A Little Topic Called the Meaning of Life
Colored to make it easier to read (kinda)
What is it that makes us do what we do? Indeed, what gives us cause to even do? What motivates us, and by extension what is the meaning of life?
To me this seems an excellent choice for a journal topic. It is an issues I have wrestled with for at least five years, and perhaps writing my thought process out will help me to make further progress, or at the very least to aid my memory for the next round, and not waste my time by re-traveling the same routes in my exploration of everything that ever has existed or ever will exist. Understandably, I have a lot of ground to cover and presumably only one life to do it with, so wasting my time hardly strikes me as a wise plan. Usually the periods in which I think about this there is an obvious tie to depression and a sharp decline in work ethic. I have yet to determine if they are simply co-existent, or if it is a matter of cause and effect. Even if it is the latter, which way does it go? Does thinking about it make me depressed, and consume too much of my time to worry about petty, almost as a rule mundane tasks? Or do being depressed and wondering why I do so much for a mere number-which is then used to determine if I’m allowed to then work harder and pay to do it-serve as steps that inevitably lead to the question of people’s purpose, and the purpose of each individual? Furthermore, journals are supposed to be about the working mind in progress, not of the conclusion, and in this case I think that a conclusion at the age of eighteen is impossible.
However, I have come up with several propositions. Each fails in some manner, yet I think it is still important to discuss each. The “save for a rainy day that’ll never come” idea, for instance, is probably the most wise idea. This method of living life would, if shaped in the form of a graph with age versus workload, would grow exponentially and then decrease when unable to do more due to age and then stop. Brilliant for “success,” it is not a way I would want to live. However, not having a religion, that seems a lot of work to be another six foot hole in the ground. Okay, scratch that idea. Or rather, adjust it into “save for a while and then pretend it is raining.” In other words, you work hard and then just glide through the rest of life. I suppose in a way this is my favorite way to do things. In role playing games-granted they are not an accurate reflection of real life-I usually work tediously over small things because I know of the great impact they have later on, and then by the end I know I don’t need to save “lives” anymore so I stop being so nitpicky and just use what I’ve earned already. But then, usually in the game the point at which I let go and do that I am on the last level, or fighting the end boss or something to that extent. I don’t want to have to save up and deprive myself of base pleasures only to let loose and kick back too late to use what I have. Yet in many ways this is what I am doing. Stereotypically this is the age at which I should be experimenting and trying out new and dangerous things, and I should be wasteful. Am I missing out on experiences that could be defining my life by doing the things that I have always been told were smart, and the things I was always encouraged to do like study, or like sitting here typing? And what if, in the middle of working hard for later, I die? This is tied into the saying “don’t put all your eggs in one basket.” However, I do find the irony of how I put a large amount of sway in my ideas by famous ideas such as that. Nevertheless, as I have stated earlier, I have a lot to think about, so the hundreds of brilliant minds that came before me will serve as part of my collective knowledge and hopefully allow me to bypass a large amount of thoughts that must be thought through.
So far this has all been based on what would be best for me. What if I, instead, spent my life giving to others? After all, when you live for others, you live for yourself. It makes sense; suicide is the selfish route, so living must be giving to others by indirect proof. This could be it! It would be easy too, as it is in many ways what I already do. I donate blood regularly, I have made it clear that I want my body to either be harvested for organs or donated to science when I die, and I am heavily considering growing out my hair so that I can donate it to cancer patients. It is very close, but even as I exclaim its brilliance I condemn the idea to death. It is far too similar to be raised as a cow; I live and give milk to the farmer periodically, and then I am butchered, sold, and then eaten; I am consumed by society. I don’t want to think that my sole purpose in life is to be a chunk of meat. However, I will tentatively explore the peat bog a little more before turning back. Would I not sacrifice myself to aid the rest of humanity, or even some of it? Yes, perhaps. I am after all but one person. However, each person that I would be helping-and it would not be too many-is also merely one person. One person for the slight benefit of a handful of others is not the purpose in life, and I firmly believe that. Jesus (and I am not suggesting that I am on the same level as him in any way) died to cleanse the sins of all mankind. Should I live and die just to be harvested for organs? Furthermore, who lives with the best guts of all the rest, and who dies to give them to him? Who would decide who would be butchered, and who would be the gross monstrosity of perfection? As a slightly off topic note, perhaps instead of a few of us suffering for the greater good, what if-to be fair-all people were chosen to suffer? Could it be that a deal has already been struck with a higher being, in which the world would be a good place to live so long as there were small amounts of suffering by all? Most people would willingly sacrifice themselves for the betterment of mankind, yet perhaps that is already being done in small doses, just as in donating blood every few weeks I give more blood than I could if you were to just suck me dry now. However, this quickly becomes similar to each person being a factory of society again, except that in this case each person is not demanded of much, but together the impact is great. This trail has become much too treacherous to continue any farther.
