The contents of this article are based on my own observations and readings that shaped the way I contemplate the meaning of existence as a human being. Countless philosophers and theologians over the ages have developed expansive frameworks to address this question, be it the existentialist views of Nihilism, the theistical views of the Abrahamic and other major religions, or the non-theistic views advocated by some Eastern philosophies such as Buddhism. As a naturalist, I tried to find a compromise between the existentialist end of the spectrum — “You are solely responsible for giving meaning to life” — to the theistic doctrine of “God gives meaning”. Can there be any objective meaning to this impermanent life without appealing to the possibility of afterlife?
I vividly remember watching the blockbuster movie Avatar when it first came out. This movie is set in a fictional planet named Pandora, in which a tribe of human-like people known as Na’vi live in ecological harmony with other species and are neurologically entwined with each other through the ‘Tree of Souls’. One quote from a Na’vi native summed up their encompassing philosophy: Neytiri: “… all energy is only borrowed; at some point you have to return it.” (Cameron, Avatar, 2009). I was taken away by the visuals, the epic storyline, but most of all, their interconnected way of life. No one lives for their own, but rather their whole existence is tied to the tribe as a whole, for they are only temporary vessels of the shared life energy. Soon as I exited the cinema hall though, I quickly brushed this thought away as childish awe. They are after all, fictional. These are dramatized constructs made by the directors and scriptwriters at Hollywood to generate profit, and are not representative of what it means to be human, to be alive.
As someone with no religious affiliations, it was almost a given that I adopted an existentialist and individualistic viewpoint. “Of course the prime objective in life is to do whatever makes you happy,” That is why I was so baffled when a Christian friend of mine stated that to her, happiness is only ever secondary, for there is no meaning in life without God.
I concede I never sat comfortably with my existentialist views. What if a parent got tired of raising his child, and wishes instead to abandon his role as a caregiver to pursue his own ambitions? Can I convincingly agree with such an act on the grounds that he is living true to his own calling, or will it be more appropriate for me to follow my gut instinct and describe him as a selfish a*hole?
In fact, a major argument in favor of theistic views is that a supreme divine figure provides grounding to morality. Existentialists like me have to deal with the distorting world of grey areas and moral ambiguity, for almost every action has its own set of benefactors and victims, as that’s the very definition of any ethical problem. The modern society is quick to patch this gaping insufficiency with its own tenets of individual rights and freedom, although many a time it led to sub-optimal outcomes like broken families and transactional relationships. It is a small wonder that materialism has accrued such a bad name. That led me to question, what exactly is it about morality that allows it to transcend rationalistic common sense?
Not long ago, I was working on research related to multi-agent systems, and learned how an effective way to get robot agents to cooperate on a shared mission, such as spreading out and survey an area, is to direct them to act selfishly and focus on making local gains. The more I read into the literature of this topic, the more I was amused by how computer scientists are deliberately introducing the flaws of humankind — our selfishness, kinship preference, territorial tendencies — into robotic agents so that as a system they behave more resiliently and smoothly. To achieve global cooperation, we sometimes need the individuals of a system to behave selfishly, unknowing to the fact that they are just cogwheels in a machine playing their part.
This is not a new idea, in fact this is foundational to modern capitalism. In what Adam Smith described as ‘the invisible hand’ of economics, each of us acting self-interestedly in a free market leads ultimately to unintended social benefits for all, as more goods get produced and competition drives technology to become more efficient. Under this lens, one can look at the dark side of human nature, our greediness, our thirst for more not as vices that need to be stemmed out, but fuels that can be harnessed to power our civilization. The Internet was not invented by a saint dreaming of connecting disparate people, but the US DARPA funding surveillance systems to monitor Soviet missiles. The wheel was not invented to carry goods and cargoes but was instead applied in large-scale to equip chariot archers by the Mesopotamians. In short, many if not most of human advancements came not from altruistic effort to contribute but rather from circumstantial need.
So then it brings us to a dilemma: when morality clashes with progress, which one should we forsake if one leads us famished and the other leads us depraved? I do not pretend to know the answer to that question, but recently it hit me that this may be an ill-posed question to begin with, that morality and progress may just be the same thing.
