The Burden of Nihilism & Meaning

Those who carry a heavy cross often feel the weight of both meaning and nihilism, for it is a burden that removes the ideas that obscure reality. And reality is difficult. It is difficult because of the diametrically opposed human experiences that merge to form a narrative lasting through time immemorial. These two experiences are fear and curiosity. Fear, in this context, is the realization of the real possibility of a meaningless life that will ultimately disappear into nonexistence. Furthermore, it is the acute awareness of our capacity for nihilism at its core. Curiosity is the experience of awe and wonder regarding the actual unfolding of life, and that is beauty at its core. In other words, curiosity is that experience in which we are in the zone of discovery—it is the space between the known and the unknown. It is here that the heavy burdens of pursuing that great and deep truth place us directly between meaning and nihilism, with an up-close and personal view of the totality of these two immense forces that pin us against the other, forcing us to either be precise with our aims or into a meaningless existence in which we do not even aim. Choose to live the former, and we will wake up every day and go to war, but we will have meaning. Choose the latter, and the burden of meaning will be lifted, only to be slowly replaced by the burden of infinite nothingness. By all means, choose to aim. Yes, you will live ever so near the border of nihilism, but you will have meaning on your side. And that is good.

The ancient narrative that emerges from this dichotomy is a dialogue between the ego and the unconscious, with the ego saying it is good to rise and the other saying it is also good to sink below. The ego’s purpose is to experience great heights, and these heights bring goodwill when done in accord with the ancient narrative of transcendence. The unconscious knows more, yet it must operate within the limits of language barriers between it and the ego, so to speak. But somehow, the friction between the two seems to smooth out the rough edges of our understanding of reality. We don’t get to skip the friction. The ego and the unconscious carry out their respective purposes towards a higher aims, but they are not the same. In fact, they clash most of the time. But it is in this clashing they serve as the hammer and anvil, forging us into a more wholesome and complete version of ourselves, opening us up to see the truth of reality we were once unable to comprehend. It is here that comprehend means to see the light for what it is, and the light is beautiful, and the light burns.

We are born curious. Some more than others. But generally speaking, there seems to be an innate curiosity in us all. This curiosity carries us through life, in a way. It carries us in the sense that it connects us to something that pulls us forward. It connects us to that with which we engage in the world. This curiosity allows us to socialize with peers and make friends, at first to play, then to love. Maybe play is what curiosity connects us to. To play with others as children is to exist in meaningful interactions that lift the burden of mortality without us even knowing it. And perhaps play as adults is to see the transformation of pain and suffering in the world as a worthwhile endeavor. It is worthwhile because we get to experience connection with others, to see them engage in a meaningful existence, too.

Perhaps we have always been led by curiosity, though we have certainly had our ups and downs. Perhaps we compare ourselves a little too much to others and to what we don’t have. Perhaps we have built a family, and our career has provided some sense of duty for us in the world. And perhaps we consciously strive to make the world around us a better place by embarking on a difficult and heavy endeavor, aiming towards the highest mark we can see, the highest mark we can imagine. Perhaps we’ve been doing this for a long time, and the toll of waking up every day and going to war has become a burden in and of itself. It may be the case that our youthful enthusiasm has served its purpose, and we are unknowingly grieving its passing. Nevertheless, we wake up each day and go to war. And it is not a question of whether we will go. Rather, it is a question of whether it will pay off in the sense that we long to see the fruits of our labor, and we cannot always tell if our toiling away is fruitful. Perhaps we have an abundance of evidence that supports the fact that our work is, in fact, fruitful, but something else pulls at us, and we feel like a lost puppy wandering around an unfamiliar world.

And perhaps when we open our eyes in the morning, we genuinely want to deny the day’s burden, thinking it would be nice to have all the rewards and not to have to do the dirty work. But this does not keep us in bed. It does not indicate a lack of gratitude. It does, however, suggest that the burden we carry is difficult and heavy, and although we stumble upward, we are moving upward nonetheless less, and it is worthwhile. It is not only worthwhile, but we would not sacrifice our meaningful burden even if we had every reason in the world to do so. Not because we don’t have a choice, because we do. But because we know that what we have set in motion cannot be undone. Therefore, we seize the day once again, and we bring order from chaos. And this is good. And this makes our lives meaningful. More than that, the toll of choosing to go to war every day bears enough weight to force our heads out of the clouds and into reality. A reality that we cannot afford to be careless with, and with which we must, by all means, be precise. This realization brings us face to face with doubt, but we are prepared for it. We remain steadfast, and the valley will eventually open up, revealing to us the Way, and the beauty of the Way. And we are grateful once more.

So, we answer that call, or open that door, or smile at the cashier, and we remember that all that nihilism, that ever so close nihilism, has served to contrast what’s beautiful in this world. So, perhaps it is in our choice to smile, to answer the call, to open that door, that we create beauty, that it is in our choice to defy a meaningless existence that we ignite that much-needed beacon in our corner of the world. And we shine. We shine for those who cannot yet shine for themselves. We shine for those who stand in the shadows of monsters. And we shine for those who cast shade, for they too need light, even if they cannot yet comprehend it. We shine for those who have come and gone, whose grace was extended to us and afforded us just enough light to continue towards the battle, to continue stumbling upward. And we rail against nihilism.