In The Soul’s Code, James Hillman wrote that within the acorn exists everything the oak tree will “become.” “Each person bears a uniqueness that asks to be lived and that is already present before it can be lived.” We are the acorns.
Each person bears a uniqueness, sure. But the older I get, the less inclined I am to go along with the rest of that sentence. It just doesn’t map onto the world I see around me. How many people in this world are just not interested in the idea of living out their uniqueness, don’t understand the concept in the first place, or are in no position to devote any attention to it? The majority? That’s my wild guess. So what’s up with that? It seems as though you have to be born into the right set of conditions in order to grasp this concept and then be able to identify and live out your uniqueness. The game is definitely rigged.
Most people, I think, either allow or are forced to let other people or their circumstances determine what kind of life they are going to live. A vast number of people worldwide allow their religious or spiritual beliefs to determine the meaning in—and of—their lives. A far fewer number undertake the quest to discover the uniqueness they are here to live and then manage to live it.
Yet people do want meaning in their lives and they want their lives to mean something, no matter what physical/material conditions they’re living in. Whether or not they can articulate it, meaning is important to almost everyone. The lack of meaning can lead to all kinds of ills—personally, socially, culturally, and globally.
But must we have a supernatural explanation for the source of meaning and the reason it is important to us? I don’t think we do. I don’t think meaning is inherent in anything. I believe we create the meaning in our lives—or we fail to create it. When we create meaning and live lives that are meaningful, we and everyone around us are better off for it. When we fail to create meaning, we are dissatisfied no matter how well off we may be. We know something’s missing; we just don’t know what it is.
According to some sages, life is empty and meaningless—and it’s empty and meaningless that life is empty and meaningless. If that’s true, those of us who were trying to find meaning or figure out our unique purpose for being here have got it backwards. Instead of looking for meaning, we need to decide what is meaningful for us and then go out and create that in the world.
A Little Zen Story
I knew a zen master. I asked him about life. He said, “Life is empty and meaningless.”
I said, “That can’t be so!”
He said, “And it doesn’t mean anything that it doesn’t mean anything.”
And I still said, “No!”
Then he said, “And that gives you the freedom to make it up to mean whatever you want it to.”
And I said, “Ahh!”
Is determining what has meaning easy? No, not for most people. But it can be a much more fascinating, creative, and rewarding game than going on a metaphysical scavenger hunt to find meaning. When all is said and done, it may actually turn out to be the only game in town.
Whenever I hear someone say that everything happens for a reason, I have to bite my tongue. The words are usually uttered either to comfort someone or to explain something that is very painful or difficult and often sudden. But I’ve never been sure how that’s supposed to work. Are we supposed to feel better because there was a reason for what happened? Are we supposed to be less devastated, injured, or cold and hungry (if we were to end up on the street, say)? I’d certainly want to know the reason why that happened.
But the point of the proverb is that we don’t or can’t know the reason, so we just have to trust that there is one. We are also supposed to believe that no matter how awful whatever it is is, it is in our best interest. Our long-term best interest, needless to say, since in the short-term it seems to be a monkey-wrench of major or minor proportion.
But reason implies intent on the part of someone or something—God or maybe the universe that is reputedly poised to align itself with our wishes. So God or the (sentient?) universe intentionally set this up as a means to some end. Since we aren’t privy to knowing why, we’ll just have to stumble along, suck it up Job-like, and wait for the outcome to be revealed.
In the meantime, we can try to wrest some meaning from it.
A Narrative Device?
Theological and philosophical minds much greater than mine have wrestled with this issue and arrived at their own conclusions. A simple explanation is this. Humans began making up stories to explain the world around them as soon as they had the language for it. It’s what we do. We crave explanation and certainty and the logical narrative structure that stories provide. Everything happens for a reason is merely a device for tying up those loose ends in the story that can’t otherwise be satisfactorily explained. Perhaps the reason will be revealed in the sequel.
All any of us can say with certainty is that everything that happens happens. Events we don’t expect may feel random, but there are plenty of here-and-now cause-and-effect explanations for most of what occurs. Those explanations may not be particularly satisfying, however. Bad things happen to good people. And it can be very difficult to come to terms with them when they do. Believing that everything happens for a reason might make someone feel less isolated and victimized and more hopeful that the terrible circumstance will eventually lead to a greater good.
It’s interesting, though, that we don’t use this expression or seek to find the deeper meaning when sudden and inexplicable good fortune befalls us. Shouldn’t the corollary be that unexpected happy events will eventually give rise to painful ones?
Maybe
Have you heard the Taoist story Maybe?
An old farmer worked his crops for many years. His horse ran away one day. His neighbors heard about this and came to visit. “Such bad luck,” they said.
“Maybe,” replied the farmer.
The next morning, the farmer’s horse returned, bringing three other wild horses with it. “Wonderful!” the neighbors exclaimed.
“Maybe,” said the farmer.
The following day, the farmer’s son was trying to ride one of the wild horses but was thrown from it and broke his leg. The neighbors sympathized with the farmer’s misfortune.
“Maybe,” the farmer replied.
The day after that, some military officials came to the farmer’s village to draft young men into the army. Since the farmer’s son’s leg was broken, they did not take him. The farmer’s neighbors congratulated him on how well things had turned out.
“Maybe,” he said.
Is this story implying there was a master plan in place that caused the farmer’s horse to run away, find and return with the wild horse the farmer’s son tried to ride but couldn’t, thereby breaking his leg and exempting himself from the military draft? Of course not.
The meaning of events is determined by the contexts within which they occur. As contexts change or are redefined, our interpretation of the meaning of events changes, too. We can count on the fact that contexts–and perspectives–will change. Does that mean that an event that seems disastrous today will look totally different down the road? Maybe.
