As If You Were Listening

On the beauty of not being beheld

Words & images © Paul Ransom

Quite likely, you are familiar with the mantra. The universe – god, the higher consciousness, etcetera – cares about you. Has a plan for you. Watches. Assesses. Specifically and forensically recognises you. The universe (or whatever you call it) has intention, is an entity, a somebody; and, coincidentally, this creaturely complex is remarkably human.

In this construction, the universe is a form of abstracted/personalised watcher-self. It humanises all of existence, describing it in avowedly anthropic terms. We may even regard it as a mirror made of stars.

However, I have chosen to reject this view. Of course, I could be wrong. I may indeed be ‘here for a reason.’ There could conceivably be a person-god sitting in judgement of me, one willing to punish me for not sufficiently venerating them or following their rules. I am not so arrogant as to be absolutely certain of this deity’s non-existence. Yet, like Blaise Pascal before me, I am wagering; but unlike the great French polymath I am betting against the god probability and all of its anthropomorphised variants.

This will strike some as a coldly materialist and mechanistic choice. They will perhaps accuse me of lacking a spiritual dimension, of living a somewhat arid life, of being an arrogant hyper-individualist who disavows anything greater than his own limited window of self. I get it.

For me, however, the embrace of the ‘uncaring universe’ model is both a window to transcendent joy and an invitation to grounding humility. From this acceptance profound gratitude flows.   

• Elsewhere on this site I have mused on similar themes. Search the Meta category to unearth related articles.

Let’s start with the humility part. If the universe does not specifically care for or see me – has no tests for me to pass, no ‘meant to be’ paths for me to follow – then I am no longer in the cross-hairs of the god gaze. There is no assigned part for me to play. Nothing, cosmically, is arranged precisely to give rise to or enlighten me. Nothing in heaven or on Earth has been arranged for my benefit. The storm does not rage because I did or did not. The wind does not blow because I manifested a gale. In short, I am not at the axis of everything. Of anything. The world does not spin for or because of me.

I am, like the planet, like the sun, part of an unfolding, probabilistic and patterned roll out of ever-changing states. I am both a data point and a sifter of data. My complex human ego-consciousness and intricate self-awareness are both extraordinary and banal. Rare, perhaps unique in the cosmos, but nevertheless enmeshed in the overall flow. Not apart from, but a part of. Observer and participant.

Members of the Anthro cheer squad will likely say that our intelligence has arisen for one of a number of essential universe-level purposes. Popular variations include the universe ‘knowing itself’ or that our consciousness is a necessary ingredient in a process of cosmic reiteration. Again, I cannot be absolutely sure this is not so. I do not claim to be able to wrap my head around all of existence. Because I am part of the whole, I cannot see the whole. Indeed, I do not even know what ‘the whole’ is.

Nevertheless, my bet is that the existence complex has not evolved specifically to bring me about, and does not pay particular attention to me. The universe, I suspect, is neither a wish-fulfilment device, nor an all-embracing mama or imparter/examiner of wisdom, let alone a childish tyrant who plays favourites and insists I worship it – or else.          

Beyond any reputed rational/intellectual reasons for supporting this view, what draws me to it is more akin to faith. Not being 100% sure, I bridge the gap with a kind of leap. Moreover, this jump is largely aesthetic and emotional. Cosmic inattention strikes me as profoundly beautiful.

Let me use a thought experiment to explain. Imagine a divine centre/creator; not an ego-based being, more a process, an intention to be divine. (Sounds impossible but bear with me.) This ‘entity’ then asks itself a question.

What is the ‘divinest’ course of action?

Standard god models are all too human; namely, prone to our numerous failings. Our tendency to over-subscribe to hierarchies, to enforce orthodoxy, to impose reductive either/or end-points – and so it goes. Common gods reflect common thinking. But for me, there is a better kind of divine. One that does not meddle, does not pick sides, does not fuss about what I do with my hair.

