The argument goes that humans are only motivated to do anything at all in life either by fear of something undesirable, or by desire for something pleasant. (Carrot and stick.) That a decision-making process is involved in every human action that is not autonomous bodily functions: that one weighs a projected future as favorable or unfavorable to oneself, and then undertakes a course of action that will be either in avoidance of pain or in pursuit of pleasure. The argument further presumes that without those motivations, without a sense of “good” and “bad”, one would be reduced to a vegetative, detached state. It is believed that because nothing would have any meaning any more: no choice would seem better than any other choice, there would be nothing ultimately worth pursuing, no final reward in some version of heaven or fear of punishment in some version of hell, there would be a deadness and lack of caring about anything.
No doubt this belief is based in some kind of personal observation – the author has found himself disillusioned, bereft of once cherished beliefs about what were worthy goals in life. One has seen that human strivings and ambitions were ultimately meaningless and pointless and reduced to nothing by death. There is no future goal to aspire to, it’s all for nothing. And yet, one is depressed and numb and dispirited. Why?
It seems that the disillusionment has only been partial, and that there is still a part arguing that it shouldn’t be that way. This part insists that life should have a point, that there should be an ultimate higher meaning and purpose for it all. Otherwise, it would be, well, meaningless, and it shudders at the thought of that. That thought is disturbing and reeks of its own annihilation. So this part hopes that what it has seen, is wrong, and grasps at the hope of finding a meaning in spite of already knowing that there isn’t one. It’s stuck at an impasse, dreading what might come next if it lets go. It has seen too much to go back, and it’s too scary to go forward. So maybe it would be safer if it just chose to believe that this was the end of the road, and hang out here indefinitely.
A child is born. It explores itself and what’s around it, and is curious and alive and motivated and can’t help but absorb new knowledge about this world that moves and smells and shines and is tactile. It engages in play: an enjoyable pointless activity of expressing its own being, for no apparently useful purpose. Until it is taught that there is a reason for everything, and that it must eat at regular hours in order to be healthy, and it must sleep in order to wake up the next morning, and it must go to school in order to ultimately retire with enough money to die content.
Serengeti. Adult humans look on and see lion cubs playfighting. And they see it as skill-building for future adult activities. They imbue their play with a meaning it doesn’t inherently have, because they compulsively interpret natural events as having a purpose. They see a waterbird holding out its wings and they conclude that it’s doing that to dry its feathers, and how clever of evolution to have built that in. They don't see that the usefulness of the way the bird does that is incidental, and contextual, and dependent on what they themselves have judged to be “right”. Because that’s how their own minds work: they have to always be there to decide about everything they do, in order to achieve the correct something. What a burden! And they can’t even see the world any more outside of that model.
Why do I even bother to keep my job, and do the various administrative tasks that are required of me? Surely that can only be motivated by fear and duty? No, it doesn’t have to be. Because meeting reality head-on is inherently enjoyable, and simple. And the desire to do things that will coincidentally also keep me organized and current, spontaneously arises out of clarity, and from appreciating and taking care of myself. Life is like being in a game of tennis: you see all these balls coming towards you and you are holding a racket in your hand. And you can either launch into an existential crisis and puzzle over why this is happening to you and what it’s all for and why you should be doing this and what are the possible future benefits for you, and wonder that maybe you’re not the right person to be playing this game and wondering how you should be holding the racket and whether you should maintain a proportionate ratio of backhands to forehands, and do you look good in your white miniskirt. Meanwhile balls keep piling up on your side of the court. Or you can simply respond reflexively, faster than you can think about, pay attention and notice what’s going on, cooperate, and function as a well-oiled part of where you appear to have found yourself through no choice of your own: hit the balls as they come, get over yourself and play your part in the game that happens to be going on. If there are future benefits, well that’s a perk, but it’s not the motivating force. Action comes naturally from attending to what happens to be present and required in the moment, and lacking a desire for it to be different. Things flow.
Go all the way.
(gratuitous picture of Serengeti)
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