What is the meaning of life?
An existentialist essay on the most fundamental question of philosophy.
Have you ever wondered if life has any meaning? If there is a reason to our existence, and if this reason means something, if anything? What about this meaning? What does it entail? And how do we actually know that this meaning exists? Does it exist at all? And if not, what would that mean? To put it simply: What is the meaning of life?
Good question. In fact, there is probably no question with a more monumental scope. The answer to this question is of an existential nature. For it speaks to our sense of selves, to our very existence. It means something, if not everything, to us. Answering this question is to give us a reason for living our lives. As French philosopher Albert Camus has once put it:
“Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest […] comes afterwards.” (The Myth of Sisyphus, 1975, 11).
And this question, if life is worth living or not, comes down to meaning. Because only if life means something, it can appear as something worth holding on to. If it wouldn’t, we could also let it fall into the void of the universe; it wouldn’t matter. So surely, life has to have a meaning, right? There must be a reason, a meaning to hold on to?
But what is this reason? The reason for staying alive, for giving in to the absurd reality of our existence as it appears in our shared life-world? Why do we exist? And why should we continue to do so? For a meaningless life would not be worth living, would it? So what about this meaning, the reason to decide whether or not life is worth living? Does it exist? That is: Does life have any meaning at all?
Life is meaningless
I’m afraid it does not. Life itself is fundamentally meaningless. There is no reason for why we exist. We exist. And that is all we know. We are Beings that are thrown into existence, into the Life-World, without any choice, left with the task to make the best out of it. But there is no reason for why we should. Our existence is mere coincidence. Just like the rest of the universe.
Why, you ask? Why can I be so certain? Well, the answer is quite simple: there is no reason to believe that we exist for a reason. There is no grand life plan awaiting our time on Earth. If our life would have some sort of predefined meaning, spiritural or otherwise, it would have to be a universal meaning, without any history. But that is simply not the case. The search for meaning has accompanied our journey through time and space as long as we have wondered about the world beyond the one known to us. And still, we are to find a common meaning.
“The ontological core of life is devoid of any meaning. But to inscribe nothingness onto life itself, as an ontological institution, is to emancipate it from the burden of having to mean something.”
Everyone has a slightly or vastly different idea of what constitutes the meaning of life. Hence, it cannot exist as a pre-defined entity. But, you could argue, saying that life’s meaning is basically nothingness also resembles an idea of what constitutes the meaning of life. You’re right. But this nothingness leaves room for imagination. To inscribe a certain meaning onto life itself is to determine it. But to inscribe nothingness onto life itself, as an ontological institution, is to emancipate it from the burden of having to mean something.
Because if life would have to have a meaning, it would necessarily have to be the same meaning for everyone; otherwise it would no longer have a meaning but multiple ones. And that would render the whole project of finding the meaning of life redundant. Because we cannot, in good conscience, expect others to accept a determined meaning of life that they don’t agree with, we cannot determine what the meaning of life is on an ontological level, that is, what this meaning’s content could be.
So life is, for the sake of a common diversity of humanity, fundamentally meaningless. That is, the ontological core of life is devoid of any meaning. But this need not to make us panic and fall into nihilistic despair. It is rather emancipating, I think.
Life is what you make it
That is, just because life itself is fundamentally meaningless, this does not mean that all our particular lives are fundamentally meaningless. That life itself is devoid of any meaning just means that we are not predefined in how we want to live our particular lives. We are free, and radically so (if only on an ontological level). Thrown into existence, we have to navigate through life as our own compass. Or, in the words of French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre:
“Man is not only that which he conceives himself to be, but that which he wills himself to be, and since he conceives of himself only after he exists, just as he wills himself to be after being thrown into existence, man is nothing other than what he makes of himself.” (Existentialism Is a Humanism, 2007, 22).
Our existence precedes our essence, that is, our reason to exist (to be a Being that lives) is not predefined before we come into existence. Rather, we have to define it ourselves, or we would deny our radical ontological freedom. No one else can do it for us, not a god or a moral norm. We are solely responsible for ourselves and what we make of our lives in terms of meaning (on a purely ontological level, that is).
