The argument being, I suppose, that our ancestors were all too aware of their existential absurdity, hanging onto life in a hostile world which was inevitably going to kill them. But instead of moping about it, or being pseudo-heroic, they simply got on with the tasks of surviving and grabbed any enjoyment they could in the process.

They lived short, intense lives that left no time for the ennui that pervades so much philosophical thought.

We might draw the inference that when people have something important and valuable to do, they are busier, and happier, and in the few hours between work and sleep to enjoy themselves more rewardingly.

But that doesn't happen anymore. Now even people with vital roles such as doctors or teachers, see themselves as cogs in a machine they do not control. Wholly non-essential and replaceable parts with little to gain and less to lose. In that context, awareness of ones' existential absurdity is the final insult. The hope of significance given by religion and philosophy becomes a comfort. Even countercultural insight, in this context, becomes a hope of significance -perhaps something will change as a result of your thoughts.

Our ancestors knew where they stood in the scheme of things. They understood that to the world, they were insignificant. But to each other, they were vital and needed. Everyone brought their own strength to the tribe, be it muscles or brains, and everything you could do to keep yourself and the tribe alive for one more year, one more day, had importance.

But now, when everything we have, they way we live, is wholly artificial, we must look elsewhere for significance. Material success, political power, celebrity status, or bold confrontation with absurdity. All a reach for significance, and a way to pass a lifetime that is twice as long as our bodies were designed for.