Who's afraid of a godless universe?

There is a song, by a band known as VnV nation. The lyrics go And that terrifies me. The thought that for the grand majority of the projected life span of the universe nothing will care, or remember, all this struggle, passion, desire and joy. I want the works of Shakespeare to be a permanent landmark in the universe - a never fading testament to our achievements.So does the idea of there being a God terrify me more? Probably not. A tyrannical God could probably scare me, but at least there was some point, even if it is arbitrary and unnecessarily painful.On balance, I'd rather there was a God. I'm also painfully aware that the universe is under no obligation to grant my desires. As such, I'll just enjoy what I have and treat it as an unusual, basically surreal, privelaged experience and treat living as the unique and wonderful opportunity I feel it is.In a way, my desire for permanence has been found. If the universe just IS and time is but a dimension then Shakespeare is, and 'always' 'will be' an entity in the universe, so will and my loved ones. It isn't just the expanse of space that is wonderful, it is the entirety of space-time that is wonderful, and it often moves me to tears to think that I'm a part of it.

Erm, thanks for the tidbit. Were you making a point or just providing a relatively random piece of information?Sadly, we'll never know most things about Will, including his religion. We can infer some things, but nothing concrete. He certainly understood nihilism - Macbeth pretty much covers it, but he also understood christianity. I believe there are several plays where characters profess Catholic views, which, along with some other evidence, leads people to think he was a closet Catholic who suffered a major cosmic depression.Who can say, huh? As interesting as he is, he's probably not on topic unless I add a couple of quotes.

the bard writes:

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Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;

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To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;

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This sensible warm motion to become

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A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit

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To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside

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In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;

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To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,

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And blown with restless violence round about

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The pendent world; or to be worse than worst

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Of those that lawless and incertain thoughts

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Imagine howling! 'tis too horrible!

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The weariest and most loathed worldly life

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That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment

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Can lay on nature, is a. paradise

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To what we fear of death.

And his godless world:

Will writes:

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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow

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Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

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To the last syllable of recorded time;

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And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

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The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

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Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player.

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That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

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And then is heard no more: it is a tale

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Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

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Signifying nothing.

This message has been edited by Modulous, Mon, 20-February-2006 01:06 AM

Isn't it fascinating the way each individual deals with such feelings? Wherever they come from, they can certainly inspire us to do something with our lives.