Meaningful States

I have been musing recently on the meaning of life (pretty light topic, I know) and most of the time find myself trumped by my own subjective limitations. Limitations of knowledge, understanding, experience or even motivations, that hold me back from getting my teeth into the question. Of course, many would argue uncovering the meaning of life is an impossible endeavour. Perhaps they are right, but personally I believe that we can at least move towards leading lives that are more meaningful, more satiating and more fulfilling. You might say, 'meaningful' is a subjective standard. Maybe, but I do know that throughout human history, our species has developed ways, some simple and some complex, to interpret the world around them and derive from it a sense of meaning. I would say that the meaning of meaning, so to speak, is when an individual is able to transcend his own 'monkey mind' and enter a space where his actions have a demonstrable impact on the world around him, appearing universally good to him and others. It is in part a feeling we get. Or rather a set of feelings that present themselves in rare moments where we break our routines and see things through clearer eyes. The funny thing about meaning is that we cannot know for sure that our lives are meaningful on a meta level. In other words, no mortal human being can know the purpose of the universe. All we can do is take a leap of faith (religion) or trust our instincts and recognise when we feel especially engaged in the world. As the author and neuroscientist Sam Harris recently remarked, all we can know for sure is that consciousness itself exists on some level. We know that something appears to be happening. Anything beyond that is a mystery that our limited brains can not hope to figure out (at least at present).

This being so, surely it follows that the best markers for meaning, at least in human terms, is when our consciousness feels emboldened in some way. This is not proof, but simply evidence that we are doing something meaningful. On the contrary, when our consciousness is dulled and we feel like our actions are having no impact on the world, this is evidence of a lack of meaning. The difficult thing to reconcile is how this antenna for meaning deep within us relates to morals and overall purpose. Exploring this question in more depth is for another post. But the way I see it, although meaning and morals are related, they can also be diametrically opposed. Take the Nazi regime. It is clear that Hitler believed deeply in what he was doing, but beyond that, he most probably felt an intense meaning attach itself to his actions, and acted forthrightly on this instinct for what he saw as good for himself and the German people. Here we see that the conflation of meaning and morals leads us down a dark path that we would be wise not to traverse again. Often though, this perversion of meaning on the part of the individual gets us into trouble when it gets extrapolated out to a group or societal level. Was Hitler's initial sense of meaning an evil one? Were his initial intentions evil? Perhaps, we may never truly know, but it is always an easy out to cast evil people into the bin of 'never to be spoken about again', even if there are crucial lessons to be learnt from their lives and actions. Back to the point - I see meaning as a set of states that can be induced in the human being through expansive, yet not infinite, ways of being in the world. The not infinite part is important. Although there are many correct ways of obtaining meaning, I believe there are far more ways of missing the target, evidenced by the fact that very few people live entirely meaningful lives. There are certain human universals when it comes to meaning that seem to correspond to how we are made up biologically and I would argue, religiously. I think we are all fundamentally religious beings, meaning that we are built to seek out a purpose provided our basic survival needs are met.

But how do we go about describing these states of meaning? Is there any way of categorising them in some way into distinct, yet interconnected entities that somehow sum up the states in which we can feel most engaged in the world? Well, its a complicated question. Language itself is not the best medium for communicating truth because language can only be a tool for approximating and articulating things much deeper down in our psychology. However for now it is the best we have. After ruminating on how best to break down the question of meaning, below is my amateur attempt at describing four states that people might be wise to aim for in their lives. At least in my life, it when my being has been synonymous with one of these that I have achieved a rare sense of clarity.


