My friend once asked me what the meaning of life is. Would you like to know…

The Answer?

To live as one pleases

God is dead. Who will stand in judgment of you?

No one. We are free from the tyranny of divine castigation; this world is unchained from morality. Shame is a tool of cosmic beings that we now know to be purely fantasy. There are no rules, no reasons to abstain from acting on desire. When you see a beautiful person kiss them. When there is fresh fruit before you, do not wonder if it is yours to take, simply eat.

What is the meaning of life? To live as you please.

To spread joy

There is something simple about the laugh of another person.

For a brief moment the potential energy naturally produced by the basic quality of our very existence is burned away, transformed into kinetic power that vibrates the world itself. These subtle changes in the motion of air can effortlessly bridge the distance between a group of once strangers, generating social bonds out of aether. When someone laughs the world changes, and for a moment it is brighter, and more forwardly energetic; their happiness literally reshapes reality.

What is our purpose? To spread joy.

To imagine wonders

Our world is mathematical statements made manifest.

Physics constrains possibility into mere probability. But there are forces in our universe that surpass the seeming banality of actualizable structure. Math underwrites our physical laws, which determine the flow of chemical, and then biological, reactions — all of which give way to conscious experience. But there is a realm beyond this — our cognition explodes out into imagination. With the same and simple basis that all of existence operates on, our minds construct shapes and beauty that could never be instantiated. Planets, starships, and superheroes that defy what we accept as possible. In this metaphysical wildland we can breathe fire and control space; move mountains with our fists and fly across watercolor skies.

What is life for? To imagine wonders.

To prevent suffering

The word pain carries with it a deep and intuitive meaning.

It is sharpness. It can be quick, or slow, but it lingers with you all the same. It is the jaws of a predator closing around your neck. A cancerous knife struck between your ribs. We like to believe that there is good and bad in our universe; and while pinning down the former proves elusive, we know what is bad. Suffering. And there is much suffering in our world. Flippant breakup texts, the failing of a cherished friendship, and all-encompassing death. The ever-present force of starvation, or sickness, faced by billions of people, spread out across all of time. The prevalence of pain eats away at the core of existence. It steals away value from our world. At all ends of life there is suffering to be found.

Need I say more? You know with what end we must act; to prevent suffering.

To witness beauty

Reality is defined by our consciousness, there is no sensical shape without our gaze.

A tree is a stack of atoms, bound together by cosmological forces and given definition by unpredictable evolutionary processes. But when you look at a forest you don’t see physics or molecular chemistry; you see explosive and vibrant green. You hear the sound of wind swaying wood — leaves rustled by a butterfly ten thousand miles away. Snow is the product of water and frigid air, and when it touches our skin you have but a second to appreciate the intricacy of randomness. What would any of this be if you weren’t there to see it?

We have but one life. Witness whatever beauty you can.

Unfettered nihilism

By now you have no doubt noticed the truth. The real truth.

There isn’t one. Nothing matters. We can spin tales to comfort ourselves, but stories cannot save us from what is real. Make believe will never produce actualized truth. Nothing matters; and there is no escape from this fact. Your loved ones will die, and their love was only ever a byproduct of a systemic answer to an evolutionary optimization problem. Perhaps for a short time, or even a long time, you can distract from the reality we find ourselves in. Perhaps you can even run — but you cannot hide. Not forever.

Where will our life lead us? Unfettered nihilism.

To hate

Cruelty permeates our world, perpetrated by people and physical processes alike. 

When your partner cheats, or neglects, they inflict a damage that tears apart your bond and scars beneath the flesh. Sickness steals love from the universe and replaces it with unbearable death. Perhaps these are the inevitable outcomes of whatever chaotic system dictates our lives. But they are wicked occurrences all the same. Disgusting. Perverse and worthy of infinite derision. Something out in the universe aims to hurt us, over and over again. It doesn’t matter who the perpetrator is, there is a single tenable response. Do not let our malefactors win. Reject them with the entirety of your being.

With what life we have there is but one path. Hate. Hate unceasingly. 

To force it all to make sense

Reality is a trick of the light. An illusion crafted by millions of years of cognitive development.

