Reading Borges, from time to time the idea of being “justified” comes up. Like something that demonstrates that your existence has a point to it, some reason for being.
I realized that I’ve never thought I had some burden of proof about my existence. This had just never occurred to me.
I wondered what this fact said about me.
Some of this is me being an ingrate. Me existing is a fact. The idea that I might not exist doesn’t usually occur to me, let alone give me a sense of gratitude.
There’s also the fact that my opinion of myself is alarmingly high. Of course the world needs someone this awesome in it. What is there to consider?
This idea of justification is deep when you bother to think about it. Here you are, taking up space in the universe. Why?
As I conceive it, justification seems like something active. You build things and make messes, and do you build more things than you destroy? Do you leave the world in better shape than it would be without your being here?
The way Borges describes it, being justified is sometimes passive. It’s something you can perhaps discern without necessarily taking part in it.
It’s not even limited to humanity. In The Library of Babel, upon discovering that the books contain all possible knowledge, the universe itself is justified.
This passive sense of justification makes sense. If you posit that you are created, then some Creator had something in mind. And if you are given free will, you can
And the active idea of justification seems overly reductive. It’s like justification is some kind of baseball statistic. What’s your life win-loss percentage? Did you rack up more wins than some hypothetical other average person?
I could write more about this, but you would all be doing better with your life if you were reading Borges instead of me.
