Category: Literature

Mary Mba (Ph.D)

The Conversation

Last night, my son Ude and I found ourselves in a spirited conversation about immortality. His philosophy class had just discussed Socrates—calmly facing his death, curious rather than afraid. Would it be oblivion? Or a new life? We paused, weighing the gravity of those possibilities. But then our conversation took a turn: toward eternity. Toward heaven. Toward hell. Toward Sisyphus.

I told him I found beauty in Camus’ vision—that we must imagine Sisyphus happy. Not because he has found meaning in the absurd task of rolling a boulder uphill forever, but because he chooses to embrace it anyway. That, I told my son, is my rebellion too.

Death as Curiosity

Socrates saw death not as a tragedy, but as the ultimate question mark. He imagined it as either the most peaceful sleep or a doorway to another kind of existence. His serenity came from detachment—but mine comes from immersion.

I am not afraid of death because I refuse to let fear dictate how I live. I want to live boldly, consciously, even when I am broke, tired, or uncertain.

The Joy in the Revolt – Camus and Sisyphus

In The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus gives us a man condemned by the gods to push a boulder up a hill forever. But Camus flips the script: “The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart.” The absurd does not break us—it offers us the chance to revolt.

Sisyphus is not a symbol of despair but of joyful defiance. His refusal to succumb to hopelessness is a model for all of us navigating the daily weight of survival in an existence that often appears meaningless.

What is the meaning of life when it’s filled with suffering, repetition, and banality? Should we still be happy living it? But isn’t that what heaven—or hell—might feel like too?

What If Sisyphus Went to Heaven?

Here’s where my son and I diverged. He believes that in eternity, God will grant us divine knowledge. I asked—then what? If we all possess divine wisdom, are we truly equal, or does a hierarchy still linger? Will we know in full or only in part? Will questions remain? Will desires?

Would some still long for drama, for choice, for something more than the endless praise of the one who sits on the throne? Will we still have free will?

Sisyphus exercised his free will—and was punished for it. His revolt stopped people from dying, disrupting the cycle of life. In the cosmos of order, rebellion is often mistaken for chaos.

In Revelation, the heavenly realm is filled with creatures covered in eyes, day and night proclaiming, “Holy, holy, holy.” It is an eternity of glory—but also of eternal surveillance, eternal memory, and eternal praise.

And what happens when we remember pain? Earthly joys? Desires unmet? Might eternity itself begin to unravel under the weight of our memory?

Jared M. August asks a similar question in his theological reflection: “What shall we remember?” He proposes that Revelation depicts the believer’s memory as preserved in eternity, reinforcing the importance of memory in all its forms—not just joy, but also pain, longing, and identity (The Gospel Coalition).

Memory, Worship Fatigue, and Monotony. Is Heaven another Absurd Existence?

Revelation promises that “they will serve him day and night in his temple” (Rev. 7:15). But what if service becomes suffocating?

If we cannot imagine Sisyphus happy in his earthly absurdity, how can we prepare ourselves to embrace eternity? What if, like Sisyphus, a soul wakes up one eternal morning and says, “There must be more than this”?

What if rebellion in eternity is not born of pride—but of boredom?
What would happen to diversity, to desire, to difference?

Maybe eternity, like the boulder, is heavy. Maybe the truest revolt is to find joy—even there.

My Own Rebellion

I told my son that I am Sisyphus already. I rise each day under the weight of bills, deadlines, longing, and fatigue. And still—I revolt.

I choose life. I choose joy.
Not because my situation is easy, but because my refusal to give up is sacred.

I am not waiting for eternity to be handed to me.
I am making eternity now, each moment I resist despair.
I do not look forward to a heaven or hell as a place—
But I live them as states of being. One cannot exist without the other.

Questions for Eternity

So I ask:

What if Sisyphus reached heaven and still found the boulder there?
Would he kneel in eternal worship, or would he smile, pick it up, and roll again—just because he could?

Can we imagine an eternity that includes rebellion,
Not as sin,
But as spirit?