The Question of the Meaning of Life: Answerable or Unanswerable?
Jeffrey Gordon wonders what it would mean to have meaning
Camus writes of a man in a telephone booth whose animated dumbshow he observes from a distance. Why, he asks, is this man alive? Is not the entire human scene undergirded by a thoroughgoing tacit conspiracy of interlocking deceptions?
Why, one might ask, are any of us alive? And, in fact, short of embracing one or another One True Path, who really knows? In other words, who here can actually demonstrate substantively how and why the human condition came to be? How far back need they go? How far back can they go?
In Heidegger’s Being and Time, das Man is the conspiracy of the nameless, the everyone and no one, to assure a universal tranquillized flight from the anguishing demands of authentic individuation.
Either that or you are indoctrinated as a child to accept one or another One True Path and are then able to sustain it all the way to the grave. Also, the part where many, historically, place the emphasis not on the individual but on society...on the social parameters of the community. For example, the National Socialists.
Is not the principal accomplishment of das Man this most fundamental social contract – the unspoken compact we enter into to protect ourselves from the isolating and crippling realization that there is no significance whatsoever in either our individual or our collective presence on this earth?
Then those who defend a "fundamental social contract", as well, but insist that they have either discovered or invented the only truly rational -- and thus virtuous? -- FSC there can possibly be?
It's just a matter of which particular font is selected to "prove" it. And, as always, either God or No God.
Granted, this mood sustained over days and weeks, or incorporated into one’s manner of being, is an extreme state. But is there anyone for whom this kind of alienation is wholly unfamiliar?
Sure, but I suspect that such moods are then subsumed in the fonts chosen above. Any number of experiences may well shake one's faith in the font, but the only alternative is to find another objectivist font [as I did over and again] or to embody the alienation all the way to the grave through distractions [as I did/do over and again.]
Still, most of us most of the time dismiss such thoughts as expressions of a passing perversity. What, then, allows this mood to entrench itself when it does? What are the conditions for a preoccupation with emptiness and futility?
How can this not be embedded and embodied existentially in dasein? I still vividly recall the conditions that reconfigured me into accepting it.