lost in absurdity
Existential crisis. As I first encountered this term in second grade while watching my favorite influencer at the time attempting to navigate post-college life, my understanding of the term was as simple as the link between “existential” and “exist”. From this basic connection, I deduced that an “existential crisis” probably had something to do with why we… exist — a question far too complex for an eight year-old to deconstruct. Imagining myself in the influencer’s position, I failed to understand why she needed to ponder her purpose in life when, in my eyes, the perfect path for her was clear as day. She made great videos and seemed to be genuine in her passion to create content and share it on the internet, so why hesitate at the idea of becoming a full-time influencer? Of course, I was naive; many of the important factors that I can easily think of now, like potential financial hardship or pressure from family and society to choose a more stable career, are not known to a young child.
In essence, money and (the desire for) validation, two intangible things, are both notions simply fabricated by the human mind. A child is not born with knowledge of such notions; it is learned through their environment. As age increases, so does the urge to fit the mold constructed by society and heeding formalities, like pursuing desired careers or gaining approval by means of financial success. My young naivety is proof of the futility of dwelling on the purpose of human existence, and furthermore, the insecurity of societal conventions.
After exploring similar existentialist themes in The Stranger and The Trial, I would define existentialism as the idea that existence comes prior to essence. Along this principle, Sartre, a key figure in the discussion of existentialism, argued that there exists a human condition instead of an inherent, predetermined purpose – we perpetually imagine and reimagine our place in life as it moves forward. In his words, “we have neither behind us, nor before us, in the luminous realm of values, any means of justification or excuse” (Russo), promoting indifference to established norms and ethical guidelines rather than using them as a tool to rationalize actions or as a cheat sheet on the “correct” way of living.
From world-building to diction, Camus and Kafka employ numerous elements which create the dreary atmosphere characteristic of many existentialist and absurdist works. One similarity between The Stranger and The Trial is evident: their titles. The pure austerity of both titles reflects the existentialist idea that society often assigns meaning where there is none to begin with. Despite being devoid of meaning, life is consumed by this absurd trap in which society is “contaminated by… psychological and moral fictions… to make life coherent and significant” (Bersani). Yet, this persistence to apply artificial meaning to every aspect of life ultimately holds no value.
Furthermore, from an absurdist’s perspective, both titles are remarkably ironic. Society effectively labels Meursault as a “stranger”, but only because of his non-conformity to societal constructs, and K.’s “trial” is not a proper hearing for the crimes he has apparently committed. Even a trial, a seemingly concrete setting, is merely an elaborate, abstract creation contrived by humans; this fact makes us question the rationality of social conventions as a whole.
From the first line of The Stranger, there is something off about Meursault – what kind of character would begin a narrative with "Maman died today"? Even if we disregard the sheer lack of emotional response to what would be a grievous event for others, his language is oddly aloof. It doesn't feel like "Maman" – an affectionate term for "mother" – should be in the same sentence as "died today," an awfully direct way of saying “passed away” or “took her last breath”. Further analyzing Meursault’s peculiar diction, Bersani argues that “[h]is emotional originality appears to consist in his choosing to develop only the least charged element in the first sentence… The words most strikingly devoid of the feelings conventionally associated with a mother’s death are not Meursault’s at all.” The uncanny and exceedingly neutral tone used by narrators in existentialist/absurdist works like Meursault indicates their detachment from society and traditional societal norms.
Similar language can be seen all throughout The Stranger, and to a lesser extent (but nevertheless considerably), in The Trial. Kafka employs a concise, straightforward style that clashes with the tortuous world which he builds; however, the narrative is also often fragmented, “contibut[ing] to the overall sense of doubt and disorientation” (Esbenshade). Furthermore, the narration takes on a third-person limited point of view, which restricts the reader from contemplating the thoughts of characters excluding K., creating a sense of unsettling confinement in K.’s narrow understanding of what is happening around him.
The juxtaposition between K.’s miserable death – with the famous last words, “‘Like a dog!’” (Kafka 121) – and Meursault’s rather serene one perfectly demonstrates the detriment of K.’s non-existentialist mindset. Meursault’s acceptance of his label as a “stranger” in society and realization of the inevitability of death allows him to welcome a tranquil end, while K.’s despair and loathing only harms himself to his very last breath.
At the same time, however, Meursault’s thoughts in the face of death are paradoxical. He is shunned and ostracized by society, as symbolized by his trial; yet, after all of it, he says, “For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only one wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate” (Camus 123). The contradiction between his insouciance and desire for companionship as death approaches, despite being rooted in animosity, demonstrates the complexity of his existential journey. This duality underscores the glaring impact of alienation by society on his psyche (especially considering he is an extremely detached character), as he understands the absurdity of life but nevertheless yearns for a shared human experience; it makes us question as readers whether Meursault underwent a genuine transformation in which he truly accepted the inevitability of death.
Furthermore, in his jail cell in the face of impending death, Meursault tells the priest that he has not committed any “sins,” but “merely that he has performed an anti-social act” (Wagner). Yet, despite his denial of committing a wrong, Meursault cannot face the guilt of what he has done, and feels the need to punish himself by being “greet[ed]... with cries of hate”, which Wagner calls “a masochistic satisfaction with his fate.” Given Meursault’s existentialist views, we would assume that he would compliantly welcome his beheading; instead, he “leap[s] to his death, leaping into the maternal sea, rather than continuing to struggle in the gray twilight of the life of the absurd” (Wagner).
In The Trial, K. exclaims with his last words that he is treated “like a dog” by the justice system that psychologically forced him into submission, “as if the shame of it should outlive him” (Kafka 121). As he struggles to rebel, his evident hatred towards the authority of his world causes him pain until his last heartbeat. According to Lee, it is human nature that, “trembling at the edge of the unknowable abyss, of the uncertain future transformation—we have in a certain way already gone beyond our bodies inasmuch as we have the power of speech and of language.” Thus, in a way, it is K.’s excessive rumination about the inscrutable machinations in his totalitarian world that ultimately leads to his downfall.
In short, the enigmatic endings of existentialist/absurdist works leave the reader with the lingering uncertainty of existential questions and unresolved fates; it illustrates the equivocal nature of human existence and the absurdity of the elusive pursuit of meaning.
Besides the absence of inherent meaning in an absurd society, elements such as tone, point of view, and ambiguous endings contribute to the forlorn atmosphere of existentialist/absurdist works. It is through the resulting existential angst that we can truly begin to understand the human desire for solitude and the relentless search for purpose.
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