If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow,
it can also take place in joy.
Happiness and the absurd
are two sons of the same earth.
They are inseparable.
It would be a mistake to say that
happiness necessarily springs from the absurd.
All Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein.
His fate belongs to him. His rock is a thing.
Likewise, the absurd man,
when he contemplates his torment,
silences all the idols.
In the universe suddenly 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 no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night.
