cogito, ergo sum
My best friend and I had a falling-out recently. They were worried I'm working myself to death, and they didn't mean it as a figure of speech. They weren't wrong, either. Since then I've taken to pondering why I do the things I do.
I've been in therapy since, but the question of why I keep striving even at the expense of mine own health intrigues me. Of course, one may argue that thinking of a person as just themselves, isolated from any external context of social, familial, or economic realities is reductive, and this is indeed true; 4 more people (my family) depend on me in the most literal sense. So of course I'd push myself to the limit and beyond, but then again, do I do this for myself? for the sake of my family? the question still remains.
Meaning, in a person's life, is the amalgamation of a multitude of different vectors that pull at their soul from different directions. Of course, I don't think there's a universal answer to it, but I'd like to think that recording my struggle might help a fellow stranger take solace in their own some day.
So... why indeed. After much pondering, it would seem that I draw meaning from service which is directed outwards. Not for personal gain but actions in service of people I care for, in service of causes that matter to me. It's become more and more clear over time that I don't possess the tendency to prioritize myself, but instead to act in service of objectives and larger more external impetuses, which makes me wonder, is this a part of my nature? Something fundamentally specific about my very being that makes me act this way? Or is it perhaps more so because of how I was raised and the culture that surrounded me? Of course, I don't see a clear answer to this and I suspect that it might just be a mixture of these two, or even something completely unrelated.
I'd like to take this moment of inspiration while I write this, and direct it outwards. To dare to think beyond my own consciousness and peer deeper into what might be a general trend. In doing so, I find myself questioning:
Why do people do the things they do? Yes, people indeed act out of self interest and several conditional factors, but is there something deeper that might be at play? Even the fear of death, when people talk about it, usually comes down to the oldest human fear of all: the fear of the unknown. I believe that above all, above base desires and self-interest, there lies the need for meaning and purpose. After all, it's a question as old as any: "WHY?" (why are we here?)
Funny isn't it? It's a question you can keep asking, and the tenacity of humanity is enough to awe any person capable of comprehending the sheer scale of it all, but despite our best efforts, despite thousands of years worth of progress, we never seem to settle onto one answer.
It is also funny, for those keeping notes, that we seem to get these "fevers of a need for meaning" every so often. After every calamity, after every war and disaster that leaves us wanting and broken, we pick ourselves up and are blessed with a new set of eyes to look at the world through.
Think of it, every slave that spent their days whispering songs of freedom asking "why must I suffer captivity while master lives free?", every green soldier looking into the eyes of one he must slay, eyes asking "why must I? are we not quite similar?", every victim of a natural disaster looking up at the heavens and asking fervently "why did this happen to me?", or perhaps the orphans of this world asking "why must I be abandoned so?"; all of these share the same core: suffering, and a superbly terrifying need to attain the answer to "why?". Perhaps it's some part of our minds that just needs justification for the trauma. Or perhaps it's a logical need to make sense of, well, why things happen so that we can avoid it (I suspect this is what evolution points towards).
Whatever answer you think of, the truth it would seem my dear reader, is that it's quite pointless to find a "correct" answer to this. Instead the search for meaning and purpose is a very lonely journey that nobody can help you answer. That's the conclusion I've come to. Yes friends & family can help ease the way, but without struggle, without the suffering there's no meaning to it all. Horrified and ecstatic as I am at my own existence sometimes, I think that suffering just might be a prerequisite to obtaining meaning and purpose in this life.
To make myself clear, I do think that it's important to understand that the "suffering" that I refer to is not self-inflicted suffering, or things that you willingly keep inviting into your life. Instead it's the unpredictable stuff that life just... throws at you. An expression of entropy if you will (which I will) that produces change in an otherwise orderly system.
I have been writing this from a very neutral perspective, but then there's mine own mind that's got its own workings. Religion is something I've been grappling with for a while and it provides me meaning, but then the question of "why?" pops up. Why exactly does religion provide me with meaning? I mean it's faith and there's no proof, right? For all I know this universe is as cold and uncaring as it seems to be with oblivion on the 'other side', or perhaps I'm wrong and it's some other entity waiting for me when I die. We might even be inside of a simulation or the mind of a higher entity, Lovecraftian or otherwise. So why does Islam of all things give me meaning?
Yes, that's it. It's faith. That's the whole point of it; it's an avenue for finding meaning and it just happens to be the one that fits me the best. I've had a long while to ponder this and I don't believe in Islam because I was born into it. Of course it's definitely easier for me to find meaning in it because I was born into it, but after thinking on it, I also realized that I don't have the same inclinations that others do when it comes to faith and loyalty. I don't identify as.... anything (as in nationality or in the sense of belongingness to a certain group). No, I follow Islam (as best I can) because I find it worthy of my faith.
I see people trying to logically reason about faith, life, and existence, but do we really need to? Must we reason and aspire to break everything into logical puzzle pieces that can be understood by all? Can we? If you ask me, I'd say that perhaps we shouldn't. Perhaps that's what makes us humans special, like Jamis says in Dune:
The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience.
Of course, I don't wish for people to stop questioning things. Quite the opposite actually, I think we ought to question things more. However the thing I wish is that we be mindful of the intent behind the question. Questioning things just for the sake of questioning things is unproductive. Questioning things because they bother you is good. Questioning things to appear smart and confuse people is of course good bad.
And so I come back to the original premise of this little rant of mine. The search for meaning. I believe I'll keep my search ongoing, I've found a purpose for myself, yes, and it's quite personal so I won't divulge it, but meaning... well
I think... there's a long way to go still, and therefore I am.
Thumbnail photo: instagram.com