Nothing

The fifth edition of the Collins Concise Dictionary lives up to its name and succinctly defines ‘nothing’ as ‘no thing, not anything’. Frankly, I think whoever typed that in the dictionary should’ve just left it as a blank space: it would’ve been for the best, because the definition given in Mr. Fifth-edition-of-the-Collins-uber-Concise-Dictionary could possibly cause brain aneurysms or, at the very least, yelling of “Thank you, Captain Obvious!”


Apparently, yelling one’s gratitude to Captain Obvious, the unmasked hero of all things blatantly, explicitly overt, is not acceptable behaviour for when one is researching ‘nothing’ in the school library, and nor is having a brain aneurysm in the reference section. Both require messy lawsuits to cover them up, so, to avoid such catastrophes, it is probably recommended to follow normal procedure and disregard the dictionary definition in favor of making up your own.


But how can you define ‘nothing’? The word ‘nothing’ is a noun, which strongly suggests that it refers to something. But to what does it refer? What is this great, mysterious ‘nothing’ to which men allude when asked if anything’s wrong, and how is it the same ‘nothing’ that politicians give us, even though they promise not to? Is this the same ‘nothing’ that philosophers allegedly discuss, day in and day out, searching the answer to? How, then, is the answer to ‘nothing’ so often ‘nothing’? How is nothing an absence of something if so many things revolve around it?


One must not forget that a noun is a thing. Is ‘nothing’ a tangible object to be held, thrown, cherished, destroyed, trampled upon, drawn, written upon, drank, watched, sheltered under, worn, displayed in a glass case, or ridden upon?


Perhaps ‘nothing’ is invisible. Or perhaps ‘nothing’ does not even exist. When you’re sitting at a desk, picking listlessly at your nails or drawing little caricatures of the teacher in lieu of taking notes, and said teacher comes up behind you and booms in your ear, “What are you doing?”, you’re so relieved that he hasn’t seen the less-than-flattering picture you drew of him that you blurt out, “Nothing!”. But of course that isn’t true. Even if you deny all knowledge of your artwork or mini-manicure, even if you pretend you weren’t daydreaming, you’re still doing something. At this very moment, nobody is doing ‘nothing’, not even if they’re sitting perfectly still. You’re sitting in a chair at a desk – ‘sitting’ is a verb, which indicates action. You’re blinking and breathing, your fingernails are growing, and blood is pumping around your body. You’re listening to me… No, you’re not.


If you believe that ‘nothing’ does not exist, you’re perfectly entitled to your opinion. However, just because I cannot prove that ‘nothing’ exists doesn’t mean that it doesn’t. As Carl Sagan said, “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.” Perhaps ‘nothing’ exists and nobody can see it. Or perhaps it exists and it’s here right now, right in front of me, and I just refuse to see it.


Personally, I believe that nothing exists and that it’s incredibly important.


In a way, nothing is more important than anything, because without ‘nothing’, there can’t be something. And without anything, what you’re left with is… Nothing. So what I figure is that nothing is everything.


But that’s just because I am possessed with the strong belief that you can’t have anything unless there is an antithesis to it. In order for there to be good, there must be evil, and vice versa. There is an anti-classroom just like this one somewhere in the wide unknown of the universe, filled with… Nothing.


But, again, how can it be filled with nothing if nothing is nothing? It’s not like nothing is a great foamy froth or a sparkling purple liquid. It cannot be canned, diced or dissected. But how, then, can this empty box have nothing in it? Similarly, how can my dear, nameless friend’s hollow head contain nothing?


To quote a song by McFly; ‘I’m feeling down and I hate the sound of Nothing; what's the point in hanging around for Nothing?’ This song is, by the way, aptly titled, “Nothing”. So, does nothing have a sound? What does the sound of nothing sound like? Is it a clang, a beep, a high-pitched scream? Or is it silence? But then again, what is silence? Is silence the absence of sound, or is it a sound in its own right?


We are, friends, countrymen, and Romans, faced with a paradox. How can nothing be something if you say it’s nothing? And how can nothing be nothing if you say it’s something?


Quite plainly, nothing could be anything at any given time, but, as I said, it’s nothing. Nothing is full of potential, yet it has none at all. Nothing could be anything… But it’s not. Nothing is both greater and less than anything in the known universe.


Nothing is what a poor man has, a rich man needs (apart from therapy, a BMW Z4, and a good supply of champagne), and a dead man eats. Yet nothing is what the Harry Potter movies are good for, what an emo feels on every day of his dark, shadowed life, and what is better than freshly baked choc-chip cookies, ‘cause they’re teh best evahhh. Nothing is greater than God, more evil than the devil (or my sisters), and more annoying than horrible grammar (and, come to think of it, David). Nothing is hotter than yours truly, smaller than Daniel Radcliffe, and more awesome than Matt Giraud, the should-have-been-winner-of-American-freakin-Idol.


Having said that, even if you disagree with me completely, I hope you have gained a greater understanding of nothing. Nothing is just… Great.


I was seriously contemplating bringing something in to share with you all, but there wasn’t anything I could bring except nothing. So I did. And maybe next time, I’ll give you some. Wait, I already did.


P.S - totally unrelated to this blog entry...Ashlee, you are the absolute BEST Nothing can fully describe how perfectly awesome you are!