The stars do not ask why they burn, the planets do not ponder their orbits, and the galaxies do not seek justification for their dance. But living within a meaningless universe, we do.
Summary: It is not difficult to argue that the universe exists without inherent meaning or purpose, indifferent to our struggles and joys. Yet, once we accept this, we crave meaning to anchor our lives. To keep existential absurdity and despair at bay, and to look forward to tomorrow , we must create purpose. In the end, it is the consequences of meaning we forge shapes the legacy we leave behind.
In seeking understanding of the meaning and purpose of the universe, what answer could be simpler than: it is just there. It does not have a larger meaning, a goal, or a purpose for its existence. Why does it have to have one? We do so many things that are also devoid of any meaning and purpose.
What could be simpler than a universe that does not strive towards a predetermined end, nor does it know where it is going? It does not have a long-term retirement plan for some distant future (for that matter, most of us do not have one either). If it had one, where would it be kept?
It lives in an enteral present. It simply exists.
If the universe could speak, it might ask why we are so intent on adorning it with meaning. Why do we insist on projecting purpose onto something that, by all appearances, is indifferent to our existence, to our joys, to our struggles? We come and go, it does not blink an eye, break out into a smile, or shed a tear.
The stars do not ask why they burn, the planets do not ponder their orbits, and the galaxies do not seek justification for their slow spiraling dance. It is only us — conscious beings, aware of our own mortality — who feel the need to impose meaning upon the vast, indifferent cosmos in which we exist.
Perhaps we search for meaning because, without it, we feel adrift. Without anchors, we float in a shoreless sea without a North Star for a guide.
The thought that the universe might be devoid of meaning is unsettling, because it suggests that our own lives in it might also lack inherent meaning. If the universe is simply a collection of matter and energy, an inevitable outcome of physical laws and is unfolding without an intentional design, then what does that say about us? Are we also merely an inevitable outcome of a fleeting arrangement of molecules that evolved in an energy constrained environment?
Once we have convinced ourselves of this, the absurdity of life without innate meaning gets amplified. From this conviction, the emergence of existential despair is a natural outcome. It leads to a feeling that something is not quite right. How could it be that there is no inherent meaning; there has to be more.
In the moments that rise above the struggles of daily survival, when we have the mental space to reflect, we begin to question the meaning and purpose of our efforts, our struggles. Is the sum of all we do just for survival and reproduction because that is what being a biological form means?
The inevitability of natural selection in an energy-contained environment certainly argues that all our efforts are for survival and reproduction. Biology, as we understand it, is shaped by the forces of evolution, by the relentless drive to persist and propagate. If we were purely instinct-driven, if consciousness had never emerged, perhaps this would be enough. The struggle for self-preservation would be the instinctive goal, and there would be no need for meaning beyond that.
But we are conscious. We are aware of ourselves, of our fleeting existence, of the future, of the vastness of the universe. And so, finding no inherent meaning is as discombobulating as falling off a cliff in a VR world. To find solid ground under our feet, we must create meaning and purpose for our life, because it is those that make us look forward to getting out of bed.
The necessity of creating meaning and purpose is not merely philosophical, it has practical reasons. It makes the journey easier. It allows us to have a functional life. Without meaning, life will feel like an endless cycle of tasks, a series of days strung together without direction. But when we create meaning — through love and relationships, engaging in some creative process — we give ourselves anchors to hold onto.
Perhaps meaning is not something that exists outside of us, waiting to be discovered. Perhaps meaning is something we create and weave into the fabric of our own lives, something we construct to make existence bearable.
And maybe that is it.
In the end, the universe does not need meaning. But we do. And so, we have to create one. It is an integral part of us, and while we are living and with our passing, some of the consequences of meaning and purpose we create touch life of others or become our legacy. In the end, all that remains is the consequences of legacy of meaning we gave our ephemeral life. It is those consequences that will stay on after we are gone to become part of a meaningless universe.
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
No comments:
Post a Comment