Insofar as you believe your body to be your own, believe your consciousness to be connected to your physical feelings, it is because of a carefully regulated flow of neurochemical treatments — surgically administered by folds of gray matter. If this flow is disrupted, naturally or otherwise, you soon find yourself intuitively realizing that truly, fundamentally, nothing makes sense. We are just strings of atoms, held together even as we feel ourselves fading to mush. When you gaze into the void it steals away any understanding you once had of this chaotic world. There is no sensical structure to the universe, just arbitrary lines we drew around groups of molecules. The canvas before us is infinite and incomprehensible.

In our hands is a pen, and with it comes a simple purpose. Force it all to make sense.

To end everything

In the end all life was a waste, and the world would have been better without us.

Heartbreak and starvation; sickness and hatred. All we do is transfer pain amongst ourselves; distributing suffering on the people we claim to care about and the environment that sustains our very existence. When philosophers one day tally up the total value of our reality’s continued instantiation, they will realize the devastatingly unwieldy and monumental mistake that is perpetrated by life. We must turn the world to glass. Sterilize the universe.

Why do we exist? To ensure nothing else can; to end it all.

To supplicate

God is dead, and the smoking gun is in our hand.

But the dream need not die alongside the divine. Humans have an innate drive to serve each other. Leadership does not flow in our veins, at least not for most of us. Instead we are symbiotic beings. Do not search for your own path forward, there are others who can guide you to the promised land. 

Meaning need not be found, it can be given. Our purpose is to become supplicants.

The question is mistaken

We find endless conflict in the search for the Answer.

But the truth is, this is an absurd task we have set forth for ourselves. We search for that which cannot be and that which we will never find. This fact, the reality that resolution is beyond even the infinite expanse of time, drives us to madness. The path is different for each, but the end is all but the same. Suicide. Either philosophically, as we clutch to false truths — gods, prophets, and scientific speculation  — or physically, with a gun in our hand. But this need not be the end. It is beyond a disservice to let the truth drive you towards death. Embody the foolishness of the search. Revel in the absurdity we find ourselves submerged in.

Do not let them trick you; the question is a mistake.

To be passionate

We like to believe that out in the depths of space there is yet undiscovered purpose.

But it is a lie. No unexplored region of reality will contain the Answer; we have all we need at home, already in our hearts. To exist is to reshape our surroundings — rewrite them with our will and our every breath. Passion is a fire that burns as bright as any sun, contained entirely within our chest — with this power we can blaze a path across the cosmos. Let this heat lift you up. Let it warm those close to you, and shine so brightly it can be seen from solar systems yet unknown. The act of sculpting, or singing — stagecraft or screenwriting — is ontologically defiant.

Why live? To be passionate; burn brightly, for as long as you can.

To be timid

Actuaries provide an underappreciated service.

The celestial equations that dictate the functioning of our reality move atoms and energy towards an end state of disarray. The risk of a walk outside is low, perhaps, but still any action carries with it the chance of a cosmic conversion. A movement towards your own type of stillness. Grand goals and noble aspirations are all well and good, but they mistake the danger that comes with simply existing — or they foolishly ignore it. To be scared of the outside is not a vice, it is to understand what the wider world contains. Take what you want, sure, but do not be so greedy as to lose all you had. A healthy dose of fear lets us protect that which really matters.

You want purpose? Tread hesitantly; timidness is the proper pathway forward.

To build a Legacy

The cosmological view teaches us one thing; before galaxies we are fleeting and inconsequential.

But the universe has no inherent consciousness, and has no mechanism to counter our whims. We are not beholden to the feeling of insignificance people find amongst the godless stars. Death remains yet unconquered, but our actions here and today will shape history long after we ourselves are dust. The collective whole that is reality is simply energy and matter; ready to be reconfigured. With your two hands take stone and spawn and shape them into timeless monuments.

With what purpose must we act? To build a Legacy that stretches to times thought unreachable.

To fight entropy

The light is dying, the stars will not burn forever.

Does that not anger you? Laughter and love brighten the world the way a campfire does. And like a campfire they will one day be smoke, blown away in the forest wind. There are millions alive today who lack the resources to properly live. Changes to a complex planetary atmosphere, set in motion a century ago, will steal the future of people not yet born. Do you not feel it in your bones? The universe yearns for stillness. Craves disorder. And yet we resist. Lowly humans, built of carbon and powered by metabolic explosions, have refined and reconfigured the world to fit our needs. Space and heat transfer aim to spread our resources thin; aim to level whatever havens we have constructed. And yet we dance. We sing and scream our whims out into the entropic wilderness that everencompasses the realm beyond our cities. Our very existence defies the innate desire of physical reality. 

