There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide

In his 1942 essay, The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus famously said the following: "There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide."

This provocative and seemingly grim statement was made not as a promotion of self-harm, but rather as a challenge to our priorities. He claims that if we cannot answer this fundamental question, nothing else really matters. Our desires, our ambitions, and even the entirety of the universe are irrelevant if we don't first know whether our lives are worth living. Only after we've resolved this baseline question can we begin to discuss how to live.

This question isn't just theoretical; it fundamentally shapes our societal frameworks. For example, liberal democracy attempts to answer why life is worth living (championing freedom, fraternity, etc.), while political realism focuses strictly on how to survive (Machiavellian tactics, navigating anarchy). Pitting them against each other as if they are interchangeable is a massive category mistake—they are trying to solve entirely different problems.

The Absurd

Camus explores the question to address the fundamental conflict he calls "The Absurd": the feeling we get when we finally realize that our deeply human desire for purpose is perpetually in conflict with an inherently meaningless universe. We want purpose, meaning, and direction, but the universe never answers and has no built-in purpose. The universe just is, exactly like every one of us.

This realization is baffling and almost humorous. It makes all the pain, suffering, and growth feel like it was for nothing—like a comedy with a great build-up but no punchline. This absurdity then begs the question: if there is no meaning, should we even continue?

Suicide

Before anyone starts jumping out of the window, this is where Camus makes a rather hopeful turn. He offers "No" as the answer. Or, more accurately, he argues that suicide is not the answer. In fact, he views suicide as a cowardly surrender to the Absurd.

He defines two types of suicide:

1. Physical suicide: Simply ending one's life. His criticism here is that it is merely an escape, not a resolution of the Absurd. He considers this a surrender to the meaninglessness that has hounded us for all our lives.
2. Philosophical suicide: A leap of faith into a doctrine or religion that gives you the illusion of purpose. This is "suicide" in the sense that it forces you to abandon the logic and reason essential to being human. Once you abandon your logic, you are no longer human—at least intellectually.

A Critique

I have two main criticisms of this framework.

First, suicide is not cowardice; it is a sign of courage. I would argue that it takes even greater will and strength to drastically change the course of one's life than to merely continue the status quo. To use an analogy: people who flee from a dictatorship aren't cowards; they are brave explorers willing to take drastic action for their future. One could argue they should have stayed and resisted the oppressor (which might be more courageous), but to categorically label the act of charting one's own way out as cowardice is deeply unfair.

Second, suicide does not automatically mean submitting to meaninglessness. Because the universe quite literally does not care, it is entirely up to the individual to decide whether their act is a submission or not. It may sound ridiculous, but who is the ultimate judge of one's ethics and morals if not oneself?

Some may argue that there are absolute morals—rules set in stone that judge us all—but I don't believe that's true. I am the arbiter of my own thoughts. I laugh because I feel funny; I cry because I feel sad. If I decide an action is not a submission, then in a game where there are no objective judges or opponents, I have the absolute power to declare the winner. The opinions of others who might label it otherwise are irrelevant, as the audience has no say in the outcome once the game is done.

I do, however, agree with Camus' claims regarding "philosophical suicide." I believe that whether we continue or not, we should do so while remaining intellectually honest humans.

Some might see a conflict between Camus' refusal of doctrines and my belief that "what one believes is what is." For instance: if someone believes they are an elephant, are they an elephant? There are two sides to this. In their internal world where they have control—their imagination—they are an elephant. However, in reality, there is an objective judge: biological definition. Definition doesn't solely rely on thoughts (unlike happiness or sadness) but on tangible indicators. So, the objective world decides they are not an elephant, while their subjective world decides they are. Ultimately, though, it is their subjective world that dictates their lived experience.

Revolt, Freedom, and Passion

Camus proposes three devices to fight the Absurd:

• Revolt: Make a constant, conscious refusal to be defeated by the meaninglessness of the universe.
• Freedom: Live and think as you want, because the universe ultimately does not care.
• Passion: Enjoy your life in the present, rather than just hoping for a better future or afterlife.

In my opinion, "revolt" is entirely irrelevant to the original question of why we should live. Do we live simply to revolt? Definitely not. Why would you go through something as painful as revolting if the reward is guaranteed to be meaningless? Do we live just because we can revolt? Also irrelevant. Just because I can hold my breath doesn't mean I should constantly drown myself underwater.

Furthermore, freedom and passion are also flawed concepts here.

First, they are not actual prescriptions, but rather criteria: if you aren't free and you aren't passionate, you are forced to rethink the original question of suicide.

Second, they are simply proxies for what we should really be calculating: is the rest of my life worth living? It is simple mathematics. Do I believe, with a high probability, that the pain and suffering I will feel is greater than the happiness that will come? In this calculation, the sheer physical and mental hurdle of committing suicide acts as the greatest gatekeeper. Even if someone calculates that cumulative pain will outweigh happiness, the act of suicide requires an immense amount of mental determination, especially if you don't believe in an afterlife or believe that the action will lead to eternal damnation. This is exactly why labeling suicide as cowardice is absurd.

The "fog of the future" keeps us living even when the present is grim. This is why Camus' argument for passion—"live in the present and don't just hope for a better future"—is flawed. You should work hard and sacrifice the present for a better future. The present is already determined; you can treat it as a constant value. The future is the determining variable in your calculation.

The hope of having a better life IS what keeps us going. The happiness you will feel traveling the world. The happiness you will feel seeing your children and grandchildren. We subconsciously calculate these potential futures, and it is only when these futures feel robbed from us that we feel powerless and desire an escape.

Therefore, our goal of living is to maximize our own happiness, not anything else. And luckily, because you are the arbiter of your own mind, happiness is whatever you decide it is.

The Analogy of Sisyphus - WHAT??

Below is one of the most insane ideas I've heard in my life:

"The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

While I follow Camus' analogy comparing the human experience to Sisyphus—condemned to performing ultimately meaningless tasks—the idea that Sisyphus is happy because the struggle itself is happiness is crazy to me.

Struggle is struggle. With that kind of argument, you can spin hell into a happy place in a "burning oneself toward the bottom is enough to fill a man's heart" sort of way.

If Sisyphus had a conclusive way out, it is highly likely he would take that route, even if it were slow and painful. If Sisyphus doesn't choose to escape, it is likely the sheer fear and terribleness of death that makes the labor of rock-rolling more appealing by comparison, thus keeping him alive. I cannot emphasize enough how much we, as humans, actually desire to not die.

Conclusion

TL;DR:

If your expected overall pain outweighs your expected overall happiness, suicide becomes a logical consideration. However, most people won't do it because the physical and mental effort required to overcome the survival instinct is too great. Instead, we should always try to maximize our future happiness, and not be overly concerned about present happiness, as the present has already been determined.

Camus is right that we should ask this question. However, I have a strong suspicion that people intuitively know the answer already, making a formal analysis somewhat redundant. After all, talking about a problem and solving a problem are two different things; if our survival instincts have already "solved" it, discussing it doesn't change the outcome.

That isn't to say it's not beneficial to have an organized answer filed away in our minds. During troubling times, it is always helpful to be able to pull that file out and reorient ourselves.