In 1941, Albert Camus wrote about a small French town that was devastated when a virus carried by mice spread to the townspeople and killed hundreds. At that time, the premise probably seemed fantastical to most, but after what we went through in 2020, the response would more likely be, "the virus only killed hundreds?" The thoroughly modern town was filled with people going about their business without a care in the world, seeming invincible against something as disgusting as a mouse and a virus. The virus was eventually eradicated by the hero, Dr. Rieux, and the town returned to "normal". Camus was not writing a thriller about a mythological virus. He was giving readers an analogy for his worldview that goes something like this. We are all living with a plague. All of us have nastiness buried within us, and we will all die at some unknown time though random circumstances. While we feverishly search for meaning, there is none. Life is a cruel joke, and we are only meant to endure. In a word, life is absurd. This thinking became prevalent in the last part of the 20th century and was given the name, absurdism. While that word is new to me, I see people living that philosophy of life daily. I was taught to think differently, and as I grew older, I was able to think more for myself. While plenty of things are absurd to me, I can't imagine a life where our purpose for being here is absurd. My heart aches for those that feel that way.
Albert Camus was introduced to me by J.I. Packer in his book "Knowing God" and this video has a review of Camus's book, "The Plague".
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