So fight. Fight! Purpose is to be found amongst the stars; blaze forever as we hold back entropy.

To escape

The universe is traveling to a cold and motionless end state; one where nothing valuable exists.

You know our world has no real shape. No inherent meaning. No gods. No glorious purpose. Just mathematical shapes projected onto a cave wall — a trick of the light and the eyes evolution crammed into our skulls. The universe built a prison around us, and fooled us into believing this is paradise. There must be worlds beyond this. There must be peace — beyond time and space — there must be somewhere we can rest. We can rage all we like but we cannot defy the shape reality moves towards — not so long as we play the game fair. We have stone tools in our hands, and the stars laugh as they burn falsehoods into the rock wall before us.

It’s a trick of the light. Our purpose is to escape this long-con, somehow.

To be excited

In the simplest terms, energy is just the exciting of particles.

 On an intuitive level, this fact is obvious. To be exhilarated is to feel this desire to move about. We want to dance; clap our hands; swap and sweep others off their feet when we ourselves experience this state of increased energy. Excitement takes hold in our bones, and it spins our muscles forward — compelling us to spread out our increased heat to all those around us. Do you think subatomic particles feel as we do? Do you think they appreciate the way music pushes your body to move? Do you think they delight at the compulsion to sing, and the way your eyes water when you’re just too lively? No matter the answer, these experiences still thrive in our own hearts.

Why must we wake up each day? So that we may vibrate with excitement.

To foster

There is no inherent morality in our world; no truth hidden in subatomic depths.

But still, our world is a good one — or at the very least, there is much good contained within it. Yet this need not be the state we find ourselves in. We live in a chaotic system. Wind back the clock far enough and hit replay, we could find ourselves in a very different, and far worse, world. Goodness is a flame, hanging on as rain pelts from above. But the hopelessness that creeps in alongside this understanding is misplaced. We always knew things could be different, and sometimes different does mean worse. But we still have the wheel in our hands. No cosmic rule prohibits us from steering towards even brighter and better days.

To what end, you ask? To foster what we care about; to foster good.

To savor existence

Each moment is fleeting; no food can ever be sampled twice, at least not in the same way.

For some this is a painful fact. A first kiss or the discovery of a new passion can only ever be encountered once. These are wonderful and powerful experiences; and we should, rightly so, long for them, even after they have passed. But you must never let this aching distract from the ever present truth of our world. Just as each passing moment takes the joy of a first time, it brings with it the opportunity to experience a new delight. Let each new experience seep into your bones. Let its taste redefine your conception of all that is — then move onto the next sampling. Drink deep and grow fat on the sweetness of life

Why are we here? The fine wine that is life can be tasted but once — savor existence.

To embody sadness

The knowledge that someone you love has died is like a sudden wave of frost.

It sinks down into your core. It feels like no amount of clothing can stop this onslaught, and your teeth chatter and your whole body shakes. Sadness is a pressure at the bridge of your nose. It pushes against your eyes, making them water — and against your forehead, making your mind throb. Sadness cools the fire that swirls in your chest. It slows you — sadness pushes you into the ground; it aims to keep you there. But the cold is not itself evil — it brings snow and simple beauty, and an appreciation for what was. Mourning is the act of honoring what once was. We are put here to watch supernovas die, and we shepard what remains — the gray-soot of sorrow. Remembrance is what gives meaning to what once was; and remembrance hurts; remembrance is salt drying against your cheek. For all the joy and passion life brings, its end state will forever be the still coldness of sorrow.

This is not a curse. Honor the flame of life by accepting where it leads; endless mourning.

To hold on

A decade from now a new man will wear your shoes.

Identity isn’t a well defined concept; it is an intuition we cling to. A formality that keeps our financial systems running and elections stable. But just like the universe we are an ever shifting and ill understood concept. Your atoms flee the collective that is you, and your brain twists itself into new shapes every day. What makes you, you? Memories turn to dust and quirks dull and fade; how many of your hobbies have remained stable? Whatever it is that gives us definition, you may find yourself lacking it sooner than you thought. What will you be then? Will you go gently into the wilderness of change?

