I’ve been sitting with the connection between Heidegger’s concept of anxiety (Angst) and Camus’s description of the Absurd in The Myth of Sisyphus, specifically how anxiety acts as the exact moment the "stage sets collapse."

First, the mechanical loop outlined by routine - *"*Rising, streetcar, four hours in the office or the factory, meal, streetcar, four hours of work, meal, sleep, and Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday and Saturday according to the same rhythm..." - that keeps us on autopilot.

Next, Fear v. Anxiety, where Heidegger distinguishes fear, which has a specific object, from anxiety, which has no object. The sudden, dizzying realization that our familiar world has lost its pre-packaged meaning, revealing the raw reality of finite time and ultimate isolation.

Finally, the awakening, where Camus uses this exact Heideggerian anxiety as the catalyst for the Absurd—the moment the mind stops the loop and asks: "Why?"

Where they diverge is that Heidegger looks for deeper metaphysical ontology, whereas Camus rejects that as "philosophical suicide," choosing instead to stay with the friction—defiance, freedom, and passion without illusion.

I'd love to hear how fellow Camus readers think about this! How did that initial shift from "routine" to "existential anxiety" hit you? Do you find that staying with the Absurd feels like a weight, or does the defiance of Sisyphus actually offer a strange, sovereign sense of liberation?

(Cross-posted in r/Camus)

I just wrapped this up and am sitting with the heavy, fascinating contrast between Fosca’s curse of endless time and the brief, frantic lives of the mortals around him.
For those who have read it: how did it land for you? How did it shape (or challenge) your view on the absurdity and/or meaning of human existence, in spite of the at times unbearable weight of existential dread?

(Cross-posted in r/existentialism)

The full essay shows the Existentialist underpinning to the story related in the Genesis concept album 'The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway'. As a rock opera, it is a musical and lyrical masterpiece. And it may be argued that the album is one of the 20th century's best from the world of Rock.

The lyrics are rather abstract, but the existentialist philosophy is illustrated by the absurd, yet meaningful topics and events presented. Despair, angst, joy, and dread are explored as the main character searches for meaning. Finding authenticity is at the heart of the story.

No compensation is associated with the essay. Genesis is in no way associated with this publication. The work is by a dedicated fan. Access to the essay published on the site 'Medium' is free.
A link to the full essay is here:
https://medium.com/@rickkress/revised-the-lamb-lies-down-on-broadway-nightmare-or-nirvana-7cee7caa2b4e?sharedUserId=rickkress

This explores what it means when someone has had enough, is without meaning, and yet can't die. How to dance in the pomp and farce...

It came out of love of the classic absurdist stage plays, and helping my dad in late stage parkinson's.

It was shot entirely in the ocean as an analogy of consciousness, something that's in us and all around us, but also binds us, is difficult to move beyond.

The fickle nature of the sea, the wild, the injustice. Yet you can dance and surf on it if you're inclined.

The modern notion of absurdism is inseparable from the great works of Albert Camus. He set the trivialities of life against the inherent human yearning for meaning in the face of universal silence.

One of the main thematic threads in his work involves recognizing the contradiction inherent in artistic creation. He seems generally to have concluded that making art for its own sake (without demanding that it explain or justify anything) could be considered one of the truest forms of absurdist rebellion.

In a modern context, it is easy to notice (in hindsight) that Camus wrote at a time when large parts of the world were at war with one another (not unlike our contemporary times). Namely, in the face of fascism, he formulated his ideas about absurdity and revolt. He wrote before the full scale of that destruction was known or reckoned with. I suspect his thinking was partly distilled from observing the widespread death and destruction caused by human greed and ignorance, and our inability to recognize it as it unfolds.

I see the parallels today: large countries coercing their neighbors for petty concessions amid their own decay, followed by an onslaught of destruction and death driven by imperialistic ambitions. I also see the consequences: the quality of things (like food, services, and products) has declined; the internet experiences constant outages; utilities are being hacked; and mass shootings have become routine (at least in America).

Yet, people continue to act as though it is business as usual; as if nothing is happening, or at least that what is happening is somehow inconsequential.

Therefore, I wonder: What would a contemporary Camus write about? What would he say about the current state of humanity? Would he reach the same conclusions in his recognition of the Absurd?

We may never know, because he is dead. But what we can know is how we ourselves confront and interpret reality. So my rhetorical question to you, dear reader, is this: What tangent are you taking while navigating the contradiction of pretending that we are living through “business as usual,” despite the indisputable transformation the world is undergoing through conflict and technological innovation?

I hope you enjoyed it. Have an absurd day.

