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PARTISAN REVIEW
the attraction of happiness is too urgent, sadness arises in the heart
of man: this is the victory of the rock, this is the rock itself. The
immense distress is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Geth–
semane. But the crushing truths perish when they are recognized.
Thus, Oedipus at first obeys
his
destiny without knowing it. From
the moment that he knows it, his tragedy begins. But at the same
instant, blind and desperate, he recognizes that the only
link
that
connects him to the world is the cool hand of a young girl. A tre–
mendous speech issued from his mouth: "In spite of so many experi–
ences, my advanced age and the greatness of my soul make me judge
that all is well." The Oedipus of Sophocles, like the Kirilov of Dosto–
evski, thus declares the formula of the absurd hero. Ancient wisdom
unites with modern heroism.
One cannot discover the absurd without being tempted to write
a manual about happiness. "What! by ways so narrow.... " But
there is only one world. Happiness and absurdity are the two sons of
the same earth. They are inseparable. It would be wrong to say that
happiness was born necessarily from the discovery of the absurd. It
is just as often true that the sentiment of the absurd gives birth to
happiness. "I judge that all is well," says Oedipus, and his speech
is holy. It resounds in the fierce and limited world of man. It teaches
us that all is not, has not been exhausted.
It
drives from the world a
god who had entered it along with dissatisfaction and the taste for
useless sorrow. It makes destiny man's affair, an affair which must be
managed among men.
Herein lies all the silent joy of Sisyphus. His destiny belongs to
him. His rock is his thing. In the same way, the absurd man,
in
con–
templating his torment, silences all the idols. In the universe suddenly
restored to his silence, the thousand astonished small voices of the
earth arise. Unconscious and secret appeals, the invitation of every
face, these are the reverse side and the necessary price of victory.
There is no sun without shadow, and it is necessary to know the
night. The absurd man gives his assent, and his striving is without
pause.
If
there is a personal destiny, there is no longer a destiny
superior to it, or at least there is only one which he judges to be fatal
and contemptible. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master
of his days. At that subtle moment when man turns back upon his
life, Sisyphus, returning to
his
rock, looks back briefly, and contem–
plates the succession of unconnected actions which have become his
destiny, created by him, unified under the gaze of his memory, and
soon broken off by his death. Thus, persuaded of the wholly human
