Why is there something rather than nothing?
Why does the universe exist?
Why is there something rather than nothing? This question emerged in my mind two years ago and I haven’t been able to shake it since. Musing on the beginning of space and time as we know them, I rewound the clock as far as it would take me: the Big Bang. Yet what came before this? Void? Darkness? What triggered the creation of something at all? Wouldn’t it have been far simpler for nothing to ever exist? If energy cannot be created or destroyed, how could something suddenly pop into existence? Questions swarmed my mind, relentless in their cyclical nature, each one taking me back to where I started: why is there something rather than nothing?
This question is paradoxical. First, we must ask, what is “something” and what is “nothing?” The paradox lies in the fact that each phenomenon is defined in contrast to the other. Something is not nothing and nothing is the absence of something. And the concept of nothing is inherently something. This question also assumes that “nothingness” is even possible. “Nothingness” is not darkness or empty space; instead, it is the absence of anything at all. But “the absence of anything at all” is still something! Language is not capable of expressing what “nothing” is and our brains are not capable of grasping the concept. Perhaps the concept of “nothing” is itself flawed: perhaps there was no absolute beginning, no before, no discernable moment of total creation, only transformation. All that ever was is infinite, and “nothing” means…nothing.
Further, to ask “why” presupposes there is any reason at all for the existence of the universe. There may not be a reason, just like there may not be a reason for the gravitational constant to have the value it has. It simply exists the way it is. Or perhaps there is a reason, unintelligible to us, far beyond what we are capable of comprehending. Or perhaps it just comes down to mere probabilities, with no “why” involved. To ask “why” is entirely anthropocentric: this question can only be asked because we exist to ask it.
We are familiar with beginnings and endings, cause and effect, with the comfort of neat storylines where we can say when and where things happened and identify a “why.” The human mind tends to resort to absolutes: here or there, this or that, good or evil, something or nothing. Yet the truth may be far more complex than our primitive sensory organs can decipher. Humanity’s futile attempts to use subjective perceptions to define the objective nature of reality results in the creation of absolutes.
In one of my favorite series, Dune, Frank Herbert alludes to this in the fourth book, God Emperor of Dune. The God Emperor, more intimately known to readers as Leto Atreides II, is a prescient, near-immortal merge of human and sandworm — yes, if you didn’t make it that far, by the fourth book he does become a worm. The God Emperor is an ostensible tyrant who presides over humanity’s intergalactic network of civilization for nearly 4,000 years. He reflects:
“In all of my universe I have seen no law of nature, unchanging and inexorable. This universe presents only changing relationships which are sometimes seen as laws by short-lived awareness. These fleshly sensoria which we call self are ephemera withering in the blaze of infinity, fleetingly aware of temporary conditions which confine our activities and change as our activities change. If you must label the absolute, use its proper name: Temporary”
(Herbert, 456).
Though we have expanded (and will continue to expand) our understanding of the Cosmos through generations of observations, theories, experiments, and simulations, we will only ever perceive a fragment of the “something.” Because of this, I doubt we will ever be able to answer why “something” exists at all.
Reaching the understanding that the objective truth is an unattainable construct is profoundly humbling, yet it can be an opportunity for growth. By recognizing how humanity often reverts to the safety of absolutism to prescribe meaning, one may begin to overcome such limited, binary thinking. Once liberated from the necessity to find reason in the “something,” we may embrace the absurdity of our existence. Perhaps there is no why. Perhaps there was never “nothing.” We just simply are. But that doesn’t mean we should stop asking.
