Science, Religion, and the Search for Human Nature

Monday, April 10, 2006

The Myth of Sisyphus

http://stripe.colorado.edu/~morristo/sisyphus.html

In response to Capper's post, I'd like to add a little bit more of what Camus wrote about the "absurdity" of human life. Here's a passage to begin with:

"Mere anxiety, as Heidegger says, is at the source of everything. Likewise and during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us. But a moment always comes when we have to carry it. We live on the future: 'tomorrow,' 'later on,' 'when you have made your way,' 'you will understand when you are old enough.' Such irrelevancies are wonderful, for, after all, it's a matter of dying. Yet a day comes when a man notices or says that he is thirty. Thus he asserts his youth. But simultaneously he situates himself in relation to time. He takes his place in it. He admits that he stands at a certain point on a curve that he acknowledges having to travel to its end. 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."

It is that recognition of the inevitability of death and the inherent meaninglessness of the universe which he called "the return to consciousness," whereupon a person can reclaim his freedom through a state of continual revolt against the illusions of objective values that would otherwise limit and enslave him. When he and Nietzsche put forth the message that "God is dead," they were identifying two things. First, the arbitrary nature of custom and daily habit, which is what sustains popular religion and allows people to live day to day without considering the significance or consequences of their actions. Of the "morality of custom" Nietzsche writes, "Self-overcoming is demanded, not on account of the useful consequences it may have for the individual, but so that the hegemony of custom, tradition, shall be made evident in despite of the private desires and advantages of the individual: the individual is to sacrifice himself -- that is the commandment of the morality of custom." The second thing they identified was the power people have to reject custom, to think for themselves, and to create new forms of self-expression. Everyone seems to associate Nietzsche's "Will to Power" with the image of the tough guy, the Social Darwinist, the "Big Money" CEO, the John Waynes and the George Bushes of the world, when what he really meant by power was essentially the act of affirmation and the state of self-awareness, wherein a person may consciously assert: "I am here; I exist." It is an artistic, creative vision of mankind, which results in the transfiguration of the individual and ends with an eternal "Yes!"

And I'll wrap this up with two passages, both Nietzsche:

"To perceive all this can be very painful, but then comes a consolation: such pains are birth-pangs. The butterfly wants to get out of its cocoon, it tears at it, it breaks it open: then it is blinded and confused by the unfamiliar light, the realm of freedom. It is in such men as are capable of that suffering -- how few they will be! -- that the first attempt will be made to see whether mankind could transform itself from a moral to a knowing mankind."

"Indeed, we philosophers and 'free spirits' feel, when we hear the news that 'the old god is dead,' as if a new dawn shone on us; our heart overflows with gratitude, amazement, premonitions, expectation. At long last the horizon appears free to us again, even if it should not be bright; at long last our ships may venture out again, venture out to face any danger; all the daring of the lover of knowledge is permitted again; the sea, our sea, lies open again. Perhaps there has never yet been such an 'open sea.'"

1 Comments:

  • Yesterday I spent the morning at Afton State Park, walking along the St. Croix River. The river was up and a portion of water reached back into the woods. In among the trees a small raft of coots floated. Just beyond them a beaver slapped its tail hard on the surface of the water, apparently in response to my presence. The air was warm and soft, and I walked on almost ecstatic with the beauty of the day. But also just a little anxious (Heidegger’s “mere anxiety”?). I felt a sort of pressure to appreciate this moment—and I suppose I was, appreciating it, that is—but still there was this sense of further responsibility. I felt a need to think about the moment, and to start to turn it into a narrative that I could later tell others (and myself). Now this may be my own particular issue, but I think it also says something about the difficulty of living in the present moment. In On the Road Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarity talk repeatedly about “IT,” an inarticulate shorthand for a pure experience of the present—they can’t just have it, live it, they need to plan for and foresee “IT,” then talk about it afterwards.....

    Is this need to capture and hold and transform experience part of what Camus decries when he writes, “Tomorrow, he was longing for tomorrow, whereas everything in him ought to reject it.”? Of course Camus is referring more specifically to that tendency to always be looking ahead (a way of living rampant in American culture, maybe reaching back to the power of the “go west, young man” mythos: one’s reward always awaits somewhere else). But it seems that even when we can attend to “today” it’s nearly impossible to reject tomorrow, to overcome the “hegemony of custom.”

    But maybe I’m being too literal or too ambitious. I do think that what Camus and Nietzsche have to tell us is valuable, and worth striving for. But I think the “return to consciousness,” if one is able to accomplish it, is inevitably temporary. That doesn’t mean brief liberating forays aren’t worth pursuing; they certainly are.

    One other possibly relevant literary illusion. In Eudora Welty’s short story “A Still Moment,” the Audubon character spots a white heron in a marsh. The bird in the marsh is so beautiful, the moment of seeing so emotionally overwhelming, that he can not let it pass: he raises his gun and shoots the heron. The bird crumples, beauty vanishes. Later Audubon will use the dead bird to paint a portrait of it. The prospect of loss compels the desire to prevent loss—by killing what one values. Just a little ironic. Instead of fighting time (a losing battle), better we “take our place in it,” as Camus suggests. Sounds good, sounds hard.

    By Blogger Capper, at 3:37 PM  

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