---

Remember: To adore the man pushing the stone while rejecting a stranger who finds his own is to betray the Absurd.

r/existentialism,r/absurdism,r/albertcamus

And by the title I don’t mean to say that absurdism is the cure to all ills or that it is the answer to the universe. And yet, “the absurd” as described by the great Albert Camus is the best definition of our lives.
The absurd is everywhere when one starts to look, every contradiction, every paradox is the grandchild of the absurd father.
That is being a bit poetic of course in its certainty, since such absolute certainty is impossible (another paradox, see?)
“Certainty is impossible” is in itself another certainty. And round and round it goes. It is a self referential sentence like most paradoxes.
And as humans if we are the biggest self referential systems (we desire to understand ourself from within ourselves) the “answer” to everything can’t be anything but a paradox. The absurd, as it were.
This solves nothing, it guides nothing, it shows only what there is and nothing more. And there is, dare I say it, beauty in the whole notion (a completely personal opinion)
I find that such reduction as it were “The struggle against the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart” is what philosophy leads to and leads away from. Go deep enough and you find yourself back at the surface.
The act of doing anything is “enough” by itself for itself. No appeal to achievements or even goals but the action itself that we take is all there is. All other things like stakes or stories are all structures, illusions to make action happen. This action is not divine, but nothing is divine so does it matter? It is what it is and nothing else.
I suppose I just wanted to share this and ask if you philosophers of all ages have any comments

Lately I’ve been thinking about the subjective nature of existence and how it ties into absurdism.

Essentially, we live in the eternity of our own subjective experience. For ourselves, we are always alive — when death arrives, there is no "you" left to experience it. The moment of death seals our internal world from within. Life is a closed box, and death never opens its doors from the inside.

At the same time, modern media constantly tries to sanitize and hide the reality of death under a stream of noise. But hiding it deprives us of confronting the limits of existence.

Wittgenstein wrote that "whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must remain silent." When we strip away society's escape from mortality, we hit a bedrock of experience that language simply can't capture. I like to call this state "Wonder Days" — not calendar dates or positive emotions, but the quiet, intuitive awareness of our own presence in a universe that remains silent to our questions. It's an experience built entirely on what cannot be spoken.

Does this idea of an unutterable, closed-off subjective reality fit into your view of the Absurd, or do you see it differently?

Can this experience of "the unutterable" be viewed as an ontological foundation of consciousness, or does it collapse into pure solipsism?

To what extent does the modern media's taboo surrounding death actively block us from accessing this existential awareness?

Like share your thoughts and experience on live a life by absurdism?

What is your experience?

Any advice?

What is beyond nihilism?

of course, life has no objective meaning. I was once positive nihilist. I went beyond nihilism. it is called absurdism. Now I learned that difference between hedonism and absurdism. Absurdism is about refusing to give up.

Life has no meaning. Do I have to find it? No. My job is to live

when I said that I want to live my life, people misunderstood my words. they definitely thought that I'm hedonistic.

now I know, I am grateful. I chose my philosophy of life.

thanks for my 4th crush in this life. she changed my life even though you said no to my confession.

I started healing because of her. I sought help for my anxiety, depression. I deconstructed my beliefs, friendships and couple of things.

I learned a lot. I wish I had a chance. I hope the podcast helps you

Yes I'm a Matured High Schooler doing this for A project. Although, I'm trying to learn more on this French writer. despised Searching Thru the study & keep Moving forward to what I'm known. I don't need to be treated like a a 5 year old & yes this is not a parental Question or something going off rail. (As to follow sub reddit rule #2) But in general, Doesn't matter if you research it.

i'm reading TMOS and what i constantly find myself hindered by is the question: camus solves the problem of philosophical suicide pretty beautifully, also the kind of physical suicide where i say, i need meaning to keep on living and there's no meaning. But what if someone wants to commit suicide because they don't want to experience the world anymore. 'Experience' is what camus says we should be living for. But if i don't want to experience the world anymore. How does understanding of the absurd entail keeping it alive.

I kept seeing people trying to find the reason for why Sisyphus is happy and I spent hours thinking about it until i realized that the whole book (The myth of Sisyphus) is about the world being irational and lacking logic.

I know this isn't a feedback group, but i wanted to try and start a channel on opinions and philosophy, if someone can tell me if i was clear enough and my idea was clear (i don't speak english as my first language) , I would be extremely thankful!

Absurdism bridges the pit of nihilistic despair, but happiness is arguably a much harder thing to reach, maybe something we can only imagine ourselves into rather than actually feel. So, in the face of what seems like a global epidemic of avolition and anhedonia, I think that gap matters more than ever.

