Litany, or Sisyphus
Life is repetition. Wake up, shower, have breakfast, go to work, go home, eat dinner, go to bed, then repeat. In this repetition, it is true, there are breaks. Someone gets sick, you fall in love, a new job opens up, you move to a different town. There are smaller breaks too: you go to a bar on Saturday night, visit an art museum, or take a vacation. Like blues improvisation, these breaks in repetition only exist, and are only identifiable as breaks, because they exist against the background of an established pattern. Solos come after the twelve bar is underway. Exceptions prove the rule, and spontaneity confirms repetition. Sometimes spontaneity even becomes repetition, as we find ourselves suggesting the same things, at the same time, in the same way, to “change things up.”
You are with your woman, having the same date night you have had many times, hundreds of times if the context is marriage, and you, becoming bored, decide to “hit the town.” If you go to a new restaurant, or a new bar, your palate is still the same, you like the same drinks, and you are still the same people. So, you order what you usually order, have the same conversation you always have, and disguise repetition in novelty. Getting back to the house, now that you had fun, “did something new”, the two of you have sex, in the same positions you always do, and pillow talk the same way you did the other night. Context changes, maybe, but nothing else.
Trying to break life’s repetitive cycle is impossible. It costs money, (and you only make money through that repetition we call work), there are a finite number of things you can do, and each break in the cycle, as we have said, either confirms the cycle, or is a disguised reenactment of the cycle. Endless repetition, forever.
No value judgements have been made so far. Repetition is, that is all. Likely, many of you gremlins already made a value judgment. “Is this what I am really working for?” “How do I prevent my love life from becoming like that?” “Can I find a way to break the endless cycle of repetition?” You are thinking these thoughts because, confronted with life’s endless repetition, you infer meaninglessness. If there is a point to life, then, like the spatial imagery suggests, we must be getting at something, or going somewhere. Repetition, like a hamster wheel, is circular, and thus does not (seem to) have a point.
Unless we bite this bullet, then load it back into our revolver to blow our brains out, we cannot accept repetition to necessitate meaninglessness. Somehow, meaning has to be found in repetition, not in its (impossible) escape.
Sisphyus
Assuming nothing other than what has been said above, the first option for finding meaning is in the figure of Sisyphus. Cursed by the gods, the titan of Greek mythology is forced to push a boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down, for all eternity. Albert Camus, the 20th century French philosopher, novelist, and playwright, wrote the following in his The Myth of Sisyphus,
“All Sisyphus’ silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is his 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. The absurd man says yes and his effort will henceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which becomes his fate, created by him, combined under his memory’s eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end, he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling.
I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one’s burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”1
We must find joy in our endless repetition, because it is our endless repetition, our fate, if we dare the religious language. Just like Dr. Rieux, who in Camus’ novel The Plague, goes to comfort those infected with a new, and uncurable, plague, despite knowing that all his efforts will fail, but does so anyways because that is the task fate bestowed upon him, so must we embrace our fate, and find happiness. There is nothing harder about looking at repetition, and smiling, than there is about looking at repetition, and sinking into nihilism. The facts remain the same, but it is our choice how we react.
Litany
There is another way of affirming repetition, an alternative to Sisyphus that affirms the real goodness of the cycle, and does not simply advocate a change in attitude. Just as there is monotonous repetition, there is a different kind of repetition. A mother tells her child “I love you” more times than could be counted, and she means it as much she did the first time she said it, if not more. The “I love you” happens again, and again, and each time it increases in value. Good things are worthy of being done again, and the best things can never be exhausted. In the Divine Liturgy of Saint John Chrysostom, the following Litany is repeated three times:
(The people respond with Lord, have mercy, after each petition.)2
Deacon: In peace, let us pray to the Lord.
For the peace from above and for the salvation of our souls, let us pray to the Lord.
For the peace of the whole world, for the stability of the holy churches of God, and for the unity of all, let us pray to the Lord.
For this holy house and for those who enter it with faith, reverence, and the fear of God, let us pray to the Lord.
For pious and Orthodox Christians, let us pray to the Lord.
For our Archbishop (Name), for the honorable presbyterate, for the diaconate in Christ, and for all the clergy and the people, let us pray to the Lord.
For our country, for the president, and for all in public service, let us pray to the Lord.
For this city, and for every city and land, and for the faithful who live in them, let us pray to the Lord.
For favorable weather, for an abundance of the fruits of the earth, and for peaceful times, let us pray to the Lord.
For those who travel by land, sea, and air, for the sick, the suffering, the captives and for their salvation, let us pray to the Lord.
For our deliverance from all affliction, wrath, danger, and necessity, let us pray to the Lord.
Help us, save us, have mercy on us, and protect us, O God, by Your grace.
Deacon: Commemorating our most holy, pure, blessed, and glorious Lady, the Theotokos and ever-virgin Mary, with all the saints, let us commend ourselves and one another and our whole life to Christ our God.
People: To You, O Lord.3
Why repeat the same prayer three times? Why do the faithful say “Lord have mercy” one-hundred and eight times during these three litanies alone? God knows what we need without us praying to Him, but like a mother telling her child, who already knows that his mother loves him, good things are worth repeating.
God created the world good, and the world He created is cyclical. There are the same four seasons in a year, the same constellations cycle through the night sky, and the sun rises each morning after the moon retires. Like a small child who cries “again, again!” during play, we can imagine God also crying “again, again!” at each change of season, constellation, and rising of the sun.
If non-human creation is structured like a litany, a repetition of good things, then it is not a far leap to say that our life is also structured like a litany. Making your bed, doing the dishes, and mowing the lawn, though not the most exciting things, is like a reenactment of God putting chaos into order, making our chore life a type of priestly vocation. Going to work, even if we hate it, is like saying “I love you”, for when we do it, we are able to provide for our family, and providing is a form of love. Doing the same thing for date night does not cause it to lose meaning, any more than the fifty-sixth “Lord have mercy” has any less meaning than the first, for both are expressions of an inexhaustible love.
Unlike with Sisyphus, there is a lot more to assume. We have to have faith in God’s goodness, and the goodness of His creation. At the same time that there is more to assume, there is a lot more to gain, for unlike Sisyphus, life as litany affirms the true goodness of repetition. For repetition to be “truly good”, it means that, regardless of our feelings, and even if we do not see it, it is good for things to repeat. We lean on God’s goodness, rather than our own ability to white-knuckle an affirmation of the gods’ punishment.
Either or. Either Sisyphus, or litany.
Camus, Albert. O’Brien, Justin. The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays. Vintage International, Random House. New York, 1991. 123
Though the text here does not specify, the people respond “Lord have mercy” three times after each petition.
Text copied from GOARCH Liturgical Texts