Why

I was just perusing our little blogiverse and am now inspired to write a response to Katie's question of the Why (http://katieneal14.blogspot.com/2013/10/stranger-than-fiction.html).

Like her, I've been thinking recently about what kinds of questions we ask and how we answer them. Being hit over the head with a chunk of science education and research for the past two years, I'd grown to see the world in a narrowly-defined, completely objective, rational way (probably due to brain damage from the aforementioned bludgeoning). Science provides us great answers to the What, How, Where, Who, and alright answers to the When. It does not provide answers to the Why and the How Does One Live (or how does one relate to all the other shit).

As Katie pointed out, where science falls short, people turn to religion. More accurately, I believe people turn to spirituality, where spirituality is not necessarily organized worship but more of a way in which one connects with the universe he finds himself in. He can use science to observe himself and his surroundings, but ultimately he must find his own way to deal with them.

This is what every human must do in order to find meaning in her existence. Even the most stoic and "objective" of scientists must give meaning to her life. Otherwise, she will die. Her body may continue on like a machine, but the spirit animating it will have perished. It is as we discussed in class: human beings need meaning to survive, and we find meaning in the telling of stories. A nihilist tells no stories, for she rejects them outright. She no longer asks Why.

For everyone else, we struggle to answer the question throughout our lives. In reality, this is a journey of self-discovery. As Eliade would put it, we are initiated into a labyrinth, one that we become lost in and wander. When we do find the center and confront the minotaur, we answer a part of the question. We know ourselves better. Then we are initiated again, lost again. It's a process I don't believe can be ended. It's also a process I don't want to end (at least not now). Questioning is living; answering is death. There's a tension between the two, one that Freud called the destrudo or death drive. He explains it differently, but it's basically the same idea: humans seek the end. We struggle so that one day our work may finally be done. We wake so that may finally lay down to rest. We ask for answers so that we may stop wondering.

This end, this death, is the ultimate goal to be sure. It is one we all must face. Getting there, though... That's what makes life a helluva time. There is no meaning in death. It is arbitrary, unchanging. It is a dispersion. Room temperature. There IS meaning in life because it is that which changes, which collects and organizes and produces information. It is heat. Is the question Why not the question of "Why are we organized this way? What have we been collected for?"

The answers will come some day when we are put to rest. Until then, we question. We live.