If I knew that a far better place awaits me when I die then I’d want to die as soon as possible. In this case, count those who die at childbirth as lucky. But if this were true, wouldn’t it be best not to have been born at all? Wouldn’t it be better to go from nothingness directly to eternal bliss and skip the nasty bit here on Earth altogether?
If I knew that a far worse place awaits me after I die then I wouldn’t want to die at all. In this case, count those who live to an old age as lucky. But even a life of a hundred years here pales infinitesimally when compared to the expected eternity of suffering. My life here would serve only to briefly keep the wolves from my throat. But if this were true, wouldn’t it have been better to have remained forever as nothingness?
In the first case we curse our life on Earth. In the second case we curse our very existence. In either case an alternative situation would have been be preferable to my having found myself alive this morning.
We could go on to suggest further possibilities. Christians tell us that this life is the examination required to determines the nature of our next existence. Religions also tell us that the quality of our life in this world is the result of our behavior in past lives (for example, one is born with a harelip as a punishment for past sins). There is no end to the number of such possible conjectures.
However, the conjecture I’ve chosen is unique among the others in that it follows not from my imagination, but from my experience. I have no evidence for an existence before or beyond this world. My conjecture asserts that my birth and death delimits all that I have been or ever shall be. What I suspect is true has nothing to do with what I wish were true. I wish that mosquitoes did not exist. I wish that I would never die. But why stop there? I might as well wish that I were God. The simple fact is that my most fervent wishing: won’t make mosquitoes go away, won’t make me immortal, and won’t make me God. We have to be very careful not to let our wishes dictate our beliefs.
Humans appear with a set of lungs, a heart, etc. I didn’t have to manufacture my own lungs nor did I have to learn to operate my heart. As Sartre explained, “My existence preceded my essence.” I awoke to discover my body already functioning. I was given a body, but whatever life I am to have I must make for myself. If I desire meaning, I shall have to create it. Meaning was not pre-packaged and delivered to me along with my kidneys.
FrozenViolet, you say that there isn’t much point to living if there is nothing after death. I wonder what is it about having a unique life, delimited between two points of time and constrained to a specific region of space that precludes your finding a point to it? My life is nothing to the Universe, yet it’s everything to me. I realize that outside of my life there’s no point to my life. Inside your head for example, would be a pitifully poor place for my meaning of life to reside. That meaning is created rather than found explains why your meaning is located inside your head rather than mine.
Is love pointless? Is it “better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all,” or is finite love just a silly, pointless, and ephemeral emotion? The Universe could care less if you love a Frog or a Prince. But why am I asking how the Universe “feels” about your love? What would it matter to you if the Universe cared one way or the other about what you feel? Likewise, wouldn’t another person’s heart be quite a pitifully poor place to find your own love? That love is created rather than found explains why your love is located inside your heart rather than mine.
Love, happiness, and meaning are in no way bequeathed or assured to us. We either create them for ourselves, or we live and die: unloved, unhappy, and without meaning. I’ve created a good measure of love, happiness, and meaning in my life. But my love is not your love, my happiness is not your happiness, and my meaning is not your meaning. We must each create for ourselves that which we value the most in this world.
You don’t love a woman because she is beautiful; she is beautiful because you love her.
Michael