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The Train, A Pilgrim Odyssey

By Allan Ramsay

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Reflections
Does Life Have Meaning? That was the title of the book I had just finished reading. I was intrigued by the title, as the author no doubt intended, but I should've known better. Like many passengers on long train journeys, I had sought refuge in a book to pass away the hours. I had started reading the book a few days earlier and had boarded the train early in order to finish reading it. As the overnight train to Aberdeen pulled out of London Euston Station, I put the book on the empty seat beside me and looked out the window.
There wasn't much to see as it was dark outside. I watched the streetlights of Hertfordshire flash past. I could see my reflection in the window. Look at you, I thought. How would I describe me? Medium height. White. Single. Clean-shaven. Wavy brown hair. Slim build. Mid-forties. Stylish dresser. Expensive leather jacket. Trendy casual shirt. Not bad looking either. But you're still not happy, are you little man? You should be but you're not. It must've been that book that had put me in a reflective mood. Maybe my resistance to the haughty overtures presented by a book with such a pretentious title had been lowered in recent months. It could have been due to the incessant onslaught of bad news in the media - I mean horrific terrorist atrocities, sadistic slayings of innocent people, and gruesome road accidents. Over the previous few months, the spectre of my transient mortality had seemed to gatecrash into my consciousness like an unwelcome guest. Had this constant barrage of evil tidings got to me, causing me to be attracted to any source that claimed to know what was happening? Does life have meaning? Does anybody know? I didn't. Does anybody care? I thought I did.
It was probably naive of me but I had hoped for some sort of answer to the question posed by the title of the book. But I felt let down. It didn't supply any clear answers; only theories, possibilities and analogies.