Oneness

What is oneness? It is a rather overused term and often a manipulated one. Oneness to me means being at one with the world and people around us. We might find ourselves in this state only once in a while, but fundamentally I see it as an 'anti-intellectual' state. Some might call it a flow state, and I think this is certainly a component of it. When in a flow state, the brain is perfectly stimulated as we become engaged more and more deeply in our work, a social situation or a sporting event. The funny thing about flow is how it impacts our sense of time, either speeding it up or slowing it down. In my case it more often speeds it up, where hours can pass seemingly in an instant. What is peculiar about oneness and flow is how different they are to the feeling of pleasure. Pleasure seems to take us completely outside ourselves like oneness, but is nearly always desperately fleeting and much more emotionally captivating. It also usually comes with consequences. When in a flow state, at least in my case, there is no emotion. In fact it is the absence of emotion that gives it meaning and allows me to work far more productively and objectively than my distracted and paranoid mind otherwise would. But is oneness distinct from flow? I see it is as a kind of graduated form of flow, where the state is more sustainable and meaningful. Canadian psychologist Jordan Peterson summed up exactly what I am trying to say in one of his biblical lectures recently, using the anecdote of a successful individual at ballroom dance, where the band is playing wonderfully, you're dressed impeccably, the temperature is perfect, you’re dancing with your true love and not a thing in the world feels like it can go wrong. The person is at one with everything and feels intense meaning as a result. He goes further in describing it, saying that the hypothetical person is winning across multiple hierarchies, which is an evolutionary theory as to why they feel such enlightenment. Peterson contests that this is what we should be aiming for because it is best for us and the society we belong to. Oneness might be just this, the coalescing of all one's greatest qualities distilled into the appreciation of the moment. I wager at least once in your lifetime you have felt at one with the world in a similar way.


Stillness

Another state of meaning in my life has been stillness. This one is particularly apt to the times we live in. Currently our species is changing and adapting at such a rapid rate that trying to quantify the complexity of the world is next to impossible. Individually and collectively we have been thrust into a 'brave new world', where our thirst is never truly quenched. Our lives are developing in complexity much faster than we would like to admit. Along with this change comes noise. Literal noise yes, but more so what I would call digital noise. Our attention is being competed for by corporations that use algorithms that even they do not fully understand. When we go to the supermarket, use the internet or broadcast our lives on social media, we are targeted for advertising and our attention is inevitably divided in near infinite ways. This is both mesmerising and terrifying simultaneously, but undeniably overwhelming. Just how our system and institutions will be able to control these new technologies is not yet clear. Therefore, stillness is a state that our developed western society has no use for, and thus does not truly value. Stillness can not be marketed or sold, but is something our ancestors knew the importance of. Like oneness though, the term stillness can be misleading and superficial. Stillness to me is the unstimulated mind, the naked mind, the meditative state. But why would stillness imbue meaning in an individual? The answer to this is not entirely clear. But what is clear is that many of the greatest philosophical, religious and spiritual works in history have been written through spending countless hours trying to attain stillness. Stillness leads to clarity, the ability to see things on a more basic level and also gives us the much needed space for reflection. A cluttered mind has too many offshoots to be aiming linearly at something. Thus when we add in all the tempting distractions of the internet age, we take interest in lots of things, but master nothing. Stillness also allows the peace of mind for revelation, again going back to the monotheistic religions. Secret knowledge and wisdom can come to us in these moments of stillness, perhaps from deep within or from another source, that is down to what you believe. We should all aim to carve out at least a portion of our day to be still. Without it we risk being further trampled by the endless fluff of the internet age. Always distracted, but never content. Just look around, this problem is already upon us.


Greatness

Greatness is a state that very few can attain in any field. But thankfully there can be near unlimited fields in which to aim for it. The definition of greatness is going beyond a good or even excellent level in a given discipline. When one achieves greatness, whether in sport, art, music, politics or whatever else, they have not simply attained a high level of skill, they have transcended the normal or perhaps even what was thought possible, getting as close to mastery as humanly possible. The idea of greatness is necessary for society and the individual to flourish because it cuts to the heart of human virtue - discovery, ambition, single-mindedness, courage, willpower. When we think of history, we think of feats of greatness, whether for good or for evil. In order to achieve greatness in anything one must sacrifice a great deal, often things that a well rounded person would consider sacred. But without the people who have aimed at greatness, where would our species be? We would not have made any of the necessary leaps forward in science, technology, economics, sport or anything else that went towards the civilisation we currently enjoy. But I thought we were talking about states? Is greatness a state? Not exactly, it is more a destination. I guess it would be more accurate to call it a hero or warrior state. The hero myths depicted in the religious texts, fairy tales and all other archetypal stories have come to define the story of the West since the pre-Christian civilisations. But on a more personal level, the state of someone who wants to achieve greatness can be a rough business - there will be no shortcuts or places to hide. Often the type of world where this greatness is pushed for is merciless and certainly not for the faint-hearted. It means constant devotion to the betterment of your craft, and even then are no guarantees of achievement. The further you travel down the tunnel of history, the fewer and fewer people have had the opportunity to aim at greatness. It is a virtue that requires the prerequisite of survival to be taken care of first, unlike the previous two states. Throughout 99% of human history, the struggle for survival as well as restrictions on human freedom made any aspirations for greatness a less than futile afterthought, reserved for nobles, kings and aristocrats. The economic success of our capitalist system in the West, as well as continued improvements in technological efficiency have all but eradicated the problem of survival. Of course I am not suggesting it is a perfect system - some still have far greater opportunities than others. But in the 21st century, most of us have the opportunity to do something special with our lives if we really wanted to. Beyond this, as Jordan Peterson again has pointed out, we have managed to diversify the set of hierarchies from just a few to encompass an unimaginable number of fields for people to master. This has created incomprehensible potential for human greatness. The hero state is something to be respected, and will only be embraced by a daring few who refuse to settle for mediocrity. But make no mistake, it can also be a selfish life, full of extreme effort and sacrificing time with the people we love and therefore should be approached with great caution. We need greatness, it is the linchpin of any forward-looking society and will always be an option for escaping the numbing passivity of our consumer culture.


