The Outsider, by Albert Camus | Review

‘Yes, that was all I had. But at least it was a truth which I had hold of just as it had hold of me. I’d been right, I was still right, I was always right.’

At face value, this novel is quite simple. It is written in short sentences, and the fate of Meursault unfolds at a rational pace. However, what makes this novel so special is that it demands the reader to think, to think about almost every single sentence. This is something that I had never experienced before, and it makes it a novel that I will cherish forever.

The Outsider represents the epitome of existentialist thinking. Although existentialism can be interpreted differently, as we saw with Camus and at one time his closest friend, Jean-Paul Sartre, the philosophy can cause immense division because it is not as fixed as other philosophies. After all, as Jordan B. Peterson has said many times, ‘Existentialism is not a comprehensive philosophy or a way of life but an endeavour to grasp reality.’ It is arguably the means of grasping reality that sparked Camus and Sartre’s disagreements on this.

The essential premise for Camus was that the world is innately meaningless, but as humans we keep seeking meaning for ourselves. What was remarkable about Camus was his role not only as a novelist but as a philosopher. However, his prose writing and his philosophising were both equally accessible. Camus wrote in The Myth of Sisyphus, published alongside The Outsider in 1942, ‘What can a meaning outside my condition mean to me? I can understand only in human terms.’

This notion of understanding purely in human terms is extrapolated in Meursault’s journey in The Outsider where the protagonist’s unconventional reaction to the established justice system is jarring to those around him and to even to us as readers. Of course, in his first novel, Camus dramatises and exaggerates this idea through Mersault’s fate, yet the ideas which he touched on resonate profoundly with readers to this day.

As humans and ‘rational beings’, we attempt to establish order in our lives and for the constructs around us, yet this is all within a universe which is fundamentally indifferent. The reaction of the universe to our pursuit is nothing but silence. In many ways, Meursault embodies this indifference himself, which is astonishing. His attitude to his crime and punishment is remarkable in its confidence that life is innately futile. It is an unapologetic and unflinching mindset.

The trial of Mersault after he murders an Arab on a beach is not exclusive to the actual crime of his committing a murder. As the court learns more of his character and how it is not aligned with societal and religious norms, he becomes increasingly tried for ‘crimes’ on counts other than murder. The fact that he did not cry at his mother’s funeral and his general indifference in the face of her passing is used against his case for a more lenient sentence. The fact that Meursault’s mother was in a care home and was very old anyway is not taken into consideration during this unanimous criticism of his character.

Regarding the murder itself, we do not necessarily sympathise with Meursault because of his role as the protagonist but instead, his excuse for his barbarity is offered up by Camus’ lyricism. How Camus deftly conveyed the nauseating heat of the scorching sun leading up to the murder almost offered a rationale behind Meursault’s decision.

However, this does not come as a surprise to Meursault, who is wise to the idea that fairness is not a thread upon which life hangs. He believes that nobody can force you to do something, so you are therefore morally responsible for everything that you do. This is a particularly pertinent notion in Meursault’s conflict with the priest towards the end of the novel where he is essentially made to feel immensely guilty for lacking a conscience in the eyes of God. Meursault’s indifference here, instead of being bleak, is actually rather comical.

For Camus, we are all condemned to death, condemned to the guillotine. What is important is how we discover the consequences of our actions. We are all mortal, living for the here and now, immediacy, spontaneity, not sacrificing the pleasures of today for tomorrow. Contemplating the meaning of life is really in itself a meaningless exploration to task oneself with, especially for a thinker such as Peterson: ‘The fundamental quality of human existence is limitation in the face of incomprehensible complexity.’ At the end of the day, Camus philosophy regarding this cruel world of ours is that it will only look down on us with a shrug of the shoulders when our reckoning comes to pass.

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