I wish to address first and foremost the problem, nay the irritation if it can be so called, which the human nature so kindly affords us when it comes to life and its “meaning”. This yearning for empirical evidence of our own significance can only take root from that which we all hold in common - monumental insecurity; that which Kierkegaard coined as the existential ‘angst’. Sometime after one has dismissed all delusions of a supernatural nature, (I include in that bracket all religious beliefs) one’s mind refuses to cease whirring when in the early hours all that is wished for are the arms of Morpheus to reconcile this distressing desideratum which threatens to upset the equilibrium of one’s consciousness. To pose the question in the first place it is assumed that the philomath has accepted that it is reasonable to agree that “meaning” is a plausible concept. From there they can choose to board one of two trains of thought (don’t go accusing me of false dichotomy - read on). They can decide whether or not the universe has intrinsic value; if they decide that perhaps it does then they must accept the “Absurd” - that is, the Sisyphean dilemma created by conflict between the human curiosity and the human inability to find that elusive meaning we are so smitten by.
If, like many, you feel there must be inherent meaning in the universe you can stop reading now - you’re an “Absurdist”. Feel labelled! (imperative) I have just personally put you in a box created by one Albert Camus - unless of course you believe in God in which case you still have the option of theistic existentialism or some such nonsense (N.B. if you reside in any of these considerably flimsy boxes, I feel I should forewarn that perusing anything as logical as this blog is probably a misapplication of your pitiful life and a tactical retreat is recommended before I lose all restraint and begin a carefully planned siege of your delusional beliefs... only kidding - got your attention though, didn’t I?)