A review by e_33
The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays by Albert Camus

4.25

The only point is to live, the only destination death. No god, eternity, higher purpose, nor a “someday” to count on. But to encounter that during the conscious hour on the descent back to Sisyphus’ rock and in spite of that, live. Such is the lucid defiance against the absurd. 

Still, I wonder. I wonder if the tragic albeit lucid happiness of Camus’ absurd hero is implicitly privileged. After all, pondering the meaning of life, confronting the indifference of this universe, and consciously choosing to embrace the unbearable weight of a radical freedom — isn’t that in itself a luxury? For the ordinary, those consumed by hunger, oppression, simply surviving, the pursuit of such a rebellious happiness is surely out of reach. Tragically, illusion remains the human refuge, and perhaps we ought to let man cling to something sometimes. 

For now, I only know the happiness of finally finishing a book left half-read for well over a year. Maybe Camus, in quoting Nietzsche, is right— it’s these minute moments, art, this book, and the finishing of it, that makes it worth the trouble of living in this earth.