Muta 　The question “Why do we live?　

In the past, people were given the “meaning of life” from the outside. Protecting one’s family, contributing to society, or serving religion or the state—these existed as unquestioned premises, and within such frameworks, individuals found meaning by fulfilling their roles. Yet as time has progressed, these foundations have gradually begun to erode. Absolute values have wavered, and as a diversity of choices has expanded, the question of “what to believe and how to live” has increasingly been entrusted to the individual.

Now, we stand at the threshold of an era in which we must create the meaning of life for ourselves. In this place, there are no correct answers, no models to follow. Rather than tracing the paths of others, we are called to pose our own questions and weave our own answers. Yet this is a condition that exists alongside anxiety as much as freedom. For the absence of an external source of meaning can just as easily lead to the feeling that nothing has meaning at all.

And yet, this very “void” may be the final realm of creation left to humanity. Even if everything is in place and material scarcity has been eliminated, meaning alone cannot be supplied from the outside. It always arises from within each individual. To find value in irreplaceable moments spent with someone. To pursue moments that one feels are beautiful. To continue holding one’s own questions. Each of these is a small yet certain act of creating meaning.

What matters, perhaps, is not to seek a grand, all-encompassing meaning all at once. Rather, it is to notice the quiet moments in daily life when the heart is moved, and to carefully gather and accumulate them. Through this repetition, a personal outline gradually begins to emerge. Meaning is not something that exists in a completed form somewhere; it is a process that continues to be generated over time.

To “create the meaning of life for oneself” is, in other words, to take responsibility for one’s own life. It is no longer possible to place blame on others or on the times. One may feel overwhelmed by this weight. Yet at the same time, it is a freedom unlike any before. Everything one feels, every path one chooses—each can become meaning.

Ultimately, we do not arrive at a completed answer. Rather, it is the act of continuing to question and to create that becomes the essence of living. The “era of creating one’s own meaning of life” is not an era of completion, but of becoming—an era in which humanity most deeply assumes what it means to be human.

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The question “Why do we live?”, which humanity has continued to ask throughout its long history, has always been supported by external reasons. For the sake of family, for society, or simply for survival itself, people have found meaning in their existence. Yet in a world where everything is fulfilled and nothing is lacking, those reasons quietly come to the end of their role. A life sustained by obligation and necessity recedes, and a life without reason appears before us, laid bare.

At that moment, the question “Why do you live?” arises as something that can no longer be entrusted to anyone else—it becomes a purely personal question. There is no correct answer, nor any basis for comparison. One can only descend into one’s own inner depths and, from within that silence, attempt to draw out a faint outline of meaning.

Some may find the meaning of life in moments of genuine connection with others. Some may continue to burn their existence in the pursuit of beauty. Others may discover their place within intellectual inquiry, seeking to touch the mysteries of the universe and of life itself. Yet none of these are universal answers. Each is a once-in-a-lifetime response, woven within the fabric of an individual life.

What matters may not be the ability to articulate a clear answer to the question “Why do we live?” Rather, it may be the act of holding the question itself, of remaining sincere in the face of it, that lies at the very core of living. The moment an answer is fixed, life, in some sense, comes to a standstill. And so we continue—wavering, searching, and finding new meanings again and again.

In the past, life required a reason. But the age to come may be one in which we can live without one. Precisely for that reason, paradoxically, the weight of the question “Why do we live?” grows heavier. To take responsibility for one’s own life within a freedom where nothing is imposed—this becomes an endeavor that demands a deeper resolve than ever before.

Ultimately, the most sincere answer to this question does not appear in words, but in the way one lives. In the choices made each day, in the people one encounters, in what moves the heart, and in what one chooses to cherish. The accumulation of these moments becomes a quiet response to the question “Why do we live?”

And that response is never complete. As long as we live, the question continues to evolve. That is why we live—not to obtain an answer, but to keep questioning.

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Muta 3