Your question supposes a referent. The answer is simple then, hold onto yourself; tightly.

To love deeply

Millions and millions of miles away a celestial engine is exploding.

The power of our nearby sun radiates across the desolation that is space, and it enriches our planet. For over three billion years evolution has driven the world forward; and now life exists that can take the power of the Sun for itself. There is a cycle. Vegetation prostrates itself, and is rewarded with cosmic fuel. Even more advanced beings consume the sun worshipers, and in turn they are consumed. So on and so on, until the celestial fire reaches our own stomachs. And then, when we embrace that special person, or kiss their cheek — rest our head against their neck, or walk across the snow, our hands held together, tucked away inside their coat pocket — we transfer once distant and divine heat between ourselves.

What is our purpose? To love; deeply.

To not be

Are you not tired?

To exist is a choice, and one we’re under no obligation to make.

You need not continue.

To be

The dimensionality of the universe is at least ten, and so we are each multitudinous.

No one thing should consume us. To live is to engage in this joyous, sorrowful, heartbroken, and thrilling experience. Every day brings new trials and new wonders. Sometimes we will feel anxious, and sometimes we will feel unconquerable. Each moment is unique, and we are given it for but a transient second. Drink deep, laugh hard, run fast, kiss freely and love foolishly. Succumb to sadness, give in to rage, hate and hate until you know not what to do next. Then stand or sleep, and find yourself traversing to times unfamiliar and wholly exquisite.

What is the purpose of all this? You already know; it is the delicate balance of simply existing.

The Frenchman is.

These are all half truths; none is fully right. But I promised you The Answer, did I not?

Let me tell you a story.

My friend once asked me what the meaning of life is. So I told them a story.

Once upon a time, there was a faraway place known as Europe, and along its ocean border rested a kingdom called France. 

In a not too distant time from our own, it seemed as if all of Europe was falling apart. Evil men did evil things. They took and they took. And they razed whatever they could not, or anyone deemed unbecoming. I know imagining such turmoil today is difficult, but suspend your disbelief for a moment. For the people living in this faraway and fantastical place it was as if the world was ending.

And then that evil came to France; and it seemed as if everything might burn to the ground there as well.

There was a sick mother and her child, The Frenchman, who was of an age such that they could serve in the army.

The Frenchman wonders whether to stay home with their dying mother, or to go off to war. 

If they leave, who will take care of the person who took care of them for so many years? If they stay, who will protect everything people like their mother worked so hard to build?

For a short time, and then a long time, they sit and wonder what to do. They sit by their mother’s bed, feeding her soup and telling her about the dreams they once had, during nights now long lost. They walk through the village, and they sit and pray. Pray with The Minister and with all the other young frenchmen, themselves unsure. And they sit and wonder what to do; even as The Armyman waves fliers about and shouts all the latest from European Kingdoms now set ablaze.

Something dawns upon this young soul. There are dozens of answers to their dilemma. But no one knows anything.

Not their mother.

Not The Armyman.

Not even The Minister, or any of the other frenchmen.

No one but The Frenchman can say what the right answer is.

The world is chaotic. Just atoms and the space between. Reality contorts itself towards disorder and stillness. Some force wants to reduce us all to nothingness. 

Is it evil or is it entropy? It doesn’t matter. Something compels the universe to burn Europe to the ground. Something poisoned The Frenchman’s mother; gave her sickness. 

So fight! Fight if you want to. Or stay by her bedside, until the unconscionable end.

The world is chaotic. Just atoms and the space between. We must choose what is meaningful, and then assert it onto reality.

The alternative is nothingness. 

Silence.

This isn’t a test. There isn’t some higher being that gets to stand in judgment of your choice. It’s just atoms, and the space between them. 

So I can’t tell you what the point of all this is. But I can tell you that the possibility for purpose exists within us — at least if you want it to.

The Minister and The Armyman aren’t the ones who get to decide how The Frenchman should live their life.

I’m not the one in control here —

I’m not the one who gets to say how this story ends —

The Frenchman is.

All I can leave them with is a question.

How do you want to live?