Seneca once remarked, “As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.” This quote has stuck with me for a while: I always believed in the power of appreciating what matters but found “what matters” to be ambiguous. However, in recent years I have taken it upon myself to understand what is important to me and to create a value system that creates tangible meaning for myself and others. One of the largest contributors to this value system has been one particular book – The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus.
As a high school senior only now waking up to the sudden realities of adulthood and maturity, I find myself embracing different philosophies relating to change, growth, purpose, and mission. Chief among such theories is that of absurdism, which simply posits that our search for meaning is inherently at odds with the irrational universe. A brilliant text that explores this philosophy, notably pioneered by people like Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus is a winding and perplexing story that delves into human imagination and earthly pains. In it, Sisyphus, the former king of Corinth, Greece, is made to roll a heavy boulder up a hill – the task is seemingly impossible and proceeds infinitely as the boulder keeps falling during each attempt.
But how exactly does Sisyphus represent absurdism? In what ways is he a hero of this school of thought? Simply put, Sisyphus is an absurd idol because he indefatigably works toward an apparent objective while accepting the repetitive, silly labor, continually in defiance while also acknowledging the strangeness of his circumstances. Through this lens, acceptance of the human condition and high-flying or lofty goals can live side by side in tranquility; this itself is the core contradiction and very thesis of absurdism. In a nutshell, absurdists demand that we must come to terms with the futility of our endeavours even if the ends we are attempting to reach mean so much to us.
When this thinking is applied to everyday scenarios and situations around us, it can have visible and powerful impacts. Throughout history, soldiers who have made brave assaults and valiant efforts through mud, rain, and grass have done so in the hopes of victory, a better future for the people they leave behind, or a national interest – yet, in many cases, they continue the fight even when they realize the unrealistic nature of a confrontation or battle. In many ways, it is the welcoming of the absurdist contradiction that births noble souls, people who know the odds, risks, and lack of reward, but continue on anyway for the sake of the mission given to them.
In more ways than one, the admirability of absurdism springs from this attitude. Characters like Genji, from The Tale of Genji, often are led by desires that are materialistic or finite: Genji, for example, pursued fraternization and socialization for his own fulfillment, not paying heed to any larger goal. The warning against the thinking shown by Genji is somewhat hackneyed, and you may have heard it plenty before – a myopic goal and passions of the moment manage to eclipse longstanding efforts and steady work. Sisyphus, in comparison to Genji, is no less an emotional character, but is willing to endure for the sake of enduring, willing to do for the sake of doing. He works through his hopeless trials and hard tribulations not because he expects to be handed a lemonade on the top of the hill by a god, but because the infinite nature of his task has him set and motivated on a certain path. It is the combination of perseverance, tireless attitude, acceptance, and work that actually makes Sisyphus such an ideal, yet not ideal character. He is so incredibly well-written but we can’t help but to feel pity for him and for others like him.
Since I have read this book, I have tried to better do my tasks instead of to better understand them. While I know that purpose is important, I can also attest to the power of absurd work. I don’t know if anything will change via my efforts, and I don’t expect much either. I sometimes find myself fiddling with my viola, writing, or doing homework because out of all the options, these activities seem the most rational. Our dreams are fragile – instead of insisting on preserving them, we should instead concern ourselves with our monotonous, yet prized, tasks while remembering meaning doesn’t need to be found at every corner.
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