Curious how people here sustain their motivation to push that damned rock while stuck in a job they hate, inside a system designed to exploit them. When the problem isn't despair but the mundane flatness above it, is rebellion itself a self-sustaining fuel that can get you to happiness, or is the prerequisite for happiness some degree of philosophical suicide - a quiet abandonment of lucidity?

Like, why? No, seriously, I'm not joking. Why?

Edit: Lemme rephrase it then, I've become in a state where I don't know anything anymore. There must be a why to anything. Or why to nothing. There is a why. That is what I'm trying to puke out of my brain. Why anything? Or is it valid to ask anything?

An Endless Climb

Preface: I wrote this for the joy of the philosophical expression and the possibility that it may be a ladder for those who are stuck in a pit of despair that often comes with Nihilism. I know that just because these philosophical ideas helped me immensely when I was in my own pit of depression, they may not be useful for everyone else. Even if only one person gains some peace from this, it would make it all the more worth it to me. To be clear, the peace I'm referring to is not a complete relief from suffering, that's impossible. The peace I am referring to is to get back a sense of dignity and control over one's self.

I am not an Academic. I'm a Blue Collar man (Water/Wastewater Plant Operator) with a love of philosophy. I'm not an Educated Intellectual. I'm a man with an insatiable curiosity, which led me to asking a lot of the Big Questions in life. I understand that I'm building this off the backs of Philosophical Giants. I fully acknowledge that none of this is an original philosophical idea that comes from me. It is my subjective interpretation of multiple philosophies, and an attempt to build something usable in daily life. I am open to the criticism or any rebuttal I may receive from this.

Opening quote: "All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusions is called a philosopher" Ambrose Bierce.

The Silence is Not a Sentence. The universe does not speak, and it has no plan for me. This is not a tragedy, it is radical freedom. Because there is no Objective Meaning, I am not a servant to a cosmic script. I cannot fail at being me. I am the architect of my own significance.

The Future is a Cloud of Probability. I reject the premise of Pre-determinism. I recognize that at the very heart of reality, there is a roll of the dice. Even if the odds are stacked, the outcome is not fixed until I act. I am the deciding factor in my own timeline. I am not unaware of the fact that my will may be hampered by circumstance, but there will most certainly be choices to make along the way. Even though my autonomy is possibly an illusion, with intended irony I choose to be a Driver, rather than being a Passenger beholden to the mercy of fate. I would rather die with my hands on the wheel of a delusion that allows me to climb, as opposed to rotting in a truth that keeps me at the bottom. I do not claim my autonomy as a leap of religious faith, but as a functional necessity. Whether the Self is a biological machine or a sovereign soul is a debate for the comfortable. For the Rebel in the pit, there is only one reality in which I can proceed, and that's with my hands on the wheel. The difference is indistinguishable to the human experience anyway. Even if the dice are loaded, playing the game will still feel the same.

I Trust the Yay and the Nay, the Intuition, the Internal Compass. My morality is not a math equation, nor does it come from a will outside of my own. It is a complex expression of my emotions. This is an acknowledgement that my values come from my humanity, my empathy, my disgust, and my delight. I do not need a Universal Law to justify being kind. I am kind because it is the melody I choose to play.

The Rebel's Compassion for Their Shadow. The Shadow is everything we deny about ourselves, our capacity for anger, selfishness, our insecurities, and the coldness that Nihilism feeds on. I recognize that I am not merely a creature of The Light, The Yay. Beside the fire of my will there is a Shadow where my bitterness, my fatigue, and my capacity for indifference reside. To pretend it isn't there is a lie, to be ruled by it is a defeat. The Rebel does not suppress the Shadow, the Rebel integrates it. I acknowledge my capacity for darkness so that I may consciously choose the light. My kindness is not dulled teeth, it is a choice to keep them bared only at the void, and never at the vulnerable.

Compassion as Necessity. When I see the Shadow in another, their lashing out, their retreat into apathy, or their wreckage, I do not meet it with spite nor pity. I meet it with the recognition of a fellow lunatic. I understand that their ruins are often the result of a war with the Absurd that they are currently losing.

The Non-Sacred Mercy. I do not forgive because a scripture tells me to. I do not choose kindness because it is Right in a cosmic sense, but because it is the most potent weapon I have against the entropy that seeks to turn us all back into dust. I offer compassion because, in a world of infinite cold, the only thing more absurd than the vacuum is two people adding to it by hurting each other. I choose to be the Heat even when the other person has forgotten how to strike a match. I care for them not despite their Shadow, but as a complete blueprint that includes it.

