Albert Camus’ “The Fall”: Is innocence a false concept?
In the book “The Fall,” (or in French “La Chute”), Camus presents us with an instigating proposal: are we able to live guiltless, holding ourselves to a high esteem? The dramatic monologues in Camus’ work and the main character, Jean-Baptiste Clamence, go through a series of twists and turns, set in Amsterdam, that for some reason, resonated deeply with me.
Clemence often speaks of his high position in the Parisian society as a defence lawyer. The narrative mostly unfolds in an interesting manner, inside a bar in Amsterdam called Mexico City. In the opening pages of the book, Clamence even states that Amsterdam’s canals have a close affinity with Dante’s circles of hell. Perhaps the bar is the centre of these circles, an interesting way the author found to draw a comparison to men’s dubious and dark impulses.
In any way, Clamence often shares anecdotes about how he helps people in the street, gives people directions, and yields his seat to others in a bus. How he is an outstanding citizen, a reference to all who come into contact with him. But one day, as Clamence was walking through a bridge, he encounters a woman dressed in black, leaning over the bridge as if to jump. Regardless of this, he continues walking and soon after hears a splash in the water. The body had fallen and as it traversed through its downward path, the man had heard a terrible scream that would later haunt him tremendously. The whole situation left Clamence unable to rationalize what had just happened, so instead of addressing the event, he deliberately chooses to walk away, without even looking back. Only years later, as Clamence was walking through the same bridge, he pauses and reflects on what a positive day he just had. Everything had gone right on that particular day, and a feeling of power and satisfaction rushed over him, until a laugh burst out behind him. This laugh most likely came from a conversation far off from where he was, but it awakened him to the terrible failure of not doing anything about the woman who had jumped off the bridge years before.
We have an interesting dilemma with this scenario: Clamence obviously thought of himself as a man of high and respectable morals, a selfless and servient man, but at the same time, the event at the bridge had contradicted everything he once believed about himself. That is, in choosing not to do anything about the woman who had supposedly drowned herself, the very occurrence of this happening would completely shatter his notion of self-innocence and guilt. He could not live up to his ideals with this contradictory force coming into play.
Later in the book, Camus describes a situation involving Clamence that is even more interesting. As the man recounts the times in which he helped a blind person in the street, he would take a bow and doff his hat to this person. But if this individual was blind, how could he see that? How could he see Clamences’ bow? Who, then, was Clamence doffing his hat to? The answer is: the public, the people around him. This is a revelatory moment in the narrative in which we realize that the main character is not a beacon of sacrifice and altruism, but a man who is intent in thinking and feeling superior to others. And in incorporating this faux innocence, Clamence almost absolves himself of any wrongdoing and imperfection, he becomes free of pain, doubt, and shame. Yet, this is a barrier that gets broken once he hears that laugh.
What I realized when thinking about this book is that we cannot be morally superior to others and we cannot think that we are free from life’s torments, from life’s unfortunate events! Because they will happen, not in a purposeful but natural fashion, and we must deal and cope using the resources we have available to us.
What Clamence has to accept is exactly this reality, that he is faulty like the rest of us. Camus uses The Fall to symbolize the fall of man, but this could be attributed to man’s ultimate and existential demise. That is, we see ourselves superior in many ways. A great example is our relationship to our planet. There is no greater sin and misconception than usurping the very lands that were given to us. In thinking we are superior to nature, we violate its flow, its beautiful stillness, and indeed, hold ourselves to a standard and status that will come back to haunt us. We live as humans on this planet, denying our imperfections as a natural part of existence. We are moved by unrealistic standards that we ourselves create, and we reject and overshadow the idea that we can hold two truths in our head: we must be kind and selfless, for dwelling within these boundaries is what gives us purpose, but we should come to terms with and realize that are not faultless. We are not saints. We are flawed, and we are scared to admit it because that means that we have to be vulnerable, we have to accept the ugly, the wrong, the vastness of a dark hole that the world perpetuates. It is scary to accept this, but even scarier to object to this reality. I wouldn’t call it cynicism or nihilism, but rather a realistic approach to everyday life.
I have recently watched a phenomenal movie starring Ethan Hawke and Amanda Seyfried called “First Reformed”, and one quote stuck in my head which illustrates the concept I’ve been forming here. Accepting uncertainty is just as freeing, if not more, than living in one’s shadow, playing out a scenario where we are saved from mistakes and consequently deem ourselves as innocent to escape pain.
“I can’t know what the future will bring; we have to choose despite uncertainty. Wisdom is holding two contradictory truths in our mind, simultaneously, hope and despair. A life without despair is a life without hope.”
Reverend Toller (played by Ethan Hawke)
In part, Camus’ main character lived in his own version of an absolute truth. His altruism stood as a pillar of truth, albeit a false one, but one that he used to base his convictions that he was ‘not part of the mass.’ It was a truth to make him believe that he was sinless. But truths don’t exist, do they? The Fall, therefore, talks about the impossibility of innocence when living in a world without an objective and clear truth. If there’s nothing to hold on to, there’s nothing we can take for ourselves. We live in uncertainty, and therefore suffering is implicit to us humans. Ironically, suffering is a form of truth that we must be vulnerable and open to, no matter how much it hurts.
In Christian-based societies, the death of God, as Nietzsche posits, also represents the death of morality. If God doesn’t exist, that means we are all sinners. Because that’s the message that this religion sends forth, don’t you think? By confessing, by reading scriptures and going to church, we are sent to heaven, we are saved from our sins, because Jesus has borne the torment and cross for us. But with nothing for us to hold on to, that means that we are, inherently, sinful beings. And this is where Clamences’ future acceptance of our world comes into play. We can only coexist with this reality if, paradoxically, we submit to a being greater than ourselves. Only in this realm can we make sense of a world devoid of morality. That is not to say that the Christian religion is wrong or erroneous, but from Camus’ perspective, the confirmation we need is that we can live knowing that we will never be perfect, for perfection and innocence are futile given the events that happen in our world.
Clamence deviates from the path of righteousness, after a harrowing night at the bridge. So, will we do the same and move forward knowing about our imperfections as humans? I think I’ll choose sobering uncertainty over drunken innocence.
