Who Were We Before Meaning Had a Name?

What did the first humans do? Long before institutions, disciplines, or even language as we know it, humans were already asking the same questions we ask today. They observed the world, contemplated the substance of the universe, and tried to understand what held everything together. In essence, nothing has fundamentally changed—except our ability to communicate. Ironically, that very ability has made these questions feel less urgent, less attractive. Communication has become one of the greatest resources of our era, yet it also distracts us from the depth of inquiry that once defined us.

Among the questions that bind us all, the origin of the universe stands foremost. Beyond the natural sciences lie fields such as cosmology and genetics—disciplines that derive their power from attempting to define existence itself. Questions like “Who am I?” or “Why is there something rather than nothing?” (see: Leibniz) never fully leave the human mind.

Yet a large portion of humanity believes that an ultimate truth either does not exist or, if it does, offers no practical benefit. Many choose instead to live in the moment, assuming life is a one-time occurrence. Others are occupied simply with survival. In such a landscape, articulating deeper thoughts can feel like standing in opposition to social norms.Historically, people have agreed—implicitly or explicitly—that the meaning of life lies in living safely and satisfactorily with loved ones. From a biological standpoint, even producing offspring can be considered sufficient to fulfill this purpose. Another dominant path is work: submitting to systems that promise stability, legitimacy, and continuity. When applied consistently and collectively, such systems give rise to law, commerce, and social order. This is, broadly speaking, our approach to development.To sustain this worldview, we have created terminology—conceptual tools that allow us to move forward without collapsing under uncertainty. Over time, individual meaning loops back through crude patterns, reshaping itself into new forms. There is no shortage of questions to explore if we wish to understand this process more clearly.

The first step is to examine nature’s fundamental principle. Whether we look into deep space or the animal kingdom, we encounter dominance—forces asserting themselves over others. Conscious or not, matter exists through physical developments within chaotic environments. By deduction, when faced with celestial bodies of immense scale, we are little more than dust. Everything we know about the universe—every experience, every narrative—amounts to the accumulated understanding of a single grain of that dust. And even that knowledge does not belong to the dust itself, but to the small creatures living upon it. You may think of this as an epic. Through the testimonies left behind by generations of humans—born and buried—we find ourselves at a more advanced point than before. Still, each of us is confined to a single lifetime. What we know is limited to the conditions of the era into which we happened to be born. Fate or coincidence aside, this is all we ever truly possess.

In the face of endless energy dispersal and transformation across the universe, we find ourselves searching for habitable planets, clinging to the need to preserve our species. Even as our era allows us to feel—almost physically—the near absence of gravity in space, we remain psychologically bound to the surface of a single sphere. We fail to fully grasp that we are merely organisms adhered to a floating rock. And yet, this is precisely how we evolved. We tend to place biological evolution second, prioritizing cosmic energy transformations as the primary force of change. Perhaps this points to a more universal evolution—one that does not apply solely to living beings. Natural selection reminds us of another uncomfortable truth: we originate from organisms so small and simple that we resist identifying with them. No one imagines themselves as a pea, yet no one should have imagined themselves as an advanced cybernetic species either.In later stages, humanity may reconcile this reality through augmented realities—technologies born from the pressure we exert on nature itself. We pile our accumulated knowledge and communication networks onto an otherwise indifferent universe, advancing toward concepts like space mining and gravity-defying infrastructures.Still, throughout all of history, one common trait persists.We learn about nature the same way a newborn child learns the world: through gradual exposure, trial, error, and intense emotion. We surrender ourselves to instincts, to drives shaped by evolution. This is where the real issue begins.Whether we discover teleportation, achieve immortality, or arrive at paradise—no matter which superpower we attain—everything we know will still be mediated by experiences occurring in the brain. Even as neuroscience advances, one fact remains unchanged: all external reality is filtered through a complex system born of a limited evolutionary process.

This claim is so strong that science has never truly refuted it. If meaning exists only through consciousness, then the idea that all things possess some form of spirit—animism—becomes historically understandable, even defensible. For now, one truth is clear: you and I are distinct, self-centered entities. Whether we conceal or accept this fact is only a temporary solution. Even the most compassionate person could not survive without it.So what are we? What makes us who we are?

This claim is so strong that science has never truly refuted it. If meaning exists only through consciousness, then the idea that all things possess some form of spirit—animism—becomes historically understandable, even defensible. For now, one truth is clear: you and I are distinct, self-centered entities. Whether we conceal or accept this fact is only a temporary solution. Even the most compassionate person could not survive without it.So what are we? What makes us who we are?

At both the beginning and the end, the answer appears to be the same: ideas.We live inside a life constructed by our accumulated knowledge. Our memories, neurological connections, and sensory organs generate what we call reality. The only thing we truly know is that something exists—or at least behaves as if it does. To understand the universe as it appears to be does not contradict us; we call this approach science. And yet, even science is something we continuously overcome.