I had a conversation with a friend today and though we talked about many subjects we really got caught up on where all this stuff comes from; existence. And I told him about the book “A Universe from Nothing” by Lawrence M. Krauss. I explained (in the most painfully rudimentary way possible) the Big Bang, hydrogen fussing together forming stars, which in turn burst forth spewing life making materials (like our planet) across the universe. But those weren’t the answers he was looking for. He wanted to know with absolute certainly how it all began–what started the Bang, and what started that–reductio ad infinitum!
I started thinking about it again later because my answer was simply that it can’t be, or at least most likely can’t be known. Even if we do live long enough as a species to figure those things out–it won’t happen in our life time–we’re just to busy killing each other over resources and ideological issues. Assuming we can ever overcome our base urges the idea of certainty is amusing, but ultimately void as nothing is really certain. We can’t say with certainty we’ll make it work the next day, we just don’t think about it. I could die mid-sentence of a heart attack, happens everyday.
So I gave him the best existential answer I could give anyone asking the ultimate question–the truth is hidden inside yourself (that’s not bullshit by the way). Usually when we’re desperate for certainty, or big answers it’s because we’re deflecting. We want those things but not for the reasons we think we do because we need an escape from ourselves, the uncertainly of the future, answers to the conflicts that rage in our hearts. I lost years of sleep over the deep questions until I found the truth, and when I found it I laughed because its discovery was sheer luck, and its mystery is grasped by children, yet buried quickly under adulthood.