Birds gather together in a tree and do birdly things. They chirp, they eat, they sharpen their beaks, they hop from branch to branch, they poop, and then for no apparent reason they suddenly all fly away to some other tree where they repeat the process. And when the summer fails and the trees go dormant, the birds migrate to a climate where the conditions are still favorable to the growth of trees.
A bird need never ask itself, “Why are we here?” or “What is my purpose?” Because a bird’s purpose is so easy to identify. Everyone knows sound encourages growth in plants and trees, that the gentle weight of the birds on thin branches helps harden the wood, and that the seeds consumed by birds are returned in neatly fertilized packages.
I’m fairly certain the birds are completely unaware of the invaluable service they are providing simply by existing and doing those things they believe to be their choice and their preference. So necessary is their service that if there were no birds, trees would be facing a catastrophic existential threat.
Everything is so clearly defined in its purpose. If something ceases to provide use, or its purpose has been fulfilled, it ceases to be.
So how is it that we can’t seem to answer this timeless riddle for ourselves? At least, until now perhaps.