The very meaning of life lies within. Do we really have free will, and if we do, where does it come from. When you consider our bodies are basically extremely complex machines made of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and a collection of other elements. Machines though are deterministic. When ever an exact chain of input occurs the same reaction results. The complexity just means that my body will always be in this exact spot doing the same thing given the exact same sequence of events I have been through.
Many say that is where the soul comes in. The mythical thing where our supposed consciousness arises from. The intangible thing there that gives us free will, the thing that is us at our purest essence.
I don't even know it is there. I've had my own versions of spiritual experiences, but they could all easily be delusions keeping my mind from the horrendous truth. The awful thought that I never had any control. That control itself is an illusion. That all in the universe is but a simple clock in the end. Forever stuck doing exactly what the gears dictate it does.
I do not want that to be true. So I refuse to think that. Ultimately though I worry. It is the one question that truly worries me. Am I a but a cog in life?
I must not believe that. For if that is true, then my being, my individuality, the thing I call the self, ultimately means nothing. I am certain I must mean something. Can I say that means the soul is a real thing? No. But I can say I have free will. I do decide things in a much more imprecise manner than the machines I program. It is this uncertainty that is me. The uncertainty weighted by ones optimism, or pessimism, experience, or naivety, knowledge, or ignorance. I am that uncertainty, the slight imperfection that allows for so much wonder and diversity. I am somewhere between my senses and my reactions. Yet I am more as well....
Many say that is where the soul comes in. The mythical thing where our supposed consciousness arises from. The intangible thing there that gives us free will, the thing that is us at our purest essence.
I don't even know it is there. I've had my own versions of spiritual experiences, but they could all easily be delusions keeping my mind from the horrendous truth. The awful thought that I never had any control. That control itself is an illusion. That all in the universe is but a simple clock in the end. Forever stuck doing exactly what the gears dictate it does.
I do not want that to be true. So I refuse to think that. Ultimately though I worry. It is the one question that truly worries me. Am I a but a cog in life?
I must not believe that. For if that is true, then my being, my individuality, the thing I call the self, ultimately means nothing. I am certain I must mean something. Can I say that means the soul is a real thing? No. But I can say I have free will. I do decide things in a much more imprecise manner than the machines I program. It is this uncertainty that is me. The uncertainty weighted by ones optimism, or pessimism, experience, or naivety, knowledge, or ignorance. I am that uncertainty, the slight imperfection that allows for so much wonder and diversity. I am somewhere between my senses and my reactions. Yet I am more as well....
