The Meaning of Life

I’m working on a theory of life, the universe, and everything. It’s not really original; why need it be? I’m trying to get at truth here.


First principle: God is. This is beyond dispute, and need not be argued here.

Second principle: it is of the essential nature of God, that he is good.

If he were not good, there would be a second principle, goodness, that would in some sense transcend him; it would be greater than him in a moral sense. Therefore, absolute goodness must be essential to his nature, along with absolute existence, absolute power, and absolute knowledge.

We can draw many conclusions from this certainty that God is good. Most importantly, he did not create us as conscious beings, with our ability to suffer, in order to suffer, or to see us suffer. He does not want us to suffer. All evil must, as the old Catholic formula goes, come from man.

He must have put salvation, salvation from suffering and from evil, close to hand. It must be within arm’s length, metaphorically, in plain sight, of each of us.

The purpose of life must not, therefore, be heroic deeds, great intellectual achievements, fame, fortune, or any sort of success that distinguishes us as somehow from the common run of our fellow man; for God loves all of us, and most of us are necessarily not capable of excelling others.

Hence the true successes in this life are the “little ones” of the Beatitudes, the “salt of the earth.” The true path to salvation and spiritual joy must be St. Therese’s “little way.”

This is not a question of going “back to nature”: it is clear enough that nature is imperfect. If nature alone were sufficient, there would be no need nor purpose for man. Either nature is fallen with man, as the classic formula had it, or nature was designed by God to be incomplete, so that man could perfect it; or both. However, it does seem to follow that, in all areas, the best and most worthwhile things are common, everyday things. The simple things are the best things, like the classic example, Shaker furniture.

One important reason we are not happy, I suspect, is that we perversely cannot seem to appreciate what is too easy to acquire. We always want to “become as gods,” to reach higher on the branches of the tree, to depend on our own efforts, to build our lofty towers.

Consider the lilies of the field… become not as gods, but as children. Seek only what is as common as salt on the Dead Sea shore.

I used to think my wife was deprived as a child, living in a poor family in the Philippines. She had no store-bought toys. But then again, she had a carabao—a water-buffalo—to ride; what could be more fun than that? She had chickens and ducks and piglets around the house, a swimming hole a few meters away, and other kids always filling the living room. Toys? She had all of tropical nature to play with. When my own kids go there, they love it. They certainly are not bored.

The best food in any country also seems to be the standard peasants’ meal: a “clean out the refrigerator” dish. Nasi goreng; bibimbap; pizza; borscht. The cheapest, easiest source of complex carbohydrates is probably the lowly potato. Honestly, what tastes as good as a potato? Protein? What is easier to grow than beans? Yet they are almost infinite in the variety of their tastes.

Isn’t the pattern plain?

Consider, indeed, the lilies of the field. In northern climes, we spend a huge amount of time and worry trying to get rid of dandelions. And yet, what flower is more beautiful? And every single part of the dandelion is edible, almost a full menu in one plant: leaves like spinach or lettuce; the flowers make a wine like champagne; the roasted roots make a drink like coffee. The stems and the seeds are marvellous toys.

We reject what God gives us, and that is our perversity. Perhaps it is part of the Fall.

What makes us happiest? Not wealth; studies prove it. So getting more money is a waste of time. Not fame; those who are famous are clearly not happy, and it stands to reason. Becoming famous only isolates you. Not power: those who try for great power seem invariably instead to become captives, if only of their own paranoia. Stalin, for example, reputedly died frightened of everyone.

What makes us happy, first, is our relationship with God—this used to be understood, and monasteries were seen as places of supreme joy. Next to this, other people: our children, our wives, our best friends. Yet they come to us for free.

Well, except for the wives.

Next to these are the beauties of art. Art can be extremely expensive, in one sense; but not, again, the best art. Expensive art is mostly expensive for the hype, not the quality. Folk art is the best art, and folk art is available to everyone with a little time.

I am not advocating asceticism, or self-denial. That is another kind of striving. I am also not advocating heroic deeds of charity—that is another kind of striving, and the poor you shall have always with you. It is enough to deal with the evil that comes daily within your arm’s reach. The point here is not to conquer evil—we cannot do that, only God can. It is to do what it right at each moment. You see someone suffering on the road, you help them. You see a way to make someone smile, you try to do it.