Camus also uses the imperative, saying “We must imagine [Sisyphus] happy?” Why this word must? What implications does this suggest for human beings? [119]THE MYTH OF SISYPHUSThe gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence thestone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no moredreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.If one believes Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortals. According to anothertradition, however, he was disposed to practice the profession of highwayman. I see no contradiction inthis. Opinions differ as to the reasons why he became the futile laborer of the underworld. To begin with,he is accused of a certain levity in regard to the gods. He stole their secrets. Ægina, the daughter ofÆsopus, was carried off by Jupiter. The father was shocked by that disappearance and complained toSisyphus. He, who knew of the abduction, offered to tell about it on condition that Æsopus would givewater to the citadel of Corinth. To the celestial thunderbolts he preferred the benediction of water. He waspunished for this in the underworld. Homer tells us also that Sisyphus had put Death in chains. Plutocould not endure the sight of his deserted, silent empire. He dispatched the god of war, who liberatedDeath from the hands of her conqueror.It is said that Sisyphus, being near to death, rashly wanted to test his wife's love. He ordered her to[120]cast his unburied body into the middle of the public square. Sisyphus woke up in the underworld.And there, annoyed by an obedience so contrary to human love, he obtained from Pluto permission toreturn to earth in order to chastise his wife. But when he had seen again the face of this world, enjoyedwater and sun, warm stones and the sea, he no longer wanted to go back to the infernal darkness. Recalls,signs of anger, wamings were of no avail. Many years more he lived facing the curve of the gulf, thesparkling sca, and the smiles of earth. A decree of the gods was necessary. Mercury came and seized theimpudent man by the collar and, snatching him from his joys, lead him forcibly back to the underworld,where his rock was ready for him.You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the absurd hero. He is, as much through his passions asthrough his torture. His scom of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him thatunspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the pricethat must be paid for the passions of this carth. Nothing is told to us about Sisyphus in the underworld.Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. As for this myth, one sees merely the wholeeffort of a body straining to raise the huge stone, to roll it, and push it up a slope a hundred times over,one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-coveredmass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands. At the very end of his long effort [121]measured by skyless space and time without depth,the purpose is achieved. Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward that lowerworld whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. He goes back down to the plain.It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones isalready stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the tormentof which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as hissuffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights andgradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if atevery step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works everyday in his life at thesame tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomesconscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of hiswretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute historture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be sumounted by scorn. If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. This word is nottoo much. Again I fancy Sisyphus returming toward his rock, and [122] the sorrow was in the beginning.When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes too insistent,it happens that melancholy arises in man's heart: this is the rock's victory, this is the rock itself. Theboundless grief is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Gethsemane. But crushing truths perish frombeing acknowledged. Thus, Edipus at the outset obeys fate without knowing it. But from the moment heknows, his tragedy begins. Yet at the same moment, blind and desperate, he realizes that the only bondlinking him to the world is the cool hand of a girl. Then a tremendous remark rings out: "Despite so manyordeals, my advanced age and the nobility of my soul make me conclude that all is well." SophoclesEdipus, like Dostoevsky's Kirilov, thus gives the recipe for the absurd victory. Ancient wisdom confirmsmodern heroism.One does not discover the absurd without being tempted to write a manual of happiness. "What! bysuch narrow ways-?" There is but one world, however. Happiness and the absurd are two sons of thesame earth. They are inseparable. It would be a mistake to say that happiness necessarily springs from theabsurd discovery. It happens as well that the felling of the absurd springs from happiness. "I conclude thatall is well," says Edipus, and that remark is sacred. It echoes in the wild and limited universe of man. Itteaches that all is not, has not been, exhausted. It drives out of this world a god who had come into it withdissatisfaction and a preference for futile suffering. It makes of fate a human matter, which must besettled among men.[123JA|I Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is a thingLikewise, the absurd man, when he contemplates his torment, silences all the idols. In the universesuddenly restored to its silence, the myriad wondering little voices of the earth rise up. Unconscious,secret calls, invitations from all the faces, they are the necessary reverse and price of victory. There is nosun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his efforts willhenceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is, but onewhich he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master of hisdays. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward hisrock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which become his fate,created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of thewholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end,he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling.I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphusteaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. Thisuniverse henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, eachmineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heightsis enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Question