The train journey analogy One such analogy compared our journey through life to a train journey. The idea had a certain appeal as I had been reading it on a train, even though the comparison did not seem particularly original. But as I didn't have anything better to do, I let my mind dwell on the idea. The theory basically proposes the concept that we board the train when we are born and for a while we travel with our parents and any brothers and sisters. But then our parents leave the train when they die. In time we come into contact with others as they board the train - friends, spouse, children, colleagues, and so on. They come and go. Some of them we miss when they go. Some of them we don't. We don't even notice that some of them have gone until we see their empty seat. Sometimes we don't even get to say goodbye. Others move to another compartment of the train. Sometimes they return, sometimes they don't. We encounter all kinds of emotions on this train ride - love, joy, fear, anger, loneliness, jealousy, hope. The great mystery is that we never know when it will be our turn to leave the train. When we do, the train will journey on without us. Then what? Good question. What's the answer? It was no good looking for an answer in the book I had just read. I supposed the title, Does Life Have Meaning? was intended to get people like me to buy the book and read it. I began to feel sorry I had. I felt I had been duped.
Asking questions I consoled myself with the thought that many people, maybe even most people, must have wondered whether there is any meaning to life. I concluded that some of them found that meaning in religion and others supposed there was no meaning. Yet without an answer, how could anyone have any peace? Surely I wasn't the only one who found the concept of life as being meaningless to be profoundly depressing? We are born, we work, we love and we die. And that's it? Well if that's all there is, then however wonderful and exciting life can be at times, it's ultimately futile. A bit of a joke. But then I felt I should rebuke myself for coming to such a negative conclusion about life. I had so much of everything - money, property, job, family, health. All the things that are supposed to make you happy. Yet if there's no purpose to life, what's the point? How can anyone be truly happy if this life is all there is? It couldn't only be me who was afraid of the bleak uncertainty of everything but death. I began to ask questions that I would normally dismiss as silly or unknowable. Basic questions.
Who am I? Who am I? Some might have called it a stupid question but I wouldn't have done. There must have been many people who have asked that question through the ages. Maybe most of us give up and conclude that we don't know where to find the answer or else we don't have the time to look. Who am I? I am me. But who is me? What makes me me? Where did I come from? How did I become me? Am I defined by my race? My gender? My job? My appearance? Must I define myself by such things? Who am I? Does asking the question say something about me? Insecure perhaps? Struggling with my identity maybe?
I wish I knew who I was. I knew my name. That was the easy part. My name was Simon Godfrey. I had read somewhere that the name Simon is a Hellenized version of the name Simeon which comes from a Hebrew verb meaning, to hear or to listen. I liked that. I could live with the name Simon. I had always prided myself on being willing to listen to other peoples' views, however strange they seemed to me. I had also read that my surname Godfrey came originally from a Germanic name meaning, peace of God. As I thought on some incidents in my life, I concluded that I hadn't been able to live up to my surname very well. It had never suited me. I'd never really been at peace. Certainly not the peace of God. But it was a nice idea. Something to aspire to. Everyone's name means something nice, doesn't it? Nobody has a name that's nasty or rude or embarrassing, do they? If anyone did have a name like that they would surely think about changing it. On the other hand, people don't usually have names that reflect their personalities. Wouldn't it be interesting if they did? Maybe I should've been called Simon Seeker because I supposed that's the kind of person that I've turned out to be. I've always looked for answers to life's big questions. I was a lecturer in engineering at my local university. So I had read a lot and I knew a little about a lot of things. But beyond knowing my name and address, some sketchy information about my family background, and what I did for a living, I didn't really know who I was. The question that came to mind was, Who am I? I wished the question would just go away. It bothered me.
What am I? 'What am I'? Now that was another thing I didn't know. Yes, I am a human being but what exactly is a human being? A collection of cells that are made of molecules that are collections of atoms - cells that contain proteins and DNA and RNA - cells that contain complicated molecular machines that perform a vast array of different functions - cells of different kinds that work together to make me the human being I am? I had seen a computer animation of the cell and I knew how complicated it is. This prompted more questions to come tumbling into my brain. Is that all I am? Am I merely a tool-making, tool-using, reasoning animal? A naked ape? The only animal that laughs and weeps and speaks and reasons and blushes and uses complex tools and contemplates death? The only animal that is never satisfied?
What is human consciousness anyway? Is it just an illusion caused by chemical reactions in my brain which ceases when those chemical reactions cease. If so, did any of my thoughts really matter? And what about all the emotions I had experienced? Were all the emotions I've ever felt merely the result of chemicals in my brain? All the love and happiness and fear and jealousy and anger and guilt? What were they all about? What is my personality all about? Is it really me or is it just a mask intended to impress others and to hide the real me?
What am I? A being made in the image of God? God! Is there a God? If there is, that would change everything. But if God exists, shouldn't it be obvious to everyone? If He exists, is He hiding from us? Did I want God to exist? Yes I thought I did. I thought it would make life more interesting. And if He does exist, what is He like?
Does life have meaning? Does life have meaning? Does the question posed by the book have meaning? What does 'meaning' mean anyway? Does it imply a divine purpose? Religious people talk about a spiritual component called a soul. But the thought of something immortal within my frail body caused me to be besieged by questions that I could not answer. Do I have a soul? Or am I only matter? Matter that, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't matter at all?
Is there an afterlife and, if there is, what will it be like? I felt a hunger for some assurance that there is a purpose to life. I concluded that the only thing that really mattered in the end was whether or not there is a God. If God doesn't exist, then there is no meaning to life and we are free to live as we please. If God does exist, then there may be some meaning to this life and we may be required to live in accordance with His will. Memories of my early religious teaching came to mind. I was surprised how much of it I still remembered.
Then I began to feel emotionally drained and tired, really tired. Maybe it was all the thinking. I decided to retire for the night and headed for my cabin. I got into my pyjamas and pulled down the window blind. I had been having trouble sleeping at that time. As I had a busy day ahead in Aberdeen, I had taken a packet of sleeping pills with me. I seldom took sleeping pills but I needed a good night's sleep so I decided it would be a good idea. I took two pills with a glass of water. As soon as my head hit the pillow I fell into a deep asleep.

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