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« on: November 27, 2013, 04:11:51 pm »
I Am a Nihilist, and I'm Ok With That
or
How I Learned to Stop Worrying, and Love the Lack of Intrinsic Meaning or Value in Life
"Say what you want about the tenets of National Socialism, Dude, at least it's an ethos." -Walter Sobchak
My name is Rex Bologna, and I am an existential nihilist.
[crowd: "Hi Rex."]
I first suspected I was a nihilist in my mid-teens, though I probably would have denied it at that time. I was only just coming to terms with accepting that I didn't think it was likely that gods existed, I didn't need the added burden of grappling with the meaning, or lack thereof, of life. But, once you toss the idea of an omniscient creator out of the mix, the idea that the universe is devoid of objective meaning pops up as a reasonable option fair quickly.
Science classes offered interesting possibilities which might answer such a question... procreation, for instance. It occurred to me that observation of nature seemed to indicate that the continued presence of your DNA in the future was a viable meaning of life for most creatures, but to what end? Replication for the sake of replication seemed as devoid of meaning as the nihilism which loomed behind it. And then, to further the angst, as I learned more about how life began on this mudball, the arbitrary randomness of the process filled me with dread. And so, I did what any teen would do: I avoided the question altogether.
But, eventually, teenage high school science experiments gave way to experiments of a more psychedelic nature. However, a deeply introspective state, with life's usual filters taken away, is not the best place to hide from questions of an existential nature. The horrible gaping cold blackness of nothing seemed to surround me. Life was without meaning, we were the end result of blind mistakes, and when we fucked it all up it would matter to nobody. I could scream, but my voice would be lost in the void.
These conclusions followed me into the crashed sober state which inevitably follows. A period of mourning set in, where I missed the innocence of my youthful naivety, when I could believe things happened for a reason, even if I didn't agree with them. A scornful misanthropy replaced my formerly playful outlook, as so many people around me seemed to parrot empty useless phrases like "everything happens for a reason", or spoke of karma, and cosmic justice. Those sad deluded fools stared into the inky nothingness with their rose-tinted glasses on, the joke would be on them in the end.
But, I eventually stumbled upon the biggest joke of all, which was a silly religion, or maybe a philosophy, or maybe just a joke... called Discordianism. This... whatever it was... seemed to confirm my nihilism, but at the same time described it in a manner which could be amusing... dare I say, even fun? Suddenly the lack of meaning in the universe seemed not only freeing, but hugely hilarious. And the meaning others found in the universe was even funnier, but now not in a mean-spirited manner, but instead with an awed glee. To me humanity was still a strange mistake, but also a fantastic mistake. The argument made by theists about the wind blowing scrap metal and turning it into a roller coaster suddenly made perfect sense to me, but not in the way they likely intended. Yes, it was a perfect analogy for humanity. Not because it implied a creator, but because it was completely batshit insane... which we clearly are.
I am Rex Bologna, the Handsome Devil of Discordia, and I believe life has no intrinsic meaning.
And, I am ok with that.
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