Devotionals

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I know what your first thought most likely is: What the heck does “etiology” mean? Etiology is defined as “the philosophical study of causation” or “the cause of a disease”. My question was: “Why do I see broken hearts all around me.” My answer was, “People don’t know who they are.” This is my etiological study of the broken heart.

The Glorified Amoeba

Who do we think we are? What does our society say? You are the result of random mutations. You’re the result of billions of years of evolving amoebas. These amoebas became fish. The fish became monkeys. The monkey became you. Sound flattering? You’re just a part of a chain. Pretty soon there will be a greater species, and we’ll all be subdued. Enjoy the time you have right now, dominant human species. It’ll be over soon. You’re only an organism. There’s nothing special about you. You’re born into this world, you live, and you die. That is your meaning. That’s your destiny. That’s all you have to look forward to.

So, how do people respond to such a high calling? “Eh, screw it.” Why should there be a different response? “I want to better the world by ending poverty.” Why? What reward will you get? Maybe you’ll get a warm fuzzy in your stomach, but there’s no material reward…. And material rewards are all that you can gain in this temporary world during your temporary existence. Typical people respond to this view of who we are in the logical way. Go get what you want. You deserve it because you’re a hard-working, glorified amoeba.

The most depressing part of society’s answer to who you are is how you can cope with your sorrow. Who comforts you? With broken hearts and swollen eyes, we scour the world looking for someone to ease our tears. But who is there? Another person who’s just looking out for number one? They may comfort you, but it’s only to get something out of you later. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. But in the end, no one will be consistently there for you. No one sees your tears. No one cares about your worries or fears. Your tears fall to the floor without recognition. Never to be known by anyone but you. This is just the way it is…. a hopeless existence void of true love. Every work of art and every poem comes from a vanquished creature. Every rhyme and every thought is all for naught. Welcome to your existence. The world told of by Bertrand Russell. You’re only a waste of precious air.

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