Here’s another thing. Nature seems pretty obsessed with survival- nature finds a way for life to continue somehow. It pushes and pushes and explodes in evolution every few (hundred?) millenia in order to give the species a better chance at living. Sure, that’s all fine and dandy, but as far as I can tell, humans are the only ones that have a problem with being alive. No other creature has the mental capacity to wonder about why they’re doing something, they just do it because instinct tells them to. This is why I cannot hate spiders, mosquitoes or any other horrible critter- because they can’t help themselves if they’re hideously eight-legged and fanged and venomous and hairy and black with eight eyes etc. That’s just the way they evolved.
So does life have a meaning? When that question is asked, it refers solely to the human race, but life includes everything- even plants and ladybugs. And bug ladies, too. What about them? Do they have a purpose? To be eaten by other lifeforms higher in the food chain, and that’s just about it. Half of humankind, on the other hand, (the half that’s not living in poverty. And I know it’s not a half), doesn’t need to forage for berries anymore. We’ve got some spare time to complain about why we’re alive, why we’re so keen on survival, and why we’re not living in palaces and fed delectable food from amorous members of the opposite sex.
We’re alive, aren’t we? So? What now?