Think of this: what do financial investment and honesty have in common? They both convey and build trust through a form of self-sacrifice, the former with a monetary stake, the latter with a social stake. Being honest is one way of signaling to the other partner that ‘I am willing to put my social standing at stake in exchange for your future trust,’ It is completely possible that the other party fails to appreciate this and just walk away from this contract, hence this action comes with a degree of risk. However, if it was to play out successfully, what results is a guaranteed stream of future rewards, a bond that stretches through time. In short, the moral behavior of honesty results in progress in a long enough time span.
Such behavior is of course not just confined to humans. Cattles become ‘grooming buddies’ with a select set of their peers, taking turns to lick off each other and become distressed when their friends go missing. Red-winged blackbirds defend the nests of neighboring birds, putting themselves at risks by diving and striking at intruders, but when they find that their neighbors fail to reciprocate they cut off such act. The countless other examples observed across the mammal and avian world demonstrate that investing in others is a true and tested strategy for mutual survival, apparent to all without the need for complex reasoning. But what makes these kinds of long-term trust so precious, and hard to come by?
I believe moral acts are tough to master because they involve predictions about the future, which we all know to be a rather challenging task. In fact, we can examine the challenges of investing in a relationship by comparing it with an act that shares many fundamental considerations — investing in a stock. The stock market may be bullish today but bearish tomorrow when the market comes crashing down because of a pandemic scare. Despite current estimates, one can never truly know what the future holds. Similarly in the social context, you may be on good terms with a person one day and the next relations can sour from unforeseen slights. The real world is simply too messy. Everything we build must eventually crumble, every dream must eventually fade. Yet this knowledge does not stop us from the instinctual act of forming friendships, falling in love, accumulating wealth, much like the threat of rising tides does not stop us from building sandcastles by the beach. Why is that the case? Is it really just to fool ourselves into temporary happiness while we are there to enjoy it?
A famous law in physics states that entropy (disorder) in the world always increases over time (2nd law of thermodynamics). This physical law may only be recently formulated, but the tendency of things to descend into chaos is a phenomenon long addressed in religious texts. It dawned on me that almost every spiritual figure is to some degree a reaction to how the world behaves. God is supposed to be the arbiter of order, one who maintains perfection in the face of this torrent of chaos. In the pagan days of Europe and the present-day folk rituals of the East, we have pantheons for the seas, agriculture, fertility, fortune, to make easy the task of reasoning the inexplicable bounties and catastrophes that befall us. The hope is that by putting a name to a phenomenon we will be able to predict and master its temperance. Often times, failure to do so leads us to assign agency to the phenomena, treating them as persons. Maybe Poseidon was angry today and decided to unleash the thunderstorm upon us? Maybe Caishen (God of Wealth) is hungry and we can appease him with some fresh fruits and meat? I used to think of these acts as just habitual superstition, but I have come to learn that it is a reflection, a revelation of how much we as individuals are still at the mercy of natural, systemic forces.
I had a brief but profound exposure to this ancient struggle when I visited the Banteay Srei temple in Cambodia last year. The temple is dedicated to Shiva, a Hindu god of destruction. Walking through the elegantly-crafted but fading compound, I contemplated a story I learned while touring the previous site: of the constructive-destructive forces of Brahma (‘The Creator’) and Shiva (‘The Destroyer’) with their followers engaged in an eternal tug-of-war, churning the ocean of milk that ultimately gives rise to immortality. It is evident that the builders of this magnificent temple are keenly aware they are facing an endless destructive force, that their handiwork will fall apart one day, but through their faith they understood that this is only part of an ongoing, eternal process.
However, it was not until I took a stroll by the garden next to the temple that it struck me how immortality can be achieved through creative destruction (though probably not in the way that was intended by the story). Surrounding the compound, juxtaposed against the fading temples, are tall and lush canopy trees. I was amused with this contrast at first, but then it very quickly struck me as to how this puzzling sight originated: while the human-built structures fought against the elements, the trees actively embraced it, harnessing wind and sun to help them replicate and persist. These trees grew and bloomed and wilted but most of all they gave birth to new budding trees, continuing the cycle of destruction and creation through the centuries. And now, as the clay structures bow down to entropy with its decolorized facade, the green landscape in the background is fresh as ever — the view probably did not change much from the days of the builders! The dynamics between Brahma and Shiva, between creation and destruction, suddenly made sense. Life persists through the acceptance of impermanence.
