Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbours� eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.
–W B Yeats, To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing
kybernetikos 
Where are we going that we work so hard to get there?
The punishment is not the labour, it is the hopelessness of the task. But Camus is right, the determination that goes back to the stone and begins to push it again, even while knowing the task hopeless is at least as heroic as it is absurd.
Some goals are worth infinite effort to attain and some are not.
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