CAMUS AS CONSERVATIVE:
A Post 9/11 Reassessment Of The Work of Albert Camus.....
by Murray Soupcoff,
The
Iconoclast
December 12, 2002
Not long after the tragic events of 9/11, The Guardian -- that last fanatical
bastion of English left-wing obstinacy and foolishness -- published a unique
book review honouring the latest Penguin edition of The Plague, the enduring
fictional allegory of human suffering and sacrifice, written by French existentialist
novelist Albert Camus.
It was particularly surprising that The Guardian, of all publications,
would publish what was really a revised introduction to the latest English-language
edition of The Plague, since Camus' unique philosophical and political
point of view was always so different from that of most of today's Guardian
contributors.
Like many other European intellectual heirs of Heidegger at the end of World
War II, Camus philosophically travelled to the very edge of the ontological
abyss and resolutely confronted a black Nietzschean vision of the death of God
and the end of all conventional morality (a bleak vision sparked by the horrors
of the Nazi era and the complicity of so many "ordinary" citizens in the cruelties
of the holocaust). But unlike such existentialist contemporaries as Jean Paul
Sartre, Camus did not cope with the "anxiety", "nausea" and "dread" that accompanied
this nihilistic vision by taking refuge in the most popular left-wing "isms"
of his day.
As reviewer Tony Judd appropriately noted in his Guardian piece, Camus'
point of view in The Plague is particularly worth careful study after
the events of 9/11. If nothing else, it demonstrates that if he had somehow
still been alive on the day of that terrorist nightmare, he -- unlike most leftist
thinkers of yesterday and today -- would have had no problem making judgements
about who was at fault and why. And it is very unlikely that he would have been
tempted to justify (or rationalize) the horrific actions of al-Qaeda by proffering
the well-worn slander, so popular on the Continent, that the United States somehow
deserved what it got.
Of course, there's no doubt that Camus was definitely a man of the political
left. He had been raised in grinding poverty in Algeria. And he was briefly
a member of the Communist Party in pre-War Algeria. But unlike Sartre and his
pampered middle-class friends, Camus didn't existentially seek an awareness
of "being" by means of a dogmatic ideological mission to redress human misery
through the totalitarian Stalinist revolutionary solution (with all the doublethink
and violence this ideological undertaking involved). Instead, Camus -- to use
his mode of expression -- "revolted" against the "no" in life by embracing the
"yes" in existence.
Camus would not take the easy way out intellectually, by abandoning all notions
of morality and ethics in politics for the sake of the ultimate good (the revolution).
Unlike Sartre and company, he rejected the era's most beckoning diversion from
the phenomenological nihilist nightmare -- an intellectual fun ride on the deterministic
Marxist roller coaster of historical inevitability, an intellectual adventure
during which one immersed oneself in the extremes of a historical dialectic
in which the end (the revolution) justified any means (murder, show trials and
the extermination of all who get in the way).
As existentialists, intellectual contemporaries such as Sartre may well have
attempted to confront the angst-inducing vision of the godless, nihilistic hellhole
that represented "existence" for free thinkers in post-Nazi Europe. However,
Sartre and his followers flinched. They turned away from this depressing nightmare,
and found an escape from free will in the siren call of the dialectical "historical"
struggle and all the comforting certainties (and rigidities) that the Stalinist
strain of Communism offered them at the time. And by throwing themselves into
the pursuit of the revolutionary end, they and their myriad compatriots in the
class struggle were freed to pursue any means. In their minds, they and political
idols like Stalin were unrestrained by the limits of everyday morality from
pursuing the extremes of human cruelty that the revolutionary mission might
demand.
In the class struggle, they could find "meaning" and "aliveness" in being. They
could experience a Nietzschean "vitality" that only intellectual Ubermensches
of revolutionary culture like themselves could truly appreciate. And through
the struggle for revolution, they could transcend the empty nothingness of everyday
bourgeois existence that so upset them.
Camus too came face to face with the same nihilistic vision that bedeviled most
European freethinkers in the aftermath of World War II -- the dark, rootless
path of constant suffering that was life, which ended only in the fear and trembling
that attended godless death. But -- to use his language -- he "revolted" against
this nihilistic dead end, the absurdity of existence that comprises the vale
of tears of human life.
Instead of succumbing to the darkness of this nihilistic vision, by affirming
the "no" in life, he turned to what he considered to be the "yes" in life --
the a-priori light of human existence: others. He said "yes" to the intrinsic
sense of solidarity he experienced toward his fellow humans (no matter how imperfect
they were), and otherwise strived to accept the unalterable "limitations" of
human existence.
Rebellion for Camus was not the inhumane "ends-justifies-the-means" action demanded
by the historical struggle for the perfect revolutionary social order -- with
all the murderous extremes that such a struggle inevitably encompassed. Camus'
notion of rebellion resisted the nihilistic call, by affirming the relatedness
of self to others and to nature. One strived to accept the limitations of human
existence, all the while savoring every joy in life and fighting against every
private or civic action that brought unjust suffering to others.
