Is Meursault Actually a Robot?

From the first few pages of the novel, it's already well established that Meursault is a pretty weird guy. Like, really weird guy. Less in the quirky sense, but more in the sense that he lacks some of the most basic features that human beings have. For instance, feelings. Or empathy. Or, really, any sense of giving a f**k in the slightest. Despite it being so tempting to do so, we really can't judge him for his, what should we call them, character flaws? Because they are what make the novel so groundbreaking in the first place.

These traits are designed to make us (the readers) and the characters around him uncomfortable--and they do a good job of it. Camus does this by presenting us with a character who is unbelievably obtuse when it comes to human interactions. When the visitors at his mother's vigil cry, he's more annoyed than anything. The only things he seems to enjoy in life are the basics--eating, sleeping and sex. When Marie asks if he wants to marry her, he says, "sure, if you want to, but I really don't care either way." Then she's like, "Do you love me?" and he's like, "Not really, probably as much as the next guy." Then she's like, "Marriage is a serious thing, you know," then he's like, "No, it really isn't." All of these weirdnesses are designed to make us ask, "Where is this guy's humanity?"

This is where the deeper meaning of the novel lies. Meursault's oblivious uncaring towards the things we find meaningful brings into question the functionality of meaning in the first place. We share more in common with Meursault than we may like to admit. Our lives are filled with things that make no sense, and this strange, uncaring quality of the universe tends to seep through a little in our lives. Ever have something big happen in your life (a breakup, a birthday, a death), only to wake up the next day and see that everything is exactly the same as usual? It's scary stuff, so we try to cover it up as best as we can with meaning. This all ties in with the philosophy of absurdism, a central theme of the novel.

Is our ascription of meaning what makes us human? Or is Meursault just as human as everyone else?