This sounds heavy — but is greatly emancipating as well. By virtue of our radical freedom we can strive for our own meaning in life. We don’t have to accept a meaning that others choose for us. It is not their place to do so. And if they do, we are denied of our most basic freedom, that is, of the freedom to conceive of our lives the way we want to. The meaning of life is, thus, a highly subjective matter. We cannot universalise it — if we did, we would deny our radical ontological freedom and that of others. This is why life is fundamentally meaningless: because it means something else to every single one of us.
But what does life mean for each and one of us, then? What gives our particular lives meaning? And is it even possible to answer this question if life only has a particular meaning, and no meaning as such?
Life’s meaning is grounded in love
I believe it is. The particular meaning of one’s life, is, of course, only subject to themselves. We ought to stay clear of that. But we might still be able to identify a common ground that accompanies every one’s search for meaning in this fundamentally meaningless world. Because the search for meaning is essentially searching for an answer to the question if life is worth living or not. To decide whether or not life is worth living is to respond to your sense of self. If you feel recognised as a Being-for-itself, that is, if people articulate their affection towards you, in whatever way, then the decision becomes much easier.
If life is hard, the right person can make it a little bit less difficult. If life seems pointless, a certain someone might give you a reason to see a point in it after all. And if life is beautiful, it might be due to someone special who makes a positive difference in your life. The moments you share with your close and loved ones, be it your friends, your family or your dog, or what-and whoever, are what give life — your life — its meaning.
“Essentially, love is what holds the world together in its core, hence, what gives your life meaning.”
The affection you feel towards them is what makes life worth living. And whether or not you know them personally does not even matter. You can love whomever and whatever you want. It could be your friends, your family, your partner(s), your pet(s), or your favourite artist(s), hobby, community, or football club — it could be anything and anyone. But whatever it is that gives your life whatever meaning — it will always be based on some sort of affection towards other entities or Beings. Love is, to paraphrase Goethe’s Faust, what holds the world together in its core (“That […] inmost force Which binds the world, and guides its course”, see First part of the tragedy, Night). Or, to put it even cheesier: Love is the meaning of life.
Life itself is fundamentally meaningless. But once you love someone or something, in whatever way that may be, your life has become meaningful. We can only love what has a meaning for us. To answer Camus’s question: whether or not life is worth living is decided on the grounds of love. And herein, people (or other living beings) are probably what is most meaningful to most of us. That is, a certain activity (a hobby or a profession) can definitely give our lives meaning. But the affection we experience towards people will always be so much greater if the love is shared and the recognition not unilateral.
“If our love is recognised by others, if it is shared, and appreciated, if it is build on mutual grounds, that is, if the love is reciprocal, (at least) two-sided, then, and only then can we feel truly recognised as Beings-for-itself.”
In other words: while love as such is the meaning of life in general, only love towards other Living Beings is able to make us forget everything else and do everything for them, no matter what. If someone I feel affected to needs me right now, I will stop writing this essay immediately and go help them. For they are more important than to finish a boring philosophical essay such as this one. So love is indeed a wonderful thing — if it’s consensual, mutual, and based on the grounds of freedom, of course. Because it could also be devastating. But wether it is comes down to recognition.
Life’s meaning realises itself through recognition
If my self, if my Being is recognised by others as such, as that entity which it appears to be, then, and only then, can love become a guiding force in our search for meaning in our lives. We might get up every morning because we love someone or something, because we’re affected by others, who are themselves thrown into this world that is itself devoid of any meaning, affected in whatever manifestation, and that could be enough to get us out of bed. But if this love is recognised by them, if it is shared, and appreciated, if it is build on mutual grounds, that is, if the love is reciprocal, (at least) two-sided (though not necessarily equal), then, and only then can we feel truly recognised as Beings-for-itself.
