A Deeper Meaning

One of the quests of philosophers is to try to find a deeper meaning to life and the universe: deeper than that attributed by either nihilism [there is no meaning] or monism [the purpose of all things is simply to play a role in the cosmic ‘being’ of the universe]. The central idea, in this quest, is to try to divine some purpose that life – and by extension human life – either is fulfilling or perhaps could fulfil. And thereby, of course, to make sense of death.

Whilst nihilism may appear to be simple – a mere rejection of all objective ‘meaning’ – pursuing it with logical rigour can lead to wildly different conclusions. Albert Camus, for example, asserted that it leads inexorably to the conclusion that everything is both random and ultimately absurd. There is nothing meaningful that one can ‘do’, because ultimately it will just get swamped by random absurdity. Friedrich Nietzsche, on the other hand developed the idea that without a ‘cosmic’ (objective) framework, meaning is whatever we make it. This led to his idea of the ‘superman’: a being whose iron will directs other, lesser beings – provides a framework of meaning for them and uses them to create lasting changes.

Monism is what lies behind all of the world’s major religions. It asserts there is meaning to everything, even if we cannot discern it – because we are only part of the whole, and therefore necessarily separate from some parts of its grand process. Even the Buddhist philosophy asserts monism, as a cosmic [unified] consciousness, of which we – indeed everything existing – is only a part.

I said ‘major’ religions, because some of the older religions (like Zoroastrianism) assert dualism – light and dark / truth and lies as equal but opposing powers – and some (like Shinto) assert a pluralist ‘ordering influence’ without a dualist or monist origin.

One could argue that the modern theories of nihilism are the most accurate, because [evidently] man’s ability to ‘see’ the physical universe and how it works is much stronger now than in the past. When we could only see ‘macro-nature’, and even our understanding of the stars as independent celestial bodies was sketchy, it seems logical that thinkers [philosophers] would tend towards the idea of a rational universe. And rationality implies – for us – intent; hence a monist, dualist or even pluralist approach. But this is a projection: placing how we think onto how the universe seems to work, as divined from the phenomena we think we observe. Yes, that’s a deliberately convoluted sentence, because our perceptions are also part of our thinking.

When we started to understand a little of the ‘macro’ universe, and we started to understand more about chemical and biological systems, it became apparent that ‘God’ really does play dice with the universe. And as we began to unravel quantum mechanics, we could even see ‘how’. But it’s a mistake to assume that fundamental randomness implies fundamental lack of ordering principle. We have a pretty well ordered ‘macro’ universe, which could only be possible through one or more ordering principles, overlaid on the fundamental randomness.

But if there are ordering principles, how do they come to exist? Are we just lucky? Could it be as simple as some universes acquiring ‘sufficient’ ordering principle, whilst others don’t? Are we in a well-ordered universe, and able to constate that idea, merely by chance?

And if you assert a divine act of intentional ‘creation’ then that implies divine consciousness before that act. So what ‘form’ held that creation? It implies that there was some sort of ‘cosmos’ before the one we know now. More deeply disturbing, it implies that ordering principles pre-existed this cosmos of ours, otherwise conscious intent would not be possible.

The philosopher G.I. Gurdjieff tried to reconcile the above by imagining that some ordering principles are inherent. Where there is ‘difference’, these basic ordering principles always apply. [He almost certainly got that idea from Hermetic teachings.] They appear as two opposing ‘active’ forces (mutually asserting and denying) and a third, reconciling force. Through the action of the third force, the other two ‘combine’ and create something new. However, this very simple organising principle is not ‘enough’ for a stable universe. Gurdjieff asserted that it was enough for conscious intent, but that the action of time alone would roll the dice sufficiently to destroy that consciousness. He asserted that during its probably brief existence, this conscious intent established a second organising principle, which we now see as the diatonic octave.

The effect of the second organising principle (with the first) is to enable structured (repeatable) mutual dependence between different arisings. Instead of the third force arriving purely at random, the second ‘law’ allows for the arising of mutually supporting ‘systems’. And that’s what we observe now.

I am not suggesting that you should just ‘believe’ what I have written above. It is ‘testable’ but only in the current state; we can’t roll back time and see whether the second organising principle was indeed ‘added’ (or modified). However, we can test the theory that it might have been: we can look at what is possible with an ‘octave’ (completing process) of seven equal parts or steps, instead of the diatonic structure. Try it, if you’re interested. (I did.)

You might conclude from the above that I am suggesting a ‘monist’ point of view. Gurdjieff did, for sure: just look at his descriptions of (and references to) a Holy Sun Absolute. But then also take into account that this could as easily be what the current cosmos – with both laws – is producing, and not just sustaining. So, for me, the jury is out on whether this universe started with both laws or whether one was added or changed. The former requires a pot-load of luck, whilst the latter requires the accidental arising of a consciousness capable of intent. I do concede that the second is more likely, in an eternity of time. And then, “Fiat lux!”

Does Gurdjieff’s philosophy make sense of death? It certainly has a good go at the topic. On the one hand, the cosmos needs a continual replacement of thinking entities, to keep the engine of ‘new arising’ working properly. Fill the world with unthinking ‘sleepers’, who become totally set in their ways, and consciousness would struggle to arise – or be shot down as soon as it shows itself. At the level of biology – of ‘organic life’ – growth, decay and recycling are also inherent in the whole process. On the other hand, in Gurdjieff’s model the Holy Sun Absolute feeds the cosmos at the same time as it is, itself, fed and sustained. Consciousness flows down and the possibility of riding it back up is present for all life.

Where people ‘go wrong’ in their interpretation of monism is assuming that they are distinct from the monad: that as a ‘part’ they have a distinctive and separate existence. It isn’t so. It can’t be so. the monad is never separate from its parts; they are merely another way of looking at the ‘being’ of the whole. The parts don’t even have separate ‘being’; their being is merely an aspect of the being of the whole. The only way for there to be distinctiveness is for there to be no monad: only chaos. You might think that dualism or pluralism also allows distinctiveness, but in those systems there is also something binding the apparently divided parts: they, too, are merely different aspects – inseparable from each other. Light cannot exist without dark. Lies cannot exist without truth.