Science is failing me.  Actually politics, entertainment, culture and news media are all failing me but science is the one standing out to me today.  I love that science answers questions, I love that it protects us from diseases and can extend life, I love that it works to tell us how things are but it doesn’t begin to tell us why.

Why do we strive to earn money and buy stuff that ultimately has no value?  Why do we puzzle over a hundred different brands of the same thing before choosing the same bottle we picked up last time?  Why do we flog ourselves to be other than what we are?  Why do we worry?  Why do we fight?  Why are we so afraid? Why do we spend lifetimes battling over philosophical notions, shedding blood and wasting lives?  Why?  Why do we live?  Why do we die?  Why do we bother?

Religion has never really worked for me.  I lack for the faith.  I understand that faith requires a degree of discipline.  I answer guilty to the charge of being lazy, indolent and indulgent but I have to ask the question that if faith requires discipline to have it, is it any kind of faith at all?  If religion were like falling in love, as natural and uncontrollable as that, I would not doubt, but religion is not like that, religion requires you to overlook doubt without the compulsion of passion and fervour.  At least it does for me.

You don’t need passion to believe in science. Science just is, like waking up in the morning. It is inevitable that we will seek answers and it is inevitable that we will find answers and yet science will not tell you why.  There is no why, you live and you die and that is all.  There is no purpose.  Stay in bed all day if you can earn a living at it or if you have the cash to keep yourself afloat while you lie there.  I agree that being good to others and doing your duty should come from the heart and not be an instruction from on high, but what about the rest?  Why do we stress ourselves out and work ourselves to the bone when at the end of the day there will be nothing left but the tears of a handfull of mourners? Why?

We closet ourselves inside material bubbles to give ourselves an impression of constancy, but there is no constancy.  Nothing is permanent.  The madman with the placard is right, ‘the end is coming’, just not all at once. 

I’m being morbid I know.  I’m not actually sad today.  Just bewildered.  Confused and trapped by the edifice of humanity and all the crazy notions that keep us plodding onward in the same trenches, half asleep.  Looking up to our heros to give us an impression of what we are supposed to be thinking because, without some pointers, you would be forgiven for becoming irravocably lost in the haze.  And who are these heros?  People, just other people, as lost as the rest of us, some offering an insight that might for a moment provide us with comfort,  projecting through those few perfect seconds an impression of transcendance and we hold onto to those moments, build an idol out of them, a phantom, incomplete and inhuman.  And they trudge on, hiding their fear and their pain, as we all must.

Ultimately of course because we do not know what else to do.

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