On the Meaning of Life

Our inquiry today is into the meaning of life. First we must ask: is there any meaning of life at all? Men commonly think upon the purpose of life; but this we must think anew. Is there a purpose of life? In truth there is no purpose of life — yet there is a meaning of life.

When we think that life has a purpose, we shut every door to doing something new, something of our own making. For if the purpose is already set, it means another has set it — nature, or God, or destiny, name it as you will — and then nothing is left us but to walk the road already drawn. It makes a man idle and slothful. So there is no purpose of life; yet there is a meaning of life. And the moment we begin to ask what that meaning is, we grow more alive. We begin to think, to labour, to be more active; and thus we make our life more of our own making, we shape it, we give it a meaning.

The meaning of life is this: that we have energy, potential, a strength — and by this we may give our life its meaning, may cut a road for ourselves and walk upon it. So there is no purpose, but there is a meaning; and that meaning we find by our own self, by our own labour, and not by following another's road, another's word, or destiny.

In our own day we are losing this meaning. Day upon day we lose a little more of it, for at every moment some report reaches us — of other things, of other men, of some new finding. And as we take in more and more of this, we somehow cease to think upon ourselves; we think only upon what reaches us from without. So to seek the meaning is to think upon the self — not upon any report, not upon anything that comes from without. To seek the meaning is to go deep within and ask the self: what is the meaning of my life? What is the meaning of this being — the meaning I may make by my own potential, my own strength? And this question rises only when we go deep within and cease to take in all this report. What we must do is stay ourselves a moment, and cut ourselves off from the outer world; and as we cut ourselves off from the outer world, we begin to join with the self. And this self will guide us, will tell us the meaning of this being, the meaning of life, the meaning of our very being.

Now, the meaning of life is to come to know our true potential. As we come to know it, we may easily grasp the meaning of our life. Men commonly think too far, and sometimes think so great that it lies beyond their strength. So first we must know our potential, our strength, and within that strength grasp the meaning of our life. If a child thinks he can bear a mountain of weight upon his shoulder — no; that is but imagining; he has not the strength. In the same way, we must first know our own strength; and once we know it, we may easily grasp the meaning of our life. Men commonly do not think upon their strength; they only imagine a great deal, imagine what lies beyond their strength. I will not say it is wrong, but it is not the right way to grasp the meaning of life. So first know your strength, and give your life a meaning within that bound. Have you great strength, give your life a great meaning; have you not so much, give it a meaning fit to your strength — yet not without ground; we must give the meaning upon some foundation.

Understand, too, that we do not give a meaning to our life; we inquire into the meaning of life. We are not here to hand life some meaning. And if you ask whether this inquiry may be without a subject — if by the subject you mean the self, then the self has its own meaning, and it is that meaning we inquire into. We do not give life some meaning; for to give life a meaning would be but to give it a purpose, and that is of no use. We should give life no purpose; we should seek its meaning, for that is what matters. To give life a purpose is only to feed the ego — for once we give our life a purpose, we begin to follow it, and in the following we do but feed the ego. So to give life a meaning is to nourish the ego; but to seek the meaning of life is to undo the ego, for in that seeking we come to our true strength, our true potential. We have a meaning already; but we have somehow lost the meaning of this being along the way — we had that potential, and lost it in the long passage from the cradle to the grave. And now we seek the meaning again.

This, I grant, is a leaning of the Western mind — ever to set a purpose and then run after it, again and again. This is why the West is far advanced in science; yet it is not so near to spirituality, not so near to the self, though it is very near to the intellect. And this intellect ever begets the ego, and by that ego we find ourselves ever in some stress, some unrest. First we give our life a purpose, then run after it, and in the running we suffer much; we lose our peace and our silence, and we do but feed the ego. We may feed the ego — but at what cost we feed it: that is the weightier question.