As an atheist, I have always wondered what motivates some people to dedicate their limited time promoting a certain religious belief. But now it occurred to me that they understood something that I was completely blind to — that our time alive isn’t meant to be spent for ourselves, never has been. We are transient and mortal beings, and like those perishable trees, we survive through what we leave behind. Only us humans can take this one step further. More than physical likeness, we pass on knowledge, dreams, ways of life. Buddha took his last nap two millennia ago, yet he still sits meditating on the altars of his believers, in forgotten ruins, atop the mountaintop of Hong Kong. Joan of Arc perished in flames thousands of years ago, yet her bravery still echoes down the chamber of college campuses. Steve Jobs lost the battle to cancer, yet his pursuit of elegance still sits nestled within our palms. We are creatures of ideas, and these pioneers demonstrated perfection in what it means to be a human by choosing to transcend their own mortality with visions.
Of course, it is not necessary for one to peg themselves to an explicit ideology, for there are countless other ways that those who came before us left their marks. When my grandma passed away, I heard my relatives praying for her to be guided to a better place. But I understood that she was already there, in the hearts and minds and body of all of us. Her nurturing has brought the lives of my dad, my aunts and uncles into the world, and her care carved into my heart what the purest form of love felt like. She is in the favorite flute piece that I play — a Buddhist tune that I used to lay on her laps listening to — and if I have the fortune to raise kids of my own in the future, I can delight in the thought that they will all have a piece of my grandma in them. As Nietzsche put it — aut liberi, aut libri — be it children or books, we pass on our legacy through the information and impacts that we leave behind.
As humans, we are distinctly aware of our mortality, and it is this realization that pushed us to think and act beyond our own selves. However, this same sentience also fills us incredible fear, terrifying us with the thought that one day we will be gone, and be forever separated from everything we hold dear. This I believe is our greatest fallacy: we are gifted with sentience, yet end up enslaved by it, believing that our existence relies solely on being sentient. To base our existence solely on self-awareness — a soul — is to debase ourselves. George Washington may no longer be sentient, but he has more influence on how the American government is run today than the average citizen. John Lennon may no longer be with us, but every time we hum to the lyrics of “Imagine” we still relive his hopeful emotions the moment he penned down those words. Your presence is not just about what you experience, but also what experience you bring to others. Whether we can be there to enjoy the product of our work right now does not really matter — we are right now tasting the fruits of those who came before us, and so will the future generation enjoy what we planted, the cycle repeating ad infinitum.
Like bubbles in a stream, we are temporary manifestations of an ongoing stream of life stretching back hundreds of millions of years, and while it is true that one set of memory, one pair of eyes can only last for a couple of decades, it is myopic to focus on that fact. We all belong to the same interwoven story, the story of humanity that transcends any single individual, for we have the power to exist forever through our actions (regardless of the scale of said actions). This is a truth understood by those trees behind Banteay Srei, as the old trees crumble into topsoil to fertilize their young. And it is truth that we intuitively know too, as it a well-studied phenomenon that old people, paradoxically, plan for a longer time horizon despite their limited time (Sowell, 1980, p. 95). This is because we rely on each other for the continued existence of our species, through cooperation between contemporaries as well as across generations, and we have all this understanding built into our genes. Assertions that altruistic acts are inexplicable and providential thus fall short when this basic instinct is taken into account. For us life forms, the love for the continuing whole is a deeply embedded trait.
It is worthy to note here that altruism is not just about isolated heroic acts, but rather a way of thinking that each of us adopts for day-to-day decisions. If we had looked at things solely through self-centered lens, then we would never have stepped foot outside, for we must value our lives infinitely and thus will not take any action to jeopardize our livelihood. Yet none of us acts that way, proving that each of us only assigns a latent and finite value to our life and compares it against the values of friends, family and the bigger community in deciding our actions. When someone in academia spends their life researching a fact about the universe that they’ll never get to apply in their lives, are they doing it for themselves? For God? No! They are motivated by an inner drive to discover, to uncover pieces of information that can be passed on to and benefit future generations.
