Living With Absurdity: How Setiya Helped In My Own Search For Meaning.

Bella York, Section #3

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about meaning. Not in the dramatic, midlife crisis kind of way, but in the “why am I doing all the things I’m doing” kind of way. It sneaks up on me in boring moments. I’ll be walking to class and suddenly wonder why any of this matters, not in a depressed way but in a curious one. So when I read Kieran Setiya’s chapter on Absurdity in Life Is Hard, I felt like he was stepping directly into the conversation I have in my own head way too often.

What caught me first was the way Setiya describes the emotions that pulled him into philosophy: wonder, worry, anxiety, awe. I immediately recognized that feeling. Those are exactly the emotions that show up when I think about big questions. I never sit down intending to have an existential moment. It just happens. I’ll be folding laundry and suddenly wonder why humans exist at all. Other times, I’ll be overwhelmed with how strange and beautiful it is to be alive. So when Setiya said these emotions are what shape the problem of absurdity, it felt right. Absurdity is not just a logical puzzle. It is an emotional atmosphere.

And then he goes straight for the question everyone asks at some point: 

What is the meaning of life? 

Honestly, I kind of roll my eyes at that question sometimes. Not because it is a bad question, but because it feels so huge that I do not know where to put it. It shows up in memes more than it does in serious conversations. It has been used so much that it is almost hollow. And Setiya basically says the same thing, but in a smarter way. He argues the problem might be that the question itself is misguided. People do not even agree on what “meaning” means, so how could anyone expect a single answer?

After some banter, brothers Hank and John Green discuss the meaning of life. By joking about the meaning of life, they draw attention to the absurdity of the question. The brothers explore multiple aspects of meaning. John emphasizes relationships with others and the act of paying attention. To be in the moment, focus on those around you and put effort into paying attention to things that matter to you. They conclude that life is worth our attention, and “something is better than nothing.” I especially liked their focus on creating individual meaning in your own life, as the main goal of answering the question “what is the meaning of life?”

This made me rethink how I approach the question. I have always felt like I was supposed to find some grand answer that would suddenly make everything click into place. Like one day I will unlock the secret purpose of my existence. And since I haven't, I've been failing at finding an answer. But what Setiya suggests is that maybe I am asking the wrong question to begin with.

One of the moments that stuck with me was when Setiya brought up the philosopher Leibniz asking, “Why is there something rather than nothing?” That is definitely a lie-in-bed-staring-at-the-ceiling question. Setiya follows it with Sidney Morgenbesser’s joke: 

“If there were nothing, you’d still complain.” 

 I laughed out loud because it felt so true. Humans love answers, but we’re also never satisfied with them. If someone actually handed us the meaning of life, part of us would still want a follow-up explanation: “Okay, but why is that the meaning?”

What I found comforting was Setiya’s point that philosophers historically didn’t ask what the meaning of life is. They asked how to live a meaningful life. That tiny shift changes so much for me. Instead of searching for some cosmic definition floating around in the universe, I get to ask a question that feels practical: How do I live in a way that feels meaningful? That question I can actually work with. That question does not require an instruction manual from the cosmos.

Susan Wolf’s ideas helped here too. She describes meaningful living as engaging in activities that matter. Not activities that fix the world overnight or prove something to humanity, but things that genuinely feel worthwhile. I like that definition because it feels possible. It does not expect you to have a destiny. It does not require a dramatic answer. It just says: pay attention to what matters to you and do it well.

But of course, meaning is not just practical. It is emotional and sometimes deeply spiritual. When Setiya brought religion into the conversation, I paid closer attention because, as a Christian, faith is one of the main places I personally find meaning. My beliefs give me a framework for seeing the world, but also a way of feeling my way through it. It is not only about doctrine. It is the rituals I grew up with, the community that surrounds me, the stories that teach me how to live, and the sense that my life is connected to something larger and more purposeful. Even Einstein suggested that trying to answer the meaning of life already leans toward the spiritual. I get that. When I think about meaning, I want an answer that reaches my emotions and imagination, not just my intellect.