Camus also uses the imperative, saying “We must imagine [Sisyphus] happy?” Why this word must? What implications does this suggest for human beings? [119]THE MYTH OF SISYPHUSThe gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence thestone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no moredreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.If one believes Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortals. According to anothertradition, however, he was disposed to practice the profession of highwayman. I see no contradiction inthis. Opinions differ as to the reasons why he became the futile laborer of the underworld. To begin with,he is accused of a certain levity in regard to the gods. He stole their secrets. Ægina, the daughter ofÆsopus, was carried off by Jupiter. The father was shocked by that disappearance and complained toSisyphus. He, who knew of the abduction, offered to tell about it on condition that Æsopus would givewater to the citadel of Corinth. To the celestial thunderbolts he preferred the benediction of water. He waspunished for this in the underworld. Homer tells us also that Sisyphus had put Death in chains. Plutocould not endure the sight of his deserted, silent empire. He dispatched the god of war, who liberatedDeath from the hands of her conqueror.It is said that Sisyphus, being near to death, rashly wanted to test his wife's love. He ordered her to[120]cast his unburied body into the middle of the public square. Sisyphus woke up in the underworld.And there, annoyed by an obedience so contrary to human love, he obtained from Pluto permission toreturn to earth in order to chastise his wife. But when he had seen again the face of this world, enjoyedwater and sun, warm stones and the sea, he no longer wanted to go back to the infernal darkness. Recalls,signs of anger, wamings were of no avail. Many years more he lived facing the curve of the gulf, thesparkling sca, and the smiles of earth. A decree of the gods was necessary. Mercury came and seized theimpudent man by the collar and, snatching him from his joys, lead him forcibly back to the underworld,where his rock was ready for him.You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the absurd hero. He is, as much through his passions asthrough his torture. His scom of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him thatunspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the pricethat must be paid for the passions of this carth. Nothing is told to us about Sisyphus in the underworld.Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. As for this myth, one sees merely the wholeeffort of a body straining to raise the huge stone, to roll it, and push it up a slope a hundred times over,one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-coveredmass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands. At the very end of his long effort [121]measured by skyless space and time without depth,the purpose is achieved. Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward that lowerworld whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. He goes back down to the plain.It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones isalready stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the tormentof which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as hissuffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights andgradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if atevery step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works everyday in his life at thesame tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomesconscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of hiswretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute historture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be sumounted by scorn. If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. This word is nottoo much. Again I fancy Sisyphus returming toward his rock, and [122] the sorrow was in the beginning.When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes too insistent,it happens that melancholy arises in man's heart: this is the rock's victory, this is the rock itself. Theboundless grief is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Gethsemane. But crushing truths perish frombeing acknowledged. Thus, Edipus at the outset obeys fate without knowing it. But from the moment heknows, his tragedy begins. Yet at the same moment, blind and desperate, he realizes that the only bondlinking him to the world is the cool hand of a girl. Then a tremendous remark rings out: &#34;Despite so manyordeals, my advanced age and the nobility of my soul make me conclude that all is well.&#34; SophoclesEdipus, like Dostoevsky's Kirilov, thus gives the recipe for the absurd victory. Ancient wisdom confirmsmodern heroism.One does not discover the absurd without being tempted to write a manual of happiness. &#34;What! bysuch narrow ways-?&#34; There is but one world, however. Happiness and the absurd are two sons of thesame earth. They are inseparable. It would be a mistake to say that happiness necessarily springs from theabsurd discovery. It happens as well that the felling of the absurd springs from happiness. &#34;I conclude thatall is well,&#34; says Edipus, and that remark is sacred. It echoes in the wild and limited universe of man. Itteaches that all is not, has not been, exhausted. It drives out of this world a god who had come into it withdissatisfaction and a preference for futile suffering. It makes of fate a human matter, which must besettled among men.[123JA|I Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is a thingLikewise, the absurd man, when he contemplates his torment, silences all the idols. In the universesuddenly restored to its silence, the myriad wondering little voices of the earth rise up. Unconscious,secret calls, invitations from all the faces, they are the necessary reverse and price of victory. There is nosun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his efforts willhenceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is, but onewhich he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master of hisdays. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward hisrock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which become his fate,created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of thewholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end,he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling.I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphusteaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. Thisuniverse henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, eachmineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heightsis enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Accepted Answer

For that is the only way to reconcile Sisyphus' actions to roll the boulder upward only to roll down…