Fundamentally there is no point to being alive. People live. They don’t dwell on its pointlessness.
Most fabricate a meaning for existence. They manufacture a point: to serve God, to make music, to nurture the family, to create art, to win races, to wreak vengeance … To do something or other. The doing is sanctified by calling it the meaning of life. But on the cosmic scale of things none of these activities qualifies as meaning of life. They’re merely expressions of human enthusiasms. Subjective passions not ultimate insight.
A few accept that the phrase “the meaning of life” has no meaning. They are the ones who delight in pointlessness.
Meaninglessness has implications. One is that there is no God. I can’t prove it. Nor can I prove that there is no Santa Claus or tooth fairy. By the time of adolescence one accrues enough experience of life to relegate these concepts to charming myth. It is experience of life – awareness of natural process – that relegates God to myth.
Is existence due to will (the will of God)? If there were a God, is he interested in the trivial foibles of human affairs? The idea of God embedded in these questions is simply too primitive for a mature, reasonably educated person to embrace.
Medieval battles were preceded by fervent appeals of the combatants to God. “May God grant me victory over my enemy.” Was the outcome determined by the appeals? Surely not.
On earth, death is the release granted terrible suffering. Can there be an afterlife of interminable suffering from which not even death can offer relief? The alternative is an afterlife in which one floats around interminably happy in the presence of God.
These are such manifestly fairy tale notions that it is difficult to understand how functioning adults could believe them. But a large number evidently do believe them. And with fervor. Lives are molded by these convictions.
How charmingly diverse are the life forms among human convictions.