Absurdist in Love — An Essay by Amir Sultan

[dropcap]R[/dropcap]oughly, an absurdist is a person who believes in the meaninglessness and irrationality of the universe. To someone with this worldview, the universe is indifferent — not because it possesses consciousness, but because it offers no inherent meaning or response to our hopes, plans, or stories — it simply is. The absurd, as Albert Camus defines it, is born from the confrontation between human longing for order and the universe’s indifference. We want clarity, reason, fairness. The universe gives us silence. In the face of this indifference, the absurdist stares into the void and sees not clarity or order, but fog. This renders the person’s attitude one of continual revolt — not merely resistance to clarity, but an acceptance of absurdity, a passionate engagement with life, and a commitment to freedom and connection — yet somehow, the person appears repulsive. In a way, they are going on a very different path than the great cynic Diogenes, whose revolt was sharp and rude, often lacking compassion for fellow human beings. Yet, what happens when the absurdist falls in love?

Observations suggest that love pulls us in the opposite direction. When we fall in love, we become less indifferent. The person we are in love with becomes our centre of attention. Love, then, seems to be a way of imposing meaning — of defying the absurd. In absurdist terms, assigning immense importance to a person when assigning importance to anything at all is a futile act.

Love is traditionally viewed as an irrational act, but for an absurdist, it may be the most rational act. If, as Camus argues, suicide is not a rational response to the absurd, then perhaps love — or as suggested life — must be. The absurdist affirms life while rejecting suicide, but love occupies a more ambiguous position. Is it a rational embrace of the moment, or another illusion we impose? The boundary between life and love — and whether either is rational or irrational — remains unclear. Both are ephemeral, imperfect, and filled with contradiction. Both are temporary, imperfect, and happening; full of illusions. Still, if one accepts them without illusions, bitterness, or false hope, then neither life nor love can be dismissed as irrational — they become conscious, deliberate choices. In other words, what is love when it’s not illusory in nature? If absurd accept life as responses to the absurd why not love? Rather than contemplating suicide, as Camus warns against, perhaps we should contemplate love — not romanticized, but raw and stripped of illusion. Could this kind of love be a quiet rebellion against the absurd? Or are we merely projecting meaning onto something that remains, at its core, indifferent?

These questions reminded me of a moment in Albert Camus’ famous novel, L’Étranger (The Stranger). There’s a scene I am not able to forget, in which the protagonist, Meursault, is asked by his lover Marie if he loves her.

“She was wearing a pair of my pajamas with the sleeves rolled up. When she laughed I wanted her again. A minute later she asked me if I loved her. I told her it didn’t mean anything but that I didn’t think so. She looked sad. But as we were fixing lunch, and for no apparent reason, she laughed in such a way that I kissed her.” (Page 35)

Meursault, with complete emotional detachment, reduces love to an arbitrary concept with unsettling bluntness, while continuing in the relationship. The moment shared is one of quiet intimacy with the shared mundane. Meursault admits he is not in love with her and disregards her notion of love, but still participates in the emotional experience. It is almost psychotic in its indifference to the other person — knowing what he wants from her, yet viewing it as futile, meaningless, and senseless. The absurdist is reluctant to see any of the three in his situation. In psychological terms, the absurdist is showing belief perseverance and a disregard for different perspectives.

Before contemplating further the love of an absurdist, a moment should be given to the disregard shown by the protagonist, which is either betrayal or rebellion. Some people might say it’s both — and that cannot be contested. For a non-absurdist, the protagonist’s response might appear to be both betrayal and rebellion — a painful rejection and a philosophical stance. Betrayal to Marie and a continued rebellion against the universe. Betrayal in the form of not accepting that her love has meaning, and rebellion as an ideology. To validate this observation further, I have found in Camus’s La Chute (The Fall) a clear reference to the betrayal of the absurdist:

“I used to advertise my loyalty and I don’t believe there is a single person I loved that I didn’t eventually betray.” (Page 69)

The narrator, Clamence, is reflective and brutally honest, like Meursault above, but with more bitterness and self-loathing. The self-aware narrator recognises his failure in love as rooted in betrayal.

Also, Marie, unaware of Meursault’s beliefs, sees everything traditionally. She sees love from a different perspective, making love her destiny, while for him it is coincidence — surreal or maybe laughable. On the other hand, she seeks passion, commitment, and intimacy (the three core components of love as per Robert Sternberg) and is met with indifference. Here's the excerpt from L’Étranger:

“Marie came by to see me and asked me if I wanted to marry her. I said it didn't make any difference to me and that we could if she wanted to. Then she wanted to know if I loved her. I answered the same way I had the last time, that it didn't mean anything but that I probably didn't love her. ‘So why marry me, then?’ she said.I explained to her that it didn't really matter and that if she wanted to, we could get married. Besides, she was the one who was doing the asking and all I was saying was yes. Then she pointed out that marriage was a serious thing. I said, ‘No.’ She stopped talking for a minute and looked at me without saying anything.” (Page 41-42)

From a human perspective, this is betrayal and emotional abandonment. Love is a shared illusion — a connection to the objet petit a (small other object) that makes us feel safe and real — and absurdism refuses to share this illusion. In the case of Meursault, it is a betrayal of love’s emotional contract and a refusal to share the illusion. He won't pretend that love carries cosmic meaning or permanence. By the way, is Marie aware that Meursault is an absurdist?

As for the continued rebellion, the absurdist refuses to assign meaning to anything, including love, marriage, and by the end of the novel, his death. It is resistance to the demands of comforting narratives. It is a rebellion against all shared illusions. Love may seem to offer the power to transform or "convert" the absurd into something meaningful — to turn silence into shared narrative. Yet the absurdist resists this transformation, recognizing it as another comforting illusion, another trap of imposed significance.