Purpose
Why do we crave a transcendent purpose?
NOTE: Within this text, wherever gender is not key to the explanation, I am using the Elverson ey/em construction of the Spivak Pronouns.
In 2002, I was at the Conference on World Affairs, held at the University of Colorado every April. I was attending a panel discussion between four scholars, three being people of various faiths and one an atheist. They had spent forty minutes exchanging ideas regarding the role of individuals in the process of bettering the world, and were now responding to audience questions. One woman identified herself as a mother and asked the atheist what she should tell her son was his purpose.
The atheist responded that his purpose was very important and that it was entirely up to him to establish what it was. It was one question per person and that was it. The expression on the mother’s face was one of disappointment. The answer did not satisfy. I too was expecting an answer with a bit more flesh and I was left wondering what was wrong with that succinct and undoubtedly true response.
Does an unsatisfying truth expose a flaw in the question or in the answer? Certainly, “What is my purpose?” is flawed as a question because it fails to define the term “purpose”, which is the essential concept. At the time, I was a practicing Roman Catholic (for reasons that warrant a different essay) and I believe that I understood what the mother meant by “purpose”. She was not asking about her son’s vocation or life philosophy. She wanted to understand an eternal and transcendent purpose: a purpose weighty enough to demand a deity.
The atheist, having never contemplated such a purpose, invoked what the mother would see as a mundane and limited thing. Her son was a creature living a life on this earth and choosing from options which would diminish in number with each choice until no options remained. The scholar was trying to offer the encouraging knowledge that well chosen options would lead to favorable outcomes within that limited scope.
Purpose in Practice
We often look to define purpose through accomplishment using such examples as Dale Chihuly, who produces works in glass of timeless beauty; or Hilary Koprowski, who produced the first effective polio vaccine, saving millions of human lives; or the Wright brothers (and their sister, Katharine) who provided a definitive demonstration of manned flight. All of these purposes are expressed as vocations which yielded lasting value. Young men are taught that this is what gives them meaning: to do great things and to change the world for the better. If the male of the species is burdened by anything, it is this mythic responsibility — a grave and binding responsibility the produce of which will nonetheless fall to dust, as will all things. For that reason, this was not the purpose in the mother’s question.
Why does that sort of transcendent purpose continually arise as the only one that matters? Regardless one’s view regarding supernatural entities, it must be acknowledged that this eternal purpose represents a need of many, and a sincere desire of many more. This yawning chasm in the human soul brings people so low that when they experience it as filled, they are often consumed by an incomparable rapture — an ecstasy, binding them inextricably to the belief. Is this god-shaped hole a receptacle or a wound? Is the metaphor apt or are we mistaking god-shaped for something else that is equally fundamental but which may not be openly stated? Here I recall the unattainable greatness demand by fathers of their sons; and, the undoubtedly similar demands made upon daughters by insistent mothers.
Thorstein Veblen, in his masterful work The Theory of the Leisure Class, explains that no matter how lowly the servant, eir stature is elevated by the reputation of the master. Is it this relationship that draws in the believer? Is it possible that a sizable number of people have been cursed by their parents and culture with expectations so ridiculous that they spend their lives carrying the weight of this unattainable goal? They may strive for years, living with failure and self-loathing: they believe that their parent’s advice is sound; but, they themselves are unworthy.
I’m struggling to find some state of mind that would require an all-powerful yet personal deity to provide purpose; some personal crisis that would require the fantasy that one is elevated by serving a great and powerful master. The deep need to accept that “I will never be great; but, I may serve the ultimate greatness and thereby become provisionally great.” Redemption at its most mundane, then, lies in proving to all those kids at school that you are actually special and that those taunts or those punishments were baseless.
So I consider that hole, that god-shaped hole, and the bludgeon that may leave such a hole and the connection between the wound and the remedy which manifests as hubris. What is the shape? Could it be, I wonder, shame? As a lieutenant in the army of the most powerful being in the Universe whose ultimate goal is so astounding that it is known only to Him, this lowly failure is now a success.
“I am never going to live up to Dad’s expectations but I am, every day, crushing the vile hell-spawned serpent for my master.”
“I’m a failure as a housekeeper and my children hate me but I can speak in the incomprehensible tongues of angels.”
Was that mother’s actual question, “What tool may I give my son with which he may fend off the shame that has crippled me?”
Shame and Solace
Perhaps the atheist scholar, spared a life of religious taboo, was entirely unaware of this need. His answer made perfect sense to him because there is surely no meaningful purpose for a corpse. The mother was not thinking about a corpse, but instead about a purpose that serves even when the flesh has failed. This is not about whether there is a higher being to which one may appeal and from which one may seek comfort. It is about a crisis for which no solution seems possible. It is about a hopeless conundrum, a conundrum to which the rational mind surrenders; and yet, to surrender is to abandon all hope. When primitive man recognized a force that could not be understood or controlled, they turned to the supernatural because they had to believe that something out there would rescue them from the hopeless plight of Nature.
Many people, including me, are unsure regarding the origin of this Cosmos. We remain open to various explanations from the big bang to the timeless non-beginning proposed by Stephen Hawking. At any point, our investigation into these origin processes may reveal something like an eternal purpose; but, without that, most of us have to be satisfied with a time-bound and fickle mundane purpose. Most of us will have to find meaning in making our boss more wealthy, collecting every MST3K or keeping one partner sexually satisfied. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. From time to time, we may accomplish something of lasting value but that’s more luck than dedication. In all likelihood, there is no reason for us to be here. We are a waste of space in a world of want, so what can we do to make this a little less dire?
If I’m correct about shame, we may be able to address some of the problem by encouraging acceptance, by encouraging a world where all peaceful endeavors are respected. We may provide tools to preserve the wisdom of mortals for future generations. This would mean a world where freedom is maximized by assuring fair compensation for all workers and allowing everyone to practice the work that fulfills them. It would be a world where the skilled plumber and the skilled nurse are compensated sufficiently to support a family and where their prestige is not tied to their salary but to their character and craft. In this world, all who serve are lauded and all who live are respected. We must each speak out in support of the dignity of all work and we must vote accordingly.
A mundane purpose should be fulfilling and even exhilarating. No one should be ashamed for failing at their parents’ demanded perfection. To sincerely try and contribute must be sufficient.
Julian S. Taylor is the author of Famine in the Bullpen a book about bringing innovation back to software engineering.
Available at or orderable from your local bookstore.
Rediscover real browsing at your local bookstore.
Also available in ebook and audio formats at Sockwood Press.