Kindness

Finally, the state of empathy, or kindness. A tricky one to pin down, as it strongly relates back to a point in my introduction. Namely that empathy is not always a good guide for sound moral decisions. It is a key part of what makes us human, being able to relate to other people's problems and offer guidance based on that. But the problem with empathy that it often needs an enemy. This gets most ugly when applied to a group. "This group deserves more rights than that group", or more commonly nowadays "This group is oppressed and therefore that other group is evil so we should punish them". Both classic forms of discrimination. We see this playing out in unprecedented ways in our public discourse today, where no evidence seems to be required for the most radical of claims to be accepted as fact. Natural empathy towards historically oppressed groups has led to great resentment directed at whole swaths of people who had nothing to do with said oppression. The resulting backlash generates great hostility in the accused group who adopt their own tribal movements. Clearly the trend for empathy or identity based politics has been a failure, encouraging people's natural biases and naivety rather than a quest for the truth. However, this is group based empathy. Individual or private empathy has allowed our species to coexist relatively peacefully for thousands of years, and is the foundation for family and community life. Kindness is more of an intentioned empathy, or at least often comes to us as more of a choice. We can choose to be kind or we can choose not to be, whereas empathy is a virtually unconscious reflex. This is why kindness is a better state to aim for, as it is more considered and less reactionary. Being kind is more than being compassionate, it is carefully weighing up the situation and doing what is best for another person’s well-being, which sometimes means making difficult or seemingly harsh judgements for the long term health of that individual. It applies as much, if not more, to ourselves. Being kind to ourselves does not mean giving in to desires or letting ourselves off when we mess things up, but taking the big picture view and deciding to be responsible for ourselves. Kindness is one of the greatest capacities that we have because of this tight link to responsibility. It is harder than it seems to be kind, because it means cultivating our empathy in a way that makes it most useful for the world and our specific problems. A state of kindness is a state of presence and reflection, which is what relates it back to the other three states I’ve described. I see it as getting back in touch with the best parts of ourselves, the part that loves, that protects, that listens, but most of all, the part that is perfectly honest. I believe we all have this within us, but I know in my own case it can often be unknowingly suppressed by other insidious forces. Greed, desire, judgement, the list goes on. A state of kindness is living a life as unaffected by these forces as possible, but recognising that they will always be a threat.

Perhaps this essay has been a futile exercise in expanding on an idea without thinking these things through. But what I have learnt recently is that writing things down is one of the best ways to learn or work through what you already have jumbled up somewhere in your head. Even if what comes out is not the objective truth, or even the best way of expressing something, it serves the important task of clarification. In many ways writing can put you in any one of the four states described above if you take it seriously enough. It is certainly a grounding influence and something I would like to do more of. If anyone reads this, I value your input into what states make the world feel most meaningful to you. Maybe they relate to one of my examples, or something different entirely. Reading the experience of others is how we expand our outlook. I increasingly feel like our culture is at the apex of a revolution that could go one of two ways, one that makes things better and one that pulls us deeper into apathy and away from meaning. We must make sure it goes in the direction of the good.

