Honestly, I think the reason I keep beating my head against this brick wall is that some part of me gets it. I hate that there are no fucking answers. I hate it. It seems like maybe 2% of the people in the world are really preoccupied with this, and I’ve gotta be one of them. Most people only think about their mortality or life’s inherent lack of meaning when they have some life-shattering experience. A lot of people keep that angst safely at bay via religion. (Which I did once too, I know all about it.)
I want very badly for there to be a single, unassailable truth that reveals what we are supposed to do with ourselves on this planet. And as I scream this fact into the void, the universe responds:
Tough shit.
We don’t get our answers, except the ones we make. As my man wrote,
[QUOTE=Nietzsche]
“Whither is God?” he cried; "I will tell you. We have killed him – you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying, as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition? Gods, too, decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.
“How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whoever is born after us – for the sake of this deed he will belong to a higher history than all history hitherto.”
[/QUOTE]
When I first read that quote, at the tender age of 18, it scared the shit out of me, but it also exhilarated me.
It’s very simple, man, and very hard: We have to become our own gods.
The alternative is a bullet to the brain, and I’ll tell you what’s kept me alive more often than not: a sense of duty to other people. Not just the ones I love personally, but all the people, I won’t fucking cop out on life and leave everyone else behind, with one less person who gives a shit. It’s the same reason I won’t move to Canada no matter how pear-shaped shit goes in the U.S.
So here’s a benevolent argument for child-bearing: You raise kids who also carry that sense of duty, who will alleviate suffering. You make a future with better people in it. You come to that conclusion through a host of assertions about what is morally good, equally subjective as those of Machinaforce, no less true or false, because as far as universal truth goes, buddy, it’s just not there.