Today I read a piece by a cosmologist about how the universe has no purpose, and is basically a white stain in the gotchies of eternity. Astute readers might point out that white stains do have a purpose, or at least did at one time. But that purpose is only to generate more stainmakers, who are themselves completely purposeless. So, my analogy stands.
I completely agree with the cosmologist’s conclusion, which is that, in the face of ultimate meaninglessness, we all get to make our own meaning. You just have to accept that everything that means anything to you is 50 zillion times less significant than a speck of dust, from the universe’s point of view. The solution is to try not to think from the universe’s point of view. Cosmologists get paid to do that so you don’t have to. But sometimes they write articles to remind you, and then you find yourself, as I did, a little bummed out.
The thing about a purposeless universe is, what’s the alternative? If the universe had a purpose, and we knew what it was, we would probably feel very limited in our human endeavours. No matter what, we would all only exist to serve the giant everything, and the universe wouldn’t even care because we’re each 50 zillion times less significant than specks of dust from its POV. It would be like toiling our whole lives in the world’s biggest steno pool, to create one-millionth of a comma for a report our minds are not even capacious enough to read.
It’s way better to imagine the universe might have a purpose, which we will never know for sure, but which we can have fun making up. Here are some purposes I would like the universe to have.
UNITE THE MULTIVERSES SO WE CAN HOP BETWEEN LIVES
I don’t understand the multiverse theory but it sounds great, because it means there’s a universe where I was in the Spice Girls. It also means there’s a universe where I died by iron maiden, but if I have to endure that, job interviews will be a cinch. Uniting the multiverses is a beautiful purpose, because it mirrors our human goal of world peace, and it would allow humans to surf between possible lives. So no one would ever have to feel like they missed out on anything, and grandparents would be way more fun to visit.
MAKING SPACE SOUND LIKE THE OUTRO TO “BENNIE AND THE JETS”
Outer space makes a sound, right? Or at least it contains electromagnetic waves that can be converted into sounds. I hope these sounds don’t mean “help me” in an ancient language. And I hope they’re not sonic feelers from a nasty alien race that can vaporize both our bodies and our souls, which it turns out we have, but it’s too late. The universe sounds are most likely meaningless, and I’m not sure whether they’re sounds that the universe makes itself, or just sounds other things made that are now bobbing around in the universe. But it’s nice to think of the universe emitting a perfect sound that human endeavour is somehow making more perfect. If that’s the case, the universe sound is becoming more like the outro to “Bennie and the Jets.”
LOOP IN THE TIME-SPACE CONTINUUM THAT ALLOWS US TO BE AS ATTRACTIVE AS OUR PARENTS LOOK IN OLD PHOTOGRAPHS
In the 70s, my parents would go to the CNE and get their pictures taken and made into buttons. When I look at those buttons, I worry about pricking myself and getting tetanus, and then I get a pang of sadness deep in my heart because my parents were so amazingly good-looking. What’s more, they wore clothes that I have to burrow through thrift stores to find, and when I do, they don’t fit, because I am way bigger than my mom was at my age.
Parents in photographs are at least 75 per cent classier than their kids turned out to be, and they are almost always wearing clothing that their kids now covet. Sometimes it feels like genes deteriorate from generation to generation. None of this has anything to do with the universe, but if the universe could tie the ends of time together, we wouldn’t have this problem.
PERFECT THE EGG BENEDICT
The best breakfast in the universe is eggs benedict; this is uncontroversial. But the problem with eggs benedict is that they’re incredibly hard to do well. If the eggs are well-poached, the hollandaise sauce is chunky and looks like vomit. If the hollandaise is creamy and perfect, the eggs are hard and pointless. When I get a hard-poached egg I want to chuck it on the ground and stomp on it like a little kid would do.
Sometimes you get well-done eggs benedict, but then the waitresses keep trying to take your salt. I’m not naming names but I still don’t understand why you can’t keep enough salt in your restaurant for all your patrons. And I don’t understand why you kept asking me for my salt when the guy next to me was eating yogurt.
Even if the eggs are perfect, and so is the hollandaise, there’s the matter of what to serve it all on. The English muffin is a classic, but have you ever tried eggs benny on hash browns? That’ll blow your mind. Then again, you might prefer a piece of baguette, to soften with the tender caress of egg yolk. Some places even serve eggs benny on cheese scones. That’s a bit much for me.
Here’s the thing about eggs benedict: you can never perfect it, because everyone prefers it their own way. Which makes it a great universal purpose, because if the universe never achieves its purpose then it will never end and crush everything that ever existed into nothing forevermore.
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Alexandra Molotkow writes about life and stuff for Toronto Standard. Follow her on Twitter at @alexmolotkow.
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