The Meaning of Life (No, Really)

A blog is a pretty short format for delving into complex issues, so I'm just going to cut to the chase. I submit that the meaning of life is:

Happiness.

Or, to state it another way, happiness is meaning. After all, what is happiness for, if not to let us know that we're on the right track? This may seem obvious--most of us devote our lives to the pursuit of happiness, true enough. Yet we focus our efforts on red herrings like wealth, fame, and physical beauty. If all that were enough, last year might have seen Sylvia Plath reading a poem at Kurt Cobain's 40th birthday party. Alas...

So, if these things cannot produce happiness, what can? To answer this question, I have taken an extremely unscientific appraisal of all the happy people I've ever known, and found only one common denominator: to achieve true happiness, you must be a positive force. That is, the world must be better with you than without you.

But wait--there are all sorts of terrible people walking around with big grins on their faces. Why do they get to be happy? Well, the short answer is: they don't. Imagine for a moment that happiness has two components, joy and contentment. Anyone can experience joy, even the wicked. Without contentment, however, there is no true happiness, and there is no contentment in a negative life; the conscience sees to that. What's more, even joy is eroded in a life without contentment. I suppose this is what compels the robber barons of our time to throw $2,000,000 parties and build 100,000 square foot houses. They must continually--and uselessly--up the ante.

If there is a spectrum to what sort of effect each of us has on the world around us--with genocidal maniacs on one end and Nobel Peace Prize winners on the other--most of us bunch up around the middle. On the one hand, your car may pollute the air, but on the other hand you make your dog happy. Things balance out. So push toward the positive, just a little, and reap the rewards. There is nothing random about happiness; nor is there a secret to it. If you have done things you wish you hadn't, mitigate them by doing things you wish you had. Pay it forward, pay it back, and bask in the glow.

Cult or religion?

Growing up in the Bay Area in the 1970's, I was exposed to some things that might have seemed exotic--at the time--to the rest of the country. Still, nothing prepared me for the shock I received one night while visiting the family home of a man my mother was dating. Making our way through the darkened house, my mother's friend flicked on a light, inadvertently waking a young man who had been asleep in the room. Apparently terrified, he sat bolt upright in bed, letting out a blood-curdling scream. My mother whisked me quickly away. That was Ford, she explained, who had just come home from "the Moonies." It would be several years before I saw Ford Greene again, on TV--he had become a crusading anti-cult attorney in the interim. But from the age of seven, this one experience shaped my idea of what it meant to belong to--and to escape--a cult.

Fast forward to the 2008 Republican primaries, and the candidacy of Mitt Romney. It has not escaped me that other Christians are uncomfortable with Mormonism. Yet, I was somewhat surprised to hear a woman on the radio say that she wouldn't vote for a Mormon, because Mormonism is a cult. It was probably pretty naive on my part, but I had looked on Mormonism as being both too old and too mainstream for this designation. Of course, some Christians say the same thing about Islam--much older than Mormonism--and Buddhism, which is older than Christianity itself. In short, cult seems to denote a group that follows any charismatic leader other than your own. And a faith can never outgrow this label, no matter how hard it tries.

Perhaps it is easy for a nonbeliever to dismiss this distinction. After all, if there is no truth to any faith, then they're all on a more or less level playing field. Still, I do believe that there is a difference between current, active cults and religions that may have had cult-like beginnings. Mormonism has had to modernize, officially abandoning such polarizing practices as polygamy; and while they may once have sought to create a separate society, Mormons can now be found in the darndest places--in addition to the usual actors, athletes, politicians and science fiction authors, they include among their numbers hotel magnates, rock stars, civil rights icons, and even Broadway playwrights (well, at least until they get excommunicated...). In short, Mormonism is no longer a cult in my book, because they have assimilated.

The key question, then, in evaluating what is a cult, as opposed to a genuine religion-in-it's-infancy is whether there is a future to be seen. This lets out doomsday cults, like Heaven's Gate, of course, as well as those whose methods prevent them from coexisting with society, like Aum Shinrikyo. But what of Scientology, for instance? It's still pretty new, having been founded within living memory; but as I write, second generation Scientologists like Lisa Marie Presley and Beck are raising their third generation children (and with Lisa Marie's daughter now of age, can a fourth generation be far behind?). Granted, there may be some unsavory or antisocial practices taking place at this point. By keeping the spotlight on these issues, however, organizations who would seek to put an end to Scientology might be inadvertently helping followers to iron out the rough spots, hastening their evolution into just another religion next door.

The Soul of a Minimalist

At a museum once, standing in front of a recreation of a spare modern living room from the 1960's, I overheard a woman comment dryly, "Well, you'd always know where your car keys were." At the time, I probably rolled my eyes; as an art student, this was my general response to my-kid-could-do-that reactions from the hoi polloi. As I thought about it, though, I realized that this dismissive observation had actually touched on one of the tenets of minimalist design: that a pared-down space makes you more aware of the world around you. Yes, you always know where your keys are--and how beautiful that single flower is, how delicious that perfect peach, how sublime that one note on the cello. Without all the clutter, what else is there to do but appreciate things?

Living in a minimalist environment is not really an option for me: I have two young children and am married to an eccentric bibliophile, and I actually like a little disorder. Still, while I may not apply the philosophy to my physical surroundings, it does inform my spiritual life. The ability to connect with God fully and immediately requires a peaceful internal space to which you can retreat when all else is chaos. A mind full of confusion can make it difficult to receive the wisdom--or comfort, or inspiration--that you seek.

It would be perfectly logical to imagine that spiritual minimalism requires a blank slate. After all, the first step to physical minimalism is getting rid of everything you own, right? In theory, perhaps. But nobody actually strips their possessions down to a Noguchi lamp and an Egg chair. The true key to minimalism is storage. You don't throw away all your unopened mail and cleaning supplies and sporting goods, you just find somewhere to stow them away. And so it is with spiritual clutter. It's not possible--or even desirable--to rid ourselves of the experiences we've picked up along the journey. These are the components of a healthy soul. But sometimes you need to put it all into storage, so that you can find a quiet place to be alone with God.