Albert Camus and the Plague
By: Ben Nasmith
Tags: Literature, Theology, Religion, Church, Covid 19

Photo by Lennon Cheng on Unsplash

Albert Camus and the Plague

Some meaning for the present moment

I remember the last-times well. The last time I had breakfast at a restaurant, the last time I shared a coffee with a friend at Starbucks, the last time I taught physics face-to-face, the last time I took my family to church, or went for a walk together at a since-closed public park. These last times felt like last-times. Things were changing daily as world ground to a halt all around us.

The gravity of the moment first dawned on me when the province of Ontario closed its schools. This closure seemed severe against the backdrop of recent intermittent strikes. That same day my own institution switched entirely to online classes only. I found myself adapting to a new normal — teaching quantum and classical mechanics by video chat. I’m thankful that my work has continued. I actually enjoy being home with my family more. We’ve managed to pull off three tiny birthday parties without friends and my kids have taken it quite well. But I still feel disturbed and amazed at the magnitude of the present moment.

I have been a fairly grumpy church-attendee for a couple years now. To make a long story short, my faith has evolved in recent years. I found myself in a church where my changing perspective was not welcome (even if my presence was). My wife encouraged me to try a different church community, and that has made all the difference for me. My new church is a small community without any professional pastors, where I’ve had chances to speak and share my perspective and where I’ve learned from many others rather than just from paid clergy. Every Sunday I’m just as excited to find out who is going to share as to hear what they have to say. What a world of difference!

Religion, I’ve come to believe, is largely about interpretation — interpreting our lives, our neighbours, our world, our human predicament. Sometimes we mask these task by treating religion as the interpretation of scripture, or a transmission of tradition. But the responsibility to interpret remains, and I find it frustrating to sit in the pew while one or two paid professionals keep our interpretations safely on the straight and narrow. The truth is, there is no safety in interpretation. Interpretation is a dangerous game — the sooner we admit this and get on with it the better.

I must confess, then, that I felt slightly smug the first Sunday that most churches closed. I missed my own new community. But, I’m not proud to say, I took some minor comfort in the simultaneous deplatforming of legions of pastors at the very moment when their flocks most sought an interpretation of the world events that were upon them. I regret this impulse because I do value the work of pastors to encourage, support, and guide. Yet I struggle to shake my resentment at the often carefully guarded pulpits and platforms of clergy. Interpreting scripture in community cannot be reduced to hearing the same sermon from the same person as the rest of the community. Thanks to the pandemic, the best that most platformed pastors could do was to post a video or write a blog post — just like the rest of us. This was a rare moment of equality for those with eyes to see it.

Like many others, I crave a sense of meaning for the present moment. The religious impulse to attribute meaning to major (and minor) events is often problematic, to say the least. But it isn’t going away anytime soon. We must interpret this pandemic. And what is social media if not also a vast cesspool of runaway human misinterpretation. Interpreting these sorts of things is perhaps part of what it means to be human, for better of for worse.

I turned to Albert Camus for help. On March 22, I purchase a copy of his novel The Plague and read it in a few days. I understand that this novel was written with the Second World War occupation of France in mind, as an allegory. I was interested in a non-allegorical reading. Here’s what I wanted to know: How does Camus attribute meaning to the human experience of plague and pestilence?

What does it mean to be a human in a time of plague, when the normal cycles and routines of life are broken? What is it like when circumstances mercilessly isolate us from those we love? Why does the public become fixated on statistics and newspapers, grasping in vain for trustworthy predictions of relief and deliverance? How do people react to mass unemployment, price-gouging, and draconian restrictions on their liberty? Why are religious leaders tempted to explain the plague in terms of God’s judgment, when it falls upon the righteous and the wicked without discrimination? Why do the religious often turn to prayer rather than action, just as civic leaders tend to downplay the danger until it is truly upon us? Camus addresses all these themes in his book, and many others. I was enriched by reading it, but I can’t say that I was encouraged.

If I could choose one line from Camus’ book for careful consideration it would be this:

All I say is that on this earth there are pestilences and there are victims — and as far as possible one must refuse to be on the side of the pestilence.

Perhaps this is the best way to interpret the present pandemic. We live — and have always lived — in a world of plagues and pestilence. Our lives and well-being are as precarious as they are precious. The same is true of our neighbours, and even our enemies. To refuse to be on the side of the pestilence is as good of an interpretation of the present moment as I could have asked for in a pre-quarantine Sunday morning sermon, but I have Albert Camus to thank for it.