Love

Throughout most of my adult life, I have sought to dedicate myself to the general pursuit of goodness in my own life and in the lives of the people I associate with. I do not, in broad terms, want to make the world a better place — I am not so naïve to think I could ever be successful in that endeavor. I do, however, wish to see the slice of the world that I inhabit to be the best I could possibly make it. I want to see the people I stand with on my journey towards death respected at all times when they deserve it, corrected at all times when they do not, and at all times made aware that they are not alone in the universe so long as they share the same love for the goodness in it that I do.

The defining struggle of my life has been the quest to give structure to what “goodness” truly means. Somewhere must exist the line between what is and is not worthy of praise. Unfortunately, the world is far too complex to avoid situations of moral ambiguity, and many times I have looked back on actions which I believe were made in good faith that the universe ultimately judged more harshly. It is the best and only thing that I can do to continuously refine where I mark the line between the goodness I wish to cherish, and the gradients of evil that I wish to counteract. I know this because I know, more than anything else, that I am probably the farthest anyone could ever be from perfect, while still harboring secret optimism and maintaining an enduring, yet completely unjustified, belief that most people are inherently good. It has made me intensely happy, and in fact has solely provided me with the willpower to continue to pour as much energy as I do into life, that I have managed to find people who share my optimism and my desire see the amount of love in the world increase.

In fact, I have met a few people who so thoroughly believed in the natural kindness of the human spirit that they never once questioned the rules of life as I have, never once sought to disassociate what is worthy of respect and what isn’t. I have met people who, having suffered blow after blow after blow from life, never hesitated to turn around and shake the hand of their assailants. I have met people who truly felt in their heart the human capacity for love for everyone and everything, and who, if given the chance, would have carried the burdens of the entire world on their shoulders.

One of these people, one of my best friends who I could not possibly have felt anything less than infinite respect for during every moment of time we spent together, suddenly and tragically passed away this week.

He was 22. A thousand lifetimes of introspection and self–improvement could not turn most people into half the man that he was each and every day. I do not believe I could possibly possess the language to express the loss the universe has suffered with his passing, and I certainly would not be worthy of doing so if I could. I do feel allowed, and indeed compelled, however, to offer my interpretation of a universe that would take away the life of someone so infinitely worthy of it.

I can no longer believe that there is any sort of universal justice system. I can no longer believe in good faith that society, or the world, or whatever, will reward the righteous and punish the damnable. It simply cannot be true. The world is a cruel and cold wasteland, and only the words of a liar could try to tell me that there was any inherent balance within it.

That being said, I am ready and willing to accept a broader moral here. The world is cruel, yes, and it is cold to those of us who still walk within it, yes, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Love can counter the cruelty — I truly believe that it can. It’s just really, really hard. For those of us who were born doubtful and insecure, it’s one of the hardest things in the universe. I don’t know if I can believe that I could ever put as much love into the world as I have already taken from it.

But I have to try.

For the sake of my friend and everyone else who will never get the chance to write a happy ending to their own story, I have to try. Because if we who still walk the Earth are unwilling to carry the burdens of the world on our shoulders, we are crushing the backs of those who would try if they only had the chance.

I do not believe that I can make the world a better place. It’s too big, too cruel, too cold, and too dark for anything I do to really affect it. But I need to be able to say when my story is over that I could never have written a better one. I need to know when I die that I gave as much love to the world as I possibly could have at every moment. I need to know this not for some higher sense of duty or for the sake of any greater universal structure, but because I truly believe that if I can’t trust at the end that I did the best I could have — if I can’t be happy with the story I will end up writing — then it should have been my death this week too, so at least the universe would be better off.

To you, inhabitant of this cruel and cold world, I ask this: Where is the love that you have brought, and where is the warmth that you will bring?