For this you must first feel a contentment within; then you will cease to judge other men. We judge others only because we are ill-content with ourselves. When you are content with yourself, with whatever you have, you will judge no one. We judge, we measure, we contend, only because within we feel some lack — that they have what we have not — and this sense of a difference is what forever drives us to judge every man. So be content with whatever you have — and I do not mean of goods only, but in the spiritual sense too, be content with whatever you have. If you cannot meditate an hour or two, do not measure or contend; if you can sit five or ten minutes, that is enough. Be content with whatever you do, in goods or in spirit. And as this contentment grows, you cease to judge each and every man.

The open of mind are ready to accept anything; they contend with no one. That measure of acceptance shows an open mind. The narrow of mind ever doubt, ever question, and there is in them a want of faith — and I do not mean faith in superstition, but faith in the self. The narrow of mind not only doubt and question outward things; within, they want faith in themselves. And this is why they question everything without, and why they can accept no one — for they carry ever a doubt, and ever a fear within. As they begin to accept a man, a question rises: he may harm me, she may do me some wrong. So be open of mind, and ready to accept the whole world as it is. Look not for the world to be after your own notions. Seek not to make the world fit your view; accept the world as it is. Seek not to change the world — change yourself. And this change comes as you begin to accept the world. When we seek to change the world, we feel very ill within; so seek not to change the world, only accept it, only accept nature as it is.

It is hard — I do not say it is easy for every man to accept the world as it is. It is very hard, for we cannot accept even a food not to our taste, cannot drink a thing not to our liking. So to accept the whole world as it is, is very hard. And this is why we must begin with small things — with our daily habits. And here is the strange thing: we do not even accept our own habits. For we did not make our own habits; another laid it upon us to bear ourselves thus, to speak thus, to do things thus, and these became our habits. Knowingly we did not make them; we took up another's guidance, another's leading. So sometimes it grows hard even to accept ourselves. To accept the world is far from us — but to accept ourselves is itself hard, for we have habits, and we mistake the heap of habits for the self. Yet these habits are not you; you did not make them. Society, family, your teachers, your parents, your friends — they gave you these habits. And what you have borrowed of others is not yours, and this is why you sometimes contend with yourself: for you have not your own habits, your own sense of what you would have of this life. So there is a contending between the habit and yourself.

So acceptance begins with yourself. Begin to accept the self, and then it will be very easy to accept the world. We do not truly contend to accept the outer world; we contend with our habits and the outer world. The self is nowhere in that contending; the contending is between the habits and the world as it is. So as you take away the habits, there will be a straight joining of the self and the outer world, and there will be no contending; it will be very easy to accept the world. But the habits stand between the world and the self. So first take away the habits; first accept yourself; and for that acceptance you must take away the habits.

So be open of mind — but to be open of mind you must take away your own bounds, your own habits. Else you may be open of mind in your talk; you may be very clever to prove yourself open of mind; but within you will not be open of mind, you will ever be contending with yourself, for the habits are there still. Those who are truly open of mind have no such habit; they only flow like water and take the shape of the moment, and do not even feel that they have bent themselves to it. It is no bending — “to bend” is not quite the word — they take the shape of the moment without feeling it; it is suppleness, not habit. Water takes the shape of whatever holds it. Those who are open of mind are just like water; they have no shape of their own, but take the shape of the vessel — and this is no habit, it is suppleness. So be open of mind, but be aware whether you are open of mind only in your reasoning or in truth. Commonly we feel ourselves open of mind in our reasoning, but we do not consider whether we are open of mind because we have taken away all our habits. To be truly open of mind, you must take away all your habits.

And to take away a habit, you must know its root. A habit is not a thing you took up knowingly; in childhood you were taught something, and unknowing it became your habit. So to take away a habit, you must go deep — back to when that teaching began to become a habit. As you go deep into the root of the habit, it ceases to be a part of you; it fades, and is gone from your life. For commonly we do but trim our habits; we do not take them away. We cut the branches, not the root — and cutting the branches, we believe we have taken away the habit, when in truth we have only reshaped it. So to take away a habit truly and wholly, we must go to its root, to the very beginning of the habit, the very beginning of the teaching. Only then can it be taken away.