Human life is a staggeringly strange thing. On the surface of a ball of rock fal
ling around a nuclear fireball in the blackness of a vacuum the laws of nature c
onspired to create a naked ape that can look up at the stars and wonder where it
came from. What is a human being? Objectively, nothing of consequence.
Parti
cles of dust in an infinite arena, present for an instant in eternity. Clumps of
atoms in a universe with more galaxies than people. And yet a human being is ne
cessary for the question itself to exist, and the presence of a question in the
universe - any question - is the most wonderful thing.
Questions require mind
s, and minds bring meaning. What is meaning? I don't know, except that the unive
rse and every pointless speck inside it means something to me. I am astonished b
y the existence of a single atom, and find my civilisation to be an outrageous i
mprint on reality.
