The New Sisyphus

In Albert Camus's essay entitled "The Myth of Sisyphus," the author depicts a portrait of Sisyphus not as a man suffering the tragic fate of having to roll a rock up a steep mountain, only to deliver it to the top and have it roll back to the bottom. And for all eternity he must repeat this - never accomplishing his task, constantly facing failure, realizing all of his hard work is for nothing. Camus views Sisyphus not as a tragic figure but as a heroic figure who may even enjoy his perpetual torment. I too have a unique view on Sisyphus's plight. His eternal struggle is akin to that of a teacher.


I squat, dig my heels in, and push.


Camus argues that while Sisyphus's struggle seems to be in vain, it is really just the opposite. While it is true every effort to deliver the rock to the crest of the mountain is met with disappointment, it is also true that Sisyphus has time to reflect during his descent back down the mountain and to his boulder.


The rock is smooth against my face and drops of sweat sprout on my forehead and forearms.


Each day a teacher enters his or her classroom filled with students. This is their mountain. The knowledge or information that he wants to share with the students is his boulder. One hundred and eighty days a year, surely nothing compared to eternity, but when one multiplies that by the number of students in each class (roughly 30) and by the number of periods in a day (3-6), you get a staggering 16,200 opportunities for the teacher to lug his burden up his mountain. Like Sisyphus, somewhere along the journey, the rock slips and thunders back to the bottom. For the teacher, this can occur in a number of ways. First, a student can simply refuse to partake in class. Second, the teacher can fail to make a student understand. Third, the teacher may impart some form of knowledge to the student but be unhappy with his instruction. Fourth, the student may get the teacher's drift only to become frustrated and give up. Fifth, . . . well you get the point.


The students begin to drift or disagree. I can see it in their faces. They look away when I look at them. They doodle in their notebooks - if they are even open. They look out the window.

I dig in further and try to shove the boulder. My lower back is white hot. My calves strain. I am slick with perspiration. I can see the peak. On I push.


However, like Sisyphus, the teacher too returns to the bottom of the mountain to try again. Here the teacher also has time for reflect on their effort. The effort is worthy; it is good work. It is difficult, not in the physical sense, but of course, in the mental and spiritual sense. Often our success cannot be measured in high test scores (though the state would like to believe so) nor can it necessarily be measured in grades. It could be measured by the 'hellos' we get from students in the morning or by the number of students who pop in during the day to see what is new or by the few who say "I wish Mr. or Mrs. So and So would teach like you" or by those students who let us 'in' and show us sides of themselves that few are ever privy to. Or maybe our biggest success is that our students continue to come to our class everyday.

Maybe their task as students isn't so entirely different from that of Sisyphus either.


I have totally lost them now. They didn't pay attention when I was explaining the directions. Nearly 20 hands shoot into the air when I ask, "Any questions?"

The rock teeters at the summit for one second, a split second of victory, then gravity wins and it topples back down.


Like Sisyphus, we will never achieve our task. We too are doomed. I will never teach every single student every single day every single thing I must. I will never reach every student and motivate them to question and examine this great world around them. I will never inspire every student. I will never push every student hard enough.

However, I can derive enjoyment in the work. Just today, four students showed up from Composition II. Several skipped - as is customary. I saw one this morning, but he is not here now. Another told me yesterday he had to meet with a psychologist. Another has missed her tenth class period. Another has missed her seventh class. Both skipping. Two are gone for track. Three are gone for testing.

And four show up on time to learn something. Yet my plan was to re-show the film “Little Mis Sunshine” so the ones who missed it the first time (about four students) could get to actually see it. Those who were on their second time around would take notes for their film review. Yet, only four show up. All the ones who missed it the first time are gone. Ironic.

Maybe instead of continually pushing the boulder up just one mountain, teachers are instead called on to push the boulder up and over a never ending chain of mountains.

And, of course, that is torture. Just like trying to teach today.

And sometimes the boulder doesn’t even get up the hill. Like today. Sometimes the boulder is just too damned impossible to budge.

I guess, though, there are times when my students do achieve, though they rarely achieve all that I want them to. And some rarely achieve anything at all.

But there are times when I do finally place that burden at the summit and see it teeter for a moment and then hurl down the other side . . . all the way down to the base of another mountain.

Reading the "About the Author" segment in the poet Li-Young Lee's new book, he states that he works in a warehouse. I like that. There is some ignorant, tough charm in that phrase. We too work in a warehouse, the school. I would continue, but I'm mixing my metaphors.


I better get that damned boulder up this new mountain . . .