The Meaning of Life By Don McCormick

I watched a film in which an interviewer asked about thirty people several philosophical questions with the final question being, “What is the meaning of life?” Most of the people were not philosophers and none of the answers were very exciting to hear. The answers from the well spoken were less than a notch above a conversation you might have with a stranger on an airplane who had been placed next to you for no reason in particular.

I did lean forward each time to better hear the answers to the final question. One man, a supposed very famous writer, when asked the final question said nothing and showed no movements in his face and looked into the camera until the cameraman gave up. He must have meant that life had no meaning or like one of Shakespeare’s actors was just playing that part.

I thought about this film and decided I should ask myself that final question and then answer it in this paragraph. I think it is to survive in your biological life, to reproduce physically or by affection, to realize the interconnection and dependence of all things in and around you, to suffer and to die, thus giving up the biological stuff you have borrowed leaving just the interconnections.

I couldn’t think of anything to cry about. The ups and downs are what they are. Sometimes both make me laugh. I hope love makes me laugh and lets me die quickly.

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