Pyrrhus of Algeria
On Absurd Heroism
A Comparative Analysis in Literature

Joe Hunt

April 18, 2020

To forget about the others? How utterly absurd! I feel you there, in every pore. Your silence clamours in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out - but you can't prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts? I hear them ticking away like a clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, and I'm certain you hear mine. It's all very well skulking on your sofa, but you're everywhere, and every sound comes to me soiled because you've intercepted it on its way. Why, you've even stolen my face; you know it and I don’t! And what about her, about Estelle? You've stolen her from me, too; if she and I were alone do you suppose she'd treat me as she does? No, take your hands from your face, I won't leave you in peace - that would suit your book too well. You'd go on sitting there, in a sort of trance, like a yogi, and even if I didn't see her I'd feel it in my bones - that she was making every sound, even the rustle of her dress, for your benefit, throwing you smiles you didn't see... Well, I won't stand for that, I prefer to choose my hell; I prefer to look you in the eyes and fight it out face to face.”

No Exit, Jean-Paul Sartre

After the chaos of the second world war, philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre and writer Albert Camus. Separated narrowly in few regards, further developed philosophical discourse on life’s meaning with powerfully emotive writing and oration. Presenting their thoughts in one of the most destructive eras of history, Camus and Sartre elegantly address fear, dread, and anxiety common to all people: what purpose do I have in this world? Is it even possible to find it? If not, how do I grapple and ultimately overcome the crises associated with a purposeless existence?

Sartre’s play No Exit (1944), and Camus’ novel The Plague (1947), ground a sometimes heady and cerebral philosophy into forms that lend themselves to a more heuristic method. In this essay, we’ll explore similarities in how Sartre’s and Camus’ characters Joseph Garcin and Dr. Bernard Rieux grapple with questions and doubts surrounding their lives that resonate with modern readers. Both men tenuously reconcile themselves with their realities. Only one, though, demonstrably embodies the true good put forth by both Sartre and Camus. That is, while both exhibit entirely human traits and weaknesses, only one can be considered a paragon of the shared elements of Sartre’s and Camus’ philosophy.It would do to understand the fundamental understandings of each approach.

Existentialism is a philosophical school centrally defined by the belief that existence precedes essence. In atheistic existential thinking, Sartre states in his lecture “Existentialism is a Humanism” (1946):

“What do we mean by saying that existence precedes essence? We mean that man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world – and defines himself afterwards. If man as the existentialist sees him is not definable, it is because to begin with he is nothing. He will not be anything until later, and then he will be what he makes of himself. Thus, there is no human nature, because there is no God to have a conception of it. Man simply is. Not that he is simply what he conceives himself to be, but he is what he wills, and as he conceives himself after already existing.”

In this state, man exists according to self-assigned purpose, responsible not just to himself, but to all men. Through his existence, it is imperative that he act and determine in the world how he ought to be. In this state, a man experiences anguish as he attempts to discern what is good not for himself but for all man, abandonment as he is left alone and without excuse to be free, and despair as he realizes he may only count upon himself to determine the truth or authentic value of an action.

Absurdism, in comparison, shares some of these fundamental understandings but differs in its understanding of and approach to lucidity. In “The Myth of Sisyphus” (1946), Camus recounts the mythic struggle of Sisyphus, whose labour in rolling his stone up a mountain forever proves fruitless. In particular, Camus writes that “ If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him?... it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious“. Camus differs from Sartre in that he does not acknowledge that a man can discern a meaning or purpose, let alone that one exists; instead, the imperative: absurdity and happiness are twins, and as the world is an entirely human matter, it is what we make it.

No fate cannot be overcome with spite. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

No Exit sets three characters - Joseph Garcin, Inéz Serrano, and Estelle Rigault - in a sparsely furnished and locked room. Garcin is the first individual introduced to the reader: while he attempts to identify a cause for his incarceration, Inéz and Estelle are introduced sequentially. Over the course of the play, Sartre reveals through his characters’ dialogue that each has committed a moral crime, and is in fact dead: Garcin was unfaithful to his wife and executed after deserting the army; Inéz seduced her cousin’s wife, resulting in her murder; lastly, Estelle engaged in a fruitful affair with a man named Roger, later killing her own daughter and driving her partner to ruin. Ultimately, Inéz, Garcin, and Estelle realize that each one of them exists to foil and aggravate another. While Estelle admires and seeks approval from Garcin, he will not reciprocate due to Inéz damning him for his cowardice and paucity of character. Inéz is haunted by Estelle’s unrequited affection, she can never garner Estelle’s attention in the way that Garcin does.

Garcin puts it simply: “Hell is – other people!”

Sartre posits in Existentialism is a Humanism (a lecture he gave detailing Existentialism to critics) no man may act or exist in exclusion to any other, as a man exists as “…a legislator deciding for the whole of mankind…”. That is, the decisions of one man decide for every man; an action taken by one cannot be considered separate from anyone. Through this notion, Sartre explores the harm each character brings upon others through their decisions.

In particular, Garcin is tormented by Inéz’ recognition of his true character. Garcin, who stylizes himself as a masculine, intelligent individual is haunted by his choice to run from his duty as a soldier. Strangely, he shows little remorse for his transgressions against his own wife, stating “It was so easy. A word was enough to make her flinch. Like a sensitive-plant…. I brought a half-caste girl to stay in our house. My wife slept upstairs; she must have heard – everything. She was an early riser and, as I and the girl stayed in bed late, she served us our morning coffee”.

