What is the Purpose of Living?
One of the saddest things I hear is when someone says, “What is the purpose of living?”
Of course, they are not usually asking an existential question about the meaning of life.
But, sadly, they have become mired in a difficult situation and see no end, nor the possibility of redeeming things as they are.
Perhaps you have felt this a time or two in your life. I know I have.
And one thing I have learned is how to answer it without adding to whatever burden I may be carrying.
The First Time I Questioned the Purpose for Living
The first time I questioned the purpose of living, I was overwhelmed with loss.
My father, who was my rock, died relatively young, and that solid place he provided for me crumbled, leaving me alone in a quicksand of despair.
The more I struggled, the deeper I sank.
Grief had grown three heads, each with gleaming teeth and bulbous eyes. And it felt as if no one could see this monster but me.
I grew up in a proud New England family where feelings, particularly sadness or anger, were not a sign of strength and knew better than to wail or scream when life dealt an unfair blow.
I might have been healthier as a young adult had I acknowledged the three-headed monster of grief with more than just an unprepared mind, but I had never learned how.
Tears didn’t come easily.
Learning from Others
I watched my mother for clues, much like a child who falls from his bike will look for validation of his pain.
But my mother never shed a public tear throughout the months of his illness. She showed little emotion at the funeral nor at the graveside.
So how was I supposed to identify the wrenching pain that was coursing through my body?
Did I imagine it? I certainly couldn’t release a bug-eyed monster with three heads into the lives of my children.
Did you ever try to hide grief so you wouldn’t burden others?
The only person I burdened with my sorrow was myself — or so I thought. I hadn’t lived long enough to see that the stuffing of my pain was the bigger burden.
Others can be supportive when they know what is going on.
If I had this period of my life to live over again, I would release my tears, acknowledged the pain, and befriended the monster, for I have lived long enough to know ‘it ain’t never goin’ away’ anyway!
This is the secret of hospitality that Rumi writes about in his poem “The Guest House.”
Asking About the Meaning of Life from the ‘Experts’
The second time I questioned the purpose of life, I was a seminary student.
If you are tempted to take the academic approach to answer an existential question, allow me to give you a gentle warning.
The answer is not in ancient scrolls nor contemporary commentary.
Readings in theology may be great fodder for curious minds but do little for a hungry soul.
The Westminster Catechism states that the purpose of life is to glorify God. Sounds simple enough —until you try to define precisely what glorifying God means.
I will avoid the temptation to make this post into theological discourse.
Suffice it to say that descriptions and titles can only impose limits on a fruitless attempt to understand the unknowable for this writer.
I had expected that all the research, sermons, and commentaries stacked in the seminary library would undoubtedly reveal the purpose of life.
Still, after years of study, I can only quote the ‘professor’ from Ecclesiastes –
“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.”
I graduated from seminary more confused than ever—and with many more questions than I had when I began.
Purpose as a Personal Quest
Knowing the purpose of life is no longer about surviving grief and accomodating monsters;
nor is it a theological question about the nature of the Divine.
Those things are better left to psychologists and theologians.
Today, knowing the purpose of life is more personal than theology and more universal than reviewing my failures with a psychologist.
I want to know about meaning TODAY. This moment.
- What am I living FOR?
- What have I achieved in my lifetime?
- Have I made the world a better place?
- Has that been my purpose?
- What have I missed?
- What is still unfinished?
- Am I supposed to finish things before I die?
- Is there an end to my questions?
- How will I know?
Perhaps I have been making this much too complicated.
Could my purpose be as simple as breathing?
Is the Purpose of Life Really This Simple?
Years ago, I had a medical crisis in which my world had gone dark and silent.
Silent except for a simple command coming from somewhere outside of me, somewhere very close.
Breathe, Ardis! Breathe!
The voice was kind yet insistent.
To inhale seemed to be the most critical thing in the world to someone.
Breathe! I obeyed with a weak inhale.
I understood nothing else. I didn’t need to. My goal was clear.
My purpose was to breathe. Nothing else mattered at that moment.
Slowly other sounds and voices filled my ears, light began to seep through my closed eyelids, and I felt a cool hand on my wrist.
“Welcome back.”
My breaths became deeper.
M
y purpose at that moment was to live — and to feel.
- To live one moment at a time.
- To listen to voices of love that are around me,
- To awaken from my darkness,
- To feel both sorrow and joy without the help of 3-headed monsters or shiny objects,
- To inhale both goodness and pain,
- To exhale, releasing both love and sorrows into the Universe
- and then repeat — again and again.
All else is vanity.
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