The absurd life

Reprinted from December 9, 2009 at my other blog with an update at the end.

I keep to myself a lot, especially in the winter time, oftentimes staying at home, only going out if I have to get the kids to and from school and for groceries (unless my husband gets them).    It’s not really good for my psyche.  While I am fairly content to be at home, putzing around the house, taking care of the kids I’m more often drawn to the computer simply for mental stimulation and intellectual companionship (yes, no not real, but better than nothing).

Sometimes I do get intellectual companionship. Often I get requests to become someone’s correspondence partner. It’s nice, but it takes time and energy to expend on sharing my thoughts and feelings, only to end up becoming over-dependent on that internet connection because I don’t have anything else going on.  And often, when I do start, the effort becomes difficult to maintain on their end.  I’m beginning to realize that it’s difficult to maintain a friendship with me (internet or otherwise).  That’s okay.  I. get. it.  Truly.  I’m intense.  Been that way all my life.  Probably nothing I can do about it.

I’ve stopped trying to find intellectual stimulating people around here.  And I realize the more I seclude myself up in my house, reading, writing prolifically, striving to learn things I didn’t know before…I widen the gap between myself and most others.   This is not living, as my internet friend keeps telling me.

He’s right.  I know he’s right.  But I spent 3 years almost brain dead, after quitting my job in medical genetics for my kids and as my youngest daughter sucked my intelligence right out of me when she nursed for those three years.   I’ve spent the last year and a half sharpening my abilities again.  But to what end?  All dressed up and no where to go.

But I am pushing myself to keep trying to get out there, in the “real world”, interviewing for that job (still no word), taking the lab tour for another lab, teaching that forensics lecture to the 4th grade class, visiting my grandmother and a few other old people in the hospital this week (there’s a post coming on that one too).  Going back to church, if for nothing else than because I like the message at that church of trying not to be disconnected from one another, and it’s a way to meet people and get me out of my house once in a while, away from this computer.  I wonder what my friend would say if he knew I have a tendency to make myself a hermit of sorts right in the middle of suburbia.    Sometimes I just want to stay stuck and give up trying, mostly because I have a huge emotional need deficit and I’ve been trying to fill it for years. I’m beginning to think it’s time to look at that (and find out if it’s even possible to fill it).

I’m trying to figure out why I’ve called to mind the myth of Sisyphus- the character from Greek mythology who was condemned to push the same boulder up a hill over and over again, two or three times in the past two weeks. Probably because this calls to mind the ultimate in futility and that word has come up in a few different places.

I didn’t realize there was a philosophical essay about it from Camus, and I find it very interesting and perhaps appropriate to my situation. From Sparknotes
we find a summary of the essay. I haven’t quite figured out if this fits exactly my situation, but the more I read the summary I’m thinking it might. I have the book in the house somewhere (I think I recall seeing it anyway), and I think I’ll be reading it soon if we do have it around here.

The central concern of The Myth of Sisyphus is what Camus calls “the absurd.” Camus claims that there is a fundamental conflict between what we want from the universe (whether it be meaning, order, or reasons) and what we find in the universe (formless chaos). We will never find in life itself the meaning that we want to find. Either we will discover that meaning through a leap of faith, by placing our hopes in a God beyond this world, or we will conclude that life is meaningless. Camus opens the essay by asking if this latter conclusion that life is meaningless necessarily leads one to commit suicide. If life has no meaning, does that mean life is not worth living? If that were the case, we would have no option but to make a leap of faith or to commit suicide, says Camus. Camus is interested in pursuing a third possibility: that we can accept and live in a world devoid of meaning or purpose.

The absurd is a contradiction that cannot be reconciled, and any attempt to reconcile this contradiction is simply an attempt to escape from it: facing the absurd is struggling against it. Camus claims that existentialist philosophers such as Kierkegaard, Chestov, and Jaspers, and phenomenologists such as Husserl, all confront the contradiction of the absurd but then try to escape from it. Existentialists find no meaning or order in existence and then attempt to find some sort of transcendence or meaning in this very meaninglessness.

Living with the absurd, Camus suggests, is a matter of facing this fundamental contradiction and maintaining constant awareness of it. Facing the absurd does not entail suicide, but, on the contrary, allows us to live life to its fullest.

Camus identifies three characteristics of the absurd life: revolt (we must not accept any answer or reconciliation in our struggle), freedom (we are absolutely free to think and behave as we choose), and passion (we must pursue a life of rich and diverse experiences).

Camus gives four examples of the absurd life: the seducer, who pursues the passions of the moment; the actor, who compresses the passions of hundreds of lives into a stage career; the conqueror, or rebel, whose political struggle focuses his energies; and the artist, who creates entire worlds. Absurd art does not try to explain experience, but simply describes it. It presents a certain worldview that deals with particular matters rather than aiming for universal themes.

The book ends with a discussion of the myth of Sisyphus, who, according to the Greek myth, was punished for all eternity to roll a rock up a mountain only to have it roll back down to the bottom when he reaches the top. Camus claims that Sisyphus is the ideal absurd hero and that his punishment is representative of the human condition: Sisyphus must struggle perpetually and without hope of success. So long as he accepts that there is nothing more to life than this absurd struggle, then he can find happiness in it, says Camus.

Maybe I’m too focused on the wrong things, and not allowing myself to accept a certain amount of futility/absurdity.   To allow certain freedoms from expectation, of myself and others, “without a need to pursue life’s purpose or to create meaning”.   Perhaps I’m too busy looking for everything to mean something that I miss enjoying what just “is”.


December 28, 2010

I never did get that job.  Apparently the person who interviewed me also got fired, so apparently it’s a good thing I didn’t get that job.

My grandmother died in September of this year.  I miss visiting her.

I wrote 20,000 words for my second NaNoWriMo novel.  I should finish that and the other one I started.

About Casey

“the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’ ~ Jack Kerouac, On The Road Again
This entry was posted in Albert Camus, essays, The Absurd Life. Bookmark the permalink.

Would you like to share your thoughts? I'd love to hear them.

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s