Does The Universe Need Me?

By Raphael Dorsainvil

"What is life all about?" and, "What's my purpose in the world?" are age-old concerns that can be found throughout humanity. Along with such serious questions, are the answers that have been provided, and the book issues a critique of some of these answers, with a candid understanding that they are not just answers, they are the worldview of so many seeking a life of purpose and harmony. The analytical approach the author takes toward understanding these answers is disciplined but sympathetic. The aim was not to debunk people's worldview about the meaning of life, and why we are here, but to suggest that, answers to questions such as, "Does the universe need me?" may not be so clear, and so certain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456620264

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Preface

The question of universal need arose from living a life akin to that of Sisyphus⎯a monotonous life in which I existed as a mere object of labor, mired in platitude, and futility. Living in the mirage of stability authored by a steady paycheck, while concurrently sustaining an ongoing inner dialogue with a corrosive sadness⎯one day, sitting in front of my computer, feeling empty⎯I asked my self, Does the universe need me? At that moment, asking the question was an effort to abate the emptiness that was related to the idea⎯my existence was a means to no end.

It was emptiness that led to the question⎯not a penchant to satisfy philosophical curiosity, or to present an analytical magnum opus to society. The emptiness was one element of an emotional mixture that included a desperation for a clearly predetermined objective for existence. I believed, knowing and understanding this objective would direct me, thus securing my confidence that existence was purposive.

My trek of desperation was analogous to a room that had a door, that opened into another room that had a door, that opened into another room that had a door ad infinitum. None of the rooms kept the coveted eutaxiological Ark of the Covenant that contained the sacred tablets clearly defining this objective I was searching for.

I wanted direction. Who or what would direct me, and toward what? If there were a grand predetermined objective, what was the function of my monotonous life in this objective? Oddly, I did not subscribe to the creed existence was imbued with purpose. I wanted existence to have purpose because I felt my repetitive life was pointless.

Thinking critically about the point of existence made me feel empty. Although I failed, I tried to arrest my emptiness by not thinking too deeply about life. It was rather grandiose of me to ask such a question. I’m not a philosopher. I’m a miserable man with deep thoughts. I suppose misery alone is enough to drive a person to think⎯what is the purpose of my misery in the grand scheme of things? If the universe does need me, why does it need me to suffer? But the question of universal need does not only address human suffering⎯it addresses human existence.

The answer that would assuage my emptiness would remain undiscoverable. I searched for purpose. I could not find it. How could I possibly answer this question objectively? I could not. The search for purpose is a philosophical endeavor not an empirical one. Some of the ideas that serve as an answer to the question of whether or not life has meaning, is based on conversations that I have had with friends and family. I had no answer to this question, but they did. A critical examination of their answers disclosed a practical perception of their purpose in life that is characterized by popular psychology. In examining the less practical answers to the question of purpose in the universe, with all its sophistication insured by a detailed examination of the universe, from a prominent figure of academia, the anthropic principle, clings to a kernel of practicality⎯if the universe is fine-tuned, then it must be fine tuned for humans. The somewhat laborious analysis of the anthropic principle and other lofty topics was incidental. From the onset, the reason for writing this book, was simply to cope with chagrin and emptiness.

Chapter 1

Universal Need

Contemplating the grandeur of the universe, there is great consolation in feeling that this pompous and complex universe is humble enough to need me. After all, if the universe does not need me, then why do I exist? This question implies existence necessitates universal need, and that the universe cannot conduct its affairs without me, thus my existence is indispensable.

If the universe requires human beings to simply exist, then systems of ethics would expandable⎯making the warmonger and the peacemaker essential in universal function. In utilizing the existence of the benign and or the malevolent, the universe would not mandate intelligent subjects to create systems of ethics⎯marginal biological functions would be sufficient. A biographical life would be irrelevant since all that is required to satisfy universal need is existence. A newborn inflicted with a severe lung deformity, granted only a few hours to live⎯has no biographical life. In addition, the newborn could have also been born with a severe case of harlequin ichthyosis⎯a misfortunate for the newborn, but an asset to the universe. How could a newborn in such a state be of any use to the universe? If merely existing is a fulcrum of universal function, then the newborn’s misfortune is justified as long as it serves the purpose of the universe. Universal need based on existence alone, allows for an amoral reality in which cruelty and suffering unjustly is permissible. Consider the case of Elizabeth Bathory, who was born in Transylvania in 1560. The very powerful and opulent Bathory family raised a child who would eventually develop into a psychopathic mystic of sort⎯a beautiful woman with ugly tendencies called torture. Reportedly, about the age six, gypsies were entertaining the household, and one of the gypsies was accused of selling his child to the Turks, the enemy of Transylvania. The accused gypsy was sentenced to death in a most diabolically creative manner. Soldiers sliced open the belly of a horse and shoved the gypsy inside while another soldier began stitching the horse leaving the man’s head protruding. Being curious about torture at a young age, Bathory watched as this occurred.

On May 8, 1575 at the age of 15,Bathory married a 21 year old soldier of noble birth name Ferenc Nadasdy, who was morally depraved. Nadasdy and Bathory enjoyed torturing their servants. Assuming the role of pedagogue of torture methods, Nadasdy taught his wife about one his favorite ways of inflicting pain, namely honey torture. This procedure required honey being painted on a tied up naked girl while being next to a beehive. Servants who were suspicious of pretending to be ill, had a peace of paper soaked in oil and set on fire as it was wedge between their toes. As cruel as Bathory was, she was protective of her son Paul and her daughters Ursula, Katherina, and Anna.

In deathly cold winters, Bathory was known to have water poured on young naked women on in the courtyard beneath her window. Afterward, Bathory would admire the iced anatomy of these young women for hours.

The servants were in constant danger of being tortured. Needles were inserted beneath their finger nails, and if Bathory’s clothes were not ironed properly, the iron would be pressed upon the servant’s face leaving an indelible scar as testimony of Bathory’s cruelty. Those suspected of stealing had their hand branded by holding a heated coin in their palm. Bathory once inserted her fingers inside the mouth of a seamstress, and applied such force, the corners of the seamstress’s mouth tore.

As Bathory grew older, she became seriously concerned with combating of aging. One day she found a cosmetic agent for such a task⎯the blood of young female peasants.

In 1604, the same year Ferenc Nadasdy died, Anna Darvulia, a witch who became part of Bathory’s life, counseled Bathory on how to regain her youth, possibly based on the belief, the quality of one person’s blood can be transferred to another.

A servant was once grooming Bathory’s hair, she either made a remark, or tugged on her hair too hard; regardless, the servant was slapped, resulting in an injured nose that squirted blood on Bathory’s face. Bathory was amazed how the blood diminished her age lines. Afterward, Bathory sliced the girl’s wrist, depleted her blood supply, and kept her in a torture chamber. In addition to Darvulia, Bathory used the help of her servants Dorothea, Fizcko, and her nurse Lloona Joo, to capture and torture more innocent young girls under the pretense of employing them as servants.

At times Bathory’s bedroom floor was carpeted with blood from torturing these young women; cinders were emplaced to hide the blood. Even while she was sick, Bathory retained her fervor for torture. She bit the cheek and breast of a peasant