MOVIE REVIEW: First Man (2018)

First Man is an epic character portrait of the late Neil Armstrong, told maturely and patiently through Chazelle's now patented style of mixing rough and tumble cinema, meticulously choreographed set pieces and sombre moments of silence, coming together seamlessly to produce another great piece of work. To say I enjoyed Damien's last two films would be a huge understatement - Whiplash remains one of my favourite films of all time and perhaps my favourite of the decade, while La La Land offered something entirely different but just as engaging in its own way. First Man strikes a different tone once again, opting to tell the story of an American and world icon through a personal, yet oddly detached lens. Going into the film my expectations were understandably extremely high, and although I think this might be the weakest film of the three, it is still one of the best I have seen this year.

Chazelle anchors the story of First Man to the formative years of Armstrong's career as an astronaut and married man in the very early 1960's. Personal tragedy strikes very early on, leaving a scar on the man that will be impossible to erase for the entirety of the movie. This event is the bedrock for the film and very much sets the melancholic tone of Armstrong's character. The rest of what happens, although larger than Armstrong himself, can be seen as a desperate quest for some kind of closure or release from the heavy burden of the past. From the very first scenes of First Man we can see that Neil is a difficult and often awkward character. He finds it difficult to express himself through words, not just with people in his profession but even those in his own family. He instead finds refuge in his talents for flying and commanding space missions, which he is undeniably great at.

The theme of social and emotional detachment surrounding Armstrong's character was a very intriguing one for me, although I do feel like the film could have explored it more deeply at times. Perhaps the fact we don't get to know Neil as well as many would like was the whole point. There certainly feels like there was some intentional distance put between him and the audience that never really gets closed as time progresses. Moments where Neil breaks character and launches into monologues are very scarce, rather he always seems to take a back seat and let others show the emotion. This is epitomised late on in the film where his wife Janet in a fit of rage all but forces him to sit his kids down and tell them he might not be coming home from the Apollo 11 mission. Ironically she speaks to him kind of like a child, which makes you realise how shut off and out of touch he has made himself. The resultant scene is one of the most telling of the whole film, as Neil struggles to get through the ordeal and answers the queries of his children with an almost business like persona.

 The film is by no means limited to these more personal themes however. In fact, it mostly focuses on the sheer magnitude and difficulty of early space travel and just how dangerous it really was. Humanity really was making huge technological strides in a matter of just months and years, and inevitably there were going to be some disasters along the way. Chazelle puts us in the cockpit of many of these life-threatening early missions, from the very first scene where Neil nearly kills himself exploring the outer atmosphere, to testing a Lunar landing vehicle where he is forced to eject, to the terrifying missions of the Gemini projects, where at one point he is confronted with the task of controlling a spin out of the module where he is moments away from passing out. Chazelle frames these missions in a context that I am sure is very close to how they actually played out - both in their significance for the eventual moon landing and the inherent danger of moving at such a relentless pace in order to win the space race against the Soviets.

The film does a good job at showcasing the monumental efforts of everybody involved at NASA, and I suspect will satisfy any geeks who like the technical jargon, but I never felt like it was too much for layman's like me to follow along. It really feels like Chazelle wanted to get some level of accuracy in realistically portraying the professional lives of the astronauts and engineers involved, and the team atmosphere at Mission Control.

The real meat of First Man is in the reconciling of Neil's flaws in his personal life with the perception of him as an American hero and pioneer of space exploration. Essentially I see the film in the same way I see Whiplash - the sacrifices and type of person that one is forced to become in order to achieve greatness. In Whiplash that theme was more upfront and concentrated in the characters of Andrew and Fletcher, who occupied almost archetypal representations of this dichotomy. In First Man, the trade offs are more subtle, despite the sacrifice and goals being more profound and some might say, honourable. There is also more going on in the character and chronology of Neil. The early pain that I mentioned is something very difficult to explore in the kind of overt manner that Whiplash tackles it's subject. The longer timeline of this film also likely dictated the decision to pace it in a slower, more calculated way. All in all I liked the pacing and tone of the movie, but people going in expecting something as rhythmically entertaining as either Whiplash or La La Land may come away sorely disappointed.

