What does it all mean?

There are so many things, events, happenings that confound us all. Life itself is a mystery. And then of course, what is called the “hard problem” – consciousness itself. How can it be that we humans can be aware of our own existence? And what does it mean – to exist?

It may be said that at any one time (depending on the situation) each of us has three persona: the person we think we are; the person others think we are; and the person we really are. And they are not all the same!!

So who are we? Should we bother with worldly matters before we know who (or what) we are - what we really are – in our inner most being? What is more important? Determining who we are or what we do in the world?

Trying to understand this leads easily to the famous command, “Know Thyself”, that is carved into stone over the entrance to the Temple at Delphi in Greece – the famous “Oracle of Delphi”.

No matter what scientists claim it is my strong belief that love, wisdom, courage, friendship, intuition and the appreciation of beauty, cannot be just the result of evolutionary chance and brain chemistry alone. I mean how can a cell – even a brain cell – think? Is a cell intelligent? With the various brain imaging and scanning techniques now available it can be seen that certain areas of the brain are activated when thinking or remembering something, but it has yet to be determined HOW this occurs and whether thoughts or remembrances, by some means, activate the neurons or whether the activated neurons, somehow, create the thoughts and remembrances. These questions remain unanswered.

 

I wonder if this quote from Shakespeare’s The Tempest (Act IV, sc.1) says it all:

Prospero: …    Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

                        As I foretold you, were all spirits and

                        Are melted into air, into thin air:

                        And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

                        The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,

                        The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

                        Yea, all which we inherit, shall dissolve

                        And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

                        Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

                        As dreams are made on, and our little life
                        Is rounded with a sleep….