Thanks. Clearly this is a thing that has motivated at least some subset of our species to try to figure it out. Part of it is that I feel like there is no purpose. Each of us is an accident of one of a few hundred billion sperm produce on a given day meeting one of tens of thousands of eggs that was released near that day, multiplied by all our ancestor’s probabilities of having existed. Philosophy and religion seem to me to be the initial crude attempts to understand. And thinking about this lately I’ve been contemplating how we probably just don’t have the brain structures to contemplate a lot of these concepts in the first place and can only talk about them by analogy (god is like a man that lives in the sky; or an AI that is emergent behavior from machines we can build. That kind of thing.). Maybe that’s why imagining our own death is so terrifying: we can’t understand it. But it also seems so simple because we see it every day in one form or another. I can name a pencil Steve, break it in half and feel loss.

I’ll maybe check out The Good Place when I feel less vulnerable and hope it brings me some measure of comfort.