Meaning beyond the Meaningless
Life is ultimately meaningless.
It is the only conclusion that can be drawn from an objective examination of the Universe. There is no grand end goal, no purpose for which we were placed upon this Earth, because we weren't placed here, a fluke of mathematics created the ideal conditions for our species, and the less than ideal conditions for your coming into consciousness, we were nowhere before we were born, and when we die, we pass into oblivion, becoming less than nothing. If this is the case, if all objective analysis points to a meaningless reality. Why continue to exist? Suffering is an everpresent part of human existence, why continue to strive, and therefore endure some degree of suffering, in a life that amounts to nothing.There is no satisfactory answer to this question, there is no objective purpose, this however, does not mean that purpose cannot exist, in fact, it must. In a meaningless reality, we must derive meaning from ourselves, this is the only way to prevent utter despair. Our experiences are made up of electrochemical impulses in the mind, this, however, does not make them less actual. It is simply because we experience that our experience has value. Ultimately, meaning is an utterly human concept, we must be able to accept the twin truths, there is no inherent meaning to life, but meaning still can exist.
We must find meaning, without it, we succumb to complete apathy. We must pursue happiness and deny inaction, because happiness is real, if only to he who experiences it. To strive for meaning is a kind of meaning all its own, because life has value, despite a lack of true meaning. Therefore, for a true and nuanced perception of reality, we must understand the nature of our existence, as beings both ungraced by purpose, but also unburdened by an ultimate goal to be achieved, and create for ourselves a reality in which we can be happy. What this means, and how one does this, is an individual question, but once we understand it, even partly, we can strive to make our existence the one which we want it to be.
poorly written
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