Why do anything at all? Why draw, build, create, carry on, or endure. Is there something to gain? Is there something beyond? Perhaps you take the view of the naturalist and see the genetic code of the human race as the thing that is beyond. As the thing that should be preserved above all else. A linage of thought and understanding suddenly awash in the nihilism of Weston and a universe that will eventually burn out in a cosmic stall. Sustain the linage for what?
Perhaps you take the view of the interdimensional physicists with their esoteric strivings. They hope to poke a hole in the veil. They hope to peer through that hole and see what is on the other side. What matter does the next dimension have to offer? Can we carry humans into another world? Can we carry them into a world beyond that? Are they just men scratching at the air with bloodied fingernails.
Even if these succeeded. Why succeed at all. Is striving just for striving’s sake? Is there a place beyond this that we are trying to get to? Perhaps there is more to life than the finite periods that make up something as beautiful and transcendent as a life lived. Perhaps all this instinct is there because the transcendent qualities of reality put them there so that we might always be looking. So does the looking become the point? That might be the case if the thing that is hope did not exist. Each of these words, these concepts birthing such small nebulas of branching thoughts all ending in a huge question mark at the end of The Question. What is beyond this? Is it God? Is it something more? Is it a purpose that I can finally sink my teeth into and quit eating and sleeping myself to death?