Revisiting nihilism
I had a conversation with a friend last night about the big question I keep hitting up against on this blog: If there’s no such thing as universal Truth, Morality, or Meaning (note well the capital letters!), then isn’t our existence, by definition, meaningless? And if that’s the case, why don’t we just take our own lives and be done with it?
My friend doesn’t see it that way. She kind of likes the idea of believing in a god, but can’t really bring herself to do it. She feels like she’d be fooling herself, and she’d rather not do that.
If there is no real “Right” way to do things, though, I’m not sure why she’s so tied to a belief system that makes her less happy than she could be. Why not just pick the one that fits best with what you want? I realize it’s not easy to just completely upend everything you’ve ever believed, but it’s certainly not impossible. I do know people who have done it. And they do seem happier afterward (eventually), I must admit — whether we mean the religious convert who is so happy to be freed from sin, or the former fundamentalist who is happy to be freed from hypocrisy.
I was tired during last night’s discussion, but even if I had been fully awake, I’m not sure I could have defended my position. Why is it such a horrible thing if all morality is relative, socially and personally constructed? Why must there be anything more? I’m honestly not sure. I had answers at the time, but I can’t even remember them.
Now, after having a really, really crappy day, I think I am realizing part of my answer to that question, at least. A sense of right and wrong, or at least a sense that life could be meaningful, is what keeps us from just offing ourselves when everything about life seems pointless.
It’s been a long time since I seriously considered that as a possible course of action. Sitting here tonight, I know I am in no more danger than normal of even harming myself, let alone killing myself. What I’m writing now is not a suicide note or a teenage cry for help. I’m just processing my thoughts here. And my thoughts say:
Contemplating the meaningless of existence when I already feel lonely and depressed, as I do today, makes me think that suicide might be a perfectly legitimate and even sensible decision.
It doesn’t have quite the poetry of “to be, or not to be” and further musings on “what dreams may come,” but it’s honest, anyway. If there is no point … well, then, what’s the point? Even living a relatively coddled life can often feel like it involves more pain and sadness than happiness and fulfilment. Unless there is something more to this existence, our options seem to be to give up or to occupy ourselves with things we trick ourselves into thinking might matter. Despite my friend’s assertion about why she can’t choose to believe in a god, how is the individual quest for meaning, or the social construction of meaning, anything but self-delusion?
Please don’t read this and kill yourself. (I’m certainly not going to.) I’m just thinking out loud here.
