In this blog post, I reflected on how a person’s downfall, repentance, and the desire to judge others are intertwined, using Albert Camus’s ‘The Fall’ as a lens.
Why is ‘The Fall’ such a complex and challenging work?
Published in 1956, Albert Camus’s ‘The Fall’ struck me as a unique work that blends the characteristics of both a novel and a play. It also bears some resemblance to a philosophical essay, making it difficult to categorize it easily into a single genre. Initially conceived as one of the short stories to be included in the 1957 collection ‘The Exile and the Kingdom’, it is said that as the work grew in length, it was published first as a standalone novel. While there are some connections between ‘The Fall’ and ‘The Exile and the Kingdom’, considering the significance this work holds within Camus’s entire body of literature and thought, it feels natural that it was published as a standalone work. Furthermore, this work played a significant role in Camus’s receipt of the 1957 Nobel Prize in Literature, and it is regarded as a work that further solidified his literary reputation even after his sudden death in a traffic accident in 1960.
‘The Fall’ is regarded as one of Camus’s most accomplished works, yet it is also considered one of his most complex and obscure, making it difficult to understand. However, the plot itself is surprisingly simple. Set in a bar in the gray city of Amsterdam, the story unfolds as Clamence, a former lawyer who once practiced in Paris, endlessly recounts his life story. He was once a renowned lawyer in Paris, having made a name for himself as a virtuous advocate who fought particularly for the poor and powerless. Amid the cheers and applause of many, he always believed he had reached the pinnacle of success and lived his life feeling superior to others, as if he were a superhuman. In short, he was leading a fulfilling life in Paris as a lawyer, enjoying “peace of conscience.”
However, his life and his “peace of conscience” begin to waver at a certain point. The catalyst is an unidentified laugh he hears while crossing the Pont des Arts over the Seine. To Clamence, it feels as though “everything began” at that very moment. Yet that laugh is deeply connected to an incident he experienced in Paris. Two or three years before hearing that fateful laugh, he had once seen a young woman leaning against the railing on the Pont-Royal over the Seine, gazing at the river. He turned away from her and continued on his way; shortly afterward, he heard the sound of her jumping into the river, followed by her screams gradually fading away. He wanted to run to save her, but ultimately decided it was “too late, too far” and simply walked away.
That incident became a stain on Clamence’s reputation—an indelible blemish. He secretly feared that others would condemn and judge him for failing to save a dying person. The mysterious laughter he heard atop the Pont des Arts was, in fact, the very voice of that condemnation and judgment. He experiences a gradual descent from the life he once enjoyed on high into “hell.”
However, Clamence devises a unique method to avoid the judgment of others. Before others can harshly judge him, he places himself on the dock first. By first confessing and repenting for his own sins, he aims to weaken the criticism of others and, furthermore, to position himself in a place where he can judge others instead. Thus, he becomes both a “penitent” and a “judge.” Because of this dual role as “judge-penitent,” ‘The Fall’ cannot be read merely as a work dealing with the sins and repentance of a single individual; the work’s meaning becomes even more complex and ambiguous.
Whose image is projected onto Clamence?
While reading ‘The Fall’, I became aware of the interpretation that Camus’s own image is projected onto Clamence. However, if we understand Clamence solely as a representation of Camus himself, it becomes difficult to fully grasp the work’s significance. This is because Clamence is a complex projection not only of Camus himself but also of the French intellectuals of his era—particularly Sartre and others—and, furthermore, of the people who lived through the 20th century, often referred to as the “century of tragedy.”
First, the figure of Camus—who was building his reputation in Paris around the time of World War II—is superimposed onto Clamence. Camus even engaged in fierce debates with Sartre, with whom he was so close that they were referred to as “brothers.” The figure of Clamence, a lawyer enjoying fame in Paris, reflects that of Camus, the writer who achieved great success through works such as ‘The Stranger’ and ‘The Myth of Sisyphus’, and is also overlaid with the image of Camus as an engaged intellectual who actively participated in the Resistance movement, centered around the “Combat” group, during World War II.
