The meaning of life

I’ve always wanted a label for myself – a philosophy that I could belong to, be it Existentialist, Marxist or whatever - and everything I do, everything I read is for that purpose of trying to find something that I truly believe in. I’ve always been jealous that many of my peers seem so sure of themselves and their opinions, when I feel like a mess most of the time, my mind all over the place, and no certainty about anything or anyone. But I’ve just finished reading Albert Camus and suddenly I’m not so concerned that I don’t belong to any group of thought and haven’t made any decisions. Perhaps later in life, when I’m older, more experienced and well-read, I will find myself settling in an area but it now seems absurd to want to close-yourself off to one outlook, when it’s really so much more exciting and important to be confused and unsure what’s right, and to be constantly striving and looking for answers. Camus was like that – he rarely sided himself with any particular philosophy and refused the labels that critics tried to give him. Apparently he was an Existentialist or an Absurdist, but he refused these labels, and each piece of writing seemed an enhancement of the previous piece, as he came closer and closer to what he thought was the meaning of life. Seemingly, he created his own philosophy, and whilst it was based on existing schools of thought, it wasn’t restricted to it. I read The Outsider, and I suddenly feel like a weight has been lifted off of me. Whilst I know I need to read more of his work and the work of other philosophers, the initial effect of his writing is liberating. I’ve been struggling with the idea that life is meaningless, that everything we do is pointless, and it won’t lead anywhere and each day we live just brings us closer to the end. A lot of the things that I see in life are dark; on a global level, with many people seeming to be inherently selfish, willing to leave half the world suffering and in poverty, whilst other people commit evil crimes against each other, through warfare and hatred, and the outcome is the same, with so many lives ending in unhappiness. Even on a personal level, I meet a lot of people who are so focussed on their own lives and feelings that they don’t care if their own actions hurt others. Absurdism is the idea that it’s humanly impossible to discover the meaning of life. Because either you admit defeat, and end up committing suicide or you find religion – and even if you decide God is the meaning of life, what’s the meaning of God? We can strive on earth to get to Heaven when we die, but once in Heaven, what’s the meaning? What is there to strive for? It’s surely just a bland, pointless existence with no purpose. Camus rejects absurdism, and suggests that the meaning of life lies within ourselves – setting our own meanings, through achieving whatever we wish to achieve in life, or constantly striving to see the beauty in life - the split second when something amazing happens, when someone does something wonderful or when you fulfil a dream, or when the earth renders you speechless. Constantly looking for those moments, all the while knowing that this is it, and there’s nothing beyond this life. You have to accept that life is futile, but not succumb to it. And that battle is what makes life worth living. And perhaps one way to give our lives meaning is to support each other and mankind, striving to make each other’s lives as good as possible, whether through charity work or education, through music or literature, or even on a more basic level of trying to positively effect and improve the lives of those people around you every day.