Insignificant mortals, who are as leaves are,
and now flourish
and grow warm with life,
and feed on what the ground gives,
but
then again fade away and are dead.
Homer, Century IX b.C. What's the significance of
life? Who are we? Is
human life just a dream, from which we never really awake, as
some great thinkers claim? Are we submerged by our feelings, by
our loves and hates, by our ideas of good, bad, beautiful,
awful? Are we incapable of knowing beyond those ideas and
feelings?
A man that is born falls into a
dream like a man who falls into the sea.
Joseph Conrad,
Lord Jim (Penguin Classics)
Is the reality we know a
reality imposed to us by nature? Is the reality and the meaning
of life a creation of men, such as music, or love or colors
(science tells us that there isn't such things as music, harmony
or colors in the physic world. Just traveling molecules:
«There is not, external to us, hot or cold, but
only different velocities of molecules; there aren’t sounds,
callings, harmonies, but just variations in the pressure of the
air; there aren’t colours, or light, just electro-magnetic
waves», said H. Von Foerster.).
Are we - and all living beings - just «survival machines,
blindly programmed to preserve the selfish molecules known as
genes»,
as Richard
Dawkins states? Are we incapable of knowing beyond the frames
imposed to us by nature?
Is there any significance for life in a Universe of billions of
stars that ignore us?
Is there any significance for life in an Universe whose
dimensions and nature overcome
our understanding?
Listen to the words of Pascal, in the seventeenth century:
«When I consider the short duration of my life, swallowed up in
the eternity that lies before and after it, when I consider the
little space I fill and I see, engulfed in the infinite
immensity of spaces of which I am ignorant, and which know me
not, I rest frightened, and astonished, for there is no reason
why I should be here rather than there. Why now rather than
then? Who has put me here? By whose order and direction have
this place and time have been ascribed to me?» Pensees (Penguin Classics)
This site is about these themes, and the thoughts they create.
Love and cruelty on our lives
Love
gives meaning to our lives – as do friendship, or art or faith in
God. These are factors of true happiness, of inner peace, of
feelings of harmony, allowing meaning to our existence.
But there is the other side. There is the cruelty of life, the
pain, the evil, not to talk of death. They are the hidden tigers,
ambushed and ready to attack the imprudent, to use an image present
in the Buddhist Scriptures.
Is between these pendulums - the positive, the one that gives
happiness and meaning, and the negative - that our lives are lived.
And when we meditate about all that, we arrive at a diverse and
disagreeing set of thoughts about the meaning and purpose of life.
This site is also about these themes and thoughts…
Insignificant mortals, who are as leaves are, and now flourish
and grow warm with life, and feed on what the ground gives, but
then again fade away and are dead.
Homer, Century IX b.C., Greek poet, The Iliad (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition)
To see more:
Life is too Short
Speculations on our place on the Universe
When I consider the short duration of my life, swallowed up in
the eternity before and after, the little space which I fill,
and even can see, engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces
of which I am ignorant, and which know me not, I am frightened,
and am astonished at being here rather than there; for there is
no reason why here rather than there, why now rather than then.
Who has put me here? By whose order and direction have this
place and time been alloted to me?
B. Pascal, 1623-1662, French philosopher, physic and
mathematician, Pensees (Penguin Classics)
Why
is there something rather than nothing? We do not know. We will
never know. Why? To what purpose? We do not know whether there
is a purpose. But if it is true that nothing is born of nothing,
the very existence of something – the world, the universe –
would seem to imply that there has always been something: that
being is eternal, uncreated, perhaps creator, and this is what
some people call God.
André Comte-Sponville, French philosopher, The Little Book of
Philosophy
What is the purpose of life? I believe that the purpose of life
is to be happy.
Dalai Lama, Tibetan political and spiritual leader, Voices from
the Heart; The Art of Happiness: A Handbook for Living
The wise man has
the sun and the moon by his side. He grasps the universe under
the arm. He blends everything into a harmonious whole, cast
aside whatever is confused
or obscured, and regards the humble and the honourable.
Tchuang-Tseu, Chinese philosopher, III b. C., Book of
Tchuang-Tseu
Thoughts about the cruelty of life, pain and death
Nature separates beings, after having surrounded them by love.
It divides them, and demands that they still love each other.
G. Leopardi, 1798-1837, Italian writer, Poésis, Le Coucher de la
Lune
Thoughts about what we are in the Cosmos
We, sons of the water, earth and sun, are no more than small
straw, foetus of the cosmic diaspora, scraps of solar existence,
insignificant sprouts of the earth’s existence.
E. Morin, French philosopher and sociologist, Method V
To see more:
Man and the Universe Science and meaning of life
Thoughts about who we are
However sage anyone is, he is, after all, but a man.
Montaigne, 1533-1592, French writer, Montaigne: Essays
Positive and negative thoughts about the meaning of life
There may be trouble ahead,
But while there’s moonlight and music and love and romance,
Let’s face the music and dance.
Irving Berlin, 1888-1989, American songwriter, Follow the Fleet
Thoughts about the illusion present on our lives
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1802-1890, English poet, The Higher
Pantheism; Tennyson: Poems (Everyman's Library Pocket Poets)
Thoughts about old age and youth
There will be a day when you, that now are escaping from love,
will see yourself old and deserted, condemned to drag through
the nights alone, in your frozen bedstead. Because of you will
not anymore grow nocturnal disputes, wishing to force your door,
nor will you have scattered roses, by morning, at your
threshold.
Ovidius, 43-17 a.C, roman writer, The Love Books of Ovid Being the Amores, Ars Amatoria, Remedia Amoris And Medicamina Faciei Femineae of Publius Ovidius Naso
