And what about the big questions? Why am I here? What happens before we are born and after we die? What is our responsibility to others and to ourselves? What is the secret of the universe?
And where do we get the answers? We could spend hours and days mulling it all over or just live the best life we can muster. And what will it all mean in the end?
Ah, meaning. That’s what it all boils down to, isn’t it — What does it all mean? as if it had to mean anything at all. “Everything is meaningless,” cries the ecclesiastical poet, and yet we keep asking.
And as the Grim Reaper taps on our shoulder or we see him approaching, we wonder “What did it all mean? Did I accomplish my purpose?”
What if the fellow who called himself the Son of Man, and his followers, had it right — that our purpose is to love one another? Oh man, oh man, oh man, wouldn’t that be sad? Because we hate that purpose. We even have special programs — they’re called “newscasts” — that chronicle with glee all the different ways we don’t love one another, usually multiple ways just in the last 24 hours. It’s the human tragedy.
Some folks are firmly of the opposite opinion. They believe our purpose is to murder as many people who hold different beliefs from theirs as possible. In its purest form this practice is called “war,” and it’s terribly inefficient because you inevitably kill a bunch of people who hold the same beliefs as yours but happen to live in a country ruled by the people you disagree with. It’s an unspeakably stupid purpose to pursue.
Many people are too busy seeking food and shelter and raising the next generation to spend quality time pondering our purpose in life, although one might argue that without food, shelter and a future there’s not much call for meaning anyway.
I stare across the living room and see that two of the four pictures hanging on the wall are a tad off-center. One of my purposes today will be to nudge them back. But I digress. (Who, me?)
If those are the main choices — and I know there are more than two — I think I’d decide that loving my neighbors is a better choice than slaughtering them. It seems better to risk erring on the side of life.
