When he returned home, he found it. A piece of marble was sitting on the table. His father explained that it was from the wreckage of one of the synagogues that the Nazis had destroyed. The marble contained the fragment of one of the Ten Commandments—the one about honoring your father and your mother. With that, Frankl decided to stay in Vienna and forgo whatever opportunities for safety and career advancement awaited him in the United States. He put aside a life of comfort to serve his family and, later, other prisoners in the camps.
During his three years in the concentration camps, Frankl began many of his mornings in more or less the same way. He woke up before the sun rose and marched for miles to a dismal work site, where he and his fellow inmates were forced to dig ditches in the frozen ground as Nazi guards loomed over them with rifles and whips. During the march, the winter wind would cut through their threadbare clothing. They were starving and exhausted, and those who were too weak to walk on their own held themselves up against the men next to them. In the darkness, they tried their best to not fall over the rocks standing in their way as the Nazis shoved them along with the ends of their rifles. If they fell out of line, the guards beat and kicked them.
One day, Frankl managed to transcend the indignity of this morning routine. As he was marching along, an inmate next to him turned to him and whispered: “If our wives could see us now! I do hope they are better off in their camps and don’t know what is happening to us.” That remark led Frankl to think about his wife, Tilly, who had been sent to a different concentration camp. Frankl did not know where she was or even if she was alive, but he held the thought of her in his mind that morning, and this brought him hope. “I heard her answering me,” he recalled later; “saw her smile, her frank and encouraging look. Real or not, her look was then more luminous than the sun which was beginning to rise.”
Then Frankl had an epiphany. On that cold and grim march, with nothing except the warm memory of Tilly to bring him comfort, he realized that he understood the meaning of life. “For the first time in my life,” he explained, “I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers.” That truth, he writes, was “that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love.”
As he turned these thoughts over in his mind, an ugly scene unfolded before him. An inmate had tripped and fallen, leading other inmates to fall like dominoes behind him. A Nazi guard ran over and started whipping them. But not even this image of cruelty, nor any other horror he had experienced up to that point or would experience before he was finally freed, could shake the faith he now had that the meaning of life lay in love.
“I understood,” he wrote, “how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way—an honorable way—in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words ‘The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.’ ”
Love, of course, is at the center of the meaningful life. Love cuts through each of the pillars of meaning and comes up again and again in the stories of those I have written about. Think of when the SCA members organized a fundraiser for their sick friend. Or when Ashley Richmond enhanced the lives of the giraffes at the Detroit Zoo. Or when Emeka Nnaka emerged from his accident to serve others. Or when Jeff Ashby dedicated himself to helping people experience the Overview Effect. Or when Shibvon resolved to make the lives of vulnerable children better than hers had been.
The act of love begins with the very definition of meaning: it begins by stepping outside of the self to connect with and contribute to something bigger. “Being human,” Frankl wrote, “always points, and is directed, to something, or someone, other than oneself—be it a meaning to fulfill or another human being to encounter. The more one forgets himself—by giving himself to a cause to serve or another person to love—the more human he is.”
That’s the power of meaning. It’s not some great revelation. It’s pausing to say hi to a newspaper vendor and reaching out to someone at work who seems down. It’s helping people get in better shape and being a good parent or mentor to a child. It’s sitting in awe beneath a starry night sky and going to a medieval prayer service with friends. It’s opening a coffee shop for struggling veterans. It’s listening attentively to a loved one’s story. It’s taking care of a plant. These may be humble acts on their own. But taken together, they light up the world.
That this book exists is a testament to the generosity of the people I’ve been lucky enough to call family, friends, and colleagues over the years. They’ve sustained, supported, and inspired me—and to the extent that this book has anything valuable to say, their guidance has made it so.
My parents modeled what it means to live meaningfully, taught me the central place that love and compassion play in a life that matters, and helped me to find beauty and goodness in the ordinary—those little moments of meaning that light up the world. I’m also eternally grateful for the many sacrifices they’ve made for me, for their guidance and support over all the years of my life, and for nurturing my curiosity and encouraging me to think creatively and independently. They knew me better than I knew myself, and helped me find my path when I was lost. I’m enormously grateful, also, to my brother Tristan, who was always willing to help me out by answering my many (sometimes annoying) questions—“Do you have a sense of purpose?” “What makes your life meaningful?” “Do you ever think about your legacy?” etc.—and sharing his valuable insights about meaning. He inspired much of the chapter on purpose and gave me an emerging adult’s perspective on the search for meaning.
