Existential Hangover

To grieve over precious jewels lost, to revolt against the tragic turns and dead ends of life, is expected of a deep-breathing, goal-striving, fully alive human being. Such resistance and self-expression often usher in healing, catharsis, and liberation. But to glare lividly at the star-filled void – thereby losing sight of earthly obstacles and goals – and gripe about the “meaninglessness” or “absurdity” of life is both inaccurate and immature. The entire cosmos, from quirky quarks to twirling galaxies, runs its course for reasons that are perfectly “meaningful.” (How else could it run, anyway? Is a policy of pure chaos or whim even coherent?) When we complain that certain events in life have “no meaning,” we really mean, “no special meaning or benefit for us.” After all, the unbridled winds don’t hit the brakes and swerve just because they behold a homo sapien! So when we inevitably get knocked down, why are we so downcast and indignant? Because for far too long we have drowned our sorrows with Lilliputian, Ptolemaic beliefs, assuring our guts there really is a hidden, premeditated meaning for us, lurking somehow in these disasters. Existential despair and anger are but the hangover after binging on ego- and anthropocentrism; tragedies are such shocking, “sobering” truths only because we have been so drunk on ourselves.

~Peregrine