Have you ever considered that there may not be one? That there may be no meaning to be found "out there"? That we are accidents? That we have to create meaning for ourselves?
It spawned mathematics and science. Along with linguistics and the concept of computation. And ethics. And democracy. And equal rights. And freedom. And.......
Well, true, but I think you got my point. It's two different senses, Perf.
In the first, we think that the "meaning of life" is a book waiting out there, somewhere, and if we find and read it, we'd be happy. The whole search is directed to finding everything outside, and looking for (and often, desperately seizing upon) anything that looks remotely like a book.
In the second case, we know that if we don't get off our ass and write it, a blank page will continue to stare at us for as long as we can stare at it.
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