Remembering Albert Camus, the Absurdist

A tragic end to an amazing existence and the importance of questioning the human condition.

Albert loved soccer. He would play in the grass field most afternoons with his friends if it weren't raining hard. His background was poor, with his parents having difficulties making ends meet. To make matters worse, WWI broke out, and his dad went to fight for France. Meanwhile, in Algeria, the family was doing their best. Soon came the bad news: Dad had suffered severe injuries on the battlefield. The situation in the family became unpredictable. His mom was deaf and illiterate; and now, it was up to him and his brother to help make ends meet. 

The discussion was about what to do if Dad died from his wounds. They'd have to move back to France since jobs in Algeria were hard to come by. They were even more challenging now that the war was full-blown. So, they waited for news from the front. It didn't take long for a cable to announce that the father had succumbed to his wounds. 

Consoling the mother was no simple task, but hard times were around the corner, and they all knew it. Everything changed. The war, Dad's death, and a non-existent economy were all hard blows to take. 

Everyone had to work, sometimes double jobs, since the pay was atrocious. They were to return to the old country as soon as they could. The sooner, the better, everybody thought, except Albert. His heart was and would always be in Algeria.

It didn't take as long as they thought it would. They sold everything and travelled light. They ended up in Toulouse, in the south of France. Work was available, as the war machine always produced wanted labour. Lucien, the older brother, and he didn't want the mother to work. But she refused to listen and was willing to do her part, no matter what. 

Albert was a smart kid; at 14, he had already made grades over his age, and his curiosity was impressive. Even at that early stage, he had adult interests, philosophy being one of the most important ones. He studied Nietzsche and Schopenhauer. He would talk to anyone willing to listen to these deep conversations about life.

Then fate brought a sage into his life. He would influence everything he was to become: Louis Germain. Having this man as his mentor was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him. He learned the most essential lessons he couldn't have learned otherwise. 

As he grew into his twenties, he developed an intense sexual addiction to all kinds of women. They reciprocated in kind. This would later cause him problems, given the complications they’d bring.

Living in France during World War II was brutal. He felt compelled to volunteer to defend his motherland. Yet they rejected him because of his early bouts with tuberculosis. Determined to help in any way he could, he joined the resistance.

He managed to escape severe punishment by the Nazis, who already knew about him. His method was a simple one: fake papers.

He took more risks than anyone else. He volunteered for the most dangerous underground missions. This won him much respect and praise during and after the war.

The good times came back once the occupation ended. He rejoiced with the rest of free Europe. He wasted no time on the sequence of events. Furthermore, he was free to move around at will again. He met with old friends who told each other about their war experiences.

He got married twice, early on to his first wife, Simone Hie, who committed suicide after he left her. Her morphine addiction was something he wasn't able to endure.

His intellectual pursuits continued for a while. He made friends with the likes of Sartre, Franz Kafka, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and Simone de Beauvoir, among others. He also encountered many diverse intellectuals at that time. And another extramarital romance. This time with María Casares, a Spanish actress.

Yet, the misbehaving around his second wife, Francine Faure, a pianist and mathematician, didn't go well. She ended up in the hospital for a mental breakdown and depression.

The highlight of his career was winning the Nobel Prize for literature. He reached it at a young age—44. He was the second writer ever to receive the honour. By that point, he had written an enormous amount. His books, The Plague, The Stranger, and The Fall, won top honours in many publications. So did his two book-length philosophical essays, The Myth of Sisyphus and The Rebel. But the Nobel was a crown that recognised all his work. But the latter labelled him an Absurdist, and the notion of Revolt made him famous. 

In 1945, right at the end of the war, his wife, Francine, gave birth to twins.

Then, he briefly returned to Algeria. But, he was distraught at the political situation with the colonialism he fought. Disillusioned, he returned to France. 

These are the ideas that people think of when they hear the name Albert Camus today. The Absurd is a metaphysical tension. It comes from human consciousness. Humans always seek order and meaning in life. But they live in a meaningless and indifferent universe. Camus considered the Absurd fundamental. He even saw it as defining for modern humans.

One evening, he and his publisher, Michel Gallimard, went for a spin in a car the latter had just purchased. At a high rate of speed, the friend lost control of the vehicle and smashed into a tree. They both died instantly. Few writers in the history of the literary world have had so much success in such a short period of time. He lived fast and died faster. He was only 46 years old.

The loss was a shock to all who knew him and to those who wished they had.

As an influential French philosopher and author, Camus left an enduring legacy through his existentialist and absurdist works. 

His most notable contributions explored the human condition, questioning the meaning of life in an indifferent universe. His ideas on absurdism and the pursuit of individual meaning continue to influence existentialist thought, emphasizing the importance of personal responsibility and defiance against an inherently meaningless world. 

An impressive life lived to the fullest but gone too soon.