The meaning of life
That somehow, through sheer will, humans have yielded consciousness, love, spirituality, a brain that seems to have no bounds in knowledge or creativity, that makes us want to live forever and in infinite bliss, to help each other, that consciousness itself is the constant defiance and attack against entropy... and the mechanistic clockwork doesn't care. It keeps ticking as we drive ourselves into oblivion, nearing the thermodynamic collapse of the universe, or the sun consuming the earth, or the rotation of the earth slowing down, or our atmosphere escaping, or a meteorite striking, or possibly even nuclear bombs of toxic chemicals wiping us out, if our own programmed death doesn't get to us first.
The cruel irony is that the sun breathes life into us, makes us care, and understand our position, want to live forever, scream to be alive, only to consume us; that our short, pitiful lives on this planet are meant to be nothing more than short blips, and that even if we survived, long enough to these points, there would still be an end no matter what we did.
And yet the human brain constantly seeks for a way around this; there must be a way, for our children to live forever, and us, with a good standard of living, to help everyone on the planet, and on other planets, and in the universe!
That there has to be a way, because we strive for a way, because we want a way, and that sheer consciousness will defy this silly entropy and thermodynamics and find a way around it, because it must be done. Is this possible?!
It wouldn't really matter if it was. If there is no true value in the universe, or even if there is, then what does it matter? It does not matter if it matters or not.
We, humans, create value, decide when things are important or not, what is and is not good or bad or considerable. That is the meaning of life; whatever we choose.
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