This is why love towards strangers, things, or the great unknown will probably never feel whole in the sense that it is true; to once again put it very cheesy: only when you’re loved back (in whatever way that might be), will that love fulfil your sense of self and constitute the meaning of life you were looking for. Love that is not recognised as such or unilateral might be able to do so, too — but probably never for long, or at least not in a way that feels complete, or true. Because we not only do ‘stuff’ in life because we love other Beings, but because we want them to recognise us and the ‘stuff’ we do, hence give us some love, too.
“Dead things can not love you back, much less recognise you. Only Living Beings can.”
So, it is really recognition that is the meaning of life — but that of course does not sound as dramatic and poetic as love being the meaning of life. But love, to be experienced ‘to the fullest’, to be authentic, cannot be one-sided, it must be shared, or otherwise it might feel hollow or untrue; love is basically only possible through acts of recognition. And those acts are, necessarily, social — for they always involve yourself and other Living Beings. Dead things can not love you back, much less recognise you. Only Living Beings (people or other conscious Beings such as some or most animals) can.
The meaning of life is, thus, to be found in the realm of the social — in our daily social lives, in our concrete interactions with other people, or other living creatures, in situations in which we can express our love to them, and are able to be recognised as our Selves by them.
I might write this essay because of someone, or someone else, possibly even more of them, and I do so primarily because I love them, in whatever way, and in whatever capacity, but also because I want them to have a particular image of my Self (that I write boring philosophical essays no one will ever care to read), hence, I want them to appreciate this essay, and, to some degree, hope that they will even get something out it — in short, I want them to recognise this essay as something that I did, that is, as something coming from my Self, to them. I would not write this essay if I did not have the hope that someone might recognise it as something worthwhile to them, or as something that is part of my Self. If no one would care to read it, I could still write it, of course — but that wouldn’t constitute any meaning, for the world would be indifferent towards its existence.
Of course, I can imagine that this is not the case, that someone will eventually care, or would, if they had the capacity to do so. For example, my dog, whom I love very much, and who, at least that’s what I tell myself every time I give her food, also loves me very much, will never read this essay. Still, I could imagine that the same process of recognition would occur if she would be able to read it. Regardless of what is actually possible in-the-world, the argument still holds. I do ‘stuff’ only when I can expect others to recognise that as meaningful, as something worth doing, either for them or just as something that they appreciate because I did it. Even if that’s not actually the case, and they are rather indifferent to what I do — my imagination materialises itself as a conviction in my head, which is enough for me to do it.
“We can only come into being in a meaningful way if we and what we do is recognised by others through affection, which, in turn, requires us to love them, so that we care enough about their recognition.”
But, you may object, truly we are not always doing things because of others, because we want their recognition. Sometimes we also do things because of us — well, exactly. We can of course also be our own motivation. But this does not change the argument. If we would hate ourselves, why would we do things we want to do? And even if we as our own Selves want to do something, we probably would still do it because we can tell others about it, because we hope that they care enough about us to be interested in what we did. If we did ‘stuff’ all alone and on our own all the time, at one point it would seem pointless — for there is no one to recognise us having done it but us. To put it bluntly: no one would care.
And if no one cares, if no one confirms our love through recognition, then finding meaning in doing ‘stuff’ becomes incredibly hard, if not impossible. Because why should we do it, if it gets lost in the dark void of the universe anyway, without anyone ever noticing it?
That is: what meaning would life still have if we had no one to relate this meaning to? Meaning is always a meaning of, not a meaning in itself, for that would determine this very meaning as itself. Meaning can only be found in other Living Beings and in how they relate to our own Being. The meaning of life is, hence, to be recognised by others as worthwhile, whether that is through one’s own Being, or one’s own actions. Because through this act of recognition, we realise ourselves as our own Selves, as our own true Beings. We can only come into being in a meaningful way if we and what we do is recognised by others through affection, which, in turn, requires us to love them, so that we care enough about their recognition.
Heavy stuff, right? And quite deep, too. So let’s come to an end before it gets even more fundamentally philosophical (and before I start to feel like I need to discuss Sarte and Honneth on the matter of recognition).
