What a horrible thing it would be for a man to have purpose.
Can you imagine such a horror?
Every moment of every day pointed toward a single end.
No rest, no reprieve.
A sentence of direction. All things pointing toward one.
Each moment that passed would be spent in one of two ways:
Either working toward our purpose or wasted.
No love. No Joy. No peace. Only purpose. Destiny.
What a horrible thing it would be.
With no set purpose we feel lost.
We feel alone.
But we are free.
We define our own lives.
We are free.
It is a frightening thing.
But it is not the horror of purpose.