Be like Camus: Is lying such a bad thing?

After the funeral of his mother, Meursault is back to his normal routine again. He has another date with Marie Cardona, a woman he seems to like, they hang out together, and even have sex. Typically women at this point consider that they are in a relationship. Naturally, that leads to the inevitable questions. Albert Camus writes in The Stranger, “…she asked me if I loved her. I told her it didn’t mean anything but that I didn’t think so. She looked sad. But as we were fixing lunch, and for no apparent reason, she laughed in such a way that I kissed her.”

How many times have I lied just to avoid uncomfortable conversations or to not hurt anyone? Do I really need to tell the waiter that I just lost my job or that I am dead scared of the overdue mortgage payment or that my wife is cheating with my best friend? Do I really need to tell a woman that her pink dress looks awful or that she has thunder thighs?

It is one thing to lie that results in the death penalty; it is not a lie if it makes someone feel better.

I am impressed, though, that instead of screaming and storming out of the house, Marie decided that it was better not to get too bogged down with Meursault’s emotions. What mattered to her was that he was nice to her, enjoyed being with her, and treated her well. You can do that without being in love and I know people who do not do any of these while supposedly being in love.