Garcin notes that he can hear and sense the thoughts and opinions of his wife, friends, and associates still alive on Earth. He observes his wife, whose lack of overt sorrow over his execution haunts him:

“They’ve given her back my things; she’s sitting by the window, with my coat on her knees. The coat with the twelve bullet-holes. The blood’s like rust; a brown ring round each hole. It’s quite a museum-piece, that coat; scarred, with history. And I used to wear it, fancy! ... Now, can’t you shed a tear my love! … Now she’s stroking the coat. Her eyes are shut and she’s feeling with her fingers for the bullet-holes. What are you after? What do you expect? I tell you I regret nothing.”

Insight is gleaned: he defines himself on false machismo, rather than the aggregate of his character. Inéz capitalizes: Garcin admits his choice to run troubled him greatly, leaving bravery in the face of his execution as his only absolution. But even here he fails: Inéz asks how he faced death, and he admits “Miserably. Rottenly”. In tandem with her consternation, he must also struggle with the knowledge that those he left behind will bear witness to his failing. In acknowledging the effect and inauthenticity of his actions, Garcin’s damnation is complete on both planes. He has failed to will himself to act, and Inéz is immutable. He is a failed hero.

In contrast, Camus’ The Plague offers the reader a multitude of characters who serve as exemplars of various philosophical or theological outlooks. Set in the city of Oran in French Algeria, The Plague is narrated by Dr. Bernard Rieux, a modest, stubborn and intelligent physician who assists in the futile attempt to contain an epidemic of Bubonic Plague. With the help of volunteers Jean Tarrou and Joseph Grand, Dr. Rieux and Tarrou work.

In The Plague, Camus presents readers with multiple heros; only Rieux, though, embodies the absurd hero.

Tarrou, who abides by a strict moral code and volunteers his service to his city, doggedly pursues every opportunity to fight back against the plague. His actions are optimistic, and are generally informed by his love for mankind. It is not immediately clear whether Tarrou’s enthusiasm comes from an appreciation of the situation, or from his ignorance of it. Rieux, however, fights the plague as his vocation dictates.Camus juxtaposes Tarrou with Cottard, a misanthrope who feels most comfortable surrounded by the suffering and discomfort of others. Tarrou offers the man multiple chances to assist the city; in each case, Cottard rebukes all attempts to include him in the fight, instead acting as a fringe reactionary to serve his selfish ends. While cognizant of his condition, Cottard refuses to act in spite of it; he instead becomes a further instrument of the chaos. He forsakes himself.

It is telling of Camus’ outlook on Existentialism that Rieux survives Tarrou. It could suggest that while Camus admires elements of Sartre’s philosophy and allows Rieux and Tarrou to embody traits revered by existentialism (responsibility to all men, self-determination in a forlorn condition), he sees potential flaws. Tarrou’s efforts are often circumvented or muted by Cottard’s self-interest. Tarrou, despite his heroism and selflessness, is stricken and killed by the plague he fought so hard to shield Oran’s citizens from - no different, as it were, from a vagabond or a pauper. Cottard survives the epidemic.

While Rieux suffers through exhaustion and the realization that his efforts only delay the plague’s claim on his patients, he continues to struggle against the inevitable. Even after the death of Minister Othon’s son in Part IV, which deeply affects every character in the narrative, Rieux never halts his efforts to comfort the dying and the infirm. Indeed, the conscious recognition of the absurdity of his situation fails to deter him from his objective and his purpose, stating:

“Yes, you’re thinking it calls for pride to feel that way. But I assure you I’ve no more than the pride that’s needed to keep me going. I have no idea what’s awaiting me, or what will happen when all this ends. For the moment I know this; there are sick people and they need curing. Later on, perhaps, they’ll think things over; and so shall I. But what’s wanted now is to make them well. I defend them as best I can, that’s all.”

Rieux’s struggle is Sisyphean; where Sartre would provide a purpose for such suffering, Camus spares nothing. In time, the plague does recede from Oran, but even in this, Camus’ resolution is Pyrrhic. When Tarrou is struck, Rieux takes him into his own home and holds a resolute vigil over his friend’s passing, ignominiously accompanied by brutally cold, dark nights and an increasingly jubilant Oran. In the coming days, Rieux receives news by telegraph that his wife has succumbed to illness, perhaps tuberculosis, in a sanitarium outside of the city. Rieux does not seek a purpose in existence: in the closing paragraphs of The Plague, Rieux admits his reason for chronicling the plague solely to “…bear witness in favor of those plague-stricken people…”, to be “…the record of what had had to be done, and what assuredly would have to be done again in the never ending fight against terror and its relentless onslaughts, despite their personal afflictions, by all who, while unable to be saints but refusing to bow down to pestilences, strive their utmost to be healers.”.

The undertaking, he feels, stems from the necessity of being a physician, not from a hope of ultimate victory: it’s a penultimate footfall reverberating silently, bearing the catafalque of man.

In these respects, an attentive reader will observe elements of both philosophies embodied in the thoughts and actions of Dr. Rieux. Far from lacking in empathy, but brutally desensitized from repeated, resounding defeat, Rieux consciously makes the choice to push on. Garcin, in contrast, resigns himself in damnation.

It is together, rather than separately, that Garcin and Rieux’s complimentary natures become apparent. If observed independently, the readers of No Exit and The Plague possess a singular view for either Existentialist or Absurdist thought. Together, a reader sees just how closely each philosophy mirrors the other: elements of Camus’ absurd manifest in the decisions and the actions of Garcin, while components of Sartre’s existentialism shine through in Rieux and Tarrou’s volunteerism and concern for their home. Even so, Rieux embodies the tenets of Existentialism most acceptable to Camus while contrasting sharply the fallacies it fails to acknowledge in the Absurd.