Why the Void Couldn’t Stay Empty

A Meditation on the Origin of Existence from True Nothingness

Of all the questions human beings have ever asked, one stands alone in its starkness and depth. It does not ask how the universe works, or what it is made of. It asks something even more primal: Why is there something, rather than nothing?

By “nothing,” we do not mean empty space, or a vacuum devoid of particles. We do not mean silence, or darkness, or even the absence of physical objects. These are all something. They exist within space and time, and they obey rules—rules that govern distance, duration, possibility.

What we mean is something far more radical. By “nothing,” we mean the absolute absence of everything. No space to contain, no time to pass, no energy to move, no matter to compose. No quantum fields humming beneath emptiness. No mathematical framework quietly sustaining potential. No vacuum fluctuations. No laws. No background. No canvas. Not even the concept of absence itself. Just… nothing.

And not even “just”—because that, too, would imply something. There are no edges, no boundaries, no contrast. There is no “before” or “after,” because there is no time. No place to be, because there is no where. No state to be in, because there is no being. There is not even a void. The word “void” presumes a container, a space within which nothing resides. This is not that. This is the absence of container, content, and context alike.

Try to imagine it. And now recognize that you cannot. Because even imagining requires space—mental space. It requires time, language, contrast. And yet, this unimaginable state is precisely what we are daring to consider as the starting point for the most profound question we can ask: Why is there something, rather than nothing?

One of us studied philosophy before entering medicine and science. And over the years, questions of being and meaning have remained a quiet companion to our work. Among all the mysteries we’ve encountered—both in scientific investigation and in contemplation—this one continues to hold us in its grip. We believe it may be the most profound question the human mind can ask.

In this reflection, we explore two metaphysical possibilities that seek to answer it. Each begins with true nothingness, yet each arrives at a very different vision of what exists—and why. Along the way, we’ll also consider what this question means for those of us who care about aging, longevity, and how to live a meaningful life in time.

What If Nothing Cannot Hold?

Now consider the radical possibility that this kind of nothingness is unstable. Not in the physical sense—because physics does not yet exist—but in a deeper way. Perhaps the condition of total absence is so unconstrained, so lacking in structure or rules, that it cannot persist.

Here’s the paradox: if nothing has no content, no governing principles, no order—then there is also nothing to prevent emergence. Nothing has no internal law that says “remain as you are.” In this view, existence becomes inevitable because there is no law to forbid it.

It may sound counterintuitive, but the very absence of limitation allows for the spontaneous appearance of something. Being erupts not because of a cause, nor a plan, nor even a random event—but because nothingness cannot defend itself against becoming.

This theory is stark, elegant, and radical. It requires nothing—literally—and it avoids invoking any metaphysical assumptions about what came before the universe. It does not posit a god, a quantum field, or even mathematics. It is the most minimal explanation one could imagine.

And yet, for all its boldness, it leaves something unresolved. It may account for the existence of something—but it does not explain why that something has the specific characteristics we see. Why does the universe contain order? Why does it produce consciousness, beauty, moral awareness, or love? Why is it intelligible at all?

If being simply “popped into existence” because nothingness couldn’t stop it, we are left with a haunting kind of wonder. A world that might be necessary, but not meaningful.

What If Being Was Chosen?

There is another possibility. What if existence was not spontaneous, but intended? What if the universe was brought into being by an act of will, emerging not from chaos or instability, but from a mind beyond space and time?

In this view, there is a reality outside the system we know—a transcendent source not bound by energy, laws, or duration. A mind that is not composed of parts or processes, but which simply is. A reality from which being itself flows—not mechanically, but freely.

This view is not unfamiliar. It appears in various theological traditions, and in philosophical reflections that seek to explain why there is anything rather than nothing. But unlike many of those traditions, we are not proposing a figure of myth or dogma. We are imagining something more radical: a mind that exists outside of all physical categories, who freely chooses for there to be being.

In this view, creation is not a mistake or a side effect. It is not random. It is personal. The universe is not just a mechanism—it is an expression. Consciousness is not an accident. It is a reflection. Moral awareness is not a trick of evolution. It is a sign.

If this is true, then we are not just beings in the world. We are part of a story.

And what of the silence of this creator? What of the hiddenness? Perhaps that, too, is part of the design. If belief were unavoidable—if we were overwhelmed with evidence—then there would be no freedom in choosing to believe. Faith would become compulsion. The very possibility of relationship would disappear.

So instead, we are given just enough: a world that is orderly but mysterious, beautiful but broken, meaningful but not obvious. And we are asked—not forced—to decide what we believe about it.

