What is life? Love? Sex? Consciousness?
Happiness? Intellect? I am not asking what their purpose is – that is a
question for many a great philosopher, but I am quite content with why the
world does what it does: -
Rather, my question is, what does any of it
mean?
Are these all matters of the soul, which
can never be explained by the empirical world around us? Are they matters of
the unknown, of which we can theorise about for years to come as we have for
many years past, that we will never progress enough to fully comprehend? Are we
just not there yet?
Life has a purpose, but does it have a
meaning – what makes my life better than that of a rock? Is it any different?
What makes my consciousness, intellect or capability any better, and is any
suggested answer objectively true in all cases
What does it mean to breathe? Can the
creature that has not a heart, and needs no breath, breathe?
What about companionship? I hate to use the
word ‘soulmates’ but heck, what does that even mean? Are we made to be completed
by one individual, and is that the only way to reach our true perfection, or
epitomize our imperfection? So, that must mean that humans are monogamous
creatures…just like animals? (sarcasm is difficult to emphasise, so let me be
clear that my last question had a condescending air about it)
Do problems exist? Can we live without
problems, as conflict is the only way to progress, so surely they must be
instrumental to our being; or not? If we do need problems, then why do we lose
hair over them, and if we can achieve eutopia, then are problems an innate
creation of the psyche?
Are relationships trials, blessings or
both? Do human rights really exist? Who created rights, and what gives us
self-defined rights over other creatures? What constitutes being human, and
could a merciful bird or a fly be more human than a tyrannical, ruthless
humanoid?
Is the goal to life happiness? I always
thought it was, but I have no evidence for it; a happy rapist is no
hypothetical notion I can defend. Could true success lead to one leading a
miserable life (ie a life where one feels in constant misery)?
Can we ever really feel complete? Does the
notion that we can not ever possess enough knowledge haunt us, or empower us?
Each of us will only live for a finite number of hours, and thus can only
achieve a finite number of things – does finiteness strengthen us or render us
insignificant? Are our emotions just one big sinusoidal graph, with everyone
feeling the entire spectrum through their lifetimes, recurring in peaks and troughs?
I believe in objectivity. I believe in love
as an action, rather than a predisposition. I believe in time as the world’s
greatest weapon of mass destruction.
I believe many notions, ideas, emotions,
concepts, are simply misunderstood; I don’t claim to understand them. I believe
accepting we won’t understand everything has its own lessons and virtues. I
also believe it is our greatest weakness, that we blindly follow society’s
definition of concepts as if they are set in stone. Can the stone even exist,
if we remain in oblivious ignorance of it, or arrogant denial?
