As I get older--I'm 53, for whatever it's worth--I have spent a lot of time thinking about the proverbial meaning of life. Not my life exclusively, but the value of our individual lives. As a more-or-less classic liberal, I've always believed that, no matter how great or small our individual accomplishments are, they can all have value if they contribute to some degree toward building a better world for future generations--for the human race as a whole, to put it another way. Unfortunately, the more I see people, and Americans in particular, descend into the netherworld of unadulterated self-interest, the less inclined I am to believe that such a future is possible. It surely is not possible without some degree of self-sacrifice, a willingness to put aside at least some degree of convenience for the benefit of others, including others we will never live to meet.
Is life worth living, in such a world? Or should ours be the last generation? Would the world, and perhaps even the universe, be better off without us? This author has pondered the question, and decided with less than complete certainty that the answer is "yes."
I'd like to agree with him. I think I do. But, if I do, it is solely because I am deeply in love with the beauty and wisdom of what we will all lose if we all don't stop contemplating our navels, and start to understand that true self-interest lies not within our lives, but within the lives of others.
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