The Absurd, the philosophical acceptance of life’s inherent meaningless, is a fearsome concept for most. Albert Camus, in his treatise The Myth of Sisyphus, outlines three possible responses to one’s consciousness, or awareness, of the Absurd: physical rejection in the form of suicide; intellectual rejection in the form of giving one’s life to an idea (he remarks that “what is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying”)[pg.4]; acceptance through the “worlds of intelligence, of the art of living, or of art itself,” in the form of an “attitude of mind which lights the world with its true colors to bring out the privileged visage which that attitude has discerned in it.”[Pg.12] In other words, in light of the Absurd you can commit suicide, commit intellectual suicide by living life for a dogma, or accept the Absurd and live life in spite of, and in light of, its meaningless—give meaning through action, goodwill towards yourself, those you meet, and construct for yourself, and the future, a world beneficial to all mankind.

It is within these answers that I find myself thinking of the Arab Spring, which began, now, a little more than two years ago, in Sidi Bouzid, Tunisia, with the self-immolation of a man, Mohammed Bouazizi, and his subsequent, slow, painful, death, which inspired a people, which, in turn, inspired peoples across the North African and Middle Eastern world.

First, though, let me bring you into a necessary context, by letting Camus relate, in his way, how awareness happens upon a man’s mind. He is setting a scene of monotony, and eventual awareness through monotony.

It happens that the stage sets collapse. 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—this path is easily followed most of the time. But one day the “why” arises and everything begins in that weariness tinged with amazement. ‘Begins’—this is important. Weariness comes at the end of the acts of a mechanical life, but at the same time it inaugurates the impulse of consciousness. It awakens consciousness and provokes what follows. What follows is the gradual return into the chain or it is the definitive awakening. At the end of the awakening comes, in time, the consequence: suicide or recovery. In itself weariness has something sickening about it. Here, I must conclude that it is good. For everything begins with consciousness and nothing is worth anything except through it. There is nothing original about these remarks. But they are obvious; that is enough for a while, during a sketchy reconnaissance in the origins of the absurd. Mere ‘anxiety,’ as Heidegger says, is at the source of everything.

It is this combination of weariness and questioning which arises in a state of poverty, which provides ample time to ask the question “Why?’ of oneself, of one’s lot in life, of one’s now-not-so-assured beliefs. It is not so hard to ask, “Why God?” And it is not hard to ask it often enough to find few enough answers to satisfy the ever curious soul of man. And each time a new aggression is visited upon the searching-hope of the destitute and miserables, whether by fate, so to speak, or by a man, or men, it is chance again to ask “Why?”. Eventually, no answer is forthcoming. And there the awareness springs or creeps in, and one finds the Absurd. Here, at this beginning, as Camus denotes, man realizes “he belongs to time, and by the horror that seizes him, he recognizes his worst enemy. Tomorrow, he was longing for tomorrow, whereas everything in him ought to reject it.” And—where once the act of asking “Why?” provided some avenue of relief—in light of this awareness, tomorrow becomes not a chance for redemption, but further oppression. Then one must choose an answer. There are answers each man, individually, finds, but Camus, I believe, is right: There is only, broadly, three choices: Suicide, Intellectual Suicide, and Life.

Youth longs for Tomorrow; tomorrow is closer to the End, which we must all arrive at. A paradox noted by Camus: “Tomorrow, he was longing for tomorrow, whereas everything in him ought to reject it.” Life is a matter of action, of time, of repetition; living is the movement towards death, and the ever approaching end is the pressure which forces us to learn of ourselves and the world. But only after “…certain moments of lucidity, [where] the mechanical aspect of [one’s] gestures, [one’s] meaningless pantomime makes silly everything that surrounds them” may they realize the unrelenting march of the End, hidden as Tomorrow.

There is in most a fear of change. Yet the fear which spurs popular feeling, which spurs popular revolt is the fear of repetition of life in perpetuity. This occurs when the state encourages and forces, whether through intentional habit, or mismanagement, or apathy, an awareness upon its people of the Absurd. The people, in their personal revolutions, in their moments of lucidity, asking “Why?”, realize the absurdity of their situation, realize their government is forcing time to pass in a structure of living which removes Tomorrow of Hope. Then, instead of a chance for Hope, Tomorrow becomes for the people a faithful, slow executioner.

The rhythm of Bouazizi’s life, repeated throughout his few decades, mirrored for him in his peers’ lives—a false promise of jobs, a life, dignity after school shattered in the face of hunger, poverty—, begot weariness, begot “Why?’, begot awareness of the absurdity of his life, and the forlornness which filled it. I will not decide for Bouaziziz whether his sacrificing his life was of the first, second, or third answer. But I will say that it is necessary, sometimes, for the population to be Samson-like—shackled, shaved, and shamed, yet resisting the bonds of oppression, persisting in a selfless act of defiance. Perhaps this is what Bouazizi did.

Perhaps he, simply, committed suicide—the first answer—and it was captured by the people, by the media, and fanned into a flame. Perhaps he sacrificed himself in pursuit of dignity, or in a lack of dignity—the second answer. Perhaps selling fruit, trying to provide for himself, for his family, he had hope and in having his fruit taken, his scales broken, and his pride soiled again, his sight of Hope in Tomorrow disintegrated, was proven to be a mirage, perhaps he realized the Absurd. Perhaps, though, in seeming contradiction of Camus’ thesis—choosing the first, second and third answer—he acknowledged the absurdity of his situation internally, and chose to act, externally, in such a way as to be a reflection of the depravity of life for his countrymen under the dictatorship of Ben Ali. This, though, I might argue, is not in contradiction with Camus’ Myth of Sisyphus. Whatever his personal motives, he was interpreted and portrayed as a man of action, of dignity—the third answer—and thus interpreted by his peers, the miserables. The youth, the destitute, the disenfranchised across North Africa and the Middle East took his suicide as a final act of living, a declaration that life, in fact, is not worth living. And in this act millions of youth relating to Bouazizi’s plight tore down the pillars around them.

This condition of life facilitated by despotic governance in the Middle East is not new, nor unique, nor its only shape. People exist within the Absurd whether they are aware of it or not, and people will encounter the Absurd in different contexts, with different amounts of hope. It is the responsibility of people, in turn, society, usually through social norms and governance, to ensure that a man encounters the Absurd with a rational mind, a happy countenance, and an amount of hope in tomorrow which does not cause despair. It is, also, the responsibility of the individual to not accept the Absurd through suicide, nor by giving over their life to a dogmatic belief, but adopting that attitude of mind which Camus has laid out. I will repeat it again, in full: “The climate of absurdity is in the beginning. The end is the absurd universe and that attitude of mind which lights the world with its true colors to bring out the privileged and implacable visage which that attitude has discerned in it.”

I give one final quote from Camus, as a warning, which, I think, is pertinent to this conversation: “We get into the habit of living before acquiring the habit of thinking.” There it is, live your life with intention, and goodwill towards yourself, those whom you meet, and for the future.