The Desire for Meaning

Humans are, as far as we know, the only animal on Earth that can intelligently perceive their own existence and ask the question: why? I think every person who has really sat down and thought about the existence of human life would have become incredibly confused and baffled. There is no readily recognisable purpose or motive for my life. Looking at the world around me, it could function just as well without me. It could function just as well- in fact, probably better- without any humans at all.

Some, myself included, come to the conclusion from this that humans are some kind of freak of nature, some mistake of genetics, occupying a universe that is itself a lucky, freakish coincidence; but now we’re here, we might as well make the most of it. This is not an easy position to take. Thinking humans have a powerful and seemingly innate drive for meaning; I sincerely want there to be something more to the universe, I really want to have been put here for a purpose. (And because everyone feels this need, many are very ready to believe anything that satisfies it.) This yearning for meaning is a fundamental force in much of human activity.

I recently listened to a speech given by Richard Holloway, former Episcopal Bishop of Edinburgh, now ‘Christian agnostic’, at the Sydney Writer’s Festival, replayed on ABC Radio National’s Encounter. He talks about our ‘puzzlement at the riddle of existence’ and mentions the three big questions: Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going? That is, how did humans come about, is there a purpose for our existence, and what happens after death? I think everyone will agree that if we knew the answers to these, we would be content- and life would be a lot less interesting.

Religions answer these questions. For many these are not agonising, soul-destroying enigmas, but simple questions of doctrine: God made us, we’re here to do God’s work, and we’re going to Heaven, to use a well-known set of examples. The religious imagination has provided a powerful series of narratives, symbols and principles that provide transcendental structures, metaphysical frameworks, by which our own pitiful lives are made more meaningful.

I would argue that the need for explanations similarly drives the scientific quest. The process of experimentation, argumentation, dismissal and approval has pushed back the veils of ignorance around a lot of the questions regarding how our world functions and how we fit into it. A lot of science is done in the search for specific, tangible goals, like technological and health applications. But a lot also seems to be driven solely by this desire for meaning. When Copernicus established the Earth’s orbit around the Sun, he was not trying to tangibly improve the lives of present or future humans; he was simply trying to find a truth. The current search for a unified theory in physics, romantically and evocatively coined the Theory of Everything, has similarly taken on an irrational or quasi-spiritual quality: Stephen Hawking was not simply trying to drum up sales when he concluded A Brief History of Time with, ‘for then we would know the mind of God.’

Science tends to lead to what could be labelled ‘cold’ understandings of our existence. Without the warm, fuzzy presence of God or the transcendent, we tend to be left stranded and isolated on a frigid ocean of meaninglessness. Existentialist philosophy can be seen to spring from this sentiment: we are frightened by our insignificant self-consciousness in an impersonal, unaware universe. We are an anomaly, cut off from the rest of nature by the very fact that we are self-aware; if the universe crushes us, it does so without knowing, but we, a product of that universe, for some reason can know, can be conscious of our own predicament (see the work of Hans Jonas). This is what our lives are reduced to in a world to which we ascribe no meaning.

This is an uncomfortable intellectual position to be in, and one from which most people strive to alleviate themselves. Most people are not content with an indifferent universe, a life without purpose, and an inevitable and absolute death. Even though, logically, we might know that believing in the supernatural simply because it makes our lives meaningful may be unjustified, we do it anyway. A friend of mine agrees:

If I am to smile to a fictitious belief...
I am smiling nonetheless.

Even if one could know that there was no supernatural, such a belief would still provide comfort and meaning. Richard Holloway quotes existentialist philosopher Miguel de Unamuno:

Man is perishing that may be,
But if it is nothingness that awaits us,
Let us perish resisting
And let us so live that it will be an unjust fate.

And he continues to say, as an impassioned closing, ‘I like the idea of living as though the universe did mean something – and if it doesn’t, we’ll show it that we are better than it.’

I understand this motivation, this deep desire for there to be something more, for there to be satisfactory answers to the big questions. I have it; we all have it. We all just have to accept each other’s differing conclusions. If you’ll live a happier life believing there is an intrinsic purpose to your existence, it shouldn’t bother me, as long as you respect my acceptance of the cold meaninglessness. Then we can all get along fine.