit himself.

Harun’s narrative is more of a rant than a story, and the facts come out in dribs and drabs with lots of inconsistencies.  Ostensibly correcting Meursault’s narrative with the story of his brother, Harun’s narrative is actually a winding, whining, long-winded complaint about his own life.  His father abandoned the family when Harun was a small child.  Harun’s mother then favored Musa and neglected Harun.  When Musa was killed, Harun’s mother was inconsolable and, according to Harun, thereafter made him feel like she wished he had died rather than Musa.  Harun idolized his brother, but also feared him.  Musa seems to have been a bit of a brute who mistreated Harun.  Harun actually knows very little about Musa’s life except what his mother told him, and she was an unreliable narrator who constantly changed her stories and magnified Musa’s achievements.  She also was obsessed with getting revenge for Musa’s murder, and put the burden on Harun to achieve that.  In sum, he portrays his mother as a monster who has pushed him around all his life.

When the revolution of Arab Algerians against the French began, Harun did not join the rebels, and was subsequently scorned by his neighbors for being an outsider to their liberation struggle.  In the immediate aftermath of the revolution, at his mother’s instigation, Harun shoots and kills a Frenchman who was seeking sanctuary in their shed.  This man was a member of a neighboring family that had previously gotten Harun a place in a French school at which Harun gained the education that enabled him to get a good government job.

It is not clear exactly what was the relationship between the dead man and Huran’s mother, but the man may even have had some sort of sexual relationship with Harun’s mother.[58]  Harun was arrested by the new Algerian government for shooting the man, but was released and, as he puts it, was condemned to live rather than condemned to die as Meursault had been.  Harun seems incapable of having close relationships with anyone.  He is a very old man but in his long life he has had one girlfriend for one summer, and then she left him.

Although some reviewers have rushed to crown Harun as “an existential hero”[59] or the ideal of an honest man,[60] and others have proclaimed him a liberal social reformer,[61] Harun does not present himself as a social reformer.  Although he continually complains about the way Algeria was under the French and the way it is now, he has never done anything to change things.  One reviewer has aptly called him “a barroom kvetcher.”[62]  Like Meursault, he has been wandering through life without purpose, seemingly looking after only himself.  He is no hero and he is not Daoud.

Harun parades his alienation from society.  He is an atheist and an alcoholic in a deeply religious and abstemious society.  “I detest religions and submission,” he declaims.[63]  He is a stranger in an estranged land.  But he is no existentialist.  Like Meursault, Harun refuses to take responsibility for his actions, blaming everything on his mother, the French, his Arab neighbors, and circumstances out of his control.  With respect to the murder, he says “I blame my mother, I lay the blame on her.  The truth is, she committed that crime.”[64]

The underlying theme of the book is Harun’s feelings of guilt, which he seemingly tries to pass on to his auditor in the book and to readers of the book.  Like The Stranger, The Meursault Investigation is divided into two parts.  The Stranger is formally divided into two parts, punctuated by the murder of the Arab.  The Meursault Investigation is informally divided into two parts, with Harun’s admission that he murdered the Frenchman as the dividing point.  In the first part, Harun focuses on the murder of Musa and on his own survivor’s guilt.  In the second part, he focuses on his murder of the Frenchman and his efforts to deal with his feelings of guilt about that.

Harun’s diatribe has the superficial appearance of spontaneity, but seems really to be orchestrated.  He releases information in drips and in ways that seem calculated for maximum shock to the auditor, but also for maximum sympathy.  His is a strategy of ostensibly admitting the worst about himself as a way of pretending he is being honest, but he is really being manipulative.   When, for example, Harun finally admits his murder of the Frenchman, he at first claims that he did not know the man.  Eventually, however, he admits that he did know the man and, in fact, knew him well.  Harun first gets his audience used to the fact that he killed someone, and then gradually lets us know how awful his act really was.

Harun is an admittedly unreliable narrator.  At the close of the book, he even hints that he may be “just a compulsive liar.”[65]  In discussing The Stranger, for example, he talks at one point about “when the murderer leaves prison,” as though Meursault got the reprieve he had been seeking and was not executed.  But later in talking about Meursault, Harun refers to “after his execution,” as though Meursault had been executed.[66]  Harun also claims that this is the first time he has ever told his story, but he seems to be such a compulsive talker that this is hard to believe.

Harun’s story is laced with references to The Stranger, The Myth of Sisyphus and, significantly, The Rebel, and the word “absurd” abounds throughout.  I think the main point of Harun’s story is proclaimed midway through the book when he paraphrases the theme of The Rebel, saying that “whether or not to commit murder is the only proper question for a philosopher.”[67]  That is, when faced with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, do we have the right to murder our way out of our troubles?  And I think that Harun’s answer is “No, because you can never live it down.”

