Preface
For me “The Myth of Sisyphus” marks the beginning of an idea
which I was to pursue in The Rebel. It attempts to resolve the
problem of suicide, as The Rebel attempts to resolve that of
murder, in both cases without the aid of eternal values which,
temporarily perhaps, are absent or distorted in contemporary
Europe. The fundamental subject of “The Myth of Sisyphus” is
this: it is legitimate and necessary to wonder whether life has a
meaning; therefore it is legitimate to meet the problem of suicide
face to face. The answer, underlying and appearing through the
paradoxes which cover it, is this: even if one does not believe in
God, suicide is not legitimate. Written fifteen years ago, in 1940,
... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
The Myth Of Sisyphus
An Absurd Reasoning
Absurdity and Suicide
There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that
is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to
answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest—
whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind
has nine or twelve categories—comes afterwards. These are
games; one must first answer. And if it is true, as Nietzsche claims,
that a philosopher, to deserve our respect, must preach by example,
you can appreciate the importance of that reply, for it will precede
the definitive act. These are facts the heart can feel; yet they call
for careful study before they become clear to the intelle... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
Summer In Algiers
for JACQUES HEURGON
The loves we share with a city are often secret loves. Old
walled towns like Paris, Prague, and even Florence are closed in on
themselves and hence limit the world that belongs to them. But
Algiers (together with certain other privileged places such as cities
on the sea) opens to the sky like a mouth or a wound. In Algiers
one loves the commonplaces: the sea at the end of every street, a
certain volume of sunlight, the beauty of the race. And, as always,
in that unashamed offering there is a secret fragrance. In Paris it is
possible to be homesick for space and a beating of wings. Here at
least man is gratified in every wish and, sure of his desires, can at
last measure his poss... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
The Minotaur or The Stop In Oran
for PIERRE GALINDO
This essay dates from 1939. The reader will have to bear this in
mind to judge of the present-day Oran. Impassioned protests from
that beautiful city assure me, as a matter of fact, that all the
imperfections have been (or will be) remedied. On the other hand,
the beauties extolled in this essay have been jealously respected.
Happy and realistic city, Oran has no further need of writers: she is
awaiting tourists.
(1953)
There are no more deserts. There are no more islands. Yet there
is a need for them. In order to understand the world, one has to turn
away from it on occasion; in order to serve men better, one has to
hold them at a distance for a... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
Helen’s Exile
The mediterranean sun has something tragic about it, quite
different from the tragedy of fogs. Certain evenings at the base of
the seaside mountains, night falls over the flawless curve of a little
bay, and there rises from the silent waters a sense of anguished
fulfillment. In such spots one can understand that if the Greeks
knew despair, they always did so through beauty and its stifling
quality. In that gilded calamity, tragedy reaches its highest point.
Our time, on the other hand, has fed its despair on ugliness and
convulsions. This is why Europe would be vile, if suffering could
ever be so. We have exiled beauty; the Greeks took up arms for
her. First difference, but one that has a history. ... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
Return To Tipasa
You have navigated with raging soul far from the paternal
home, passing beyond the sea’s double rocks, and you now inhabit
a foreign land.
—Medea
For five days rain had been falling ceaselessly on Algiers and
had finally wet the sea itself. From an apparently inexhaustible
sky, constant downpours, viscous in their density, streamed down
upon the gulf. Gray and soft as a huge sponge, the sea rose slowly
in the ill-defined bay. But the surface of the water seemed almost
motionless under the steady rain. Only now and then a barely
perceptible swelling motion would raise above the sea’s surface a
vague puff of smoke that would come to dock in the harbor, under
an arc of w... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
The Artist And His Time
I. As an artist, have you chosen the role of witness?
This would take considerable presumption or a vocation I lack.
Personally I don’t ask for any role and I have but one real vocation.
As a man, I have a preference for happiness; as an artist, it seems
to me that I still have characters to bring to life without the help of
wars or of law-courts. But I have been sought out, as each
individual has been sought out. Artists of the past could at least
keep silent in the face of tyranny. The tyrannies of today are
improved; they no longer admit of silence or neutrality. One has to
take a stand, be either for or against. Well, in that case, I am
against. But this does not amount to choosing ... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
[1] From the point of view of the relative value of truth. On the other hand,
from the point of view of virile behavior, this scholar’s fragility may well make
us smile.
[2] Let us not miss this opportunity to point out the relative character of this
essay. Suicide may indeed be related to much more honorable considerations—
for example, the political suicides of protest, as they were called, during the
Chinese revolution.
[3] I have heard of an emulator of Peregrinos, a postwar writer who, after
having finished his first hook, committed suicide to attract attention to his work.
Attention was in fact attracted, but the book was judged no good.
[4] But not in the proper sense. This is not a definition, but r... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
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