Purpose in a Meaningless Universe

You are unlikely to find it, unless you provide it yourself.

In the endless years I have wandered the world’s sacred places, god has always kept himself well hidden.

It is true that I have spoken to the dead on several occasions. That I have heard voices and music in an ancient and remote former public house in Devon. And that my lifelong habit of sitting quietly in contemplation has often provided a sense of the numinous, a quiet joy.

I have several times asked entry of the gatekeeper to a hidden kingdom. Sought to cross the boundary between the worldly and the transcendent.

Once I saw a knight in black armour, standing proud somewhere above exquisite Gothic tracery, white stone framing the deep hues of ancient stained glass. I asked to be let in, I assumed he guarded a sacred portal, entrance to the eternal. Did he answer me? Did he use words or was I just left with a silent impression that the door would not be opened to me. Or perhaps, on the other side, there was not that which I had long sought.

I remember speaking to some wise men once, in a waking dream, who seemed to have answers. Were they gods, I asked. It appeared not, and I stumbled on.

The mind is a curious instrument when used properly, capable of conjuring wonders a plenty. Do such visions have their own reality, do such conversations take place anywhere other than in what we call the imagination.

How can I tell?

William Blake walked the streets of London talking to angels. Countless mystics, East and West, have met their numen, their desired end point. And found unshakeable certainty.

But in our post Gallilean era, we demand such standards of proof, we labour under such a heavy evidential burden.

If I feel anything out there, it is because I want to. I can not say with any certainty that these visions and conversations have any reality, except within the narrow confines of my own mind. Much as I would like to believe they do.

Meaning is not given to us. We can not open our windows on a fine sunny morning in spring and expect to greet a wizard, a mage with a tall pointed hat and a long staff. Who will make it alright. Who will give us purpose where there is none.

Gandalf would do me just fine. He is more than halfway there, with his magic, his wisdom. His triumph over the black curse of Saruman and his evil master.

Even a real elf would be welcome. Or a hobbit come to that. And Reepicheep of course – what would I not give for a conversation with that mighty mouse.

These days we have serious grey men in white coats who tell us they have seen black holes at the centre of the universe. In the old days we had men in long black clerical garb warning us of Satan and his henchman Beelzebub. But these fictions are mere weaklings when put side by side with monsters light years across, gobbling up all and sundry and never letting it out again. Once upon a time Cerberus guarded the gates of Hades, letting no one out, but these days hell is guarded by an Event Horizon. Just as fierce and, we are told, horribly effective. Quite a lot better than a dog with several heads.

Today’s guardians of rectitude tell us tales of black energy and dark matter. Which apparently are to be found everywhere but can’t be seen.

A bit like god then.

And today’s high priests tell us we do not exist at all. That we are figments of our own non existent imagination with no free will, unable to do or feel anything other than that for which we were programmed at the very dawn of time. No power of governance over our own desires or actions , no thoughts we can call our own.

Modern man has replaced Satan and his fiery domain by something just as vile.

At least the old priests had a carrot as well as a stick. If we behaved ourselves we would find our reward in a vividly coloured candy world called the after life. God may make life hell on earth (for reasons only apparent to those deeply familiar with His ways) but if we tell him he’s the tops and ignore all the competition, we will get loads of virgins and lots else later on.

Today’s Priests of Scientism can only come up with a stick. No carrots at all, let alone heavenly virgins. That’s not a great deal of fun – put up with ethnic cleansers, earthquakes, and Donald Trump and then you die.

Is it any surprise then that those of a more discerning nature refuse to bow down to any priest, whatever the colour of his robes or the object of his devotion. Neither priest, old or new, seem to have much on offer in the here and now. And as to later, well, a bird in hand as they say is better than one in the bush. And a lot more nourishing.

So close your ears and your eyes. Shut out the priests, along with social media and the newspaper.

But what of Gaza, I hear you say. Or the Ukraine. How can we allow such slaughter, how can we ignore it. Well yes, quite. The old school gods delighted in bloodshed and it was all for our own good. The gods of science say none of it means anything anyway and evolution has made all of us savages to ensure our survival.

Who and what are you to believe. All of it, none of it. Who cares. Had I Gandalf’s magic staff I would wave it and peace and plenty and prosperity would be for ever and ever.

Sadly, I seem to have misplaced it.

And so, in a meaningless universe, where must I seek meaning. Where am I most likely to find purpose, peace and content.

In my own thoughts and my own actions. Within.

If there is no absolute right and wrong, no good, no bad, then I will make my own.

A lifetime of wandering thought has taught me that if I want to find peace, I must live peace within and without. Do unto others. I’m really trying these days, although I think I’m very probably the only beneficiary of my efforts. Since I don’t go out much.

On the rare occasions that I venture out of my front door, I am making a big effort and that certainly makes me feel a whole lot better inside.

I can not tell you what the universe is made of. Or when or by whom or what.

I can not tell you whether Yahweh or Vishnu, Mara or Satan are out there somewhere. Or Odin, Zeus or the Jainist Jinas.

But I can tell you that quiet contemplation makes me realise I do not need to know. That I do not really care that much. That all I need to do to obtain peace is to let go.

To abandon pretense and vanity, to be decent to others if I can. To remain good tempered, good natured if I can mange it. To cause no harm and to bring joy and comfort where I am able.

No wonder Buddhism has always attracted me.