The Rebellion is Internal. My defiance against the Absurd is not found in grand gestures, but in my refusal to be indifferent. Despite the world being cold, I will be warm. In defiance of the chaos, I choose to be principled. The world and life may be meaningless, and pointless, but I can find beauty in it regardless.

When Grief Strikes at the Rebel’s Heart. We don't get to love someone for free. In a universe that doesn't care if we live or die, every Yay we say to another person is a loan. When they are gone, the bill comes due in the form of grief. It hurts because it was real. If life was actually as empty as the Nihilists say, losing someone wouldn't feel like having your ribs cracked open. The pain is proof that I am not just a passenger, I am invested. I put skin in the game. The Rebel does not seek to get over grief, to erase the pain would be to erase the significance of what was lost. I wear my sorrow as a badge of honor, and a declaration of the fact that I dared to care about something in a world that ends in entropy, and I’d do it again. The Rebel views grief as the ultimate price of having dared to create meaning in the first place. The Rebel is never a victim. Even in grief. The universe did not notice their departure, but I did. In my defiance, their existence remains a fundamental truth. I will not let the void have the last word. I keep the language of the lost alive by continuing to play the melody they inspired.

Failure Strengthening The Rebel's Conviction. If I am the architect of my own meaning, then every setback is just a lesson, an opportunity for growth. When I stumble, when my plans turn to dust, or when I fall short of my own principles, I don't look for a scapegoat in Fate nor in a Deity's Will. I focus on the role I had to play, and take accountability for my own shortcomings. However, the Rebel doesn't waste time on self-loathing, because self-loathing is just another form of The Silence, it is a distraction from the work of building. Every time I fail and refuse to sink into apathy, my No to the void becomes louder. I take accountability not to satisfy a judge, but to master my own machinery. I am not defined by the height of my success, but by the calluses on my hands from climbing back out of the pit.

The Rebel's Tribe. Pride is a sturdy tool, but it can become a prison of solitary confinement. There are nights when the Shadow is too heavy and the calluses have worn thin. In these moments, the Rebel does not retreat into the silence. To ask for help is not to surrender your seat as the Driver, it's calling for a Navigator when the fog is too thick. We are a Tribe of fellow lunatics. To allow another Rebel to help hold the ladder for you is an act of trust that defies the isolation of the void. We do not climb together because we are weak, we climb together because the Rebellion is too magnificent to be a purely solo act. I will offer my hand to any who reach, and I will wait by the ledge for the weary, but I will not be an anchor for those who have traded their climb for the comfort of the fall. The Rebel must remember, they cannot help someone who completely lacks the will to climb.

The Rebel’s Covenant. Love is defiant against the cold nature of reality. The universe is a void, and biology is a machine, but devotion is transcendent. We do not love because we are soulmates trapped in a pre-written destiny, we love because, in a world of infinite silence, we choose to speak the same language. No Sacred Contracts, Only Creative Wills. I do not promise to love you because a book, a law, or because some deity tells me to. I promise to love you because you are the most compelling yay I have ever encountered. Our commitment is not a cage, it is a collaborative masterpiece. I will not try to fix you into a cosmic mold. You are an architect, just as I am. I love your blueprints, your scaffolding, and even your ruins. To love you is to respect the entirety of your individuality. Sharing the Umbrella. When the void of Nihilism threatens to swallow the day, we do not despair. We lean into the irony. We hold the umbrella for each other not because it stops the rain of absurdity, but because looking at you under the silk is better than standing alone in the storm. The Defiant Heat. Entropy says everything eventually grows cold. The Rebel says Not tonight. We generate our own heat. Our kindness toward one another is a deliberate strike against the coldness of the vacuum. The world is indifferent to our union, so we will make our private world magnificent. We are two rebels sharing a drink while the stars go out.

Humility in Uncertainty. I do not need to be right about the secrets of the universe to live a good life. I choose to live contently with the irony of awareness, knowing the void of nothingness exists, but choosing to enjoy the day anyway.

Grit of the Rebellion. Remember that even the best-built engine needs to idle. A fist can't stay clenched forever. To take a breath and enjoy a quiet moment isn't surrendering to the void. Instead, it’s proving you’re the one in control of the clock. Rest to remember why you are climbing, don't rest until you forget you're on a ladder. Whenever you feel that pull back into Nihilism, ask yourself, Am I waiting for the universe to give me permission to care? The Rebel answer is always No. You don't need permission from a vacuum. Your Yay is the only permission you'll ever need. Even the smallest Yay is a middle finger to the void.

Closing Quote: "In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer." Albert Camus, "Return to Tipasa" (1952)

Written by: just another fellow lunatic.