Cosmic Indifference

I find myself on a giant rock that spends its time orbiting a spherical fire. This concerns me. It apparently concerns others, too, because they compassionately lay siege on my mind with a number of competing instructions for what to do after finding myself on the aforementioned flame-bound rock. But let’s not concern ourselves with their misplaced concern, for they are almost certainly wrong. Instead, let’s go back to the original setup: me, the rock, and the fireball. It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Every moment of unbearably powerful love, every masterful work of art, everything we’ve ever done goes unnoticed by the spherical duo. They’re indifferent, really. Oh, and the rest of the universe feels the same way. This cosmic indifference reduces me to a feeble question: Is it serious—is this vast arena of experiences we call life serious? Does it warrant a response deeply rooted in emotion? Or are we better off taking things lightly and carrying laughter with us through every experience?

It certainly feels as though our lives matter. Natural selection has left its mark here: we struggle to live even if we fail to love life. Most of us don’t need to be told that life matters, we dive in headfirst. But we stay curiously close to the surface, leaving the depths largely unexplored. Consider this: How often do you laugh after something leaves you emotionally vulnerable? How many misplaced chuckles find their way into discussions about murder, genocide, or some natural disaster?

We don’t know how to respond, and so we very quickly inject levity into the situation. We’re unknowingly using humor to defend ourselves against strong negative emotions. This defense allows us to face situations that would otherwise leave us debilitated. But humor has a darker side: it gives reverence to nothing. We laugh in the face of tragedy, but perhaps we should fall silent instead. We laugh because we don’t know what else to do, but perhaps it is time to learn.

Just as humor allows us to escape from tragedy, it protects us from ecstasy. It seems that we are not merely afraid of feeling pain, but of feeling at all. For feeling leaves us vulnerable and uncertain. Moments of intense connection with others are incredibly difficult to sustain. After we share kind words or stories about our lives, we almost universally feel compelled to break out of the moment—to come up for air. Even presenting these words to you is difficult because I run the risk of appearing foolishly sentimental. But what I’m proposing is simply that we give credibility to our emotions. Cosmic indifference would scoff at the idea of life’s significance (if it ever took the time to notice). But even if we concede that human life isn’t important to the universe, it’s still important to us. And, really, what more do you want?

So our living in an indifferent universe doesn’t eliminate the possibility of meaning—far from it. We have evolved the capability for both detached humor and profound emotion. We can live a deeply meaningful life. We see the beauty of life, but we also see the darkness within it. To allow ourselves to feel profoundly means facing both the beauty and the horror of life. To live lightly—through humor—means discarding the richness of life in favor of playfulness.

Does this playfulness lack depth? Is it an immature response to life when compared to the notion of responding with profound emotion? If we take that line of thought too far, we would discard laughter and replace it with profound emotion. But such a life is too burdensome. Fortunately, these two responses aren’t isolated from each other. A robust sense of humor can exist alongside a profound sense of meaning and emotion. The deployment of either response is a matter of practical wisdom. Some situations need to be faced and felt to their fullest extent. These are the experiences that give our lives meaning. But not all situations call for that kind of response—not all experiences need to be deeply meaningful. What’s essential is that we know when to laugh and when it’s important that we do otherwise.