The Cosmic Perspective | Quest for spirituality
What are we but Cosmic Creatures of Belief? Ones that, in our fleeting moments of delight and grief, of lust, trepidation and a dozen other states of mind, dabble in this journey we call life; life as we make it. Lost in the vastness of our own egos, we forget that a greater vastness engulfs all of us. One that lives and breathes; one that creates and destroys; also one that, in a curious string of events, gave life to us. Even with the best machines, a human mind can conceive, the depths of this vastness are far out of reach. And in this vastness, the entirety of human existence is utterly insignificant.
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Belief, I gather, is the one faculty that makes humans unique. Civilizations have come to be because of belief. They’ve thrived and eventually been brought to their feet because of belief. The nature of belief is such that it gives rise to the stories that help us be comfortable in our own mediocrity and insignificance, by contradicting that truth. These stories tell us that we’re are special, and supreme and that everything else revolves around us. They tell us there is an omnipotent being who plays dice with the universe, and that we’re under His mercy. They tell us that there will be another life after this one. Also, they tell us that one day, when the apocalypse has passed, the enlightened one, just like twenty-eight such beings before him, will deliver us from evil.
As each day passes I realize that for some of us, these stories are all there is to life; that belief in them brings happiness and a sense of purpose. (To this majority, I must admit albeit with an inexplicably sickening feeling) the ultimate pursuit is that of that blissful place — Nirvana, Heaven, or whatever it may be — where blood is spilled no more and grief finds no form. Our stories tell us that to reach this place, we need to have led a certain kind of life.
That it induces a certain discipline, it would seem, is reason enough to aspire to these ways of life. Ask any religious person and they will tell you that their faith brings them this discipline and ultimately happiness, if it does nothing else. The trouble is, that happiness prevails even when their faith asks them to marry off their 12-year-old daughter, or to disown their gay son, or to invoke blessings on their neighbor who just gave away an unsuspecting child to be ordained in a monastery.
All this for a shot at that perfect state of existence. All this with the hope that we will get everything we want after we die.
Religion, people say, is what defines morality for them. Religion, to me, is the epitome of moral obscenity.
The rampant self-centeredness is upsetting, to begin with. That one occupies the moral high ground simply when one lives by a certain religious code, and that the rest are in sin when they don’t, being the overarching premise gives us a license to condescend. The self-righteous are a plague today. This holier-than-thou facade does nothing to improve the health of societies.
I have no imaginary friends in the sky, nor do I believe in superhuman babies who walk on lotuses as soon as they’re born. What, then, gives me purpose? What could possibly bring me happiness, and a sense of belonging in the grand scheme of things?
If my own personal pursuits of reason have taught me anything, it’s that blind faith is not an answer to anything. There is no grand scheme of things. There is only randomness, and in that randomness, uncertainty. Just how egotistical is it to think that the universe, under the control of an omnipotent deity, conspires to make your life and mine the way they are? We’re merely a speck of dust in the cosmic vastness. But we tend to forget.
While some may find that demeaning, I find it fascinating. That is our insignificance we find the resolve to venture out and explore the universe is a testimonial to the admirable potential of our better selves. That in this enterprise we discover our relationship to the cosmos, because we’re made of the same building blocks, is a refreshing thought.
You and I were an iota of the cosmic broth that brewed in the distant crucibles of the universe long ago
Stars died so we could be born. This is the belonging I seek. And so, my purpose is to find my own meaning in this momentary existence, soon after which I will become the manure for Terran flora, thus paying back my debt to the cosmos. In this fleeting moment, life is what I make of it, and if I don’t dream big for myself, who will?
That thought, to me, is spiritual.
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