The Meaning of Life

Let's get things rolling by answering the easiest question of all: What is the meaning of life? Okay, it's not easy at all. But, modern societies with their openness and freedom have presented us a wealth of possible answers to chose from. It seems everyone is selling some quick and easy answer to the meaning of life. Demagogues of all kinds exhort us to follow their God, that He has a greater purpose in mind for us, that there is a plan for our world, and that upon completing this plan, we will be rewarded with eternal bliss, everlasting peace, oneness with the universe, or some kind of spiritual creaminess. In any case, most seem to agree that there IS a purpose to life, and moreover a reward, that one day we will reach that pinacle and find "true" happiness here or in the hereafter. This certainly is a nice sounding answer, one that is obviously very appealing to our desires. However, it's an evasion of the issue. The answer to the mysteries of life, if there is an answer, should not be so nice, not so quick, and ultimately not so easy. It should be HARD. I mean not only be hard to aquire, but hard to accept the answer once we come upon it. Is there no one out there with courage to admit that the truth can be terrifying?

The following is a wonderful example of what I'm talking about, a passage selected from that old story of Gilgamesh and his friend Enkidu. To preface, Enkidu is on his deathbed and has had a terrible dream of the afterlife. He then relates his dream to his friend Gilgamesh. It is a poignant passage, and I urge the reader to examine it with care.

(Enkidu speaking) "'There is the house whose people sit in darkness; dust is their food and clay their meat. They are clothed like birds with wings for covering, they see no light, they sit in darkness. I entered the house of dust and I saw the kings of the earth, their crowns put away forever; rulers and princes, all those who once wore kingly crowns and ruled the world in the days of old. They who had stood in the place of the gods like Anu and Enlil, stood now like servants to fetch baked meats in the house of dust, to carry cooked meat and cold water from the water-skin. In the house of dust which I entered were high priests and acolytes, priests of the incantation and the ecstasy; there were servants of the temple, and there was Etana, that king of Kish whom the eagle carried to heaven in the days of old. I saw also Samuqan, god of cattle, and there was Ereshkigal the Queen of the Underworld; and Belit-Sheri squatted in front of her, she who is recorder of the gods and keeps the book of death. She held a tablet from which she read. She raised her head, she saw me and spoke: "Who has brought this one here?" Then I awoke like a man drained of blood who wanders alone in a waste of rushes; like one whom the baliff has seized and his heart pounds with terror.'
Gilgamesh had peeled off his clothes, he listend to his words and wept quick tears, Gilgamesh listened and his tears flowed. He opened his mouth and spoke to Enkidu: 'Who is there in strong-walled Uruk who has wisdom like this? Strange things have been spoken, why does your heart speak so strangely? The dream was marvelous but the terror was great; we must treasure the dream whatever the terror; for the dream has shown that misery comes at last to the healthy man, the end of life is sorrow.'"

[Source: The Epic of Gilgamesh. Translated by N. K. Sanders. London: Penguin Books, 1972. p. 92-3]

There is powerful profundity, and an equal amount of uncertainty, expressed in these words. To think that all our efforts in life are a waste, that we all wind up in the same place and equally miserable for eternity, is a frightening thing. There is a great amount of anxiety here. But, why would Gilgamesh also call it "marvelous" and say it should be treasured? This same description which moved him to tears (and if you know the story, later took him on a long and fruitless journey in search of immortality), was also great wisdom to him. It seems like a strange, fatalistic view of life and offensive to our modern senses, but is it possible that it can also be marvelous?

The Epic of Gilgamesh is not the only place we find this kind of sentiment. Take, for instance, the following passages from Omar Khayyam:

"The worldy hope men set their hearts upon
Turns ashes - or it prospers; and anon,
Like snow upon the desert's dusty face
Lighting a little hour or two - is gone."

"Why, all the saints and sages who discuss'd
Of the two worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish prophets forth; their words to scorn
Are scatter'd, and their mouths are stopt with dust."

"Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that life flies;
One thing is certain, and the rest is lies;
The flower that once has blown forever dies."

[Source: Khayyam, Omar. The Rubaiyat. Translated by Edward FitzGerald. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1983. poems 14, 25, 26]

Khayyam certainly doesn't pull any punches when it comes to his discussion of death. Everyone, from those who set their sights on earthly delight to those who seek higher wisdom and spirituality, will inevitably die, and all their words and pursuits, all their efforts, are impotent. So, basically, whoever you are and whatever you do, ultimately your efforts are meaningless. Lovely thought, no?

And of course, there are the more recent examples. This is a selected passage from the lyrics to the song How Far to Asgard, from the album of the same name, by the heavy metal band Tyr:

"Where we end is not our decision
And though hidden, fate is fixed with no evasion
All men should try to live each
Day for the evening, each week for the end
Each summer for the winter, each life for death."

Live life for death? Are they serious? Yes. In pondering the meaning of life, it is perhaps better to rephrase the question: What is the meaning of death? Perhaps life has no meaning other than what the reality of death - true death, no blissful afterlife - can give it.

In summary, getting back to the original question: I truly have no idea what the meaning of life is, or even if there is a meaning at all. But, it seems to me, death has a powerful meaning, that our own extinction is the basic truth we have to work with. Thus, it is worth pondering the wisdom of Enkidu's dream, Khayyam's "one thing is certain, and the rest is lies," and Tyr's "life for death." Life may not need a meaning if we can come to grips with this awful, sublime reality of death. It seems to carry enough meaning and weight on its own, so long as we can face it openly without the comfort of hopeful illusions. And in the end, this need not result in a fatalistic or depressing view of life. Instead, it may inspire us, teach us, entertain us, and in its own way actually be something we come to treasure.