For Camus, the true "rebel" embraced human solidarity, as both means and ends,
in a continuing "revolt" against the nihilistic shadow. The rebel could feel
most alive by transcending the nothingness of being and finding meaning in relatedness
to his or her fellows. And within Camus' humanistic world view, even the unceasing
dialectical march of revolutionary history had to come to a halt when confronted
by the exigencies of an even more basic a-priori truth of existence -- each
human's essential solidarity with and obligation to the other.
Of course, after wading through this somewhat arcane discussion, you're probably
thinking by now: "So what? It's 2002. Why bother ourselves with outdated writings
from more than 50 years ago? Why refight the philosophical and political battles
of post-War Europe now?"
The answer is twofold. First of all, after a careful reading of Camus, it's
not difficult to come to the conclusion that despite his life-long leftist political
leanings, he was a philosophical conservative by nature. And secondly, he still
remains one of the best intellectual antidotes for budding college-age intellects
searching for "meaning" amidst the empty, sterile conformity that comprises
life in contemporary capitalist society (in their minds anyway).
Camus is a cautionary literary and philosophical footnote to the post-Heidegger
European intellectual quest that has bequeathed to us the intellectual poison
of Foucault and Jacques Derrida, and the soul-destroying theorems of deconstruction.
He is an energizing antidote to the paralyzing non-judgmentalism of post-modernist
political thought that produced the strange ambivalence (if not satisfaction)
of North American intellectuals regarding the events of 9/11.
As a man of political action, Albert Camus may have adopted the language and
world view of European leftist politics as he battled against the social and
political injustices of the 1940's and 1950's. But perhaps because his entire
identity was so rooted in the practical, real-world sensibility of the working-class
surroundings of his Algerian childhood, and his strong identification with the
eternal rhythms of nature that dominated life in the seaside surroundings of
his birthplace, Camus could not shake an intrinsic conservatism in his perception
of the dynamics of change in human life. Consequently, in quasi-philosophical
treatises like The Rebel, over and over again he cautioned even the most
well-meaning social and political revolutionaries of the need to keep in mind
the "limitations" of human existence -- the innate and enduring injustices of
life and nature which mere human interventions could never alter (after all,
life's greatest injustice may well be that we inevitably die).
Like some wise old conservative, even the youthful Camus seemed to have an instinctive
skepticism about the perfectibility of man or his social institutions. And just
like post-war conservatives in the U.S. (of whom he did not approve), he instinctively
recognized the travesties of the great Stalinist experiment in revolutionary
society that was the Soviet Union of the 1930s, '40s and '50's. He was appalled
by the Stalinist show trials of the 1930's. He condemned the ruthlessness of
the petty commissars and tyrants who flourished in the Communist revolutionary
milieu of the 1930's and '40's. And unlike leftist European intellectual contemporaries
like Sartre, he strenuously objected to the Soviets' ruthless suppression of
the anti-communist Hungarian uprisings of 1956.
Most important, Camus' literary and philosophical writings offer an alternative
intellectual magnet for today's disaffected young intellectuals. He addresses
the sense of alienation and rebellion still experienced by today's idealistic
young thinkers in the post-modern age, those stubborn young minds still trying
to forge an "authentic" path amidst the absurdity and banality of what they
view as modern living. Having confronted death in his many bouts with tuberculosis,
and during his participation in the French resistance movement, Camus convincingly
tackles the question of living authentically within the modern existential void.
And yet unlike Heidegger's post-modernist successors, Camus rejects any escape
into the moral relativism of post-structural nihilism.
For in the end, Camus recognizes the existence of good and evil in human life.
And in his writings, as in his life, he tried his best to ally himself with
the forces of good (the light), in the fight against the forces of evil (darkness).
His was an intellectual voyage guided by an innate notion of the enduring pull
of the other -- by the timeless call for human solidarity against the vicissitudes
of existence.
Certainly, Camus would have understood and approved of the heroic sacrifice
made by so many New York City firefighters and police on September 11th, 2001.
And As Tony Judd noted in his Guardian review, The Plague in particular
makes enlightening reading in the aftermath of the dramatic events of 9/11.
Consequently, I suggest you amble over to your nearest bookstore and pick up
a paperback copy of Camus' novel The Plague and then his political-philosophical
treatise The Rebel. Think of them as intellectual comfort food for these
confusing times.
Even better, make a gift of The Plague (and perhaps Camus' cold tale
of alienation, The Stranger) to some conflicted young person in college
you're acquainted with. It may well serve as a surprising antidote to the poisonous
cant currently being dished out to this unknowing victim by his or her post-modernist
professors. ***
© 2002 The
Iconoclast
Murray Soupcoff is the author of 'Canada 1984' and a former radio and television producer with the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. He also was Executive Editor of We Compute Magazine for several years, and is now the Managing Editor of the popular Canadian conservative Web site, Iconoclast.ca
COPYRIGHT © 2002 BY THE AMERICAN PARTISAN. All writers retain rights to their work.
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