Camus was not an Absurdist

Albert Camus' absurdism is built on a fundamental conflict: as humans, we search for meaning, yet the universe offers none. This contradiction—our desire for purpose clashing with an indifferent world—is what Camus defines as the absurd.

From this premise, Camus presents three choices:

Suicide or philosophical suicide – If life has no meaning, why continue living? Camus rejects this, viewing it as surrender.

Faith or false hope – Using religion or ideology to impose meaning where none exists. Camus calls this intellectual suicide, as it denies reality.

Rebellion – To face the absurd and live despite it. The true absurdist, in Camus' view, does not seek meaning but simply exists, fully aware of life’s meaninglessness.

For Camus, suicide is weakness, and faith is self-deception. But what if love— a force that inherently requires hope—is the very thing that undermines his philosophy?

Camus' personal life contradicts his own absurdist ideals. His love affair with María Casares spanned two decades, despite his marriage to Francine Faure. Their relationship was one of passion, turmoil, and devotion, with over 860 letters exchanged between them—letters filled with declarations of love that bordered on obsession.

"Good evening, my passion, good evening, my darling, my secret, my burning. I love you and keep you."

Despite societal constraints, their love endured. Camus repeatedly put Casares above himself, jeopardizing his marriage and personal stability. He incorporated her into his plays, his writing, his world.

Now, we must ask: Was Camus’ love rational?

Is writing 860 letters logical?

Is intertwining love and professional life rational?

Is abandoning one love for another based on reason—or on an irrational hope of what that love could hold?

If love is selflessness, and hope is belief without reason, then Camus was an unconditional lover. And in choosing love and hope, he betrayed his own philosophy of absurdism.

Camus' most famous character, Meursault from The Stranger, embodies the true absurdist. He displays emotional detachment, indifference, and rejection of deeper meaning.

When Marie asks if he loves her, he responds indifferently.

He accepts life’s randomness, neither searching for meaning nor rebelling against it.

This is the absurdist Camus wrote about—but not the man he was.

In The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus states, "One must imagine Sisyphus happy." His idea is that life is pushing a boulder uphill, only for it to roll back down—yet the struggle itself is enough.

But one must ask: Does Sisyphus push that boulder without reason?

Does he hold onto a false hope that one day, the boulder will stay at the top?

Does Sisyphus love the struggle despite its futility?

If so, he is no longer absurd—he is an unconditional lover.

In The Misunderstanding, Camus explores isolation and the absence of love, leading to betrayal and tragedy—suggesting that love is the only force that can counteract absurdity.

In The Fall, the protagonist Clamence struggles with self-deception and judgment, showing that even those who claim to embrace absurdity secretly crave connection and meaning.

Across Camus’ works, we see the downfall of those who reject love and hope. We see how love and hope create meaning despite Camus’ insistence that life has none.

So we must ask: Was Camus truly an absurdist—or an unconditional lover trapped in his own philosophy?

Camus argued that to live is to rebel. But love is the greatest act of rebellion.

We cannot love without hope.

Therefore, to love is to rebel against absurdism itself.

If rebellion gives life meaning, then so does love. And if love creates meaning, absurdism collapses.

Camus’ own framework contradicts itself—for if he believed in unconditional love, he must have believed in hope. And if he believed in hope, he never fully embraced the absurd.

His second option—clinging to faith or hope—is something he dismissed as intellectual suicide.

Yet in love, we do not find comfort, we find suffering.

We find despair, longing, agony.

Yet we love anyway.

And that is enough to drive us to live.

Camus tried to live without hope and failed.

And the formula for unconditional love explains why:

Love and hope cannot be separated.

Thus, unconditional love—not absurdism—is the true rebellion.

By breaking apart Camus' philosophy, we do not find an absurdist. We find an unconditional lover.

Camus did not have the formula for unconditional love—so he created the philosophy of absurdism instead.

But in understanding this formula, we now see that Camus was the furthest thing from an absurdist.

And so, all the absurdists of today must ask themselves: Are you truly absurdists? Or are you unconditional lovers existing in an unforgiving world?

Absurdists are not the final answer, but instead, unconditional lovers unwilling to admit to their identities.

If love is rebellion, then the true act of defiance is not to accept absurdity—but to reject it.

Continue to love. Continue to rebel.

-Noa Nocciola