I was chagrined, but not entirely surprised, when I read Woody Allen’s recent ruminations on ultimate things.
To state it bluntly, Woody could not be any bleaker in regard to the issue of meaning in the universe.
Godless, purposeless world
We live, he said, in a godless and purposeless world. The earth came into existence through mere chance, and one day it, along with every work of art and cultural accomplishment, will be incinerated. The universe as a whole will expand and cool until there is nothing left but the void.
Every hundred years or so, he continued, a coterie of human beings will be “flushed away” and another will replace it until it is similarly eliminated.
So why does he bother making films — roughly one every year? Well, he explained, in order to distract us from the awful truth about the meaninglessness of everything, we need diversions, and this is the service that artists provide.