Once upon a time there lived in Greece a man called Sisyphus. Like many of us, he was
passionately fond of life. Albert Camus tells us that he
defied the gods by trying to chain death. The gods punished him for his
rebellion and sentenced him to an eternal life of futile labor. He was condemned
to roll a huge rock to the top of a mountain. Was there a moment of triumph and
accomplishment when he conquered the peak? Alas, no. As soon as he reached the
peak, the stone rolled down under its own weight. He had struggled and worked so hard only to
see his labor wasted. As Sisyphus watched the rock tumble, he paused for a
moment. He became conscious of his terrible destiny: His work had accomplished
nothing. He was aware of
the full extent of his wretched fate but decided to follow the rock down to the
bottom and start rolling it up all over again. Camus sees this as a triumph:
‘At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks
towards the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than
his rock.’ Sisyphus
is powerless to change his terrible fate but he
endures it with dignity, fully conscious that the future holds no hope or
relief: ‘There is no sun without shadow and it is essential to know the night…
Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in
itself forms a world. The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill
a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.’
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