How Many Roads Must A Man Walk Down? (42)

Nothing overtly political or patriotic today, I'm feeling philosophical.

If I haven't mentioned it already (and I'm sure I have), I'm an atheist. I.e. religion is a load of crap, shat out of the mouths of assorted power-hungry manipulative cunts. Well, organised religion, at least. Science, however, makes sense. (And no, I'm not interested in a debate as to how compatible they are, and I accept that I'm speaking in broad, extreme terms, etc. - I'm just setting the scene.)

Science can, of course, offer a plethora of provable, reliable answers, in a way that religion, by its very nature, cannot. So let's ask the big one:

"Why are we here?"

Ah, shit, I just broke the universe.

Obviously, science, by its own very nature, cannot answer this. Because, logically, there isn't an answer.

We are here by total, random chance - and nothing more. We are born, we live, we die. Fin. We have no purpose: there is no sense in giving someone a task without telling them, and any purpose given that doesn't require this (as in Douglas Adams' brilliant Hitchhicker's Guide to the Galaxy, where we are here to discover a question for a bunch of mice) is so individually mundane it makes no difference - in such cases there is purpose for society; what the individual does is of no real importance.

I know this may sound weird coming from a socialist, but that's an economic term, not philosophical. And besides, individuality is still important even in the most socialist of societies.

So why do we all bother, if what we're doing has no purpose? Obviously, many will give themselves their own purpose, be it from religion or simple willpower. But such purposes strike me as being just as pointless as no purpose - even if you do everything you want to do, and kick the bucket as the happiest person on Earth- or, hell, in the Universe for that matter - you're still dying, taking none of your achievements with you (not that there's anywhere to go), and no real part of you will remain in any sort of working state. In short: no matter what you do, you'll be just as dead as everyone else.

And yet we go, still motivated by meaningless goals or ideals. How anyone can actually care about anything whilst still accepting the above is beyond me, yet I'm just as guilty (for lack of a better term, I'm not calling everyone a convict) as everyone else.

My only justification (and I've got a funny feeling that I've gone on about this before) is that since we are here by such pure random chance, we might as well get as much from life as possible, otherwise it's just a waste. Death will wait, it's just another, terminal state of life, but since it's the only one that's completely inevitable, might as well leave it till last.

Other than that, however, I see no other reason to want anything, to be ambitious, or to be motivated. And even if everything gets fucked up the arse, no big disaster, since there's no real loss.

And if all that sounds morbid, and depressing, just go and watch some Monty Python, that'll cheer you up.