Are we reading The Stranger wrong?
A novel about meaninglessness, or a call to ethical responsibility?
There is something strange about what matters in The Stranger, as one searches for a moment of clarity in these pages like fumbling for meaning in an obscure dream, wondering if the pursuit is better abandoned altogether. But in spite of the daunting abyss Meursault confronts us with, like many, if not all dreams, I do believe there is something to be found in the empty spaces between these lines, which is just one of the many surprises this novel has to offer.
For starters, I did not expect a novel about the absence of meaning to be half as funny as it is, but what did indeed initially strike me was the sheer comedy of the thing. I found myself giggling out loud within the first few chapters at one of Meursault’s many awkward interactions, when he responds with a nod, ‘as if to say “yes.”’, to the rowdy football players waving and shouting at him (p. 27). But I suppose part of the amusement I found in Meursault’s narration was also to some extent a product of my own discomfort. It is Meursault’s refusal to perform conventional human emotions that, while at times hilarious, also descends into disturbing territory. And this is evidently what the court finds truly concerning also, as we find ourselves witnessing the trial of a man who is condemned to death for not crying at his mother’s funeral.
Meursault is often interpreted as the mouthpiece for Camus’ philosophy of absurdism, whose unapologetic honesty illuminates the shadowy recesses of these social games and moral mirages we entertain, reflecting back the barren dunes of a universe that is irrational and chaotic. And while I did find Meursault’s indifference to be disconcerting, what I found to be most absurd throughout The Stranger was the misplacement of meaning by those around him, rather than the lack thereof.
While it feels equally absurd to have to mention that Meursault is absolutely not a hero, I feel compelled to make my stance on this clear, since, to my initial surprise, it is a conclusion that some readers arrive at. When you flatten Meursault into a misunderstood hero who champions honesty while refusing to perform, you fall into the exact same trap that the court does— misplacing what really matters. And while I could continue to digress on the nuances of Meursault’s character, the judgement that should take moral precedence is this: he is a murderer, and rather than dwelling on the quirks of our homicidal protagonist, both the court and readers alike, should focus our attentions on the forgotten victim of this story, ‘the Arab’.
The dehumanisation of Arabs in The Stranger is something I could not—would not—avert my gaze from during my reading, and yet, disappointingly, it is not something that I have seen occupy much space in the online discourse surrounding this text. The Arab characters in this novel are just that— ‘the Arabs’; they are never given names, identity, or any meaningful characterisation. Even when Meursault is in the act of murdering itself, he does not seem to view ‘the Arab’ as a human being, as after the first initial shot is fired his concern is not that he has murdered a man, but rather that he has ‘destroyed the balance of the day and the perfect silence of this beach’ (p.60). However, this lack of empathy is not at all shocking from a man who seems indifferent to conventional morality, but what becomes truly disturbing is the reinforcement of this indifference that is displayed by the court.
When Meursault is taken into custody, he himself immediately points out that his is a very simple case (p.63). But the justice system clearly does not agree, as the murdering of an Arab becomes merely an insignificant backdrop to the ludicrous drama that we witness unfold in the courtroom, as we listen to the prosecution and defence argue over ‘the story of the white coffee and the cigarette’ (p. 87), attempting to clarify the damning details of who offered who a cigarette, or drank coffee with milk, in the presence of his mother’s cadaver. An article I read by Mary Ann Witt asks the question that had been at the forefront of my mind, ‘Why is the colonial arm of justice so interested in the defendant’s relationship with his mother?.’1 Witt argues that to colonialists, Meursault’s relationship to his mother may symbolically resemble that of his relationship to his motherland, and if Meursault did not cry at his own mother’s funeral, then who’s to say that he would not treat his motherland with the same indifference?
While Meursault’s detached narration and dehumanisation was disturbing to read, the theatrics of the courtroom reveals a more sinister system of how our society functions, choosing to ignore the violence in order to focus on the fact that Meursault will not perform in a way that serves their agendas. A world that is more concerned with social performance and constructing a framework of selective morality, while completely sidelining violence against Arabs, is not one I wish to partake in. But sadly, it is the one I have found myself in.
At the end of Camus’ afterword to The Stranger, he describes Meursault as a Christlike figure, saying that he is ‘the only Christ we deserve’. He claims that this is said ‘without any intention of blasphemy’, and I believe him. My mind immediately went to Dostoyevsky’s Christlike figure, Myshkin, from The Idiot. Myshkin attempts to embody true goodness, defying the hypocritical social structures erected through flawed morality and self-preservation. But his magnanimous nature in a corrupt world cannot survive, as by the end of the novel we are left with a babbling idiot, who has broken against the authoritarian systems that could not mould him. In this respect, perhaps Camus is right, the only Christ a cruel world deserves is one that reflects their inherently empty ideals back at them.
The Stranger, ironically to what the title suggests, holds up a haunting mirror to a world all too familiar. The true horror of this novel lies in the way it reflects a society where social performance is valued above ethical responsibility. But rather than interpreting this story merely as a harrowing depiction of what is absent, I believe we can choose to respond to it as a call to action— revolt against systems that demand emotional conformity while turning a blind eye to violence when it protects existing power structures. Even if, like Camus, you believe that there is no inherent moral structure, this only further adds to the weight of responsibility on humans to uphold ethical meaning. This novel may suggest that the world offers us no salvation, but I think I fall more on the Myshkin side of the scales.
‘Beauty will save the world.’
Maybe Myshkin was wrong; maybe I am just a hopeless romantic, but I think there is beauty in the pursuit of trying to save the world, even if all roads lead to madness in the end.
Further reading
Mary Ann Witt, ‘Race and Racism in “The Stranger” and “Native Son”’
Arthur Scherr, ‘Meursault’s Dinner with Raymond: A Christian Theme in Albert Camus’s “L’Étranger”’
Victor Brombert, ‘Camus and the Novel of the “Absurd”’
Mary Ann Witt,‘Race and Racism in “The Stranger” and “Native Son”’’, The Comparatist, Vol. 1 (MAY 1977), pp. 35-47 (p. 43).
I found Meursault's reflections of his behavior during the trial very reminiscent of how people like Ahmaud Arbery's killers try to act - like they didn't know that by following someone around with a gun, they were aggressors, or almost as if they didn't know what a gun does at all, that its entire purpose is to kill a person. Events he's able to recall in minute detail are also, somehow, like a fugue state in which he doesn't know why he did anything, even though each act consistently escalated toward the murder. A book likely of interest is The Meursault Investigation by the Algerian writer Kamel Douad, though I haven't read it myself.
This was wonderful! You've given me a newfound appreciation of the novel. I love the way you articulate your ideas so clearly and so poetically!