There are certain instances in which we choose not to distract ourselves with petty things and look upward to see what is or what is not there.
What we often see—unless clouds obscure our view—is a dark night sky sprinkled with stars. Throughout history, we have decided to force meaning upon their relative positions in the sky. We call these illusory patterns "constellations," many of which honor animals or gods we have constructed to give our lives purpose. Now, of course, we understand that these patterns are inherently meaningless. They are merely projections of visible light located at different distances in space. If we were to alter our vantage point and raise our heads once again, new patterns would emerge. And in our insatiable thirst for coherence, we would construct new patterns to give meaning where none exists. And so it goes with the gods we honor, though in this case our vantage point is one of time rather than space.
Our vantage points in both time and space—united in theory but distinct in practice—are limited and will continue to be so. This does not prevent us from thumping our chests and viewing our place in the universe through the prism of ignorance. The trees—plants made for us so that we may breathe. The water—substance given to us to nourish and heal. The stars—a work of art painted by the hands of a higher being.
And since the trees and the water and everything else were created to serve our purpose, we therefore have every right to use them up and discard them as we please. And so we do, giving little thought to the consequences.
But the stars have no interest in our petty concerns. They look down as we struggle against one another, mocking us with their false patterns and making light of our transgressions. And long after we have extinguished ourselves, they will continue to burn, patternless, as the random dots they are, as the random dots they shall always be.
What we often see—unless clouds obscure our view—is a dark night sky sprinkled with stars. Throughout history, we have decided to force meaning upon their relative positions in the sky. We call these illusory patterns "constellations," many of which honor animals or gods we have constructed to give our lives purpose. Now, of course, we understand that these patterns are inherently meaningless. They are merely projections of visible light located at different distances in space. If we were to alter our vantage point and raise our heads once again, new patterns would emerge. And in our insatiable thirst for coherence, we would construct new patterns to give meaning where none exists. And so it goes with the gods we honor, though in this case our vantage point is one of time rather than space.
Our vantage points in both time and space—united in theory but distinct in practice—are limited and will continue to be so. This does not prevent us from thumping our chests and viewing our place in the universe through the prism of ignorance. The trees—plants made for us so that we may breathe. The water—substance given to us to nourish and heal. The stars—a work of art painted by the hands of a higher being.
And since the trees and the water and everything else were created to serve our purpose, we therefore have every right to use them up and discard them as we please. And so we do, giving little thought to the consequences.
But the stars have no interest in our petty concerns. They look down as we struggle against one another, mocking us with their false patterns and making light of our transgressions. And long after we have extinguished ourselves, they will continue to burn, patternless, as the random dots they are, as the random dots they shall always be.
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