Inspired by a book a friend had suggested I read I decided what better way to start off the Easter weekend with thoughts on Albert Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus. The essay touches on futile attempt in finding meaning and clarity in one’s life in the wake of an unfathomable world absent of a God or eternal truth. The essay reveals the crippling vulnerability of humankind and its inability to accept the utterly tragic purpose of life; life has no predestined absolute, simply being has neither intent nor reason, rather, it is an existence that is entirely subjective. Absurdism embodies this concept; one will inevitably fail at any attempt to find a rational explanation of the existence of humanity within an immeasurable world.
How delightful isn’t it? Why is it I find such a bleak and devastatingly bold theory to be incredibly romantic? Camus made several things clear throughout this essay that spark my pessimism into a new level of superiority over those who believe in a higher power: the absurd arises when humans feel the need to justify the purpose of tomorrow, the absurd man should live through action not rational thinking, one must relieve oneself from false hope, and finally, much like the mythological Greek myth of Sisyphus, one must acknowledge the tragedy of life’s immeasurability in order to be content. That seems fair enough right?
For F*ck It Friday I couldn’t help but see the incandescent truth that emits from such a dismal, yet entirely reasonable, theory and want to share it’s gloom and doom with the world. However much I’d like to live in a world where my fate is predestined to a life amongst fairies and clouds I find it highly unlikely, more so, sitting on this notion seems anything but didactic towards humanity; perhaps it is no more than a misleading concept that keeps people cozy in their delusional world of spiritual hierarchies and periwinkles… yah, I said periwinkles what of it? I'm not trying to be too extreme here, I do believe extreme positions are only ever followed by contrary extreme positions. I suppose I just want to glare into a world where the medium of time and meaning has disappeared; it seems it is only then when everything backwards becomes rather lucid to me.
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