The Worth of a Soul

When people think of the human body, they often envision the head and heart—particularly the head—as the central locus of control, identity, and essence. Yet, in truth, the most distal parts—the pinky toe, for instance—are just as human, just as corporeal, and just as integral to identity as the mind itself. Yet, we struggle to see it that way. We seem incapable of appreciating the body in its entirety as equally fundamental to who we are.

In our deterministic universe, every action of our organs is a direct consequence of preceding events. Yet, there are countless ways to interpret these happenings—millions of lenses through which the same situation can be viewed in entirely different lights. This is why cinema captivates us. A director’s choices—the framing, the casting, the pacing—can transform the very essence of a scene, altering its emotional weight and meaning entirely.

In human interactions, we casually make remarks like, “She’s a hard worker,” or “They deserve their success,” or even something as simple as, “Nice shirt.” These statements carry implicit assumptions about the person’s character and worth. But what are they really praising? Are they celebrating the anterior mid-cingulate cortex’s processing of effort, the frontal lobe’s aesthetic appreciation, or the neural circuits that generate motivation and desire? We attribute value to cerebral phenomena, reducing the vast complexity of human experience to neural firings and cognitive functions.

When ending a relationship, one could do so with compassion or cruelty, emphasizing either positive or negative attributes—both equally true yet profoundly different in impact. Our judgments are shaped by the lens through which we perceive reality, colored by biases we may not even recognize.

To evaluate someone’s character accurately is an impossible task. Any assessment is inherently limited by the observer’s perspective. I cannot truly know the goodness of a person unless I understand the depth of the demons they are fighting. I cannot discern the complexities of an equation if all I see is the result. After all, 1,000 minus 1,000 is zero—just as five minus five is zero.

Consider two people: One fights day and night against inner turmoil, mustering every ounce of willpower just to offer half-hearted shrugs when asked about their day. The other, untouched by such struggles, radiates joy effortlessly. Who is kinder? Who is better? The answer is not simple, for each is the sum of battles fought, privileges held, and burdens carried. One’s lightness might be another’s unfathomable weight.

Life is messy, and we oversimplify it to make sense of it. We impose values and judgments, but these are merely constructs—limited perspectives imposed on complex realities. In the grand eschatology, in the attempt to make moral sense of life, any verdict on another’s character becomes a fool’s errand, an overly simplistic conclusion drawn from incomplete knowledge.

Even if we could understand every factor influencing a person’s actions, we would only see the long, deterministic thread of a soul struggling against the currents of existence. We would see someone fighting to matter, to prove their worth, to push through pain and darkness, even when the odds are stacked against them. And if this is not the most human struggle—the will to live, to persist, to strive—then what is?

Perhaps even the soul who falters under the weight of its own demons deserves a standing ovation in some heavenly cinema, where I, the director—where I, the god—witness every life’s intrinsic meaning and portray it as I choose. Every life, no matter how seemingly insignificant, holds beauty. And if you cannot see it, the failure lies not in the person you judge but in your own inability to perceive their worth.