Still, even with religion in the picture, the question keeps slipping away for some people. For me, saying “the purpose of life is to serve God” genuinely does provide a huge amount of meaning. It gives me direction, comfort, and a sense of purpose that feels steady even when everything else feels confusing. But I also recognize that not everyone feels settled by that answer. Some people want a different kind of explanation or something more philosophical or emotional to hold onto, and that is okay. Meaning does not land the same way for everyone, and faith that is enough for me might not be enough for someone else.

That is what makes nihilism so frightening and so strangely relatable. Nihilism says nothing matters. Tolstoy’s description of falling into that mindset felt painfully honest. He kept doing all the basic human things eating, sleeping, breathing because he physically could not stop, but he felt no real life in him because nothing seemed worth wanting. I think that is one of the most chilling descriptions of despair I have ever read. And Setiya is right that nihilism is not something you get talked out of with a philosophical argument. It is a feeling more than a belief.

On the lighter side, Setiya mentions The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The idea that a giant computer was built to find “the meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything” and the answer is just “42” is hilarious but also weirdly profound. Even if the universe gave us an answer, it probably would not be satisfying. We want an answer that dissolves our fear and clarifies our purpose. A number cannot do that. And honestly, neither can most explanations.

This is where Setiya finally says the thing that hit me the hardest: the problem is not that the meaning of life is terrible or hidden. The problem is that the question itself has no answer. Life is absurd because we keep expecting a kind of answer the universe cannot give.

So then what?

Setiya asks another question that I have definitely asked myself: If humanity will eventually go extinct, does anything matter? The first time I thought about human extinction, I felt this weird mix of panic and “well, I guess nothing I do matters then.” And I have to admit, as a Christian, thoughts about the end of humanity or even my own death come with their own kind of emotional whiplash. Part of me feels a sense of urgency like I need to do everything I can while I am here. I grew up hearing the phrase “take as many people to heaven with you as you can,” and that absolutely shaped how I think about purpose. There is a pressure in it, but also a passion. At the same time, there is comfort. A deep one. Because no matter what happens to the world or how humanity’s story ends, I believe something good is waiting for me afterward. That belief softens the panic and puts things back into perspective. It reminds me that the end is not the end.

But Setiya pushes back on the idea that extinction makes life pointless. He reminds us that not everything meaningful depends on the far future. Some of the best parts of living eating with friends, reading, laughing, appreciating art would still matter even if we knew our time was limited.

His example from Annie Hall, where a child refuses to do his homework because the universe will end one day, made me smile. But it also made me think about how easy it is to let big cosmic ideas push us toward despair. Setiya’s point is that if thinking about humanity’s extinction only leads to dread or nihilism, then it is probably not the most helpful way to approach the question of meaning at all. Letting the far future swallow the present can make life feel smaller instead of richer. Meaning has to be found in something more immediate than the universe’s eventual collapse.

Instead, he says the important question is not whether humanity will end, but how it ends. That felt like a gut punch in a good way. It made me think about climate change and injustice in a new light. The tragedy is not just that humanity might end someday. The tragedy would be if we ended having never grown into our potential, still caught in cycles of oppression, inequality, and violence. It is not extinction that should scare us. It is the idea of an unfinished, unjust story.

And honestly, I agree. The idea that our meaning as a species might be connected to how we treat each other and the planet makes sense to me. It feels grounded and moral. It gives me something to aim toward instead of something to despair about.

By the end of the chapter, Setiya basically says that meaning is not something the universe hands us. Meaning is something we build. It comes from our commitments, our relationships, our efforts to make life better for others. The universe will not tell us why we are here. But it gives us the freedom to decide what to do with the time we have.

And that, surprisingly, feels reassuring.

The idea that meaning is created, not discovered, makes me feel less stressed about figuring everything out. I don’t have to find the “correct” answer. I just have to live in a way that feels honest and intentional, and that hopefully contributes something good to the world. That feels doable.

I am still left with a couple questions though, and maybe that’s the point.

Is meaning something we each make for ourselves, or does it need to be recognized by something larger in order to count?

And when absurdity shows up, do you feel more wonder or more worry? I’m honestly not sure which one I feel more often. Maybe the trick is learning to hold both emotions at once.

If absurdity is not a wall but an invitation, then maybe meaning is not something we solve but something we grow into a little more each day.