Similarly, when one realizes the impermanence of the self and the continuity of the aggregate, acts of charity become not only moral, but rational. Invest in yourself and the benefits die with you, invest in another and they in turn can better help others, who then help more people… etc., until your simple act takes on a life of its own. We may be one insignificant drop in a puddle, but each of us has the capacity to create a ripple that permeates in perpetuity. When this is considered, many ‘inexplicable’ moral/immoral behaviors suddenly fall in line:
altruism is the understanding that one’s best bet on continued existence is through the children and friends they leave behind,
courage is risk-taking, sacrificing one’s stability and comfort for the possibility of benefitting the whole,
loyalty is the realization that a united whole can better protect one’s loved ones than oneself,
honesty is the sacrificing of short-term stability for long-term unity,
vengeance is the desire to protect the whole through self-arbitrated punishment, at one’s own cost, —
while forgiveness is the foregoing of vengeance when the whole is found to suffer more from infighting,
generosity is the recognition of the triviality of self-benefit in comparison to the multiplying and lasting effects of charity, —
while greed is the drive, the gratification one gets from applying ingenuity and effort in optimizing certain social/technical processes,
faith is courage without the need for action, gambling one’s opportunities for something or someone that one believes to be worthy,
humility is the acknowledgment that one’s belief is fallible since one does not have access to all the information in the world,
— and the list goes on. When viewed under the stifling scope of individuals, one may characterize certain traits such as “altruism, forgiveness, and courage” as virtuous, labeling “greed and vengeance” as vicious, when in fact they all work towards the betterment of the whole. The key is that these traits ought to blend together at the right proportions. A society where everyone always forgives is inherently unstable because it encourages group-harming strategies such as looting and bullying, whereas a society that prohibits individual greed will suffer from stifled growth and gross inefficiencies, if communist regimes of the past are of any lesson. It is not so much a black or white situation, as it is a hot or cold situation where the ideal outcome, warmth, can only be achieved through the intermixture of both ends.
This is a good juncture to make the assertion that modern civilization has not suffered any moral deterioration, rather that the changing circumstances have called for a different blend of each trait than what was ideal during classical or medieval times. Honor for instance, was outmost important in older times for the purpose of cementing contracts, but has fallen out of emphasis (still very important) due to the maturity of legal infrastructure. We should expect morality to evolve, since it has to adapt to ever-changing circumstances. It is through imposing strict dogma that we pervert this practical goal and lead to unneeded rigidity, be it discriminative moral codes on one hand or over-zealous political correctness on the other. The Taoist philosophy acknowledges the futility of rigid projection of human ideals over reality (tao representing the ultimate truth/law about the world):
The tao that can be described is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be spoken is not the eternal Name.
Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, Chapter 1
We simply do not know enough at any point in time to name what is objectively true or right, for that will require us to be future-predicting oracles. Any ‘universal doctrine’ in all likelihood is disguising under the pretense of knowledge.
Instead of a rulebook dictating how one should act, morality should be an open book, a benchmark for playing the long game. It is an ends and not a means: a moral economic policy is one that refuses to jeopardize the future for current prosperity, whatever this policy may be, and a moral statesman is one who rejects compromising his or her national secrets in exchange for bribes (because a nation outlasts an individual), however how she chooses to resolve the conflict. This perspective gives us the flexibility to set the stage for morality to adapt to modern issues, such as environmental protection, climate change, animal conservation, because let’s face it, any claims that we’ll reap benefits from these activities within our lifetime is moot and unnecessary. Rather, they touch on the fundamental moral question — how much do we want to sacrifice for someone in the future whom we’ll never meet?
While it is true that morality had always been strongly tied to religion, it is only because civilization was so young and did not accrue enough information to explain all the human and natural phenomena that we experience. We still don’t. But the growth of anthropology, history, evolutionary theory, game theory has made apparent much of what was then opaque, allowing us to appreciate the words of ancient sages in a new light. For instance, Christianity recognized the destructive forces of fleeting temptations such as lust and greed, and chose to detract their believers from such behaviors by framing them as sinful behaviors brought about by evil forces. Yet when we view this advice from a systemic perspective, we see that this advice can stand on its own two feet without divine justification. Our ancestors have simply succumbed to every temptation there is and identified what contributes to lasting relationships/organizations and what do not. In Islam, a form of banking where the lender enters into partnership with the lendee (as opposed to giving lump sum and charging interests without sharing responsibility) is required, so as to distribute risks equally. This is an approach to risk management that leads to stable systems, a practice much needed in modern capitalistic nations to aid with runaway debt crisis. When we listen closely, we can often hear the humming of cause and effect underneath the sweet tunes of divine rewards and punishment.
