"Why now rather than then"

A self is a story of why you are you — a selective retelling of the myriad chance events between the birth of the universe and this moment: atoms bonding one way and not another, parents bonding with one partner and not another, values binding you to one culture and not another. 

Against this utter choice-lessness in the variables we each drew from the cosmic lottery — our pigments, our neurotransmitters, our outpost in space and in time — it becomes downright absurd to grow attached to the story and its byproducts: opinions, identities, absolutisms. It is a salutary thought experiment to go through a single day imagining any one of those variables having fallen one one-thousandth of a degree elsewhere on the plane of possibility — suddenly, the person going through your day is not you. 

In her extraordinary manifesto for seeing more clearly, Iris Murdoch observed: "The self, the place where we live, is a place of illusion. Goodness is connected with the attempt to see the unself… to pierce the veil of selfish consciousness and join the world as it really is."

For millennia, the whole of Eastern philosophy and myriad other ancient traditions have made the dissolution of that illusion — painful, perplexing, disorienting dissolution — the great achievement of existence. For those of who chanced by birth into the modern West, where the self-roils with its grandiose claims of authorship, to keep questioning the story of who we are — this handful of unchosen stardust on short-term loan from the universe — is an act of countercultural courage requiring exceptional devotion and discipline.

Long before probability theory, before the discovery of gravity and genetics and general relativity, before the overwhelm of two trillion galaxies housing innumerable worlds, the visionary Blaise Pascal, who didn’t live past forty but touched the epochs with his clarity of thought, modeled that courage by cutting through the veil of illusion with uncommon precision:

"When I consider the short duration of my life, swallowed up in the eternity before and after, the little space that I occupy, and even that which I see, engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces of which I know nothing and which know nothing of me, I am terrified, and am amazed that I am here rather than there, for there is no reason why here rather than there, why now rather than then."

There is no reason for you to be here, to be you. But perhaps what is left in the wake of reason is love — the matter, the substance of us that over and over outweighs the antimatter of chance to make life tremble with aliveness. Like life itself, love is an affirmation of the improbable nested, always nested, in the possible.

“What will survive of us is love,” wrote Philip Larkin. No — love is simply how we survive the cosmic helplessness of being born ourselves.

-Maria Polova, Marginalian

Indeed, what really matters is not how fortunate we are to have lived, but how we live our lives each day and how we live with the most significant questions unanswered or unknowable... What is most important is that we pursue a life based on logic, reason, critical thinking, justice, solidarity, intellectual honesty and life-long learning; that we live our lives peacefully and with tolerance and mutual respect, and with compassion and love for one another, and that we oppose hatred, racism, bigotry, subjugation, misogyny, xenophobia, authoritarianism, hypocrisy and indifference...

-Glen Brown