In America, freedom is defined in terms of what one can and cannot do: I can vote for whoever I like; I can choose to attend Pitzer College; I cannot eat at a restaurant and not pay the bill. The absurd man, as Albert Camus argues, conceived of freedom differently. Given that one accepts Camus’ first paradox (we impulsively question the meaning of life/the meaning of life is unintelligible) and resigns oneself to live faithfully in “that prearranged position,” Camus argues that we must also accept a second paradox. He writes, “Knowing whether or not man is free involves knowing whether he can have a master” (56). These seemingly contradictory positions constitute a problem because understanding freedom also involves undermining its very meaning. To return to American conceptions of legal freedom, Camus would rigorously question whether these rights constitute freedom at all because they are only intelligible in reference to the possibility that they could be taken away.
Unlike the famous political philosophers of the Enlightenment, Camus challenges the role of the State as a means of defining or granting freedom. The “individual in the midst of the state,” as Camus claims, is on similar terms as a “prisoner” as both present a negative reference to freedom (one can only understand freedom in reference to their unfree condition). Camus’ skepticism that political systems are the source of freedom sharply contrasts, for example, John Rawls’ position that justice, as administered by the state, is the basis for freedom.
An easy conclusion arises from the face of these arguments: political freedom is impossible, inconceivable, and illegitimate. Further reading, however, suggests a different possibility. Inasmuch as some kind of “absurd freedom” does exist as something “which a human heart can experience and live,” Camus seems to leave open the possibility for a political association to serve these ends (60). Without explicitly presenting any political morals in Myth of Sisyphus, Camus still gives the reader glimpses of his political inclinations. The position of “revolt,” explained as a “constant confrontation between man and his own obscurity,” emerges as a tool to preserve the absurd (54). Revolt holds close the “certainty of a crushing fate, without the resignation that ought to accompany it” (54).
Applying this concept to Camus’ second paradox, revolt could also reconcile the tie between freedom/domination with political possibility. Revolt preserves the absurd on an individual basis by extending “awareness” at every moment to “the whole of existence” (54). Understood in a political context, revolt may uphold the inherent tension between freedom and domination while also leaving space for political collectivity. Denying such a possibility is tantamount to political suicide (a close cousin of philosophical suicide).
Rather than resigning Camus’ thought to an apolitical realm or concluding that he rejects all kinds of political systems, it seems critical to search for some existentialist conception of a legitimate political life.
