Meaning is our God. Whatever is our primary psychological purpose is our God. For some it is fame, fortune, sex, prestige, or other sources supplied by the world. You must have something, even denial, that offers meaning.some like you need "meaning" as a condition of life. When you're dead, meaning will have proved itself as mortal as you once were. The same goes for Plato, Einstein, Simone, all those you so much like to quote. Unless you're alive and kicking, meaning has no meaning. Still for many of the living there is an easy acceptance of no meaning at all to be gleaned in an utterly cold universe except what imagination creates for itself as an anodyne.
Many, like myself, aren't in the least fazed by that. Those who so yearn for it yield to whatever imagination supplies no matter how obtuse or intellectual it may be. To paraphrase Nietzsche the errors we believe in offer more comfort than any truth that's out there; the main one being that as animals our demise is forced upon us in exactly the same manner as any other creature, no exceptions. Having a bigger brain is not an exemption! That which counters fact is due to our own prejudices and wishful thinking as if it were an act of desperation to save oneself from the inexpressible pain of nihilism.
Those like Simone have felt a deeper need for meaning that originates at the depth of their being that isn't satisfied by the world. They seek what the world rejects. As long s you are satisfied by how you value meaning it is OK with me. My heart goes out to the Simone types who have experienced that the meaning they are drawn to does not initiate in the world but above it. They are in a sense "between two worlds." We can only imagine the suffering in this tension. They will be ridiculed but those like me admire them and respectful for what they have to go through to reach their goal. This was written just before Simone entered the hospital. Did she reach her goal?
I had the impression of being in the presence of an absolutely transparent soul which was ready to be reabsorbed into original light. I can still hear Simone Weil’s voice in the deserted streets of Marseilles as she took me back to my hotel in the early hours of the morning; she was speaking of the Gospel; her mouth uttered thoughts as a tree gives its fruit, her words did not express reality, they poured it into me in its naked totality; I felt myself to be transported beyond space and time and literally fed with light.
Gustav Thibon