Finding meaning in impermanence
How spiritual living provides meaning where there seems to be none
Death comes for all of us. Our possessions, our accomplishments, even our relationships will be forgotten. Except for a select few, the memory of our existence will vanish. The most renowned suffer the same fate. How many of our 46 presidents can you name? How many will your grandchildren be able to name?
As if pondering our deaths and disappearance from memory was not enough, consider the pain our irrelevance causes while we live. How much of a difference does our existence make? That everything continues without us is proof of our insignificance. Even loved ones mourn our loss and move on.
Then there is the problem of our decline. Those so fortunate as to live into old age will decline professionally, physically, and cognitively. The fear of irrelevance and being a burden can be immense. In his book From Strength to Strength, Arthur Brooks discusses how this fear of decline can be more pronounced in high achievers because they link their self-worth and identities to their professional accomplishments. But it can be true for anyone. Who doesn’t fear losing their capacity to excel? With age, that fear is an unavoidable reality.
How can we find meaning in the face of our impermanence and insignificance? Humankind has grappled with this existential dilemma for as long as we have existed. Science cannot answer this question. Science describes how, but it can never answer why, which is at the root of all questions regarding meaning. Why do we exist? Why bother learning, growing, and cultivating relationships when none will last? Why pursue a moral life?
Spirituality is a path chosen by many to answer these questions. Where science fails to tell us how to live—or even why we should bother to live in the first place—spirituality helps us reorient our meaning by devoting our lives to higher ideals, to something more profound than our mere existence.
We can find meaning in various noble pursuits—tending to our families, healing the sick, lifting up the poor, mentoring youth at risk, etc. Yet, even these causes must ladder up to something more profound because they can also be taken from us in a moment. Any specific cause to which we devote ourselves is simultaneously impermanent. What is the source of our meaning if the cause is lost?
Family members can move away, die, or become estranged. We may fall on hard economic times or become ill, rendering us unable to devote ourselves to the causes that once fueled us. In the individualist cultures of the West, we are told that meaning comes from focusing on the individual. The more choices we have and exercise, the more we enrich ourselves, and the more we work on our self esteem, the happier we will be. But there is a paradox.
Our impermanence and insignificance make any effort seem meaningless and deepen our despair. Mental health and substance abuse statistics support this conclusion. Wealth, individualism, and more choices don’t necessarily lead to more meaning or happiness and, in some cases, make things worse because somewhere in the depths of our consciousness, we acknowledge our smallness.
At the core of our spiritual existence is improving ourselves in service of something greater than ourselves, for the meaning of any system can only come from outside that system. We may call this God, the Divine, the Universe, or something else, but without something bigger, we are lost.
When we reorient ourselves, things start to make more sense. As long as our circumstances permit, we serve this higher Cause by helping the poor, visiting the sick, working to avert environmental disaster for future generations, or channeling it in some other way. But even if our personal circumstances do not allow it, we can always engage in internal work—working on our anger or negativity, or trying to be more grateful.
Leaning into our insignificance provides us with another opportunity. We often try to build a legacy by creating things that will exist or be remembered after we die. This is a futile pursuit. Any building, foundation, or written work will also cease to exist one day. Are we really trying to build memories that last for a specific period of time after we die? Once we realize that everything we attain will be lost and we will be forgotten, we can finally start to understand true immortality.
What we do in this life continues to exist eternally in the web of existence. Each of us is a tiny dot in a giant web of matter and energy, but we leave behind an indelible mark and, together, we create the web of existence across time and space.
The desire to be remembered is nothing more than ego. Think about it. Should we do good deeds for credit or because they are good deeds? The desire to be remembered is the desire for credit for what we’ve accomplished. Imagine how free we can be once we no longer need to receive credit for what we’ve done.
True spiritual living is understanding that what we do matters even when nobody remembers us or our deeds. Legacy building can be another ego trap. I invite you to ponder your smallness and insignificance. For precisely in smallness, we can find true meaning and peace.
Tzvi, congrats on this tremendously thought-provoking series! I appreciate your premise that we all seek meaning to counter the impermanence of this life. I wonder about your idea that the meaning of a system can only be derived from outside the system. I think many from our individualistic western society would say they derive meaning from the experience of this life itself. Many of us are hedonists who derive meaning from milking this life for every experience they can cram in. If they can say on their deathbed that they did everything they wanted to, experienced every pleasure on the menu, then they leave this world happy. In fact I think a similar idea (not so much the hedonistic part) is the central tenant of Buddhism and other eastern philosophies as well. Being present and enjoying this system called life for what it is and nothing more is their path to enlightenment and nirvana—the ultimate satisfaction. The elimination of all externalities fulfills the internal. Interestingly, this often leads to the life activities described in your first post: greater engagement with our communities and giving of ourselves to others. Maybe the web we create through these acts of service is its own separate entity—the greater and the other that is both external to and lends meaning to ourselves—the way we describe a marriage as an entity distinct from the individuals in the marriage. In the end I think Rachel is right and I need some coffee before going any further on this path into and out of existential dread.
I disagree entirely. We are huge, not small. When we view our egos, you may be right. As big as I am, as important as my accomplishments are, they are a mere speck in the universe. But if I realize that I am a part of the Divine, then I realize just how great I am. I am wonderful not because of MY greatness, but because I am part of, and an extension of, that which is Infinite. I'm not insignificant at all.
My favorite maamor (article) in Likkutei Torah, written by Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, is the one in which he explains why the Torah was given on Mount Sinai. He starts by saying what we were taught in kindergarten: it was a short mountain, signifying humility, which is necessary for the acquisition of the Torah. He continues by asking what none of us thought to ask in kindergarten: why wasn't the Torah given in a valley? Even the shortest mountain is still tall. He answers, "You aren't a valley; you're a mountain!" If you see yourself as a valley, you'll never accomplish anything. I can't turn over the world. I'm nothing and nobody. In fact, he says, you're a mountain. You're amazing. So do amazing things.
Will my amazing things be recognized? Here I agree with you, Yossel. Who cares? The Creator recognizes what I've done. If nobody else does, then that's because they don't realize my value.