If we go back as far as we can and find that the origination of our existence (or existence itself) is chance, a fluke occurrence with nothing behind it, everything we know is meaningless. Everything you've ever cared about or enjoyed or hated, meant nothing. It was all an irregularity in your brain. You were confused to have ever felt the way that you did. We could not, and did not, create ourselves. We did not create the universe.
We cannot use ourselves for the basis for how and why to live.
But, the good news: There is no reason to follow laws; no reason to be "nice"; no reason not to eat your own children; no reason not to lie and cheat in every facet of your life; no reason not to rape every man and woman you come into contact with; no reason to feel guilt; no reason to be embarrassed; no reason to be disappointed; etc. If you have a desire to do anything, anything at all, you should do it, immediately, and as soon as you're sad, or bored, or tired, or in jail, or at the bottom of a pit where there is no escape, you should kill yourself, without a moment's thought.
We must have something to set ourselves (as finite humans) up against. We need a starting point and something to be in relation to, something that can provide a reason for why we are and why we behave as we do. Because, we do behave a certain way, we feel compelled to. We are a certain way. There must be something. A universal. A truth. A big bang does not help us.
What is it?
I want to know.
