NOTE ON THE HUMAN CONDITION

Recently, I stumbled across a book [David Benatar, The Human Predicament] that begins with the following: “We are born, we live, we suffer along the way, and then we die—obliterated for the rest of eternity.”  In answer to the question of the purpose of human life, the author responds that there is no overarching purpose.  In other words, “Life’s a bitch, and then you die.”  Ouch.  Not exactly uplifting.  But does this ultimate in philosophical pessimism properly characterize the human condition?  I think not.

The argument is that, on the whole, life represents a series of unpleasant experiences, albeit occasionally punctuated by pleasant ones, but that the negative experiences grossly outweigh the positive.  What makes this calculus worse is that the travails that we endure are in the end for nought, that looming over our lives is the inescapable fact of death and personal annihilation.  

I do agree that there is a finality to death: We do not have souls; there is no afterlife; death marks the end of our involvement in and awareness of the world—forever.  [See, e.g., https://skepticreflections.blogspot.com/2016/08/the-nature-of-soul.html.]  I also agree that there is no ultimate meaning to life.  We are not part of a greater divine purpose.  

However, the fact that we have just this one life and that we are not participants in some grand “plan” doesn’t make life meaningless on a personal level.  Instead, it means that we each establish our own meaning, which, because it only endures during each of our lifetimes, makes our lives all the more precious.  After all, our lives are all we’ve got.  

But what of the argument that on the whole life is miserable and not worth living?  First, we very well may be hardwired—by our evolutionary past—to cherish life and to be optimistic regarding our futures, regardless of our objective circumstances.  Those not possessing that optimism as an underlying inheritable trait would surely be at a disadvantage in the competition for survival.   

Undoubtedly, some individuals live more fortunate lives than do others.  Some are, as I put it, dealt a lousy hand, plain and simple.  But in the end our attitude regarding our journey is largely independent of the objective circumstances of that personal journey.  Again, most of us possess a particular level of sanguinity regarding our human condition, a natural level to which we return after both good times and bad.

Second, a critical factor in all this is the extent to which we draw comparisons between our circumstances and those of our neighbors.  When I am down, if nothing else, I compare my situation not just to other humans but to other species.  Consider, for example, an earthworm.  Maybe it enjoys a blissful life, except, perhaps, when it surfaces during a rainstorm only to find itself caught halfway across a sidewalk when the pavement starts to dry out.  On the whole, I’d rather be a human than a worm.

Finally, consider the myth of Sisyphus, who was condemned to push a rock up a mountain only to watch it fall back down so that he would be forced to repeat his meaningless task for eternity.  Imagine instead a child who pulls a sled up a hill on a snowy day.  At the top of the hill he rides the sled back down to the bottom.  In one sense this activity is as meaningless as that of Sisyphus.  And here’s the point: The time and effort spent in getting the sled to the top of the hill is many times greater than the ride back down.  But we all have done it or have watched our children do it.  The only conclusion to draw is that the joy of riding down, however short in comparison, more than makes up for the effort needed to get to the top of the hill.

© 2019 John M. Phillips