This book would not exist without my incredible agents, Bridget Wagner Matzie and Todd Shuster. Bridget and Todd saw potential where I did not, and helped to translate my mess of ideas into a coherent book proposal. They not only shepherded me through the publishing process, but also were always there to brainstorm ideas, answer questions, and provide comments on the numerous proposal and book drafts I sent. I couldn’t ask for more zealous agents, or for more supportive friends.
Rachel Klayman is the editor of my dreams: brilliant, creative, engaged, and kind. She poured her love and care into this book with enthusiasm and craftsmanship—and has been this book’s number one champion in innumerable ways. Associate editor Emma Berry’s thoughtful letters, comments, and editorial suggestions brought this book to another level. It’s been a privilege to work with both of them.
The team at Crown worked tirelessly to bring this book out into the world, and I’m grateful to publicity director Rachel Rokicki, associate marketing director Lisa Erickson, art director Chris Brand, and editorial assistant Jon Darga. Thanks also to Kevin Callahan, Lauren Dong, Lance Fitzgerald, Wade Lucas, Mark McCauslin, Sarah Pekdemir, Annsley Rosner, Courtney Snyder, Molly Stern, and Heather Williamson. Judith Kendra, Nicole Winstanley, Nick Garrison, Regine Dugardyn, and my other international publishers introduced this work to a global audience.
Jonathan Haidt and Martin Seligman, both of whom mentored me throughout this book-writing process, have been intellectual guides and inspirations. Jon taught me to think in new ways about old topics. Marty championed this book from the very start, and was always there to answer an email, read a draft, or push back against my faulty reasoning. I’m also indebted to Adam Grant, who not only taught me about the roles meaning and purpose play in organizations and beyond, but also introduced me to a number of fascinating paragons of meaning, one of whom is profiled in this book. And I wouldn’t have had the courage to pursue writing as a career had it not been for Jeffrey H
art, Marlene Heck, and David Wykes. Thanks also to Julia Annas, Roy Baumeister, Paul Bloom, William Damon, Ed Diener, Angela Duckworth, Jane Dutton, Barbara Fredrickson, Emily Garbinsky, Veronika Huta, Scott Barry Kaufman, Laura King, Anthony Kronman, Matt Lieberman, Dan McAdams, Darrin McMahon, Russell Muirhead, Andrew Newberg, Ken Pargament, James Pawelski, Judy Saltzberg, Michael Steger, Roger Ulrich, Kathleen Vohs, Susan Wolf, Paul Wong, and Amy Wrzesniewski for their wisdom and time.
Over the years, I’ve had colleagues who have encouraged and inspired me. James Panero gave me my first writing job, was a committed mentor, and is a generous friend. Tunku Varadarajan taught me the value of an idiosyncratic mind—and of the finer things in life. Chris Dauer magnanimously supported my development and ideas. Roger Kimball gave me a home and a second college education at The New Criterion. David Yezzi, Cricket Farnsworth, Eric Simpson, Brian Kelly, Rebecca Hecht, Mary Ross, and Rebecca Litt made day-to-day life more fun and stimulating. Susan Arellano, Caitlin Flanagan, Melanie Kirkpatrick, Eric Kraus, Paul and Emma Simpson, and Marisa Smith all opened doors for me and made a career in writing possible. And The Atlantic’s James Hamblin helped spark this book, which grew out of an article I wrote for him called “There’s More to Life Than Being Happy.”