Harun illustrates this in a paraphrase of an image from The Myth of Sisyphus, when he compares his situation to “pushing a corpse to the top of a hill before it rolled back down, endlessly.”[68]  Instead of the rock that Sisyphus had to push around, Harun has to deal with guilt for two corpses, those of his brother and the Frenchman.  He seems to need to tell his story as a way of relieving himself of his guilt feelings, and thereby getting the corpses to the top of the hill.  But the guilt feelings will inevitably return again, the corpses rolling back down upon him, so that he probably has been compulsively telling his story over and over again all his adult life.  The story ends with an almost complete identification of the murderer Harun with the murderer Meusault, and the last pages of the book consist of Harun telling about how he started yelling at an Imam just as Meursault did to a priest. Harun repeats virtually the same words that Meursault said at the end of his story.[69]

The theme of The Meursault Investigation was aptly stated by one reviewer as the importance of “individual responsibility,” which is something Harun does not display, nor did Meursault.[70]   In Meursault and Harun, we have characters pushed to the extreme of facing death as isolated individuals, Meursault through execution and Harun through old age.    They make some cogent social criticisms, because self-centered people are often acutely sensitive to slights and slight social injustices to themselves.  But they are also both selfish and at best amoral.  They are not held up by their creators as model citizens.  The moral of both books seems to be the need for human solidarity as a basis for individual responsibility.  Camus once commented that the trajectory of his work from The Stranger on was toward calling more insistently for human solidarity.  Daoud seems to be furthering that trajectory.

[1] Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. p.73.

[2] As though any sane person during the 1780’s would want to keep a musket (the standard  gun at that time) in his/her house along with a bag of volatile gunpowder (needed for loading a musket) which could explode with the slightest change in humidity.  The reason the British were marching on Lexington and Concord during April, 1775, and fought the battles that are seen as the start of the American Revolution, was to confiscate the muskets and gunpowder Americans had stored in their militia armories that were located a safe distance from their homes.

[3] Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015.

[4]  Scherr, Arthur. “Camus’ The Stranger.” Baltimore Polytechnic Institute.bpi.edu  9/5/08.  Gnanasekarau, R. “Psychological Interpretation of the novel ‘The Stranger’ by Camus.” International Journal of English Literature and Culture, Vol.2(6). 6/6/14.  Charomonte, Nicola. “Albert Camus Thought That Life Is Meaningless.” The New Republic. newrepublic.com  11/7/14. John. “Algerian Writer Kamel Daoud Stands Camus’ ‘The Stranger’ on Its Head.” NPR Book Reviews. NPR.org. 6/23/15.

[5]  “The Stranger (novel). Wikipedia. 1/23/16.

[6]  “The Stranger.” Sparknotes.com. 1/23/16.

[7]   “The Stranger.” Amazon.com Review. 1/23/16.

[8]  Adler, Mortimer. How to Read a Book.

[9]  Although Camus worked with Sartre and other existentialists, he repeatedly rejected applying the label existentialist to himself.  Camus rejected what he saw as the radical skepticism bordering on nihilism of some existentialists.  But I think that some of the concepts developed by his one-time mentor and colleague Sartre can be legitimately used in analyzing The Stranger.

[10]  Sartre, Jean Paul. “Existentialism is a Humanism.”  Existentialism is a Humanism. New Haven, CN: Yale University Press, 2007. pp.25, 47.

[11]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. pp.1, 151.

[12]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. pp.137, 143.

[13]  Messud, Claire. “The Brother of ‘The Stranger.'” New York Review of Books. 10/22/15.

[14]  Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. p.

[15]  Sartre, Jean Paul. “A Commentary on The Stranger.” Existentialism is a Humanism. New Haven, CN: Yale University Press, 2007. p.94.

[16]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. p.123.

[17]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. pp.121, 128.

[18]  Quoted in Gnanasekarau, R. “Psychological Interpretation of the novel ‘The Stranger’ by Camus.” International Journal of English Literature and Culture, Vol.2(6). June 6, 2014.

[19]  Gwyn, Aaron. “Albert Camus’ Poker-faced ‘Stranger’ Became a Much Needed Friend.” NPR Books, WBEZ.  August 10,2014.  Charomonte, Nicola. “Albert Camus Thought That Life Is Meaningless.” The New Republic. newrepublic.com  November 7, 2014.

[20]  Scherr, Arthur. “Camus’ The Stranger.” Baltimore Polytechnic Institute.bpi.edu  9/5/08.