On the other hand, Clamence’s gradual descent into ruin—following his failure to intervene in the death of a young woman at Pont-Royal on the Seine—reveals traces of the suffering Camus himself had endured. In particular, Clamence’s downfall clearly parallels Camus’s own suffering after the 1951 publication of ‘The Rebel’, when he engaged in a public dispute with Sartre and lost the glory he had built up as a writer and engaged intellectual. In the so-called “Camus-Sartre” debate, which began immediately after the publication of ‘The Rebel’, Camus came under fierce attack from Sartre, his camp, and some left-wing intellectuals. Sartre’s camp included the so-called existentialists, who were active primarily around the magazine ‘Contemporain’, founded in 1945, while the left-wing intellectuals were mainly those who were members of the French Communist Party at the time.
So why did Camus face such fierce attacks? Reflecting on the reasons leads us to the concept of “progressive violence” and the ensuing debate over “ends and means.” In ‘The Rebel’, Camus sought to expand the concept of rebellion from the individual level to the collective level, moving from “I rebel, therefore I am” to “I rebel, therefore we are.” However, he sought to exclude the use of violence from historical rebellion as much as possible by emphasizing the logic of “limits” and “moderation.”
In contrast, among the Sartre camp—which wielded significant influence in French intellectual circles at the time—and left-wing intellectuals who had joined the French Communist Party, “progressive violence” was tolerated to a certain extent. The core of their logic was that if a utopia could be realized in the future, violence committed in the present could also be tolerated and justified to a certain degree. At the time, French intellectual circles were also firmly convinced—based on this line of thinking—that a utopia was actually being built in the Soviet Union. Although it later became clear that this conviction was mistaken, around 1951 it was so strong that it even shattered the close friendship between Camus and Sartre.
This debate was also linked to the relationship between “ends” and “means.” In ‘The Rebel’, Camus emphasized that not only must the end be just, but the means used to achieve it must also be just. Sartre, however, along with Merleau-Ponty and others, argued that if the end is just, a certain degree of violence to achieve it can be permitted and justified. In line with this position, the existentialists in Sartre’s camp—who accepted “progressive violence” as “necessary violence” and “useful violence”—along with left-wing intellectuals who had joined the French Communist Party, turned their backs on Camus, who had vehemently rejected the use of violence—that is, Camus, who refused to “get his hands dirty.”
The shock of this controversy plunged Camus into deep silence. He was barely able to continue the writing he had previously pursued so actively, and he had to endure criticism, disregard, and even ridicule from those closest to him. The scene in ‘The Fall’ where Clamence, while driving a car, suffers public humiliation at a traffic light because of a motorcyclist can also be read as an indirect expression of Camus’s own experience. Isolated within French intellectual circles, Camus spent the years from 1951 to 1956 as if crossing a barren and desolate desert; he broke his long silence and published ‘The Fall’ in 1956.
Given this background, it is difficult to view the character of Clamence as merely a projection of Camus himself. Of course, the figure of Clamence—the “penitent” who repents for his evasive and inhumane attitude in turning a blind eye to the death of a young woman at the Pont-Royal on the Seine—clearly embodies Camus himself. This is because his reflection on his own attitude—which prevented him from actively helping the oppressed by ruling out the use of violence and refusing to condone murder—overlaps with Camus’s own self-reflection and repentance between 1951 and 1956, carried out in the name of “intellectual honesty.”
Why does the Penitent become a judge once again?
However, Clamence is not merely a penitent. Although he first judged himself as a penitent, this was also a strategy to defuse the criticism of others and, furthermore, to position himself as their judge. Thus, while reading ‘The Fall’, one naturally asks: After judging and repenting for himself so harshly, whom exactly is Clamence seeking to judge and condemn?
