On Failing To Discover The Meaning Of Life
We did not choose to be born. Without our permission, we were
pitched into this world, to live out seventy or eighty years, to
act out our unique scripts in life. Each of those millions of
actions had a purpose. It achieved an objective. Just to pick up
a cup of tea, or to become an accountant. Achieving objectives
gave progressive meanings to our activities. The mason who felt
he was just laying bricks was less satisfied than the one who
believed he was building a cathedral. Finding deeper meanings
satisfied us. So, it was but natural to gaze beyond our
individual careers at the meaning of life itself. Greater
satisfaction came from fulfilment of a nobler purpose.
Religion offered a a compelling vision of a divine and
benevolent purpose. It acted in the best of all possible worlds,
for the well being of all. If there was pain and distress, the
beneficent deity had willed it to steel humanity to ever greater
triumphs. Everything happened for the best. But, for a few
people, there was a flaw in this view. Disaster was hardly
necessary for improvement. The finest periods of creativity of
the human race occurred during periods of peace and prosperity,
not in times of famine and disease, or earthquakes and floods.
It stretched credibility to believe that a hundred thousand
people could be crushed in an earthquake for their own good. To
sceptics, the world appeared iniquitous. But, they often avoided
despair by accepting the random quality of life. For these, just
fighting back gave meaning to life.
But, the religious sometimes failed to discover any visible
benign purpose behind epic disasters. This troubled some. The
sceptics, on the other hand, wondered if it was so weightily
important to survive in the this all too brief span of time in
this infinitesimally small speck in the universe. What was so
special about survival, if the earth was to end a dead planet
hurtling through black space? What was the purpose of all this
suffering? Whatever their convictions, the search for a meaning
in life troubled both the religious and the sceptics. In spite
of their doubts, finding meaning was crucial.
The famed psychiatrist, Frankl, survived the horrors of the Nazi
concentration camps, to narrate the dreaded moment, when a
fellow prisoner ceased to struggle for life. Usually, the
prisoner refused to go out on to the parade grounds. “He just
lay there, hardly moving. No entreaties, no blows, no threats
had any effect. He simply gave up. There he remained, lying in
his own excreta, and nothing bothered him any more.” His life
had lost its meaning. Such people died soon after.
But, despite the meaningless torture and beatings, thousands of
inmates still struggled against all odds to eke out a life.
Frankl submitted that it was a purpose in life, whatever it was,
which helped them to survive. These were not large purposes. A
hope of meeting a son after the war was a purpose. Even a
decision to harden oneself against suffering was a sufficient
purpose. After the war, Frankl established a major field in
psychiatry, assisting thousands of suicidal patients around the
world to recover by discovering an acceptable purpose in life.
In reality, the need to find a purpose in life was built into
our neural circuits. Emotions granted us short term purpose.
Anger sought retribution; hunger, a search for food; fear a
drive to escape. Each drive intelligently sought its own
objective and rewarded its achievement with pleasure. The thrill
one felt came from built in pleasure circuits fashioned by
nature. Those circuits powered drives, which successfully
achieved a range of survival activities in a complex and hostile
world. The drive circuits carried within them a massive depth of
experience and wisdom. The noblest goals of mankind and its most
evil instincts were drives, inherited from millions of years of
history. One of those drives was a search for meaning - an
instinctual drive, like hunger.
Across history, mankind searched the heavens to discover
meaning. Religions offered a wide range of possible meanings,
each favouring a particular divine purpose. But, religion failed
to find meaning in horrifying disasters. For the sceptic,
without the support of religion, a fearful existence on a tiny
planet appeared utterly pointless. Both suspected that life
appeared to have no meaning. Where could we go from there? There
was an answer. We had to understand this obsessive human need to
find meaning. It was merely another instinctual drive. A
craving. Such drives could be calmed. Just an awareness alone
could still the need. After all, it was hardly so urgent to
discover that cosmic meaning.
Freed from this need, it was easier to fit into society,
contribute our mite and satisfy the demands of our minds. We
could be content with discovering reasonable purposes. Frankl
had proved that simpler purposes sufficiently enabled prisoners
to withstand even the most meaningless excesses of life. Hunger
did not demand that we gorge ourselves. A reasonable repast was
sufficient to satisfy our craving. So also, it was hardly
necessary to feast ourselves on understanding the global purpose
of the universe. Just as there was little need to travel to a
distant galaxy to satisfy our curiosity. It was enough to be
happy with finding our own role in society.