Friends cheered me along and were always willing to talk meaning, especially Jennifer Aaker, Catherine Amble, Dan Bowling, Anne Brafford, Leona Brandwene, Eleanor Brenner, Emily Brolsma, Lauren Caracciola, Meghan Danton, Taylor Dryman, Jordan and Samara Hirsch, Kian and Lexi Hudson, Liz Kahane, Willie Kalema, Zak Kelm, Taylor Kreiss, Amita Kulkarni, Emily Larson, Cory Muscara, Emma Palley, Lucy Randall, Mike Schmidt, Bit Smith, Carol Szurkowski, Ali Tanara, Layli Tanara, Paolo Terni, Dan Tomasulo, Emily Ulrich, Marcy Van Arnam, Christine Wells, and David Yaden. My whole extended family has provided love, support, and encouragement for this project.
Jennifer Aaker, Adam Grant, Charlie Hill, Roger Kimball, Darrin McMahon, James Panero, Lucy Randall, Reb Rebele, Judy Saltzberg, Martin Seligman, and David Yaden all took the time to read drafts of this book. Their comments made me a better thinker and writer.
The transcendence chapter wouldn’t have been the same without Ginny and Mark Dameron, who said I’d find mystery and beauty at the McDonald Observatory and in Marfa, Texas, and were right. My conversations with them also made me think deeper about cultures of meaning—and their support, enthusiasm, and joyfulness for this project has helped to carry it along. I won the in-laws lottery.
I would also like to acknowledge the many people who opened up to me about their lives, their life’s work, and their sources of meaning—from researchers in psychology labs to ordinary people leading extraordinary lives. Not all of them appear in this book by name, but all of them shaped and inspired some aspect of it. The best part of writing this book was meeting and getting to know and learn from them. Many of them also took the time to confirm facts from their lives and research. Any remaining errors or omissions are mine.
Finally, Charlie Dameron. Charlie was the angel on my shoulder from the beginning to the end. He read every proposal draft, commented on each book draft, and was there with me in Fort Davis, Tangier, Cleveland, and beyond. We went in search of meaning all over the world together, but the most meaningful thing I did while writing this book was marrying this amazing and awe-inspiring man. He has pushed me to grow as a writer and as a person, taught me to love better and deeper, and gave me confidence when I was full of doubt. Every day with him is richer and fuller than the one before.
Notes
Introduction
darvishes: Readers may be more familiar with the spelling “dervish,” as in a whirling dervish. “Darvish” is the Persian transliteration.
“Ever since I was”: This is from the Sufi poem “The Masnai.” It was always sung in Farsi at the meetinghouse, but this is a translation of it courtesy of my parents, Tim and Fataneh Smith.
“Since love,” he writes: Farid ud-Din Attar, The Conference of the Birds, translated by Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis (New York: Penguin Classics, 1984), 30.
Those on the path are on: For more on Sufism, see Javad Nurbakhsh, Discourses on the Sufi Path (New York: Khaniqahi Nimatullahi Publications, 1996) and The Path: Sufi Practices (New York: Khaniqahi Nimatullahi Publications, 2003); Seyyed Hossein Nasr, The Garden of Truth (PT Mizan Publika, 2007); Robert Frager and James Fadiman, Essential Sufism (New York: HarperCollins, 1999).
great work of human literature: Thanks to psychology researcher and meaning expert Michael Steger for pointing out the connection between Gilgamesh’s story and the search for meaning.
The first question addresses: Though distinct, these questions are related. Knowing the meaning of life can help people find meaning within life, and living meaningfully can make life, on the whole, feel more significant. For example, living a meaningful life, many religious and cultural traditions say, will bring people closer to and help them understand the meaning of life, defined as something like God or Love or Being. And not knowing what the meaning of life is, some would say, makes it almost impossible to lead a meaningful life.
no longer commands the authority: In A Secular Age (Cambridge: Belknap Press, 2007), Charles Taylor addresses how, over the course of Western history, the unchallenged authority of religion eventually gave way to secularization, where religious practice became a choice—one path among many to lead a meaningful life.