Religion is the first step taken by us to understand the infinite complexity of existence, but it does not have to be the last. Ancient wisdom passed down to us in the form of mythical tales can be unfolded through careful reasoning. Fundamentalism is the mistake of confusing the gift wrapping for the present.
A host of misunderstandings can arise from getting too caught up with a particular religious interpretation. For instance, when one assumes that it is God who has bestowed endless wonders upon us, it is natural for us to question why He did not give us more. Why does suffering exist? Perhaps life in this world is some kind of punishment, or a test for our perseverance, but I contend that this is strictly a ‘glass half full’ way of looking at it. When one digs through the layers of dust, and learn that nothing is given to us but rather built by our ancestors, the caveman who thought of replicating a cave with his own two hands, the phytoplankton who mastered chemosynthesis and pumps out oxygen as a side product, the unicell bumbling in the primordial soup, carving out life’s mark on planet Earth, then one is filled with infinite gratitude. The existence of suffering is not a sign of defect, for our very purpose as living beings has always been to transform this barren planet into something better for our offsprings. Order is not given, it is earned.
On the flipside, it is also a great tragedy that many nonreligious people of today are unaware of the treasure trove of knowledge stored within religious thoughts, discarding the accumulated knowledge of millennia as being irrelevant. There is so much that cannot be understood when one takes the rationalistic outlook, such as the decision to have kids, save up, etc.. and which requires one to consider posterity, something that religions excel at promoting. It may not be something that troubles us at the moment, but a present-oriented and hedonistic lifestyle must feel hollow at some point, for at the end of the day, we are creatures of meaning.
I for one find tremendous peace in contemplating such long-term meaning. Physical disability is a particularly big one for me, as I am born with a possibly genetic-induced muscular dystrophy on my right arm, causing me to struggle with simple tasks like tying my shoelaces. It is the knowledge that this random mutation is necessary for Nature’s tinkering to take place, so that some other people out there can luck out with life-bettering mutations that allowed me to make peace with my deficiency. Moreover, learning that I am but an experiment, a specimen given the power to decide his own fate, gives me all the motivation to prove that my existence is a worthy one.
More than that, the understanding that humanity will go on beyond me also gives me reassurance. I am intrigued by how the economist and philosopher Nassim Taleb chose to frame the difference between the individual from the whole. As individuals, we are fragile beings at the mercy of the elements, but together as humanity, we become antifragile (Taleb, 2012, p. 80). Like the Banteay Srei trees, humanity gains from disorder, getting wiser as an aggregate as we pull through great floods, devastating wars, nuclear scares. Even from a smaller scale, a personal failure or a failed venture may seem to be a loss, but a peek at the bigger picture quickly reveals it actually contributes to economic and social well-being through discovering what idea works and what doesn’t. This is an especially liberating fact, because it dawned on me that even as I screw up big-time, or end up having a shitty life, it is no big deal, since regardless of how I chose to live my life, I just like everyone else will inadvertently contribute to the aggregate knowledge and continuation of this long project of humanity. Gone is the pressure to follow suit with what the consumerist world has defined as a ‘good life’, for I have learned that my very decision to act, to connect with others, to take risks, is humanity making a new spark, however minuscule that may be.
I wrote this article because I realized that despite, or rather because of the scientific revolution, our inquiry into this most important subject matter has somehow been sidelined. We acknowledge the scientific truths of physical laws, yet refuse to push them to their philosophical limits, opting instead to let consumerism, hedonism and mysticism fill its void. Now that we are armed with new empirical and theoretical insights into the universe and ourselves, we should instead do what the thinkers of the past have sought to do, to once again stare long and hard at the abyss of human existence and find the light of meaning.
I am convinced that it is possible to find meaning in life beyond short-term pleasures, beyond promised paradise, beyond the confines of oneself. For now, I find solace in learning that it lies in seeing past the rewards, in this world or in any other, that one can hope to get. A Greek proverb says it best — “A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.”
LaFargue, M. (1992). The Tao of the Tao Te Ching: A translation and commentary. Suny Press.
Sowell, T. (1980). Knowledge and decisions (Vol. 10). New York: Basic Books.
Taleb, N. N. (2012). Antifragile: Things that gain from disorder (Vol. 3). Random House Incorporated.
