The Problem of Problems
The Problem of Problems
Happy New Year! It’s the first day of 2025, and here we are—a moment of transition, from the holidays to the rhythm of work, from one year to another. My day was supposed to be about wrapping up a DIY bathroom tiling project 🚽🛁. It's not my strong suit, but we’re past the hard part, and I’m determined to see it through. That was the plan—until inspiration struck.
Writing this essay wasn’t on my agenda today. But inspiration has its own timing. Writing is a frequent practice for me, but sometimes, it demands more attention, even on a holiday. That’s how this reflection came to be: unplanned yet necessary.
Today, I’m diving into a thought that’s been quietly growing in my mind—a fundamental framing of the human condition. I’ve been reflecting on this for months, and it feels like now is the right time to articulate it. Whether this lands as profound or puzzling for you is something I leave in your hands.
The Problem of Humans
Does the title surprise you? It might. Let me explain.
The universe exists. Parmenides, the pre-Socratic philosopher, might have simply said, "Being." He believed that even the simplest articulation—"Things exist"—is already too complex - it's almost like we need a different part of speech that transcends relation and temporality. There’s a deep, almost intuitive sense in which we understand this. Existence, unified and still, is a default state of rest that our souls crave. But things move, change, and differentiate, and this dynamism brings complexity.
For a long time, the universe simply was. Atoms and molecules formed gases, dust, stars, and planets. This cosmic existence persisted for eons, largely undisturbed. Was that a problem? No. The question doesn’t even make sense in this context.
Later, life emerged—a mystery we still don’t fully understand. Simple cells gave way to plants, then animals. Life began its relentless dance: consuming, growing, reproducing. Some of it was violent—predators hunted, plants competed for sunlight—but it wasn’t problematic per se. It was simply the nature of life.
Then, humans appeared. In the cosmic timeline, we’ve barely just arrived, yet our existence feels uniquely profound. Why? Because humans brought something new into the world: the concept of “problems.”
The Birth of Problems
For humans, existence isn’t simply a state. It’s something to be wrestled with, questioned, and solved. The basic needs—food, shelter, security—are problems to address. Once these are solved, a new kind of problem emerges: the need for more problems. It’s as if our mental health depends on the endless quest to resolve and create challenges. This recursive need is uniquely human.
A squirrel, for example, stores acorns year after year without questioning the meaning of its actions. But humans? We stash grain, then invent governments and economies to manage it. We create art and architecture to reflect our values, then build educational systems to transmit knowledge and best practices. With every solution, we create new layers of complexity—and new problems.
This problem-seeking tendency extends beyond survival. We wrestle with issues of power, wealth, and ecology, creating entire professions dedicated to their study. Yet secretly, I wonder: Do we truly want these problems solved? If the problems were to (finally?) disappear, what would we do?
This paradox lies at the heart of human existence. Problems are both our greatest frustration and our most profound opportunity.
The Problem of Requiring Problems
The natural world doesn’t have “problems.” It simply is. A lion hunts a gazelle without moral conflict. A tree grows, blocking the sun's access to the plants below, without guilt. But humans view the world through a restless lens of invention and morality. We impose valuation structures on reality and ask, “What’s next?”
This drive has fueled extraordinary achievements—science, art, technology. But it also creates existential tension and endless questioning. Intelligence, our celebrated trait, becomes meaningless without problems to solve. Problems, therefore, are the substrate of human meaning. This is simultaneously our gift and our burden.
Centuries ago, comprehensive religious and philosophical systems offered comforting frameworks, embedding humans within an orderly cosmos. Today, that certainty has eroded. Discoveries in physics, biology, and cosmology have expanded our understanding but left us grappling with greater existential doubts. We now create our own meaning, largely by defining and tackling problems.
The Optimistic Paradox
So, where does this leave us? Is life’s relentless cycle of problems demoralizing? Perhaps. But it’s also the source of our greatest potential. The tension between problems and solutions is the engine of progress, creativity, and connection.
To live fully as a human is to embrace this paradox: the problem is the solution. Our restless rationality drives us forward, shaping civilizations and building futures. While there’s no perfect resolution, we can find peace in the pursuit, joy in the journey, and purpose in the process. Becoming in search of Being.
As we step into 2025, I hope you see this clearly. Problems aren’t obstacles—they’re opportunities. May you delight in the challenges ahead, find meaning in their solutions, and discover the benevolence at the heart of the human condition.
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