For much of history, humans have sought to define the purpose of life. Early views were often centred around survival, reproduction, and protection of those we care for. As our understanding deepened, life came to be seen as part of a broader, interconnected system — a web of organisms and exchange of energy. Life, in this expanded view, is not merely about individual existence but about sustaining and participating in the path to equilibrium.
Yet beneath this intricate web lies an undeniable reality, governed by the laws of physics: the universe trends toward disorder. The second law of thermodynamics dictates that entropy — a measure of randomness — must always increase in a closed system. Over time, energy dissipates, structures decay, and the cosmos moves toward chaos. Life, however, temporarily defies this. It harnesses energy to grow and maintain order, but this resistance is fleeting.
In time, all living systems succumb to the death.
At the physical level, life and death are bound by entropy’s hand. Life creates temporary, local order: a complex system that resists randomness. Death marks the dissolution of that system as it returns to the chaotic state from which it came. This cyclical process is inescapable, with life serving as a brief interlude in the universe’s gradual breakdown.
But entropy’s impact is not limited to the physical. Human emotions, which have evolved to support survival, are deeply tied to this process. We find joy in creation, growth, and security — moments when order is preserved. Fear, sorrow, and anxiety arise when we sense the forces of decay, disorder, and loss creeping in. Our emotional lives mirror the physical reality: we feel happiest when maintaining order, and we suffer when confronted by inevitable disorder.
Our emotions have evolved to protect us from death, to stave off decay for as long as possible. This instinctual drive to resist the fate shapes our sense of purpose, pushing us to cling to life and its structures. We seek meaning in growth, relationships, and achievements, all of which feel like triumphs over the inevitable. But no victory is permanent; the laws of entropy always reclaims what life creates.
It is here that Buddhist philosophy offers an interesting parallel to this physical reality. Buddhism teaches that suffering arises from attachment — specifically, the attachment to things we cannot hold on to. Everything is impermanent (Anicca), and all things, no matter how solid they appear, will pass. Enlightenment is the profound realisation that clinging to the transient leads to suffering, just as resisting entropy is ultimately futile.
The Buddhist perspective does not deny the beauty or importance of life’s struggle to maintain order, but it suggests that wisdom lies in recognising the limits of that struggle. Just as the second law of thermodynamics tells us that entropy will increase, the core of Buddhism teaches us that everything we cherish will eventually dissolve. Enlightenment is the ability to face this truth without fear or suffering. It is not the denial of life’s meaning, but the acceptance that life and decay are inseparable.
In this way, there is a philosophical resonance between the laws of physics and the core thesis of Buddhism. Both point toward an inescapable reality of impermanence. Where science measures this through entropy, Buddhism reflects on it through suffering and attachment. Together, they invite us to consider that while life may temporarily resist the forces of disorder, true peace comes not from fighting against the inevitable, but from understanding and accepting it.