Camus belonged to a generation that grew up with the smoldering scars left by
World War I and for whom history was an unmitigated trial. As Auden writes in New Year Letter, "We are conscripts to our age/Simply by being born" (1976,
p. 183). The great war, its terror and its destruction, altered people's perception
of themselves and of Western civilization. The war that was touted as a "war to end
all wars" had opened in high spirits, but ended with an almost universal cry against
such madness. When it drew to a close, European society had to confront not only the
wiping out of millions, but also the appalling number of blinded, maimed, gassed, or simply
stunned survivors. It also had to grapple with the dissolution of its values, the collapse of
its finances, and the wreckage of its
monuments. Paul Valery, French poet and
philosopher, wrote in 1919, "The swaying of the ship has been so violent that the best-hung
lamps have finally overturned" (1962, p. 26). The politically and economically turbulent
postwar decades too failed to offer any redeeming solace. Instead, it thrust upon the people
a world of staggering duplicity, propaganda, violence, deportations, and torture,
perpetrated by emerging Communist, Nazi, and Fascist regimes. The unprecedented
geopolitical, cultural, and humanistic crisis that engulfed Europe in the early 1940s in the form of
the World War II ravaged the already fractured European sensibility. It convinced
Camus that "mechanical civilization has ... reached the last degree of savagery" (qtd. in
Lottman, 1980, p. 362). The tidal wave of mass murder and execution, unleashed in the name
of necessity and ideology, culminating in the bombing of Hiroshima, revealed to him the
truth in Sainte Exupery's words that "war is not an adventure. War is a disease, like
Typhus" (qtd. in Bespaloff, 1962, p. 98). What Camus attempts to capture in The Plague is a world engulfed in a terrible `abstraction'. He skilfully exploits the inherent symbolism
of the plague to unleash a trenchant critique of ideologies that hide behind
abstractions, infusing the work with a dual, dialectical edge and signification.
The experience of World War II shifted the axis and the climate of Camus'
writings. It displaced the invincible Algerian summer's "benign indifference"
(Camus, 1984,
p. 117), one that had suffused his early writings with a touch of warmth and vitality. In
its place, he faced a new indifference - the indifference of mud, blood and iron. It was
an indiffere - nce that had no faceone that made people raise searching, unsettling
questions. In Camus' works belonging to the first cycle, his emphasis had been on the
presentation of the absurd as a crisis for the self's yearning for lucidity and meaning in a world that
is opaque and unresponsive, as well as on the self's earnest attempt to consent and
revolt against the existential condition. If it is the trial of nature and the implicit revolt against
it that characterizes the works of the first cycle, it is the trial of history and the concern
to formulate an implicit ethic of resistance and revolt that
dominates The Plague, The Rebel, and The Just, which belong to the second phase. |