Paul Leroux discusses the ways in which today’s man can find purpose in life.
In 1946, Victor Frankl—a psychotherapist who survived the horrors of Auschwitz—wrote a book that was eventually titled “Man’s Search for Meaning”; fifty years after it was written, it had sold more than three million copies in its English translation alone.
In his preface to the 1992 edition, Dr. Frankl wrote that his book’s success was “an expression of the misery of our time.”
“If hundreds of thousands of people,” he continued, “reach out for a book whose very title promises to deal with the question of a meaning to life, it must be a question that burns under their fingernails.”
Man’s search for meaning continues to be a poignant and agonizing issue, but today there is a difference in how this search is performed. Unlike the generations that preceded us, we can no longer rely on religious leaders or institutions to tell us what that meaning should be. We have to find it ourselves.
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Like millions the world over, I was raised in a particular tradition that shaped my own search for meaning. For a long time, I sought to base my sense of meaning on an inherited system of theological, religious, moral, and ethical beliefs.
Robert Browning wrote, “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?” Looking back at mid-life, however, I can see that my goals have proved too lofty and ambitious, inhumanly difficult to achieve. Like the mythical Sisyphus eternally pushing a stone up a hill only to have it roll back down again, I have waged an unsuccessful battle to achieve goals that were clearly unattainable and beyond my grasp.
The result has been a constant, nagging feeling of failure—of frustration—at not having become the person I thought I should have been. In theological terms, this feeling is usually categorized as sinfulness, shame, or guilt—at best, brokenness, human frailty, and weakness, the hero’s tragic flaw.
Psychologically, I have consciously or unwittingly pursued at least one particular goal: to be noticed, recognized, and admired. It has been my secret dream to make a name for myself, to influence large numbers of people, to make my mark on society, even history. Only lately have I begun to realize (if not accept) that my purpose might be to touch the lives of just a very few.
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“We had to learn,” wrote Viktor Frankl in 1946, “that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life. … Life ultimately means taking the responsibility…to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.”
In our postmodern, secular society, spirituality is less likely to be theological than teleological. (That’s Greek for “goal-oriented.”) But because we can no longer rely on the security of being moored by traditional beliefs, we must find out for ourselves what our goals should be.
Alex, who has shared my life for 30 years, is not a conventionally religious man, but he does have a goal, a sense of purpose, a keen awareness of his life’s tasks. His path has differed from mine, but he is no less deeply and profoundly spiritual.
In response to an article I wrote on work as prayer (“Spirituality for Men with Busy Lives”), Alex said his work was “to watch for God the flock He has given me.” Coming from anyone else, such a statement might sound grandiose, self-aggrandizing, pompous, fatuous. But Alex truly believes he has a mission to fulfill on earth, and he lives his life accordingly.
Alex spent 25 years caring for an elderly father after his mother died at an early age, and he has spent almost 20 years volunteering to help other seniors. His father once asked him, in his native Polish, “Where did you get such a good heart?” For all his efforts, the Government of Canada honored him with the Governor General’s Caring Canadian Award in 2002.
In some circles, my partner is known as “Saint Alex.” He comes by his moniker honestly. While I have spent my life worrying about being a sinner, Alex has put into practice what it means to be, if not a saint, at least what his name means in Greek—a lover of men.
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“In a last violent protest against the hopelessness of imminent death,” wrote Viktor Frankl in 1946, “I sensed my spirit piercing through the enveloping gloom. I felt it transcend that hopeless, meaningless world, and from somewhere I heard a victorious ‘Yes’ in answer to my question of the existence of an ultimate purpose.”
Frankl also quotes the words of the philosopher Friedrich Nietzche: “He who has a Why to live for can bear almost any How.” E.M. Forster put this another way in his novel A Room with a View: “By the side of the everlasting Why, there is a Yes—a transitory Yes if you like, but a Yes.”
In my search for meaning, I embraced what some theologians refer to as “negative spirituality,” an ethic based on abnegation or self-denial, the notion of emptying oneself to make room for God. The question is, was I really saying yes to God, or was I actually saying no to life?
Irenaeus, an early Christian theologian, wrote that “the glory of God is man fully alive.” John’s gospel (John 10:10, KJV) quotes Jesus as saying, “I am come that they might have life, and that they might have [it] more abundantly.”
My partner Alex has said yes to life at every turn, and lived it to the fullest. He has few or no regrets, such as those that erode my own sense of accomplishment. I envy Alex’s sanguine, positive approach to life, his ability to set goals and his determination to reach them—to be a spiritual person as he understands the term.
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In his 1875 poem “Invictus,” William Ernest Henley wrote:
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed. …
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
You cannot be the captain of your soul unless you have a rudder, an anchor, and a sail. What guides you and charts your course? What keeps you rooted and firmly grounded? What enables you to move ahead through the stormy seas of life?
A sail is of little use in and of itself, without a strong and favorable wind, causing it to billow and to waft a ship to sea. The Hebrew expression used for wind in Scripture is ruach, which also means breath or spirit. Your spirit (or soul) is whatever breathes life into you, whatever powers the ship whose captain and master you aspire to be.
Viktor Frankl was able to find that breath of life, that spirit, even amid the desolation of a Nazi concentration camp. My partner Alex has found it in a life of service to others. Me? I’m still waiting for the favorable wind of a goal-oriented spirituality to someday fill my sails.
—Photo Licht3/Flickr
Timely article…I’m in that season myself. Finding purpose is a huge deal and it seems to be screaming URGENT! in my ears and heart right now…
Paul – your gentle insight and bold willingness to share your journey are inspiring. This is one of those posts that I will read a number of times in order to mine for all the gold you laid down for us. Thanks for sharing your story.
Hi Roger … “Gentle” is not a word often used to describe me, although it is one of several possible meanings of my given (Christian) name, Paul. I’m more like Dylan Thomas: “Rage. rage, against the dying of the light.” As for being willing to share my journey, that’s the whole purpose of our little exercise here at The Good Men Project, isn’t it? Warm regards, Paul