Life Is a Tale Told by an Idiot

Life is a Tale Told by an Idiot

What is the meaning of life? Why are we here? Does life signify anything, does it have a purpose? I don't know if I can answer these questions, and I don't know if I should even try. For the past few years I have been drinking the opium of apathy, finding strength in ignorance, in order to avoid these questions that drag me towards insanity. When I do face up to these, the most vital questions pertaining to the human race, I invariably come to the conclusion that life is pointless, without purpose or meaning, a stupid story without a theme or moral, a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing. These cannot be safe thoughts.

Down through the ages philosophers have come to their own conclusions on the meaning of life. Some ideas are corny, some stupid, some contain a glimpse of truth, but, most importantly, none seem to agree with each other. Plato thought life just a shadow of the world of "Ideas", of "Forums". His teacher, Socrates believed that the only purpose in life was to be happy, by doing one's duty and finding the "greatest good". The Epicureans said that we must find "The Golden Mean", a perfect balance, in order to give our lives meaning. The Stoics solemnly frowned on their comfort, preferring to toil labouriously and to endure hardship. Christian religion went for the easy answer, claiming that the reason we should do good is not because of meaning or purpose in this life, but because we must work to enter the