Impure Chaos
On order in the unforgiving universe.
I was watching a show yesterday in which a character casually remarked, in response to another character’s assertion that there was a larger plan to our lives, that the universe is “pure chaos.”1 Both characters in question were, ostensibly, crazy. But the statement got me thinking—is this statement true? Is the universe really nothing but randomness, pure unforgiving chaos?
Of course, no one really knows the answer to this question. We may intuit an answer, deep within ourselves, but these answers are subjective, and may speak more to what we wish were true than what actually appears to be so. However, despite the unknowable nature of this question, versions of it pop up everywhere, so it appears to be a pressing issue that deeply affects our consciousness. It is often brought up explicitly, like it did in the show. It is sometimes asked in different ways: “Why are we here?” “Why do bad things happen to good people?” “Is there a God?” All of these questions are addressing the same issue: are we living in a state of order, or chaos?
If we look at the world around us, it certainly seems disorderly, and a lot of popular conceptions about the nature of reality support this assertion. Take the “multiverse” theory. Consider, for a moment, that there are multiple universes which exist simultaneously, all stacked on top of one another, and that there are an infinite number of these universes, meaning that every possible eventuality is expressed somewhere. Conceptualized this way, the universe really is chaos. Infinite possibilities all exist at once, everything that could possibly happen is happening somewhere. If considered in its totality, this picture is a mess. And where do we fall within this mess? If there are so many different places and versions of ourselves, why has our consciousness wound up here? Is it just blind chance? Fate?
One of the most indisputable laws of the universe seems to be the fact that everything is a balance. Good cannot exist without evil, light cannot exist without darkness, up cannot exist without down. Existence itself relies on these polarities. There are two sides to every coin, two ends to the balance scale that our souls dance upon. Please, do not get hung up on my use of the word “soul.” I use the word simply to refer to the consciousness that lives within all of us, without making any spiritual or metaphysical presumptions. And if there is one thing that cannot be disputed, it is that we possess some form of consciousness.2
If we assume that the universe itself follows this rule—that everything must be balanced out by its inverse—then it cannot be pure chaos. The existence of chaos necessitates the existence of its opposite, some kind of order within the madness. The material universe and all of its infinite possibilities may be chaos, but perhaps the beings within it, our souls, are concentrated energy. After all, the art that human beings make, and the “flow state” that often produces it, are born out of intense focus. Love, too, can be conceptualized as a type of focused energy towards another person. And these are arguably the most brilliantly “human” things we are capable of. If the universe is chaos, but its inhabitants are order, then the balance is struck, and the scale zeroes out.
We can take this analysis a step further, finding some order within the chaotic universe itself. Physical reality, as far as we can tell, follows mathematical rules. What appears to be a completely random mess is actually rooted in a very concrete structure. Similarly, our intensely focused souls, which stay put in one lifetime despite the infinite possibilities out there, are capable of mysterious and tumultuous emotions that are impossible to predict or understand. No matter how far we zoom in or out, everything is at once orderly and chaotic, predetermined and random, certain and uncertain. The principle of “yin yang” comes to mind. There is light in every darkness, darkness in every light—duality to all things. The theme pops up in a lot of different places. Carl Jung might call it an “archetype”: a story that we keep telling, over and over again, because it is a fundamental truth that we understand intuitively. Whether or not we articulate it in our own minds, we still know.
Let’s address a different form of the order versus chaos question: “Is there a God?” We may take this as to be asking whether there is a divine plan for us. It is easy to answer this question based on fear. We may assume that there is a divine power guiding us, because the idea that we are alone in this universe is too overwhelming to imagine. Conversely, we may prefer to assume that there is nothing that guides us, because that absolves us from any responsibility for our actions and positions in life. It is a question where all of us will disagree, to some extent, and with pretty strong emotions tied up with this disagreement. This is because everyone’s God concept has been influenced in some way by the religion they may have grown up with (or without). But religion is not the same thing as God. Our God concept itself may be an “archetype”; it has popped up in every human society, even those which developed completely independently of one another, which shows that we know it exists in some form. But archetypes are symbolic, not literal. What we have historically called “God” may simply be an instinct within ourselves, which connects us to the universe at large. We are made up of the universe. It makes sense that we should be connected to it.
If we take for granted, for the sake of argument, that there is some type of inner guiding energy, this energy will not be omnipotent, will not be more powerful than the balance scale. Perhaps, then, the scale itself is God, especially if we conceptualize “him” as an unforgiving, Old Testament-like figure. If this is the case, we are at once predetermined and random, certain and uncertain. Anything can happen at any moment, and some of these possibilities are terrifying enough to strike fear in the deepest depths of our souls. This is uncertainty. But, who we are inside—that inner guiding force that we may call “God,” “intuition,” or anything else, will always lead us where we are supposed to be. Certainty. Through our free will, we can make the choice not to listen to this force, and our choices dictate how far the scale swings towards fortune or misfortune. Uncertainty. But, bad needs good in order to exist, and the laws of the universe dictate that everything must even out, that the scale will always swing things the other way around to avoid tipping over. Certainty.
This balance scale imagery evokes thoughts of justice. This is ironic, because things are often unjust in life. Remember one of our opening questions, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Life isn’t fair. Chance is too powerful, and the universe is too chaotic. However, it can be argued that life is just, because it abides by this balancing force. Each life is comprised of both joy and suffering, each person of both good and evil. And the only thing we know for sure about any situation is that it will one day change. This is a scary principle, especially if you have something or someone that you love more than anything, because if so, the scariest thing imaginable is that according to this logic, the nature of existence dictates that you will one day lose that person or that thing, because nonexistence is the flip side of existence, and death is the flip side of birth. Just as surely as something begins, it will end, and we cannot appreciate pleasure unless we know pain.
But if everything is destined to end, where does the concept of our “immortal soul” come in?
I like to conceptualize our lives as a book. Our stories end, our moments are finite. But our stories will always be. Perhaps they can be revisited, perhaps not. But they will always have existed, and if you conceptualize the universe as that madness in which everything is happening all at once, then our stories will be one of many within the chaos. Our lives certainly endure after our own physical deaths, in the memories of others, and, perhaps, in the memory of the universe itself. But does consciousness ever truly die? Do our souls live on after our earthly stories cease? And if they do, do they stay close to the people they care about? Will the universe one day die also?
These questions awaken some of the deepest horrors known to man. For one, the only accurate answer to any of them is “I don’t know.” But the fear is deeper than this, because when thinking of life as a finite set of moments, I realize how little I really appreciate it. When I remember the finite nature of the universe, one person comes to mind, followed by a deep visceral horror. But do I enjoy our time together, really enjoy it, or do I look needlessly into the future, rushing through weeks at a time? The fear becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you are only focused on outcomes, you forget to live, and by wishing for infinite moments, you may end up with none.
And fear is the inverse of safety. If we ever feel safe and happy, the dark side of this is that this safety will one day end. And we do not know when this will happen until it does. The universe is indeed chaos, in this sense. But it is not “pure chaos.” Because, in this infinite sea of possibilities, we can choose what to pay attention to, and we can choose to live and to love and to create, and to be happy.
I don’t think it is an accident that both of the characters in the show were supposed to be “crazy.” Both worldviews—either of extreme order or extreme chaos—are distorted. But it is a common distortion, especially in times of darkness. Perhaps we’re all a little crazy, sometimes. As always, reality lies somewhere in the middle.
This was said by the character Annie in the third episode of Cray Joji Fukunaga’s “Maniac.”
See my essay “The Cartesian Pit,” where I discuss Rene Descartes’ famous quote “I think therefore I am,” for a deeper analysis of this idea.