Some may ask: if there is a mind beyond space and time, isn’t that still something? Doesn’t that invalidate the idea of true nothingness? But here, we must be careful. We are not imagining a “thing” existing in a dark corner of pre-creation, like a figure waiting in a room before flipping on the lights. What we are pointing to is not a being in the usual sense, but a ground of being—a source that does not occupy space, exist in time, or depend on any laws, because those categories themselves do not yet exist. In this view, the mind that chooses being is not a thing within a system; it is that from which the system arises. It is not part of something. It is prior to the very distinction between something and nothing.

This perspective echoes a longstanding philosophical intuition: that the deepest source of existence may not be a thing at all, but something radically other—not contained within being, but the condition for its possibility. It is not a retreat into mystery, but a recognition that if there is an ultimate source of all that is, it must lie beyond the reach of the concepts we derive from what is.

Why This Version of the Question Is Unusual

This question—“Why is there something rather than nothing?”—has been asked for centuries. But here is something important to note: most philosophers, theologians, and scientists have not approached it with the same rigor as we are here.

Often, “nothing” is taken to mean an absence of matter, or of energy. Sometimes it means a quantum vacuum, which still contains fluctuating fields governed by mathematical laws. Sometimes it means a pre-creation silence in which a divine being waits to act.

Rarely does it mean what we are calling nothing: the absolute absence of all being, all structure, all potential, and all law.

In that sense, this essay is not just an invitation to reflect—it is a challenge to imagine something almost impossible to conceive. And it is a challenge that most historical thinkers have quietly set aside, either by redefining nothing to be more manageable, or by embedding their answer in systems of theology or physics.

We are trying something more difficult. We are imagining a state of total nonexistence. And from that, asking why anything exists at all.

And What of Us?

It might seem that these are abstract questions—far removed from the concerns of daily life. But we believe they are anything but.

We work in the field of aging and longevity. We write and think about how to extend the human lifespan, how to improve health in later years, how to help people live not just longer, but more fully. Yet behind every one of those efforts lies a deeper question: What are we trying to extend? And why?

If existence is an accident—if it emerged spontaneously from the collapse of nothing—then perhaps the best we can do is to stretch the flicker of our time as far as we can. But if existence is intended, then each breath, each year, becomes more than a continuation. It becomes part of a calling.

We don’t pursue longevity because we fear death. We pursue it because we believe life is worth living—and that to live well is to reflect on what life actually is.

Between Wonder and Choice

Both of these theories—emergence and creation—carry a kind of majesty.

To believe that the universe burst forth from a void because non-being could not persist is to believe in something starkly beautiful. Being triumphs over non-being—not by force, but by inevitability. It is a vision of metaphysical gravity, where existence simply must happen.

To believe that the universe was called into being by a mind is to believe in something deeply relational. Being does not just happen—it is chosen. It is loved into being. It exists because it was wanted.

These are not proofs. They are possibilities. But they ask different things of us. One asks us to marvel. The other asks us to choose.

And when we consider the kind of beings we are—beings who love, who remember, who long for meaning—it becomes harder to believe that we are the products of indifference. Somehow, even in our frailty, we carry the sense that we were meant for more than survival. That we were meant at all.

In the End

This question will not go away. It has haunted philosophers, physicists, mystics, and skeptics alike. And it may never be fully answered. But it can be asked—and in asking it, we may find ourselves changed.

Because when we wonder why there is something rather than nothing, we are not only asking about the birth of stars or the silence before time. We are asking about ourselves. About why we are here, and what we are meant to do with this time we’ve been given.

Whether existence is the result of metaphysical instability or a creative will, the fact remains: we are here.

That alone may not explain everything. But it is reason enough to live with curiosity, gratitude, and a deepened sense of the mystery in which we move.

And perhaps, just perhaps, it is reason enough to believe that love, too, is not nothing

These questions—whether existence stems from the instability of nothingness or from an originating intention—are also at the heart of Don’s forthcoming book, Before Being.

For the Curious, Further Reading

Carroll, S. (2016). The big picture: On the origins of life, meaning, and the universe itself. Dutton.

Heidegger, M. (1996). Being and time (J. Stambaugh, Trans.). State University of New York Press. (Original work published 1927)

Holt, J. (2012). Why does the world exist? An existential detective story. Liveright.

Krauss, L. M. (2012). A universe from nothing: Why there is something rather than nothing. Free Press.

Leibniz, G. W. (1714/1989). The principles of nature and grace, based on reason. In R. Ariew & D. Garber (Eds.), Philosophical essays (pp. 206–213). Hackett Publishing Company.

Parfit, D. (1998). Why anything? Why this? London Review of Books, 20(2), 24–27.

Tillich, P. (1951). Systematic theology: Volume 1—Reason and revelation, being and God. University of Chicago Press.

Wilczek, F. (2008). The lightness of being: Mass, ether, and the unification of forces. Basic Books.