The Answer to Why We Are Here
My answer, anyways
The Enlightenment began with a question: Why are we here?
This question created a crisis. Who has standing to answer it? Is it us? Is it God? Is it nature itself?
If we’re honest with ourselves, we know the answer. And we can return to the Book of Genesis with new understanding of what story is actually being told.
Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden existed in unseparated communion with God, without the possibility of loss. And without the possibility of loss, love has no meaning.
For there to be a possibility of loss, there must be the possibility of betrayal.
That was the possibility Adam opened himself to when he took a bite of the apple.
In that moment, he gave birth to the tragic dimension. Into this dimension, he and Eve fell. Here they were exposed to the possibility of betrayal. And the potential for evil was born.
The problem of evil comes from here.
But when Adam and Eve looked back at God, they had recognition: they were free.
Free to love. Free to trust. Free to give themselves back to the gift that is existence, so that the powerful play could keep going on.
And in this space we live.
Heaven and hell are places on Earth. They always have been.
And heaven and hell are now at war with each other.
This is why we are here. My answer, anyways.
We are here to choose. In the only dimension where choosing matters. In the space where betrayal is possible, and therefore love is possible. Where loss is possible, and therefore meaning is possible. Where evil is possible, and therefore good is possible.
The Enlightenment question—who has standing to answer “why are we here?”—is answered by the fall: We do. Because we chose this. We chose freedom. We chose the tragic dimension. We chose the possibility of betrayal so that we could have the possibility of love.
This is what makes us human. Not reason. Not consciousness. Not tool use. But the capacity to choose in the space where choosing has consequences. Where we can build or destroy. Where we can love or betray. Where we can keep the candle burning or let it die.
Every generation faces this choice. Every person faces this choice. Every moment faces this choice.
The people who came before us chose to keep the candle burning. They chose to fight for independence when they could have submitted. They chose to fight against slavery when they could have profited from it. They chose to demand suffrage when they could have accepted their station. They chose to march for civil rights when they could have stayed home. They chose to fight for liberation when they could have conformed.
They chose heaven. Knowing hell was easier. Knowing betrayal was safer. Knowing submission had better odds.
They chose anyway. Because that’s what it means to be free in the tragic dimension. You can choose the hard thing. You can choose love when betrayal is possible. You can choose trust when loss is possible. You can choose to give yourself back the gift of existence.
That’s why I document. That’s why I name names. That’s why I keep the candle burning.
Not because I’m seeking revenge. Not because I want vindication. Not because I’m afraid for myself.
But because we’re in the tragic dimension. Heaven and hell are at war. And I have to choose.
I choose to preserve what was built. I choose to record what was lost. I choose to pass the candle on. I choose to love this country and what it could be, even when betrayal is everywhere, and loss seems certain.
I chose this because Adam and Eve chose this. Because freedom means nothing without the possibility of betrayal. Because love means nothing without the possibility of loss. Because heaven means nothing if hell isn’t also possible.
My former colleagues chose betrayal. Not because they’re evil. Because betrayal is possible and they’re free. That’s the tragic dimension operational. That’s what the fall means. We can betray. We can turn away. We can let the candle die.
And we can also choose otherwise.
I’m choosing otherwise. I’m choosing to document so that future generations know what choosing looked like. So they know what was lost, how it was lost, and who let it die. So they know what heaven on Earth looked like, and what hell on Earth looks like, and how to tell the difference.
I’m choosing to keep the candle burning. Not because I know we’ll win. Not because I know the light will survive. But because keeping it burning is the choice that makes sense of the fall. The choice that makes freedom meaningful. The choice that makes love possible.
Heaven and hell are at war. They always have been. They always will be.
We’re here to choose which one we build.
That’s my answer to why we are here.
To choose. In the space where choosing matters. To love when betrayal is possible. To trust when loss is possible. To give ourselves back the gift of existence so that the powerful play can keep going on.
The Enlightenment asked who had standing to answer this question.
The fall answers: We do.
Because we’re free.
And freedom is the answer to why we are here.
This is where you’re standing.
There’s nowhere else to go.
Now take a step.
“… and in that faith, let us march. March towards the clean these worlds can make. Amen.” — Franklin D. Roosevelt
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Framing the fall as the birth of meaningful choice rather than just punishment is powerful. The point that love only exists where betrayl is possible makes me think about how we often sanitize freedom into something comfortable, when real freedom includes the risk of catastrophic loss. I've watched people avoid hard choices precisely because they understand this cost, but then end up in a different hell made of regret.
This is indeed deep waters and I'm grateful you are sharing this with us. We must carry the light, anything less is betrayal of everything good in humanity. As is said below, freedom isn't comfortable and must be recommitted to with every generation. I personally don't want to live in the hell of regret.