We are contaminated. Worse, we are the contamination… we are a purulent infection, as some say, an evil that puts a delicate balance at risk, as others say… we are a bacterium that can cause the death of the entire system or be wiped out with the right vitamin, protein, or active principle… What appears as an impertinent doubt in the existence of each of us, regarding our purpose, if there is one, our goals, origins, and destinations, also concerns the fact that it is not possible to be certain, given the elements at our disposal, that we, living beings in this part of the universe, are not an unexpected event, an unwanted symptom, a pathology… or even a pleasant surprise, like discovering a rare talent or a two-euro coin in an inner pocket.
We owe our lives to a combination of favorable conditions that make it possible for us to exist, here and now, but only here and only for now, so much so that it seems difficult to attribute this to the mere succession of events, whose concatenation leading to the current result would seem like a path, always to some, perhaps in hindsight, but reducible to a design, the fruit of a precise and predetermined will, so much so that the thought that does not conform to this order of ideas risks causing headaches. Be careful not to hurt the susceptibility of people who have a flag, religiosity, or faith on this matter, because if you tell them that there would be nothing wrong if we were generated by chance, they will stiffen a lot, up to antipathy towards you, up to reprisal.
It won’t help to reassure them, claiming that for you being children of God or bacteria is the same, since the final result pleases you so much that even you, on good days, give thanks… which doesn’t necessarily mean embracing a dogma or a cabal… it means appreciating life as an opportunity, since we’re here, to honor it, as a commitment to make a difference between before and after us, and desiring to make it profitable, not just for ourselves… Don’t engage in these conversations with those who have chosen a rule, because they perceive those who don’t follow it as unruly, skeptical, potential adversaries. You would struggle to demonstrate your belonging to a group where everyone chooses their subset and intersections, but you would find yourself irremediably labeled, when the only thing that doesn’t suit your look is a label. Write, instead, burst into a tome: you’ll be quicker. It’s worth it, even if dice guided the celestial mechanics, it wouldn’t prevent us from observing that the environment we’re in, which composes and generates us, doesn’t seem to like us very much… what’s more, it would seem to desire to annihilate us at the first opportunity, as if every life, even one different from ours, required our end, for hunger or pleasure… even if it brought no advantage to our executioner.
It could happen at any moment, like in the case of earthquakes, tsunamis, and wandering meteorites… and this could also be the natural antibody against the true biological enemy of the universe, namely us. Isn’t it strange to notice how hostile our habitat is to us? After all, we wouldn’t survive in any other set of coincidences besides this one, as far as we know… We have powerful enemies in the sidereal space, which alone are enough to terrify many of us, educated by Hollywood… Everything threatens us, and yet something always seems to prevent what seems like our inexorable destiny from happening. Life on Earth, given that it’s not clear that we can speak with so much awareness of life elsewhere, is possible but not welcome, hindered but not prevented… the universe would seem not to care about lives like ours, but then it creates the conditions on which they are based; it would seem to want to extinguish us, but not definitively, leaving the evil unchecked, if it’s evil, and good winning, but not triumphing; everything would seem to condemn us, showing us inexorable and dire horizons of death and destruction, but then it always saves us or almost always… in short, every time, except one. In some ways, it seems like the universe didn’t want us in the first place. We settled in abusively, stealthily. If today it realizes we’re here, sometimes, if it can, it tries to kill us, like a child who crushes an anthill without pity and without malice. With apparent determination, but, so far, without true determination. It tolerates us, as long as we stay out of its field of vision… and it would seem to want us, in some way, healthy… but only if we don’t show ourselves, like cockroaches in the dark. It makes one think of the gardener with weeds, which always grow where they’re not wanted, and flowers, which never grow as expected, because both, like us, grow where they can, in general, where they must, in certain cases, but always reluctantly and with great ungrateful reluctance, when others plan it. We could be truly less central than we say, in the project that some attribute to the creative will with ceremonies; we could, indeed, be the enemy to be defeated… we suspect it, even if, on certain melancholic nights, this would be almost comforting. Some say we were dust and will return to being dust… a parallel that, for a millennium now, has somewhat wounded our self-esteem. It highlights a state of affairs that should see us serene, in acceptance of our temporariness. I don’t find much wisdom in this resigned medieval adagio, which is still passed off as a truth that unites us. There’s arrogance in accepting oneself as an insignificant being. There’s all the presumption of those who claim to know the true meaning of existence, because what matters would be elsewhere, while we, who are but a trifle, would only deserve pain and tears. I side with the dust. We observe the fluctuating moods of humanist and non-humanist philosophies, which sometimes raise their gaze to the sky and are frightened, only to, retreating to the ground, stumble upon a reflection of their own image and surprise themselves admiring it… and appreciating it, because it’s not bad at all, after all.
The awareness of the infinite is the starting point of some of our thoughts, but it’s a superpower only when it’s not a limit, and self-satisfaction supports and encourages us, until we fall into the water, like Narcissus. It’s an abstruse concept, perhaps, but it’s worth considering, before entrusting purposes and hopes to eternal life. Whether we’re born supernovae or amoebas… or whatever else… it’s good to know that it’s never wise to save life for later. That’s what I thought this morning, while drinking coffee…”