To me – there is no meaning but that which we make. The burden of self-determination is not as soothing as faith must be and for this reason, in my agnostic isolation, I can not fully avoid a mild envy at the joys and certainties your faith provides you. Even if I do not share it (faith), I deeply respect it… Sisyphus’ burden is not that of the Believer – surely there is no stone to roll in the case of faith’s certainties as the conviction of a plan or design in life must provide ample solace for any suffering and any journey.
Life is not actually meant to be or mean anything, it is a struggle and has always been so for every organism which slithered out of the mud, swam through the seas, crawled on land or flew through the air. For the majority of its long march across several billion years on this particular, peculiar and strangely beautiful little planet, life has been short and brutal, essentially meaningless. Human beings have found themselves with the luxuries of thought and freedom to engage in mental reflection granted by the leisure and the survival down-time afforded us by our aggregated resources of culture and technology. We attribute meanings where there may be none, we seek narratives where none exist beyond our collective needs to make the world intelligible, comprehensible. In our shared mythologies and meaning-making narrative construction we attribute meaning and emotional, affective impact to the essentially meaningless void of our repetitive daily struggle, each with our own stone, our own mountain, our own struggle. We are free to make our own meaning and this is what makes the endless suffering endurable, we make sense of the senseless and in desolation or joy continue with our ultimately insignificant and pointless daily tasks because existence, with all its suffering and hardship, is still better than submission and non-existence.