I get lost in a flesh-colored sea of mundanity, and feel powerless by virtue of membership. Alternately, the slightest brush of sentiment, a sudden memory of a childhood contemplation, a simple courtesy, each can bring me to sentimentality and emotional vulnerability. I may be awed by a feat of community, only to be horrified by the quickness of depravity. Hot and cold.
Upon cursory reading, Chesterton also makes several comments to this effect, though madness, not simple despair, is his result. I concur: it’s quite daunting to have none but yourself to rely upon for guidance and whatever “purpose” can be had.
And if it’s not, you’re doing it wrong. Which represents the greater hubris: we have found structures in the universe whose origins we can understand only if they were created by a higher consciousness; or given an intelligent creator, whoever that is must’ve received, like, a C at best for ENG302: Creating Things That Work Well to Populate Your New Universe?
Carlin died in June of 2008, at the age of 71. It's hard to estimate Carlin's value in the Western culture; his "Seven Words are bit less immodest today, and no matter his one-time popularity, their deflation is not significantly his doing.
The University of Oxford has apparently taken £2M toward answering "Why do we believe in God?" Except they're asking something else.
Of all our social memes, I suggest that the greatest compels some to describe helpful normative domains, and compels others to seek these out.