Letters from Tomis

Nineteenth in a series of reflections on my thoughts after reading What is Marxism: An Introduction into Marxist Theory by Rob Sewell and Alan Woods. The thoughts, opinions, and any errors are mine alone.

Let us engage in a modest investigation into a question as old as the ability to question itself: did the universe have a beginning? It is a question that has enthralled theologians, philosophers, and—more recently—cosmologists. But while the inquiry is often dressed in the grandiosity of existential wonder, it is frequently derailed by the intrusion of certainties that have no place in the realm of intellectual honesty.

The religious, as is their custom, proclaim that the universe did indeed have a beginning—one conveniently orchestrated by their preferred celestial dictator. In their cosmology, the grand spectacle of existence began with a flourish, scripted by divine fiat. This explanation, appealing as it may be to those who prefer their mysteries wrapped in dogma, is as intellectually vacuous as it is imaginative. To say “God did it” is to replace one mystery with another, and worse, to close the book on further inquiry.

On the other side, we have the scientific account. The Big Bang theory, born not of revelation but of observation, posits that the universe expanded from a singularity approximately 13.8 billion years ago. This, we are told, is the beginning. Yet even here, we must tread cautiously. The word “beginning” itself is a trap, suggesting a temporal sequence where there may have been none. What was there before time began? To ask the question is already to misunderstand the nature of time itself, which, like space, is a property of the universe and not a pre-existing stage upon which the universe unfurled.

The truth, if we are brave enough to confront it, is that we do not know whether the universe had a beginning. And this ignorance is not a defect but a virtue. It is the ignorance that drives us to inquire, to measure, to test, and to think. To fill this gap with “God” or any other placeholder is to insult the human spirit, which thrives not on certainties but on the thrill of the unknown.

There is also the temptation to frame the question in purely cosmological terms, as though it were merely a matter of physics. But let us not be so narrow. The question of whether the universe had a beginning is also a question about the limits of human understanding. We are, after all, finite beings attempting to comprehend the infinite. Our tools—language, mathematics, logic—are marvelous, but they are also products of the very universe we seek to understand. Can the mind of the ape, however evolved, truly grasp the nature of eternity? Or are we destined to forever mistake the limits of our perception for the limits of reality?

In grappling with these questions, one must avoid the seduction of teleology—the idea that the universe has a purpose or design. This is the ultimate vanity, the projection of human meaning onto a cosmos that is indifferent to our existence. The universe, whether it had a beginning or not, does not owe us an explanation, and to assume otherwise is to mistake our place in it.

In the end, the question of whether the universe had a beginning is not one that can be definitively answered—not yet, perhaps not ever. But it is a question that reminds us of the grandeur and mystery of existence. And it is a question that demands humility, a quality too often absent in human discourse, especially where cosmology and theology intersect.

To paraphrase a thought attributed to Voltaire: doubt is not a condition to be feared but a condition to be welcomed. It is the beginning—not of the universe, but of wisdom. And in this beginning, there is more truth than in all the dogmas of creation combined.