The Stranger by Albert Camus – The Distilled Nectar of Meaninglessness

Here is one of the quintessential 20th-century novels. Often assigned to college students as an introduction to Existentialism, it is the story (quoting from the back of the book now) “an ordinary man who unwittingly gets drawn into a senseless murder on a sun-drenched Algerian beach.” It is an exploration of, in Camus’ own words, “the nakedness of man faced with the absurd.”

It is well written, draws you in, and certainly has an unusual and distinctive feel. Perhaps more than any other novel I have read, it captured the bleakest essence of the absence of morality and meaning that characterized the post-war era, ending more or less around the passing of Queen Elizabeth II. I was struck by many things as I read it.

The protagonist, Meursault, exists in a moral vacuum. He is utterly passive in almost every situation he finds himself in, even in the face of evil. The 20th-century taught us that passivity in the face of evil is evil. Camus knew this better than you and me—he was a brave man who joined the French resistance under Nazi occupation during WW2, risking his life countless times. But rather than make any moral judgments about anything, Meursault merely finds things ‘interesting’ or not. When a moral pronouncement is made in his presence, he abdicates completely and says, “Who’s to say?” As the narrative picks up momentum, we find him saying “it doesn’t matter” (or variations of it) to all kinds of events that obviously matter very much.

Therefore everything is reduced to the absurd, the amoral meaninglessness of existence in an accidental universe. Death, abuse, lies, oppression, and murder are all meaningless. The only time we see Meursault caring about anything is when it involves his imprisonment and possible execution.

Camus once said that there was only one serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. The fundamental question for him then was whether life is worth living or not.

I have read a number of books by these kinds of thinkers now and they all seem very brave and bold, willing to face the cold dark winds of an uncaring universe while the rest of us simpletons huddle stupidly around the warm fires of our comforting delusions. And I get that—there is certainly something seemingly absurd about life. The wise have recognized that for some thousands of years, such as the teacher in Ecclesiastes who said that everything under the sun was meaningless. But ultimately the conclusion of Ecclesiastes is quite different than anything offered by existentialist literature.

The scene where the Christian accosts Meursault is painful to read. The Christian says, “all men believe in God, even those who turn their backs on him.” I hear echoes of Romans 1. Meursault comments: “That was his belief, and if he were ever to doubt it, his life would become meaningless.” The Christian then shouts “Do you want my life to become meaningless?” It is a good scene, a good rebuke and warning. Faith can have many pathologies, such as the cringing insecurity Camus exposes in this scene. It is right for me to read that and ponder whether my faith is so fragile that it cannot abide the indifference of a Meursault.

But Camus ought to have turned the tables on himself a little. The more I read these folks, the more I am struck by the fleeting vapidity of their lives. Which of them has actually produced anything? Have they raised flourishing families of whole and happy children and grandchildren—legacies of truth flowering into maturity? Have they built lasting institutions of learning that have these great insights as foundation-stones for a growing body of wisdom and knowledge that can guide future generations? Have they taught us how to live in such a way that a society or culture based on these teachings would grow and flourish into a great civilization?

And these comforting delusions they have so confidently thrown aside, are they really without any merit? Is there no baby in that bathwater? Has enlightenment thinking really dealt a death-blow to belief in God? Or has it merely managed to create that illusion with smoke and mirrors and the bleating insistence of our cultural elites for the last two hundred years? Haven’t we witnessed a group of very brilliant people enamored with the idea and possibilities of a godless existence and the resulting emancipation from moral imperatives?

Well, you know what I think.

Camus and others tried to stave off nihilism with existentialism. Life is worth living, despite the pointlessness of everything, because it is nice to eat ice cream on a hot day, and the grass on your feet is nice, and many things are interesting. But this is like treating a 6 inch cannon-ball wound through the chest with a dab of Polysporin and grape-flavored Children’s Advil. It will not hold, and it does not hold, and we today are everywhere seeing and feeling just how badly it has not held. There is no buttress against vice, no strength to deny the self and build strong families, no roots to draw from, no meaning to guide you, and ultimately nothing to satisfy what Augustine rightly described as the restlessness of the soul. If anything, Camus shows us what it looks like to try and make your bed in that restlessness, like that dog who says “this is fine.”

These 80 years later, with the youth of the West mired in ‘The Meaning Crisis,’ and suicide sharply on the rise, and all sorts of troubling trends on the rise, it seems clear that the bed is not very comfortable, or safe. More foreboding still is the sense that the vacuum is quickly collapsing. The nihilists and existentialists are mostly forgotten. The energy now is with a rising tide of what R. R. Reno calls the Strong Gods, which range from faceless ideologies that colonize young minds to a panoply of paganisms, including human sacrifice and contact with spiritual entities. But as I have tried to argue elsewhere, there is a heartening stream of conversions to Christianity among the currents flowing in to fill the yawning void.

I enjoyed the book, but I am so glad I am not a disciple of Camus.