Part 6 — Pounding sand in the labyrinth
Albert Camus’ 1939 existential travelogue “The Minotaur, or The Stop in Oran” unveils a stark land carved from rock and enchanted by idolatry — yet, for those very reasons, a place where an outsider finds renewal in generative voids. Oran is a labyrinth, trapping its denizens in a maze of rigid roles and inflated meaning. Yet the fiery sky overhead, the desert beyond its walls, even cult itself offer clearings to glimpse the concealed mystery that deepens existence. Between these extremes, the ancient Mediterranean mediates the poles of domineering order and indifferent chaos — being and becoming.
As a brief visitor to the Algerian town, Camus gleaned insights into the human condition. He was uncaptivated by local influences, so he could taste the transfigurative release of ego death through ritual without clinging to idolatry. This detachment let him view Oran’s communal practices as absurd spectacles rather than valid dogmas. Unlike the residents, trapped in their maze by habit and therefore blind to the landscape and sea, Camus remained open to the world’s mystery.
Oran’s most vivid spectacle is a boxing match, where fans from rival cities, Oran and Algiers, project collective identities onto the fighters. A physical contest becomes a clash of communal pride. They hurl insults, not personal but philosophically deeper, assaulting group honor and inflating its significance until a vengeance ignites. The arena transforms into a ritualistic space, with boxers idolized as proxies for group victory or defeat. “These insults are more stinging than one might think, since they are metaphysical,” Camus observes, highlighting how group identity turns mundane strife into existential drama.
He describes the fights in religious tones:
“The crowd grows animated, yet remains polite. It inhales the sacred scent of liniment, contemplating slow rites and confused sacrifices, made authentic by the expiatory shadows cast against the wall. These are the prelude to a savage, calculated religion. Only later comes the trance.”
In this fervor, pride swells, fights erupt in the crowd, and vengeance is exacted. As communal passions approach the Zero Meridian — a tipping point of absolute nihilism — Heraclitean polemos (strife) ignites, generating meaning through opposition. Yet this risks rigid dogma, inflamed by papañca, the mental proliferation that weaves illusions from raw flux. These blazes mark the pole of being: earthbound rituals enforcing order, where individuals subsume their will to the collective, mistaking idols for transcendent truth. The fans’ zeal reflects the being pole of Nietzsche’s will to power polarity — group assertion and self-abnegation — as opposed to the becoming pole of individual empowerment and overcoming. Camus, as an outsider attuned to absurdity, is able to avoid the group’s enchantment while benefiting from the ego dissolution in the ritual’s raw energy. This is a transfigurative release into lethe, the Greek notion of concealing or forgetting, without being ensnared by dogma. Lethe pairs with aletheia (unconcealment, truth) as physis — nature’s self-emerging flux. Moderns, lost in the nihilism of total aletheia (e.g., scientific materialism or Neo-Marxism), often overlook lethe’s mystery.
Beyond the arena, Oran’s idolatry manifests in its monuments and streets — eroded statues of forgotten generals or the Maison du Colon, a patchwork edifice blending colonial styles into a hollow symbol of economic utility. Oranians invest these with rigid roles to ward off the labyrinth’s mundaneness, their identities subsumed in forms echoing Ernst Jünger’s “form as cult” — structured yet spontaneous assertions of power. Push too far into this, and one risks entrapment, mistaking idols for absolutes. Yet, fully embraced, it can blaze across the Zero Meridian, revealing the fiery nature within.
Water, however, is life’s most advantageous element. It dissolves the self-idol with its generative nothingness, sweeping clear for renewal. It stirs up the becoming that has stilled to being in Richard Wagner’s “Liebestod” from Tristan und Isolde, echoing a pessimistic, nirvana-like escape. In Oran, this aligns with the earth pole: rituals promising surrender to collective forms, offering respite from anguish but risking entrapment in bad faith — becoming a manipulable “thing.” Camus sees the farce, yet he finds form’s solidity necessary for engaging flux. “Nothingness is no more within our reach than the absolute,” he writes, navigating a middle way. It’s riding the rapids of intersecting polar torrents. Here, physis (nature’s flux) and citta(mind) swirl as superimposed saṅkhāras (Pali guide) — conditioned phenomena shaping reality. Oran’s stark elements — dusty streets, brilliant sky — hint at physis’ concealed side, while citta’s forms, like “the self” and group identity, proliferate illusions that blind us to the fact there even is a concealed side. The sea mediates, channeling flux into a life-affirming flow that tempers extremes without quenching vitality.
Stripped bare, Oran breeds existential anxiety from a lack of stimulation. In a city “without soul and without reprieve,” the scarcity of distractions forces confrontation with the absurd: our craving for purpose in an indifferent universe. Oranians seek refuge from the void in daily clamor and other idols — boxers as sacrificial figures or the Maison du Colon’s grandeur — projecting meaning to fill the emptiness. Yet this glare of papañca obscures physis’ mystery.
For a cosmic Chad like Camus, though, Oran’s starkness facilitates releasement. Urban anonymity, the desert’s silence, the sea’s elusive horizon — all invite attunement to nimitta, subtle signs of concealed truth. Camus glimpses the void without clinging, balancing Nietzsche’s Dionysian torrent and Apollonian form. Through depersonalization — viewing rituals as absurd theater — or art’s grandeur (like Wagner’s opera), one attunes to mystery without falling into cult. Lethe dissolves ego, not into escapism but forgetful immersion, losing the self in flux without illusion.
To face the sky’s neutral indifference, we must release our need for constant stimulation and embrace the resulting anxiety. The Minotaur is boredom; Ariadne’s thread leads from the labyrinth to the hard landscape, blazing sky and ultimately the sea, attuned to physis’ depths. Camus writes:
“These weighty galleons of stone and light quiver on their keels, as if ready to sail toward sunlit isles. Oh, Oran’s mornings! From the high plateaus, swallows dive into vast cauldrons of shimmering air. The entire coast stands poised for departure, stirred by a thrill of adventure. Tomorrow, perhaps, we shall set sail together.”
This evokes a shift from being to becoming: the sky’s chaos loosens earth’s dogma, letting the sea bear us along the flux — our true nature. Lethe affirms vitality without illusion.
Check out Part 7 of “Rekindling the metaphysical fire.” (Originally shared on X)
Rob Robill 