The screenplay of First Man fits well with the approach to Neil's character in that it puts as much emphasis on the quiet moments as the spoken moments. Indeed the silent parts were probably my favourite in terms of emotional impact. At times I felt like the personal sections could have been better written, as I didn't feel myself fully engaged through every scene. There were times when I was actively rooting for some chemistry between Neil and whoever he was interacting with, be it his wife, kids, friends or colleagues, yet the script never quite scratched that itch for me. There are touching moments for sure, but nothing that really drew me closer to the inner mind of the character. Again, I think part of this was intentional, but I would be lying if I said the dialogue was all it could have been. The moments where it shines through the most are when Neil is fully engaged in what he loves doing, or the moments of solemn reflection that are powerful enough without the need for speech or music. On the subject of music, Chazelle went with Justin Hurwitz once again to produce the soundtrack, but in general he is very sparing in his use of it, which personally I liked. The final climactic scenes on the moon itself were by far the most affecting to me personally, and aside from the obligatory lines that everybody knows, the scene is almost entirely silent, with just the desolation and peace of the moon occupying the frame. This is the moment equivalent to the final drumming performance in Whiplash, where you feel Armstrong is where he is meant to be and has finally realised his destiny.

The performances in First Man are top notch. Ryan Gosling does what Ryan Gosling has done so well before in an ever growing list of great films. There is something in that man's eyes that was designed for playing roles like this, always enigmatic and mysterious, adding a layer of vulnerability to every scene. I've seen him give better performances, but I still think he did a fantastic job with what he was given in what was a very challenging role. Claire Foy as Janet does an amiable job also, although I would have liked to have seen a bit more from her relationship with Neil and the struggles she was going through when he was away. I also enjoyed Jason Clarke as first American to walk in space Ed White. There were no mind-blowing performances, but none that disappointed either. If the screenplay was a little more polished then I believe there was potential here for Gosling and Foy to do some of their very best work, but as it turned out there were times where I felt the writing kept them in their comfort zones.

The film is as much a visual delight as any I have seen about space travel, but not for the typical reasons. Of course there are the expected shots of the Earth from space, the blackness of the unknown and the luminating glow of the Lunar surface, but of more interest to me was the tangible feel of the spaceships and pods, where every switch, nut, bolt and screw felt vitally important to the success of any given mission. Chazelle puts you literally in the faces of the astronauts as they operate these vessels, some of which are no bigger than the inside of a car. It is enough to induce any lingering claustrophobia the viewer may have, especially when you consider the lunacy of strapping yourself into one of these things with thousands of tonnes of explosives sitting directly under you. If the risk and danger of these situations is what Chazelle wanted to capture, he did a damn good job. So much so that when Armstrong steps onto the moon and into uncharted territory, it feels positively safe and serine compared to where he had been before. This is enhanced by the only real use of wide angled or long shots in the entire film, releasing the audience from the stifling grip of close ups and shaky handheld scenes that Chazelle indulges in for most of First Man, and I think also symbolises a quiet moment of clarity for Neil as he finally completes the mission of a lifetime. Overall First Man is a very immersive experience, throwing and tossing the audience around as if we were in Neil's shoes. This immersion contrasts well with the emotionally severed approach the film takes to Neil's personal relationships, only letting us get up close to the man when he is hurling through space at a thousand miles an hour.

As far as any political controversy this film has caused, I quite frankly get bored even thinking about it. It is a sad truth of our age that such a timeless and unifying event in humanity's history can not escape the web of lies, deception and political correctness of people who would rather focus on trivialities and playing the blame game than honestly engaging with a piece of art through apolitical eyes. All I will say is I applaud Chazelle for handling the telling of this great story with class and integrity. Anybody who would rather focus on what the film doesn't say than what it does I honestly feel sorry for. After all, what we need more than ever right now are stories of people who broke the mould, thought differently and chased impossible dreams against the odds.

First Man is a film I recommend for a variety of reasons. It is an important story for people to know about and understand. Damien Chazelle has said that his goal was to show aspects of the moon landing that have gone unseen and unrecognised for too long. I think he achieves this in that I came out knowing much more than when I went in, and beyond that, I empathised with the motivations and sacrifices made by all those involved. The script leaves a little to be desired, but does do an adequate job in documenting the prime years of a special and unique man, for all his faults. How much of First Man is accurate in relation to the real Neil Armstrong I do not know, but part of cinema is taking grains of truth and making them dramatically engaging, something Chazelle seems to be very good at doing. It is exciting to have a director working in Hollywood who is unafraid to tell stories of uncompromising characters who will stop at nothing in the service of something bigger than themselves. These are the tales that sustain us and inspire future generations to go beyond what is expected. Tied in with these themes in First Man is a look, admittedly from a distance, at the human condition and how people come to terms with loss. An eternal and well explored theme, but one the film gives some welcome clarity to.

Acting: 80
Narrative: 80
Cinematography: 90
Music: 80

Overall: 83/100