Conclusion
Life itself is meaningless. But our particular lives most definitely have a meaning — a meaning that we are responsible for to create. This meaning, thereby, will always, in some way or another, relate, in some capacity or form, to our affection towards other Living Beings or existing entities such as things or social institutions. Something or someone can only have a meaning for us if we love it or them. Otherwise, it or they would be meaningless to us. To put it differently: we can only love what has a meaning for us.
And so, the meaning of life is, quite simply, love. The reason for us to decide whether or not life is worth living comes down to those relations of affection in our lives. If there is a meaning to hold on to, if it’s a person, animal or thing, then, and only then, does life become meaningful, and worth living. Why? Because of our hope of being recognised as Beings-for-itself.
“Life is not about what you do but with whom you do it.”
That is, as Beings in a shared Lifeworld, we are all part of a greater struggle of recognition, as Hegel might put it and Honneth later did. We can only feel whole, on an ontological level, if others recognise us as such. If others deny us recognition, we feel treated badly or might even experience the impression of violence. Or we just wonder if we mean anything, to anyone, at all, if no one recognises us. Of course, this goes beyond this essay. In fact, it does not even have that much to do with it. However, it nonetheless tells us how our love towards other Living Beings is structured: as a pledge for recognition. And if this pledge is answered, and sucessfully so, then we might feel that we have found meaning in life. And it also tells us why only love that is shared ammounts to meaning in the long-term, that is, to happiness. For if you love an entity that cannot love you back (because it doesn’t exist as a Being that is consicous of its own existence) this love might appear hallow. Loving someone who does not know you at all (like a superstar) will never feel as good as loving someone you know — if that someone loves you back, of course. Because if not, this could be very painful, too. But still, it wouldn’t be hollow. Rather, it would be a very lively feeling. Regardless, life will be more meaningful, even more beautiful, if you share it with others on a reciprocal basis.
Because life is not about what you do but with whom you do it. You can accumulate as many whats as you like — if the whoms are missing, it will be hard to find meaning in any of those whats. This is because only whoms can give you the recognition as your Self that you are striving for. What cannot recognise you or what you do. Only whoms can. And so, the whoms in your life are what make life worth living — they give your life meaning. That is, only in strongly affectional relationships, regardless of their appearance as specific types of love, giving up a what in favour of a whom becomes a question that you don’t even need to ask.
In the end, everything in life comes down to the question if a whom or some more whoms care about you enough to confirm and share your affection towards them. Love may give our lives its meaning. But recognition is what actually makes us live our lives, to make us do stuff. And for that, we need Living Beings, such as people.
“Whatever life means to each and every one of us, it all comes down to one beautiful phenomenon, and that is, indeed quite poetically, love.”
To end this essay in a rather surprising fashion with a quote by George Harrison: “What is life without your love? Who am I without you by my side?” To answer this question amounts to answering the most fundamental question of philosophy: what is the meaning of life? What compels us to not kill ourselves in light of the fundamental meaninglessness of life? Well, it’s actually quite simple. It is a certain ‘YOU’.
Through the recognition of others we are able to realise ourselves as Beings. And if this recognition is based on love, meaning enters the theatre stage that is our lives. What gives our lives meaning, is whatever we regard as meaningful. And that will always only be realised through affection towards others or things. Meaning is a social relation. Someone or something is meaningful to us. We are affected by them, we may love them — which, in turn, makes us want to be recognised by them, so that this affection, or love, does not need to stare into the void of nothingness.
Life itself may be meaningless but our lives are full of meaning — and that can be whatever we make it to be. Life is meaningless because it means something else to each and every one of us. However, whatever life means to each and every one of us, it all comes down to one beautiful phenomenon, and that is, indeed quite poetically, love.
PS: Got ya! All of this is, of course, just a big philosophical lie. The meaning of life is not love or recognition or anything quite poetic like that. I simply fooled you to make your precious time on Earth dissapear into the void of nothingness. For THIS is the actual real meaning of life. Are you ready to find out? (Then click the link already you beloved fool!)