Thus, the divinity I am imagining ‘lives’ above and beyond human-authored distinctions, and has no interest in our endless factional squabbles. This divinity does not set a goal, nor lay out a roadmap. It will not hear appeals, be swayed by sacrifices, impressed by temples, or be appalled by our pettiness and cruelty. Its solution to the ‘how to be divine’ problem is simply not to notice.

Instead, it offers, by default of not looking, a sublime, egalitarian mercy. A rule-based process of constant flux, (nature), that we can reliably predict and navigate. The odds are that gravity will always act like gravity, that birth will be followed by death, which in turn will be followed by birth, and that nothing stays the same. To me, the oceanic mercy of this is a source of awe and gratitude. What genius. What spine-tingling beauty. Behold, the exquisite art of being oblivious. Keeping no treasures, erecting no monuments; simply setting in train a process of creation that culminates in nihilation. Wow, talk about symmetry. Brings tears of ecstasy to my eyes.

• To be clear, I have simply employed the term ‘divine’ as a placeholder. There does not need to be a ‘something’ that does not look; simply an absence of looking. An absence of specific intention. Of desired objective. In truth, I am endeavouring to decouple the rigidity of my human-centred frame from my broader understanding of the universal flow.

But what about meaning? The orthodox view tends to embed it in a complex of externalities, of things pre-ordained and/or immutable. Either that or utility; as in, meaningful means useful. In addition, it is often bound up with striving and future-dated outcome. It posits both essential and higher purposes, often aligning meaning with grand, overarching narratives or ‘whole of life’ super-projects. (Think enlightenment, legacy and other goal-defined aspirations.) Indeed, our meaning seeking reflex frequently works hand-in-glove with our search for motivation.

Maybe our usual meaning formulations are our desires in disguise; given a noble sounding name.

Saying that – and factoring in my wager that the universe does not care about me – I have nonetheless stumbled upon a treasure trove of meaning in things often dismissed as small. Mundane. My personal meaning-makers now reside less in cosmic revelation and more in the textures and details of the proximate. Meaning is something I enact, that emerges, rather than something I consciously seek as a reward or use as a motivator. It lives in daily ritual. In writing pieces like this. In going to the theatre. Discovering new music. Sitting with cats. Hanging out with the people I cherish most.

I have found that ejecting grandiose, over-the-horizon mega purposes – and replacing them with shorter term, readily actionable processes – has unearthed a deep seam of meaning.

Of course, ‘meaning in the minutiae’ does not require an unseeing universe. The small can be meaningful with or without a cosmic watcher. In which case, why not stick with the traditionally observant model? Surely, it’s warmer? A more intuitive reading of life, the universe and everything.  

For you, maybe. However, I find the universal gaze intrusive. Reductive. It is too often an imposition, too ready to narrow the scope of life, to mandate ‘right’ outcomes. Personified as a god, this all-seeing eye presupposes a ladder of virtue, defines a meritocracy. These deities and their proxies rank us according to criteria I had no say in and may not agree with. Their care, like our love, is conditional, and liable to be replaced with more punitive forms of oversight.

I prefer not to be paraded before a judge. Nor to be a marionette of destiny.

Besides which, why would the divine stoop to the level of story arcs and binary judgements? That’s what humans do, and we are anything but divine. If the universe does care, does have a plan for me, I will wager that its care is best expressed as the mercy of disinterest, and its plan is that I be free to experience self and world without its meddling input.

Indeed, even if the universe wants me to love it, it would surely be smart enough to allow my love to organically arise, rather than demanding or sneakily coercing it. And the best way to do this? Hands-off.

For the watched will always bend their truth, however slightly, to meet the eye of the watcher; and thus the watcher never knows what is mere supplication and what is genuinely given.

So, thank you, universe. I am liberated by your divine disinterest. Furthermore, I say this to you in the belief that you are not a you. Indeed, I only speak as if you were listening – which I strongly suspect you are not.