Arriving at a Workable Philosophy of Life

I did not set out to develop a philosophy of life. I arrived at it by repeatedly asking questions that seemed to lead to other questions. I began with the largest question I could think of: What kind of universe do I actually live in? The more I considered it, the more convinced I became that the naturalistic explanation is the most reasonable starting point. The universe appears to operate through physical processes, cause and effect, evolution, and laws that we can partially understand. Yet that does not mean everything is predictable or understandable. Complexity and enormous differences in scale and time make the universe effectively unknowable in its entirety. I eventually had to accept the simplest and most intellectually honest answer: I don’t know.

That realization forced me to consider what follows if there is no certainty that the universe has a purpose. I could continue searching indefinitely for an ultimate explanation, but I began to suspect that doing so might not help me live my actual life any better. So I shifted the question. Instead of asking, “What is the purpose of existence, my existence?” I began asking, “Given what I know and don’t know, how should I live?”

The answer that gradually emerged was service. I have abilities, knowledge, experience, and resource that can be useful to other people. Helping someone navigate a difficult situation, providing encouragement, reducing suffering, or simply helping another person keep moving forward seems worthwhile. But even that conclusion required examination. I wondered whether choosing a life of service was ultimately selfish because helping others also makes me feel useful and gives my life meaning. Eventually I realized that this may be a false distinction. Human motives are rarely pure. An action can benefit another person while also satisfying something within me. The important question is not whether I receive something from helping, but whether the other person genuinely benefits.

My thinking then moved toward impermanence. Everything I value is temporary. People change, relationships end, living things die, and even things that appear stable are constantly changing beneath the surface. Some day my lights will go out. Eventually, everyone I love will be gone. In a few hundred years, no one is likely to know I ever existed. When I consider the scale and age of the universe, my individual existence is almost unimaginably small. Part of me resists that conclusion because I want my life to matter on a much larger scale. I want my existence to mean something to the universe itself. But I have found little reason to believe that cosmic significance is the proper measure of a human life.

That realization has allowed me to redefine what “mattering” means. Perhaps I don’t need to matter to the universe. Perhaps it is enough to matter to the people whose lives intersect with mine. My sphere of influence may be relatively small, but within that sphere I can make a real difference. I can help someone who is struggling, share what I have learned, point someone in a useful direction, or give another person the strength to continue walking after I am gone.

I therefore find myself arriving at a philosophy that does not require certainty about God, the universe, consciousness, or ultimate purpose. I can accept a largely naturalistic universe while remaining open to questions I cannot answer. I can acknowledge that much of life is unpredictable without becoming paralyzed by uncertainty. I can accept that I cannot control the future while still taking responsibility for what is within my influence.

For me, a workable philosophy of life is becoming increasingly simple: seek to understand what I can, accept what I cannot know or control, appreciate the extraordinary fact that I am here at all, and use the limited time I have to help other people keep moving forward. I may never know why the universe exists. I may never know whether my life has any cosmic significance. But I don’t need those answers to live a life that I can consider worthwhile.

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Bio: Mustafa Kujo retired as a Colonel after serving 30 years in the US Air Force. He received his Bachelor’s in Psychology from Columbia University, a Master’s in Military Operational Arts and Science from the USAF’s School of Advanced Airpower Studies, and was a National Security Fellow at Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government. After retiring, he pursued an MFA in Creative Writing.

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