Transcending "The Stranger" in Camus

“Today, mother died. Or maybe it was yesterday, I don’t know”. These are the stark words which open Albert Camus’ 1942 novel L’étranger (The Stranger), an exploration of death, detachment, indifference, and how society views those who appear so disconnected from what makes us inherently human – affection, affinity, relationship.

Stay with me.

Earlier translations of the novel rendered the first sentence as the blunt “Mother died today”, but it has been argued more recently this places undue emphasis on perhaps an inappropriate translation of “mother” (maman, in the original), rather than the more existentially significant “today” (aujourd’hui, in the original). For the absurdist Camus, it is the value of what happens today, rather than the value of those to whom it happens, that is arguably made significant in the original text “Aujourd’hui, maman est morte”.

Hang in there…

Maman, one of the French words which denote a female parent, is widely recognised as an informal and warm term, like mum, or even mummy, rather than the more distanced and formal mother (more usually translated from mère). When considered this way, Meursault’s (the novel’s protagonist) detachment seems arguably even more pronounced.

His maman’s death happened, but the question Meursault addresses is not what he feels about this, but his uncertainty about which day it has occurred. Such disconnection seems an affront to many of us; what type of inhuman response is it when a man cannot even remember the timing of his maman’s passing.

Nearly there!

Meursault also appears in the novel to struggle grieving for his departed maman. While others around him mourn, Meursault gives little sign the loss impacts him. It’s a remarkable response that is condemned by many who observe this response and consider it callous.

Meursault’s experience offers a stark and timely analogy for a reflection on the first half of this year.

Come with me on this, for a few moments. It may seem less strange the further we go. Or it might not.

Many have already returned to a new term, while tomorrow heralds the start of another term for schools across the remaining half of Australia’s states and territories.

Half a year has passed. It’s not quite the same as the life of a maman, admittedly, but it’s a passage of time that is now complete. How do I feel about what has happened during this time? What am I pleased with? Proud of? Frustrated by? Disappointed about? Determined still to achieve? Anticipating for this next part of the year?

Hopefully, I’m not indifferent to what has passed, like Meursault. Or maybe I am, I don’t know.

Perhaps some of you have mixed report cards. I do. I’ve never really been one to set New Year’s resolutions, but I do like to have some sense of what I’d like to accomplish throughout the year ahead. At this point in the year, the evidence is that some aspirations remain unrealised; while some have been delayed, some never will be. Accepting this is a mixed blessing.

I’d hoped to shift #the40project onto a different platform and open wider opportunities to engage. But technical issues and the urgencies of paid employment leaves this unattained.

I’d hoped to find consistent and regular time to think, reflect, and write, encouraged that our community continues to grow each week. But frustrating fits and spurts with health have not afforded this.

It’s because no matter how much we might wish it, life sometimes gets more in the way than we anticipate. When we are faced with the consequences of our own misjudgement, or unwillingness to put in requisite effort to make something happen, it seems more palatable not to have achieved what we’d wished than when we must face the impact of what is forced upon us, often well beyond our direct control; at least we can take some responsibility (or even comfort) for a lack of realisation when we hold direct responsibility.

But when circumstances happen to us, when the choices we face are those we never envisaged, when our vision for possible futures is radically altered, we are asked something different in response.

Do I “kick against the goads” (Euripides, The Bacchae, l. 795; cf., also Acts 26:14), resisting that which I cannot prevent, and which will only cause me pain? Do I complain the universe has singled me out for unwanted, or unwarranted, attention? Do I seek only the straight and flat paths, and by embracing them miss out on wisdom gained from travelling unexpected (and unknown) verdant valleys, misty mountains, dark glens, and meandering tracks?

Do I, like Meursault, embrace the temporal and experiential while resisting the relational and emotional? Well...do I...???

Meursault’s indifference is expressed through his inability to identify when his mother passed. It’s a moment we only ever experience once.

And such indifference is not mine. With confidence I say, “it was yesterday”.

Requiescat?in?pace, maman.

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