It can be argued that the targets are the existentialists in Sartre’s camp, including Sartre himself, as well as the left-wing intellectuals who had joined the French Communist Party. Between 1951 and 1956, Camus was abandoned by them and, as he crossed the “desert” of French intellectual society alone and desolately, he reflected on himself and repented; yet at the same time, it appears he sought to judge and condemn the intellectuals of his era who had abandoned him. The existentialists, including Sartre, and the left-wing intellectuals who had joined the French Communist Party were, like Camus, enjoying great glory in Paris before and after World War II. Existentialism, centered on Sartre, began to spread throughout Paris following his lecture “Existentialism Is Humanism” and became a globally popular literary and philosophical movement, while the communist ideology represented by the French Communist Party attracted many intellectuals at the time.
However, in the eyes of Camus—the author of ‘The Fall’—the attitude of tolerance toward violence displayed by Sartre and other existentialists, as well as by left-wing intellectuals who had joined the French Communist Party, revealed an attitude of “subjugation” characterized by unconditional loyalty to the ideology of communism. Clamence, the “judge” in ‘The Fall’, is interpreted as directly judging and condemning people who embody precisely this attitude.
However, if one interprets the work by seeing in Clamence only the figure of Camus himself and that of French left-wing intellectuals, including Sartre, one misses a crucial aspect. If read in this way, ‘The Fall’ risks being reduced to nothing more than a work through which Camus vents his personal resentment toward Sartre and the French left-wing intellectuals. One is led to wonder whether Camus’s intention in assigning Clamence the dual title and role of “judge-penitent” was perhaps to express his own reflection and self-criticism regarding the 20th century.
Why does ‘The Fall’ place the entire 20th century in the dock?
The most important reason for this line of thought is the fact that the 20th century was the most tragic century humanity has ever experienced. The 20th century is often referred to as the “century of war.” By the time ‘The Fall’ was written, Camus had experienced—directly or indirectly—numerous wars, including World War I and World War II, the Korean War, the Algerian War, and the Cold War centered on the United States and the Soviet Union. Among these, World War II—which gave rise to the unprecedented violence of the Nazi genocide of the Jews—and the countless murders committed in the Soviet Union in the name of communist ideology serve as key grounds for defining the 20th century as the most tragic century humanity has ever experienced.
In ‘The Word’, Sartre said, “I was born in a book, and I will die in a book.” If we rephrase this slightly, we might say that all of us who lived through the 20th century—including Camus and Sartre—were “born in war and will die in war.” This means that none of us can be completely free from war and violence. Moreover, we were both the perpetrators and the victims of war and violence.
If so, we need to return to the mysterious laughter heard on the Pont des Arts over the Seine. Is Clamence—who turned a blind eye to the death of the young woman who caused that laughter—the only one who must repent? Was Clamence truly the only one who ignored her death at that moment? More fundamentally, what was the reason that drove that woman to her death? Can those who lived in the same era as Clamence confidently claim they had absolutely no connection to the reason that drove her to her death?
If the answer to this question is no, then we must conclude that everyone who lived in the same era as Clamence is guilty.
If so, they must all judge and repent for their own wrongdoings while simultaneously subjecting one another’s faults to冷静 scrutiny and objectively judging one another. This process is necessary, if only to prove that rational human beings differ from other species that are incapable of such actions.
In ‘The Stranger’, Camus presents the idea that humans are, to a certain extent, bound to commit wrongdoing. Therefore, what matters is not that humans do not commit wrongdoing, but rather the reactions and attitudes they display after committing it. Only after first acknowledging and repenting for one’s own wrongdoing can one judge and condemn the wrongdoing of others—and everyone who lived through the 20th century must collectively bear the burden of such wrongdoing. This, I felt, is precisely the message ‘The Fall’ seeks to convey to us.
It is said that Camus intended to title ‘The Fall’ “The Hero of Our Time.” In this work, Clamence first places himself on the dock as a “penitent” and repents for his own wrongs. At the same time, acting as a “judge,” he judges and condemns those who lived in the same era as him, holding out a “portrait-mirror” to them. He then firmly demands that they look at themselves in that mirror and reflect on their actions. In that sense, I felt that Clamence is a character who illustrates the irony of judgment and repentance in the most dramatic way possible—and is truly worthy of being called “the hero of our time.”