[21]  Hudon, Louis. “The Stranger and the Critics.” Yale French Studies #25. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1960. pp.62-63.  Gnanasekarau, R. “Psychological Interpretation of the novel ‘The Stranger’ by Camus.”  International Journal of English Literature and Culture, Vol.2(6). June 6, 2014.

[22]  Podhoretz, Norman. “Camus and his critics.”  The New Criterion. November, 1982. at newcriterion.com

[23]  Poore, Charles. “The Stranger.” Books of the Times. The New York Times, April 11, 1946.

[24]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. pp.76, 89.

[25]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. pp.2, 7-8, 53.

[26] [26]  See grief.com/the-five-stages-of-grief

[27]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. p.1.

[28]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. p.11.

[29]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. pp.44, 52.

[30]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. pp.72, 75, 76.

[31]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. pp.79, 109-112, 120, 125, 128.

[32]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. pp.104-105, 112, 124, 130.

[33]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. pp.136, 141, 143, 146, 148.

[34]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. p.154.

[35] Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. p.27.

[36] Hudon, Louis. “The Stranger and the Critics.” Yale French Studies #25. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1960. p.60.  Gnanasekarau, R. “Psychological Interpretation of the novel ‘The Stranger’ by Camus.” International Journal of English Literature and Culture, Vol.2(6). June 6, 2014.

[37] Podhoretz, Norman. “Camus and his critics.”  The New Criterion. November, 1982. at newcriterion.com  Ulin, David. “Review ‘The Meursault Investigation’ re-imagines Camus’ ‘The Stranger.'” Los Angeles Times. 5/28/15.

[38]  Sartre, Jean Paul.  “A Commentary on The Stranger.” Existentialism is a Humanism. New Haven, CN: Yale University Press, 2007. pp.76, 80, 81, 82, 84, 85.

[39] Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. p.3.

[40] Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. pp.11, 38, 39.

[41] Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. pp.8, 22, 40, 76, 83.

[42] Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. pp.89, 90.

[43] Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. pp.41, 47, 66.

[44] Gnanasekarau, R. “Psychological Interpretation of the novel ‘The Stranger’ by Camus.” International Journal of English Literature and Culture, Vol.2(6). June 6, 2014.

[45] Scherr, Arthur. “Camus’ The Stranger.” Baltimore Polytechnic Institute.bpi.edu  9/5/08.

[46] Gwyn, Aaron. “Albert Camus’ Poker-faced ‘Stranger’ Became a Much Needed Friend.” NPR Books, WBEZ.  August 10,2014.

[47] Charomonte, Nicola. “Albert Camus Thought That Life Is Meaningless.” The New Republic. newrepublic.com  November 7, 2014.

[48] Quoted in Gnanasekarau, R. “Psychological Interpretation of the novel ‘The Stranger’ by Camus.” International Journal of English Literature and Culture, Vol.2(6). June 6, 2014.

[49]  Sartre, Jean Paul. Existentialism is a Humanism. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007.

[50]  Camus, Albert. The Stranger. New York: Vintage Books, 1946. p.127.

[51] Camus, Albert. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956, p.22

[52] Camus, Albert. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956. pp.4-5.

[53]  “Albert Camus.” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. plato.stanford.edu  “The Rebel: Essay by Camus.” britannica.com.  “Camus: Portrait of a Rebel.” Socialist Standard. worldsocialism.org

[54]  Camus, Albert. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956. pp.6, 8, 10, 281, 285.

[55]  Camus, Albert. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956. pp.17, 22, 280, 297.

[56]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. p.47.

[57]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. pp.11, 34, 60.

[58]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. pp.119,122.

[59]  Yassin-Kassab, Robin. “The Meursault Investigation by Kamel Daoud review – an instant classic.” the guardian. 6/24/15.

[60]  Messud, Claire. “The Brother of the ‘Stranger.'” New York Review of Books. 10/22/15.

[61]  Moaveni, Azadeh. “‘The Meursault Investigation’ by Kamel Daoud.” Financial Times. 6/10/15. Battersby, Ellen. “The Meursault Investigation by Kamel Daoud review: L’Estranger danger.” Irish Times. 6/27/15.

[62]  “The Meursault Investigation.” Kirkus Review.

[63]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. p.66.

[64]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. pp.77, 84, 88, 89.

[65]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. p.143.

[66]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. pp.53, 55.

[67]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. p.89.

[68]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. p.47.

[69]  Daoud, Kamel. The Meursault Investigation. New York: Other Press, 2015. p.140-142.

[70]  Powers, John. “Algerian Writer Kamel Daoud Stands Camus’ ‘The Stranger’ on Its Head.” NPR Book Reviews. NPR.org  6/23/15.