The Stone of Eternal Havoc and the Starlight of Defiance
观棋 2025-05-21
The Abyss of Myth: When Meaning is Crushed to Pieces
The sin of Sisyphus may not lie in deceiving Death, but in recognizing the bluff of the gods too early. He glimpsed the emptiness behind the divinity, just as the modern man tore open the sugar coating of civilization and saw the barrenness of the
The Stone of Eternal Havoc and the Starlight of Defiance
In the shadows of the Greek Peninsula, Sisyphus' boulder rolls forever up the steep mountain face. Like an invisible chain, the curse of the gods locks his fate into an eternal cycle--push the stone up the mountain, the boulder rolls down, push it again, and it falls again. This hard laborer who is deprived of the end of the line becomes a hero who rebels against absurdity under the pen of existentialist philosopher Albert Camus.
I. The Abyss of Myth: When Meaning is Crushed to Pieces
The sin of Sisyphus may not lie in deceiving Death, but in recognizing the bluff of the gods too early. He glimpsed the emptiness behind the divinity, just as the modern man tore open the sugar coating of civilization and saw the barrenness of the essence of life. The boulder that rolls down forever, the repetition of daily labor, the unchanging traffic lights on the commute, the ever-beating numbers on the KPI statement -- the shadow of the boulder looms over every waking soul when mankind realizes that it is but a perpetually moving cog in a vast system.
Camus said, “The struggle to reach the top is enough in itself to enrich the human mind.” But in the original context of the myth, Sisyphus' struggle is meaningless. His sweat drips into the dust, his gasps dissipate into the wind, there is no monument to record his efforts, no endpoint to recognize his perseverance. This is just like the human predicament revealed by existentialism: we are thrown into a world of chance, with neither a predetermined purpose nor a necessary redemption. Every time the boulder rolls down, it is a mockery of “meaning,” and every time Sisyphus turns down the hill, it is an acquiescence to this mockery.
Second, the shimmering light of resistance: carving meaning out of nothingness
But Camus refuses to accept this acquiescence. He has Sisyphus look back at the boulder on his way down, with a gaze not of despair but of sober self-awareness. “The struggle to reach the summit itself” enriches the mind not because it leads to some ultimate meaning, but because it is itself the vehicle of meaning. Like Van Gogh's frantic wielding of his brush in the wheat fields of Arles, knowing full well that the paintings would eventually fade; like the poet's scribbling of broken sentences on manuscript paper, knowing full well that the words would eventually be forgotten -- man's impulse to create meaning in the midst of meaninglessness is none other than the gentlest rebellion against absurdity.
The “boulders” of modern society are much more insidious. We no longer need to push the physical stone, but we are pushing the stone of “success”, the stone of “identity”, the stone of “happiness”. Algorithms customize our life templates, consumerism gilds the stones, and we are led to believe that if we push fast and hard enough, we will reach some glorious peak. Until one day, we suddenly see our sweat-stained faces in a late-night mirror and hear an inner voice asking, “And then what?”
The greatness of Sisyphus lies in the fact that he saw through the futility of “and then,” yet still chose to push the stone. His hands rubbed out blood blisters, but carved his fingerprints in the lines of the boulder; his feet crushed gravel, but left his own footprints on the mountain path. This reminds me of the painters of Dunhuang, depicting the flying skies in the dark caves, knowing that the murals will eventually be buried by the yellow sand; think of the craftsmen of Jingdezhen, shaping the blue and white flowers in the clay, knowing that the porcelain will eventually break -- they are the same as Sisyphus, searching for the momentary eternity in the eternal fading.
Walking towards the mountain: becoming a myth of oneself in the cycle
Standing at the foot of the mountain in the 21st century, we need the gaze of Sisyphus more than ever. When “lie flat” and “involution” are torn in the court of public opinion, and when “hollowing out” becomes the epidemic of the times, we should perhaps learn to be like Sisyphus, and redefine ourselves in the process of pushing the stone. Define yourself. Not for the glory of the top of the mountain, but for the warmth of the stone when we touch it with our palms, for the sound of the mountain wind in our ears, and for the dewdrops on the blades of grass that we see every time we bend down.
Camus wrote at the end of The Myth of Sisyphus, “We must imagine that Sisyphus was happy.” This is not a glorification of suffering, but a salute to human resilience. Happiness lies not in the arrival, but in the sustained struggle; not in the conquest of the boulder, but in the courage to live with it. Like the scientist who repeats his experiments millions of times in the lab, like the teacher who sends off one student after another on the podium, like the mother who cooks for her family in the kitchen for thirty years -- they are all modern-day Sisyphus, grinding ordinary stones into their own stars with day-to-day perseverance.