However, this path is not lost yet, perhaps I merely took a wrong fork. The ways in which I help others does not have to end with the physical, but can extend quite easily into me aiding others mentally or spiritually. I could be a comforting soul for all who know me to cry on my shoulder or to talk to when things get tough. “I’m strong and I’m smart; I can help with just about anything” could be my battle cry when staring into the void. The saying “live together, die alone” could have serious merit beyond the idea of tribal protection. We could each help build each other spiritually, ascending to greater and greater heights, until it was as high as (hmm, now what would be something tall that I could compare this too? Ah, I know) the Tower of Babylon. For me it is a nice idea, but if we were to think ourselves able to be independent of religion by aiding one another so thoroughly, some acute and devote religious people might see this as foolhardy. Also, would our strengthening of each other not be undermined by the fact that we would be weak because we wouldn’t have to deal with anything ourselves? Furthermore, this is effectively to make everybody happy is it not? What if we could each make ourselves happier at a greater degree than what aiding one another could? Would that not be more efficient and lead to a happier world? So we would be helping the world by only helping ourselves in a way. If this is the case, go back to the earlier faults I had with living for oneself.
There remains a bit of hope for this previous idea though. The basis of the last major fault is dependant upon us being able to make ourselves happier than if we had been solely trying to make the rest of the world better, and have received the same from all others. Within this is a possible meaning that hadn’t occurred to me; could the meaning of life not be love? Not “I love chocolate,” but the concepts of soul mates and perfect companions. Surely there is no greater joy than love, and nothing done alone could compare to it. If it is the meaning of life, it explains the sense of dread we experience at the thought of dying alone, as it would mean dying without having served our purpose, and without having been anything more than a smudge of insignificant filth on the golden tapestry of life. However, unlike the other ideas of living for others, it does not better all of mankind for two people to be in love-does it? In a mushy, overly corny sense you could say it does, but that’s not necessary. It might not make a huge difference for two people to be in love, but extend the idea and have a world of people happily in love. But we are not born in love with somebody, what of the years spent before we meet our soul mates? Are they spent simply to be in the right place at the right time? Is it that all we do before is to only serve as conversation for after? And more horribly, what if you never meet your soul mate? What if you live on opposite sides of the earth and never meet, or speak different languages and can’t communicate? What if your soul mate died from a freak accident last fall, before you met them? What is the meaning behind your life then? Would your purpose in live be to futilely search for that one person until you die, bitter, deprived and alone? Furthermore, what about the awkward situation that you would find in Jerry Springer or some such drivel in which somebody loves another person, but the feeling is not mutual? You could argue that it is a false love, and that the person’s real soul mate is still out there, but what if that is not the case? What if this is the soul mate of that person, but the emotion is felt only one way? Besides, how would you be able to distinguish between real love and fake love? “You can tell” is usually the answer. It’s also a garbage answer, and the divorce rates say otherwise. In Eden, love was likely our purpose, but this is Earth, and love is too fickle for be the meaning of our lives.
There is one remaining option left that I have considered. The pursuit of knowledge and preparation for the future is a promising purpose to life. The numbers that I get from working so hard in school should be an accurate reflection of what I have learned. No, I can’t take the knowledge with me beyond the grave, but if I can further the collective human knowledge in some way I will be contributing to the future-as I would be by having children-and hopefully one day what I will have done will be of some use. This seems as unlikely and doubtful as love being the meaning of life. Yet within it is hope, because I see modern instances of this on a daily basis. Furthermore, I believe that every action, however minute, can and will influence the future. This is also known as the butterfly effect, yet in my mind I take it a little bit further. Is it egotistical to think that my presence will affect the future, or that me getting an eighty-four is any different than getting an eighty-three? Perhaps, and as such I admit that this is not an ideal idea.
So, I have come to a satisfactory meaning in life. It ended up mildly involving each previous possibility, interestingly enough. It also encourages me to continue to study, thereby allowing to me search for other possibilities. However, for the time being, this will suit me just fine.