There is no reason to believe that there is any meaning to life. There is also no reason to think that there isn’t. It is equally valid is to consider whether there are meanings or just meaning. Why can there not be an infinite number of meanings to life? Why can there not be a unique meaning for each point of space and time? If so, this allows for the meanings of life to change from today to next year. It also allows for differing meaning for you and me, many of them actually!
Maybe the meaning of life is just to have the ability to pose the question….that seems like a pretty significant milestone in life’s evolution. Maybe the meaning of life is to just witness. Maybe simply watching a beautiful sunrise or listening to a haunting cello solo is the meaning of life. Maybe it is eating dark chocolate or playing with baby ducks. Maybe the meaning of life is the uplift that we derive from just considering all the myriad things that could be the meaning; a cornucopia of wonder and joy. Maybe it is something mundane and utilitarian like reproducing. Of course to many people the meaning is to honor and please God. Any and all of these seem reasonable.
It seems unlikely that there is just one reason. If so, once it is realized all remaining life becomes a meaningless afterthought. It seems too unromantic, too depressing to consider that there is no meaning to life. Maybe the meaning of life is to pursue gratitude, whether directed towards an omnipotent being or just towards fellow life travelers. Maybe the meaning of life is to ultimately develop a theory of everything. Maybe if that day arrives we will all be instantaneously recycled, the paperweight globe of pretend Christmas snow will be shaken, the etch-a-sketch™ board will be wiped clean to allow for a new crop of wonderers to ponder the meaning anew.
It is a whole lot more fun and healthy to consider that there is a meaning, or maybe more correctly, meanings, than to not allow for the possibility. It seems that the real value, as with basically everything else, is in the path, the walk, the process of pondering and reformulating the question. The answer is not so important, the quest to find it however is.
I find part of the answer lies in listening to sixty year old improvisational jazz in the dark. Another component resides in traveling the world and eating whatever other ponderers have developed as local cuisine over the preceding millennia. Still other possibilities are found at the end of a long run or the first rough plane stroke into a board of quarter-sawn white oak. Children and their wonder, loved ones growing old, first jobs and first kisses and first thoughts about the curiousness of life.
It is not so important to know what the answer is. It is not even that important to know that an answer or several even exist. It is only important in wanting to search. It is only important to feel safe and purposeful and brave and even responsible to look for meanings of life each and every day in actions mundane and grand. It is important to have faith.
