| The Meaning of Life
Richard Taylor says that
lives are meaningful only if they are creative.
The question, What is the meaning of
life? invites either banality or sophistry. The uneducated supply
the banalities with such answers as "love", "service to others" and
so on, while a philosopher is apt to say (as one actually did),
"either rephrase your question or consult a dictionary."
Yet it is a serious question and was at
the very heart of the classical moral philosophy initiated by
Socrates. It is strange indeed, then, that modern moralists, who owe
their very subject to the ancients, should treat it with
embarrassment and disdain.
The ancients were not primarily
concerned with distinguishing moral right and wrong. They thought
custom supplied that distinction. Instead they asked, What is human
goodness? What is personal excellence or virtue? In the answer to
that lies the meaning of life, that is, the whole point to living.
They had a word for it - eudaimonia - but differed as to what
this is. Today that word is almost always misleadingly translated as
'happiness', and then it is assumed that this refers to some
psychological state, or even, as in J.S. Mill's case, to feelings of
pleasure. We have, in short, gotten completely off the track, and
the wisdom of the ancient moralists is largely lost to
us.
The question has no clear meaning as it
stands, but it can be given meaning by first getting before us a
clear image of meaningless existence, and then seeing what
needs to be done to convert that image to one of
meaningfulness.
A perfect image of meaningless
existence is provided by the ancient myth of Sisyphus. Here Sisyphus
is condemned to roll a rock to the top of a hill, only to see it
roll back to the bottom, then to be rolled again to the top,
whereupon it again rolls back to the bottom - and so on, endlessly,
through all eternity.
The first thing this image suggests is
heavy toil. That is, we imagine that the stone is a huge one,
resulting in profound exhaustion. But that does not capture the
essence of its meaninglessness. Work that is hard and onerous is not
thereby rendered meaningless. Indeed, it is almost a mark of truly
meaningful tasks that they are hard. Important goals are seldom
reached easily. If Sisyphus's task were to carry a pebble up the
hill, requiring minimal effort, and to keep on doing this pointless
thing forever, then the element of meaninglessness would be fully
preserved.
Nor is the meaninglessness of this image captured by
the fact that the stone never stays put. We can, for example,
imagine that Sisyphus rolls a different stone to the top each time,
and that each one stays there, such that the pile of stones gets
endlessly larger as new ones are added. This does not help. It is
still an image of meaningless existence.
What is it about this image, then, that
so perfectly expresses the idea of meaninglessness, if it is not the
idea of heavy toil nor endless frustration?
It is, clearly, the element of endless
and pointless repetition. The same thing just happens over and over
and nothing ever comes of it. A meaningless life, then, is just that
- a life of perhaps simple and even easy tasks, endlessly repeated,
with no significant result except more of the same.
Is that, then, an image of life as we
actually find it?
It is certainly a correct description
of all non-human life. The lives of all the creatures we see around
us consist of nothing but endless repetition, the same behaviour day
after day, and all to no purpose whatever beyond more of the same,
that is, the begetting of new generations that will repeat the same
meaningless cycles. The robin you see today is doing exactly what
those you saw as a child were doing, and the same as those seen by
our distant ancestors. The species has no history. Each generation
replicates those that went before. It is an endless cycle that
culminates in nothing new, just more of the same. And so it is
throughout creation. This meaninglessness of life does not consist
of the suffering that is so common throughout nature, nor in the
harshness and often the brevity of such life. It is meaningless just
because it exactly resembles the image with which we
began.
Is this, then, also a picture of human
existence? To a very large extent it is. The lives of most people
are like clockwork, endlessly repetitive. They rise, do essentially
the same things today that they were doing yesterday and that they
will do again tomorrow, repeating this pattern year after year
until, finally, they go to their graves leaving nothing of worth
behind except a new generation to repeat the cycle. This is the
pattern even for many of those who amass great power or riches and
thus become objects of envy in the eye of the foolish. They do
essentially the same things day after day and then finally leave the
world much as they found it. Their lives resemble that of Sisyphus,
and it makes no difference that they do not complain of this. If we
imagine Sisyphus enjoying what he is doing, perhaps as a result of a
drug-induced state, then that would add no meaning to his living. It
would only show that, like most mortals, he has been rendered
content with a meaningless existence.
What, then, must we add to this picture
to convert it to one of meaningful life?
It does not, as already noted, help to
remove the element of burdensome toil, nor to suppose that it is a
different rock, whether large or small, that is moved each time. The
mere accumulation of worthless stones gives no meaning to
anything.
But now suppose that these rocks,
instead of just accumulating into a pile of rubble, are assembled
there into something of grandeur and beauty - an inspiring temple,
for example, on the order of the Taj Mahal, something that will
inspire the generations of humankind for all time. Have we now given
meaning to Sisyphus's labours?
To some extent, to be sure, for we can
no longer say that his efforts all come to nothing. But still, what
we have now is consistent with supposing that Sisyphus himself knows
nothing of this, that the temple is entirely the creation of others,
and that Sisyphus's role is no more than that of a beast of burden.
His life has no more meaning that that of an ox driven to the same
task. We have here, in short, an image of servitude, not
meaningfulness.
But now suppose that he does know why
he toils, that he can see the wonderous temple taking shape, and can
see his own role in this great work.
This improves his lot, no doubt, but we
still have not gotten to a meaningful existence, for this is still
consistent with servitude. He is entirely subject to the will of
others. All his masters have done for him is allow him to see what
is happening to all the stones he is compelled to move. He has no
role at all in this, other than that of a slave.
Now let us take what is obviously the
next step, supposing that Sisyphus not only moves all these stones,
but it is he who places them, according to the plan which he alone
has created by thought and reason, and that the result is an awesome
structure of lasting beauty. Now, at last, we have the picture of a
meaningful life.
Let it not be said here that the thing
Sisyphus has created is a source of deep satisfaction to him, and
that, therefore, so long as people derive satisfaction from what
they do then their lives are made meaningful. A man might spend his
life creating a tremendous ball of string, as one actually did, or
digging a hole in the ground deeper than any ever seen. People might
be impressed by the energy and industry of the creators of such
things, but that would not confer meaningfulness, because things
like that are of no real worth. We are supposing, however, that the
great temple built by Sisyphus is truly beautiful, and would be thus
seen even if its origin were unknown, notwithstanding any failure of
vulgarians to appreciate that worth.
The answer to our question now lies
before us: A meaningful life is a creative one, and what falls short
of this lacks meaning, to whatever extent. What redeems humanity is
not its kings, military generals and builders of personal wealth,
however much these may be celebrated and envied. It is instead the
painters, composers, poets, philosophers, writers - all who, by
their creative power alone, bring about things of great value,
things which, but for them, would never have existed at
all.
And it should be noted that human
beings are the only beings that do this and that, indeed, relatively
few even of these are capable of such creativity. Other creatures
often produce things that are striking and even beautiful - the
spider's web, the call of certain birds, things of this kind. But
these are mere products, not creations, in the sense we are
considering. These beings, like most people, simply do what others
of their kind do, and what was done by their ancestors. Every great
poem, painting, composition or treatise, on the other hand, is
unique. It is unlike anything that has ever been done, or even could
be done by someone else. Many have composed sonatas, but only
Beethoven could create the sonatas that he did. Had he not created
them, they would never have been.
© Richard Taylor 1999
Richard Taylor is renowned for his
contributions to the Meaning of Life debate and is Emeritus
Professor of Philosophy at the University of Rochester, New
York
(This article first appeared in
Philosophy Now Issue
24.)
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