fewer people…important component: Tobin Grant, “Graphs: 5 Signs of the ‘Great Decline’ of Religion in America,” Religion News Service, August 1, 2014. Grant writes: “Religiosity in the United States is in the midst of what might be called ‘The Great Decline.’ Previous declines in religion pale in comparison. Over the past fifteen years, the drop in religiosity has been twice as great as the decline of the 1960s and 1970s….2013 had the lowest level of religiosity of any year we can measure.” See Tobin Grant, “The Great Decline: 61 Years of Religiosity in One Graph, 2013 Hits a New Low,” Religion News Service, August 5, 2014. For a more in-depth and academic treatment of religion’s decline, see Tobin J. Grant, “Measuring Aggregate Religiosity in the United States, 1952–2005,” Sociological Spectrum 28, no. 5 (2008): 460–76.
one path among many…adrift: Taylor, A Secular Age. “There is a generalized sense in our culture,” as Taylor writes, “that with the eclipse of the transcendent, something may have been lost,” 107.
philosophy had largely abandoned: Though this was true when I was a college student—and continues to be true in many philosophy departments today—there has been a renaissance over the last decade of work on meaning, the good life, and the virtues in academic philosophy. See, for example, the work of Julia Annas, Susan Wolf, Kristján Kristjánsson, Nancy Snow, and Franco Trivigno. The broad point of philosophy (and the humanities more generally) abandoning the question of meaning is addressed in Anthony T. Kronman, Education’s End: Why Our Colleges and Universities Have Given Up on the Meaning of Life (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007). The social scientist Jonathan Haidt, who writes about philosophy and psychology in his book The Happiness Hypothesis (New York: Basic Books, 2006), has elsewhere written that he went to college “committed to figuring out the meaning of life, and I thought studying philosophy would help. I was disappointed. Philosophy addressed many fundamental questions of being and knowing, but the question ‘What is the meaning of life?’ never came.” Quoted in Susan Wolf, Meaning in Life and Why It Matters (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), 93.
education to be instrumental: See this article for two visions of what college is for—utility or the development of the soul: Kwame Anthony Appiah, “What Is the Point of College?” New York Times, September 8, 2015.
American Freshman survey has: John H. Pryor, Sylvia Hurtado, Victor B. Saenz, José Luis Santos, and William S. Korn, “The American Freshman: Forty Year Trends” (Los Angeles: UCLA Higher Education Research Institute, 2007).
a strong yearning for meaning: See Alexander W. Astin, Helen S. Astin, J. A. Lindholm, A. N. Br
yant, K. Szelényi, and S. Calderone, “The Spiritual Life of College Students: A National Study of College Students’ Search for Meaning and Purpose” (Los Angeles: UCLA Higher Education Research Institute, 2005).
Educating students about: The next few paragraphs are drawn mostly from Kronman, who in Education’s End argues that the topic of life’s meaning “has been expelled from our colleges and universities, under pressure from the research ideal and the demands of political correctness,” 46. Some of the material also came from Alex Beam, A Great Idea at the Time: The Rise, Fall, and Curious Afterlife of the Great Books (New York: PublicAffairs, 2008).
The research ideal dealt a blow: The growth of political correctness, multiculturalism, and moral relativism were some of the other reasons why the search for meaning was banished from the academy, according to Kronman and Beam.
beyond their purview: There are exceptions to the trend described in this paragraph, of course. Some schools continue to offer students an education grounded in the humanities. See, for example, Columbia’s Core Curriculum, Yale’s Directed Studies program, and the curriculum of St. John’s College. For more on how educational reformers tried to resist the research ideal’s weakening of the humanities-oriented curriculum, see Beam’s and Kronman’s books.
“consensus in the academy”: Mark W. Roche, “Should Faculty Members Teach Virtues and Values? That Is the Wrong Question,” Liberal Education 95, no. 3 (Summer 2009): 32–37.
Meaning has regained: See Dan Berrett, “A Curriculum for the Selfie Generation,” The Chronicle of Higher Education, June 6, 2014. I also conducted an interview with Yale professor Miroslav Volf—the director of the Yale Center for Faith and Culture and founder of the Life Worth Living Program within that center—about this resurgence of interest in meaning on campus (on September 24, 2014). The question of the good life has regained some traction in philosophy and literature, too. See, e.g.: James O. Pawelski and D. J. Moores (editors), The Eudaimonic Turn: Well-Being in Literary Studies (Madison, New Jersey: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2013).
The Power of Meaning Page 22