A Pint-Sized Philosopher Wrestles with The Big Question
Why does anything exist at all? Like so many others, I’ve often found myself pondering this age-old question. While reflecting on it recently, I stumbled across a word that caught my attention—solipsism. It’s the philosophical idea that only one’s mind is certain to exist. Who knew I’d been quietly mulling over solipsism since grade school? I used to have these random moments where I’d stop and wonder, What if I’m just making all this up?
Turns out, my pint-sized philosopher brain was already wading into some pretty deep existential waters. Without realizing it, I was dipping into the same territory as René Descartes with his famous “Cogito, ergo sum”—“I think, therefore I am.”
As tempting as solipsism can be—the idea that everything around me might just be figments of my imagination—there’s one thing that always drags me back into reality: pain. Pain is an unrelenting anchor, refusing to be dismissed as mere illusion. It insists there’s something rather than nothing—a messy, complex something that defies imagination alone. Even if the rest of existence were a projection of my mind, pain screams otherwise. It grounds me in an existence I can’t ignore, one that feels undeniably real.
The Mechanics of Something
Let’s start with “nothing.” When I think of nothing, I mean nothing. No laws of physics, no quantum fluctuations, no energy, no space—an absolute void. But some scientists don’t define “nothing” the same way. What they call “nothing” is actually a restless vacuum—a quantum field bubbling with fleeting particles that appear and disappear faster than we can blink.
This “vacuum” isn’t the void I imagine when I think of nothing. Instead, it’s a universe-sized hum of creative tension. These tiny quantum fluctuations might seem insignificant, but they hold the potential to create something extraordinary. In some models, they could spark events as monumental as the Big Bang, setting the entire cosmos into motion.
So, the mechanics of something emerging from “nothing” might be rooted in these quantum jitters. But even if we accept that, another question looms large. Why does this energetic vacuum, this quantum field of possibility, even exist? And if it’s the foundation for everything, what sustains it?
A Tale of Mario, Foam, and Meaning
This is where the why opens the door to wonder. What if the quantum flux is more than just physics? Could it be a space where science and awe intertwine? Is God the ultimate solipsist, dreaming existence into being? Maybe, just maybe, the quantum flux is a canvas for something greater—God’s imagination, brimming with boundless potential.
Genesis tells us that God spoke the universe into being. “Let there be light,” and suddenly, light blazed into existence. Intentional, deliberate. His words gave shape to everything—the stars, the oceans, the air we breathe.
Think of Super Mario 64. You’ve got colorful worlds, clever puzzles, and Mario bouncing around collecting stars, defeating Bowser, and saving Princess Peach. The point of the game isn’t the mechanism behind it. The original was played on a cassette in a console made for CRT televisions, and now it can run on modern computers. All of that—the hardware, the programming, the physical mechanics—is like the quantum foam, the Big Bang, or the physical laws of the universe.
The point of the game is winning the challenges: collecting stars, opening doors, defeating Bowser, saving the princess, and maybe even enjoying that cake at the end. The joy, the adventure, the achievement—that’s what matters.
Reality might work the same way. Quantum foam—or spacetime, particles, or whatever science uncovers—might be the mechanics. It’s the framework. But frameworks aren’t the story. If God is the ultimate creator, then the foam could be His imagination’s playground—the hardware that makes existence possible. Yet what really matters is the story, the purpose, the dream behind it all. Whether there’s quantum foam or not, what God dreams is the true fundamental—the reason there’s something rather than nothing.
Pain Demands a Reckoning
Let’s talk about pain. For me, it’s not just proof that something exists—it demands answers. It forces us to ask whether something is really better than nothing. Let’s look to Friedrich Nietzsche and Padre Pio, two people with very different views, to help us frame this thought.
For Nietzsche, pain was part of life’s chaotic nature in a purposeless universe. Sure, he acknowledged that it could make us stronger—his famous line, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger,” speaks to this. But ultimately he believed existence just wasn’t worth the cost. Without inherent meaning in the universe, suffering was just another hurdle to overcome, not something that justified the act of living. Pain wasn’t sacred—it was simply a burden, a feature of a meaningless existence.
Padre Pio, on the other hand, believed existence was worth every ounce of suffering. A Catholic saint known for his stigmata and unwavering faith, Pio saw pain not as random chaos but as sacred. To him, suffering was a way to share in Christ’s own sacrifice, to participate in a divine story filled with love, redemption, and meaning. Pain wasn’t just something to endure; it was a thread woven into God’s plan, a way to connect to something eternal and purposeful.
And that’s the crux: Nietzsche rejected existence as ultimately not worth it—pain was too high a price for a purposeless reality. Padre Pio embraced existence as absolutely worth it—pain carried sacred meaning as part of a purposeful reality. How do you see it?
The Cross and Redemption
So, here we are, still staring at the question—why pain? And why does it have to hurt so much? I do not understand why there is pain and suffering. But I do see the cross. The God who allows suffering didn’t remain on the sidelines. He stepped into it, bearing its weight on the cross. Through Jesus Christ’s crucifixion, God took ultimate responsibility for pain—and it killed Him. In His death, He clothed himself in the depths of suffering. With His resurrection, He offered the ultimate hope. Pain may remain a mystery, but can it also be redeemed?
For some, it’s hard not to wonder if nothing is better than something. Nietzsche might agree. But I don’t. I believe in something because I believe someone meant for it to be. Maybe God has been dreaming. Maybe He’s been dreaming of you and me.
The Bigger Picture
Science attempts to explain how the universe works, philosophy challenges us to define its meaning, and theology invites us to uncover its purpose. Together, they weave a tapestry that’s as complex as it is beautiful.
Whether you see existence as a cosmic accident or a divine intention, the question compels us to wonder and explore. Do we live in chaos, or are we part of a greater creativity? I think you can see where I stand. Does the mystery of existence inspire you, challenge you, or leave you searching for more?