As night falls, Sisyphus' boulder rolls back to the base of the mountain once again. He patted the dust on his knees and looked up to the top of the mountain. The moonlight illuminated his sweaty forehead and the slight curve of his mouth. To the sound of the gods' laughter, he bent down and clasped his hands around the cold stone once more. This time, he wasn't doing it for the mountaintop, but for the very moment when he was
In the shadows of the Greek Peninsula, Sisyphus' boulder rolls forever up the steep mountain face. Like an invisible chain, the curse of the gods locks his fate into an eternal cycle--push the stone up the mountain, the boulder rolls down, push it again, and it falls again. This hard laborer who is deprived of the end of the line becomes a hero who rebels against absurdity under the pen of existentialist philosopher Albert Camus.
I. The Abyss of Myth: When Meaning is Crushed to Pieces
The sin of Sisyphus may not lie in deceiving Death, but in recognizing the bluff of the gods too early. He glimpsed the emptiness behind the divinity, just as the modern man tore open the sugar coating of civilization and saw the barrenness of the essence of life. The boulder that rolls down forever, the repetition of daily labor, the unchanging traffic lights on the commute, the ever-beating numbers on the KPI statement -- the shadow of the boulder looms over every waking soul when mankind realizes that it is but a perpetually moving cog in a vast system.
Camus said, “The struggle to reach the top is enough in itself to enrich the human mind.” But in the original context of the myth, Sisyphus' struggle is meaningless. His sweat drips into the dust, his gasps dissipate into the wind, there is no monument to record his efforts, no endpoint to recognize his perseverance. This is just like the human predicament revealed by existentialism: we are thrown into a world of chance, with neither a predetermined purpose nor a necessary redemption. Every time the boulder rolls down, it is a mockery of “meaning,” and every time Sisyphus turns down the hill, it is an acquiescence to this mockery.
Second, the shimmering light of resistance: carving meaning out of nothingness
But Camus refuses to accept this acquiescence. He has Sisyphus look back at the boulder on his way down, with a gaze not of despair but of sober self-awareness. “The struggle to reach the summit itself” enriches the mind not because it leads to some ultimate meaning, but because it is itself the vehicle of meaning. Like Van Gogh's frantic wielding of his brush in the wheat fields of Arles, knowing full well that the paintings would eventually fade; like the poet's scribbling of broken sentences on manuscript paper, knowing full well that the words would eventually be forgotten -- man's impulse to create meaning in the midst of meaninglessness is none other than the gentlest rebellion against absurdity.
The “boulders” of modern society are much more insidious. We no longer need to push the physical stone, but we are pushing the stone of “success”, the stone of “identity”, the stone of “happiness”. Algorithms customize our life templates, consumerism gilds the stones, and we are led to believe that if we push fast and hard enough, we will reach some glorious peak. Until one day, we suddenly see our sweat-stained faces in a late-night mirror and hear an inner voice asking, “And then what?”
The greatness of Sisyphus lies in the fact that he saw through the futility of “and then,” yet still chose to push the stone. His hands rubbed out blood blisters, but carved his fingerprints in the lines of the boulder; his feet crushed gravel, but left his own footprints on the mountain path. This reminds me of the painters of Dunhuang, depicting the flying skies in the dark caves, knowing that the murals will eventually be buried by the yellow sand; think of the craftsmen of Jingdezhen, shaping the blue and white flowers in the clay, knowing that the porcelain will eventually break -- they are the same as Sisyphus, searching for the momentary eternity in the eternal fading.
Walking towards the mountain: becoming a myth of oneself in the cycle
Standing at the foot of the mountain in the 21st century, we need the gaze of Sisyphus more than ever. When “lie flat” and “involution” are torn in the court of public opinion, and when “hollowing out” becomes the epidemic of the times, we should perhaps learn to be like Sisyphus, and redefine ourselves in the process of pushing the stone. Define yourself. Not for the glory of the top of the mountain, but for the warmth of the stone when we touch it with our palms, for the sound of the mountain wind in our ears, and for the dewdrops on the blades of grass that we see every time we bend down.
Camus wrote at the end of The Myth of Sisyphus, “We must imagine that Sisyphus was happy.” This is not a glorification of suffering, but a salute to human resilience. Happiness lies not in the arrival, but in the sustained struggle; not in the conquest of the boulder, but in the courage to live with it. Like the scientist who repeats his experiments millions of times in the lab, like the teacher who sends off one student after another on the podium, like the mother who cooks for her family in the kitchen for thirty years -- they are all modern-day Sisyphus, grinding ordinary stones into their own stars with day-to-day perseverance.
As night falls, Sisyphus' boulder rolls back to the base of the mountain once again. He patted the dust on his knees and looked up to the top of the mountain. The moonlight illuminated his sweaty forehead and the slight curve of his mouth. To the sound of the gods' laughter, he bent down and clasped his hands around the cold stone once more. This time, he wasn't doing it for the mountaintop, but for the very moment when he was
