The meaning of life

It's human nature to want to find meaning in the obscure. The two great evolutionary advantages we've received have been curiosity and creativity. The combination of those two (by and with the help of our tasty brains), has been a propensity to see patterns (like in clouds) where there are none. We need things to be there. Every hole in our ken needs to be filled with something. We won't settle for say, "Shucks. We don't quite know." Our ancestors survived because they investigated. More often than not the rustling in the bush was the wind. But sometimes it was a predator that was eliminated. Curiosity meant we survived. Our need to create fueled that curiosity.

2000 years ago the Sun moving across the sky was a god on a chariot. Today we know it's a ball of super dense gas. But just because we have **this** much figured out, doesn't meant that there aren't holes. We fill those holes desperately with things that to us have meaning. Even if those things don't exist, they will have meaning to us because the foundation of our lives is to organize ourselves into communities and when our communities are interchangeable with religion, we will insist that those religions have meaning as well as a proxy for our own identity. Couple that with our selection bias that favors seeing things where there are not, and what you get is a gestalt of human capacity to see angels, ghosts and imps.

But then, how does this answer your question? It answers it because it highlights a fundamental flaw in that very question. First the question presupposes that a meaning exists. Second the question presupposes that you should care for a celestial meaning (and/or one that is delivered from some super-entity). We need to be long and we are sensitized to the ephemeral nature of our own existence. To remove assuage our psychological need for purpose and eternity, we plug a hole in that gap in our ken by inventing them and declaring them.

Your life has whatever meaning you want to make of it. Most of us -- the vast majority of us -- come evolutionarily pre-programmed to interoperate with our tribe, to empathize with others' pain, to investigate curiosities, and to invent things as we need them. These are our evolutionary gifts. They are our purpose. If that's not enough, you could turn to religion. I prefer reality.

~String

 

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If I build an ant farm, does that change the meaning of life for the ants?
Does a goldfish bowl change the meaning of life for the goldfish?

 

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No but a cat sure will.

 

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I just want to point out that this is not an excuse to do something dire or socially unacceptable.

 

You may be right. Just ran across these diaries.

The Dog’s Diary
8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

The Cat’s Diary
Day 983 of My Captivity

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now ...

 

@ - Write4U

Grok'd!

 

I love that. Especially as a person with 3 feline companions at home.

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~String

 

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In my experience, most on-going games are only won by quitting.

This is how most games work:
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