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The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labour.
According to Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortals. His impressive resume included: stealing godly secrets, imprisoning Death, and returning from the dead after getting Pluto to sign an underworld leave form. The gods got sick of his chutzpah and decided to make an example to other mortals inclined to show them cheek.
But the punishment doesn't fit the crime. Physically strenuous work doesn't break an intellectual mind - you can dream while you toil. Dreary brain-work is better at cauterising craft and wit. The gods should have made him their accounts receivable clerk, or Mount Olympus' business analyst. Like the rest of us, he'd have to work in a place where every client thought they were a god.
Sisyphus' tragedy is that he is aware of his hopelessness, and I believe his consciousness - not the task - is his punishment. All of us push rocks, but only he can see his. He has seen the Matrix, and it sucks. (Not as badly as Matrix: Reloaded though.) We can identify with that. Most of us who hate our jobs think we're the only ones smart enough - unlike the other idiots around us - to see its futility. Our damaged vanity is also satisfied. We're all in hell, but I get a koala sticker on my exercise book because I noticed.
From another angle, Sisyphus doesn't have it too bad. He doesn't have management playing with the size or shape of his rock, or policies that prescribe pushing in a more culturally sensitive direction. It's unlikely that Sisyphus is subjected to performance standards - 'times rock reaches summit this financial year', for instance - subject to annual review.
My performance review held just a few days ago, was instilled all through with a Sisyphean sense of deja-vu. If I had tape-recorded last year's and played it back, I'm sure we would have matched it word for word. The old issues were still there. The old unvoiced concerns were still there, as were the semi-comfortable silences. Take a look at this transcript from 2004 (and 2003):
And another one, just for fun:
I became 'aware' during the first exchange. As we spoke, I wondered how many times the rock had rolled down, and the situation reloaded. Would I wake up same time next year and wonder the same thing? Of course, constant chaos in the workplace - job-role restructuring, internet access controls, auditor scrutiny - creates the impression of change. But they only serve to disguise the fact that it's the same rock, just at different points on the hill.
My rock is slipping. The signs are there: new CEO, new organisational structure, branch reviews. Last time that happened, I got 'downsized'. No person can escape political tides without a lot of luck, no matter that they are smart enough to see them. That is the agony of the aware.
If I must descend repeatedly into the valley to fetch my rock, I'll try something different each time. Repetition actually increases opportunities for creative responses. Sisyphus could push the rock downhill. He could try using his tongue. Maybe I'll wait for a redundancy or a redeployment. Maybe I'll take leave without pay, or have that sickie I've been promising myself. I refuse to dumb myself down to fit my fate. Maybe, after the house has been paid off, I'll resign in hubris and look for another rock. No wait, I've done that one already.
The real tragedy would be if Sisyphus lost his rock. Then what proof would there be of his enduring intellect - one that remains whole despite incurring divine wrath? Camus imagines him to be happy, and so do I. At least Sisyphus has job security.
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