The End of Meaning

Nothing of importance will ever happen again. This is where the track ends.

It is the greatest happiness of the greatest number that is the measure of right and wrong. Over two hundred years after Bentham’s pronouncement, we continue to live in the shadow of Utilitarian ethics. Since the construxion of our Omelas, the incorrectly labelled ‘ends justify the means’ approach has been not only the adopted ideologies of states but of the machines which form the system. But Bentham, like all ethics, refuses to elaborate on right and wrong; refuses to acknowledge the conceptual vis-à-vis inherent to the hierarchical contradixion. 

What is it about happiness which qualifies this intangible aspect to serve as a singular criterion for ethical judgement? Which truth of its existence proves this to be the proper bedrock on which to build a society? Can we even define happiness in the first place? Is it a quantifiable metric? It must be in opposition to unhappiness or sadness, yet these shadow terms are equally nebulous expressions, only gaining meaning from our terms for other, less emphasised emotions. What does it mean to be happy? Does the happiness of a mass truly hold more significance than that of an individual? Certainly, this may hold true from an outside perspective, but we can never live our lives outside of our perspective and thus in a way it is rendered useless. We may never know, yet our society built, at least in part, with Bentham’s mantra, continued down through Mills, a fostering feeling, instead of relative happiness, in the majority of the populace: contentment. 

If there is any term to prescribe to the condition of the Neu, it is that of content (in both its meanings). Never before in history, in the developed world, have we enjoyed the quality of living which allows for the eschewing of all worries, placing our faith instead into the hands of the systems we inhabit. 

We need not fight for food or fend for life (this perhaps shows my own harmless existence); the days of hunting and irrigation are gone. Though poverty, discrimination, state-violence, class inequality, imperialism, monopolisation, state-lobbying and any other number of factors hindering utopia for all continue to exist, the vast populace is clueless, or purposefully ignorant, to this truth. This idea would disrupt the comfort, the contentedness. 

I once wrote, and still firmly believe, no metaphysical labour, that is any effort of serious thought or artistic creativity, can occur without the prerequisite of material comfort; however, this axiom’s truth expands equally in the opposite direxion. With an excess accumulation of comfort, all need for metaphysical activity ceases. This is the last stop for our developing society. We will have no need for art or thought because we are told what to think, what to feel, and Art, true Art, is a perversion of those spoon-fed beliefs. It deviates from the norm of comfort because it is meant to confront us with the uncomfortable, the necessarily discontent.

There is a common colloquial complaint which is passed down perpetually through generations. It goes along the lines of: everything used to be good, but now we have nothing. It is a Fascist longing for the pass. It is the hue of commercialised nostalghia. It is the memory of a forgotten time, the anemoia of every displaced soul. And for most of human existence it has been an untrue consequence of youthful alienation. But we are past the point of standard history. All the patterns and cycles that we cling to in order to derive meaning from the construct of history have faded, never again to emerge. We are at the end of line.

Perhaps for the first time, the illusion of progress, the hallucination of our evolution and development moving towards some ultimate goal has eroded. We are at a standstill. In truth, this may seem hyperbollic. Never before have we seen such innovation in technology; the rapid progress of development snowballing into the coming singularity; but with that technology comes comfort, contentedness and ultimate death.

The needs of the developed, those physical requirements which predate metaphysical labour, are ballooning beyond control. When given the choice of infinite options, all choice is removed. Sapped by the sickness of content, we no longer desire anything beyond the immediate. The convenience of the modern world slowly erases the fact of the immortal soul.

Instead of the need to bring something into the world, one must fight against the world and oneself to even hope of flourishing, and even that hope is an illusion in a sea of images.

The world is at our fingertips. With one button we can travel immeasurable distances or access anything floating in the voyd of infinite creation. With modernity, we have elevated ourselves to the seat of gods, and with our technological augments, our cybernetic connectors, we achieve omniscience. What need does God have for Art? What about happiness?

These concepts are trivial to a deity. When faced with the growing-infinite of the cosmos, the seed of oneself becomes less than a leaf on a tree, less than the moisture on a single root; despite all knowledge, readily available at any time, the omnipotent god is a passive observer, and as an observer, is unable to influence the flow.

This brings us back to the trend of automation; the slow conversion of human desire machines into productive automatons. Soon all creative outburst should be scheduled. They should serve a useful funxion for the economy and should be morally conscionable. What need is there for anything outside of that? What use does extra-societal Art fulfill? What good will thinking do other than worry you and, god-forbid, affect your work performance? Those are outdated practices from less productive times. But how can you say we are worse off now?

We have television. We have computers and smartphones and cars and radios. We have brand-name stores that always stock exactly what you need. We have fast-food restaurants which save you money and online services to deliver your precious goods the same day they were ordered. We have all the conveniences the past lacked. We ARE the future. How can we be worse off?

And I ask you this in return: imagine a lonely lantern keeper who is locked high in a tower over the waves. It is his job, and his alone, to check the flame every night. To ensure it is burning and can properly guide the ships away from the rocky shores.

He does this for years without fail. In the winter, the flame keeps him warm, and though it’s a busy life, he lives it, with purpose and without fail, even when things seem too hard to take. And during all of this, in those rare times where he has respite, he will paint or will read or will write. And these small moments bring all meaning into his life.

Then one day, he is delivered a lightbulb. All he needs to do is install the machine in the lighthouse, turn it on, and then he will never have to worry about the tedious duties again. He won’t need to search for oil, or ensure the flame is still burning, or beware the winds which might break the glass and snuff out the light.

So he installs the bulb, and goes off to sleep. The next year passes in contentedness. No chores to do. Utter relaxation, utter comfort. He now feels safe and secure on the island, no longer fighting against his life. But this makes him lazy. Though there is time, he can no longer find the drive to write, the time to read always seems to be slipping away, and without the harsh shadows cast by the oil lamp, there’s nothing of interest left to paint. These too fall by the wayside.

Later in the year, when the winter comes, the bulb provides no heat. It continues to light up the water, and to keep the ships safe from the shore, but up above the lantern keeper freezes to death, in peaceful comfort. And in his absence, the light continues to shine. Until all the power goes out and the world goes dark. What does it mean to be better off?

We return again to Bentham and the problem inherent in all language. Better off only has meaning when compared to worse off, but there is no outside criteria for this, no way to ask the objects which was the right choice and the semantic line which intersects at all these meaning continues on ad infinitum. And we are hardly qualified to give an answer ourselves. That leaves the statement as essentially meaningless.

The better question, and in fact the only question, is one of personal value rather than a universal ethical claim. Do we prefer to freeze to death in exaggerated comfort, or do we wish a little suffering on ourselves for the propagation of our most sacred gift: that of creation.

How can it be that creation, thought, Art, are such fickle concepts that they bend and break at either end of a spectrum? Do we not possess an eternity-old mantra demanding Art flourishes under adversity? Yet look at ancient Greece. It saw the greatest surge in thought during the prosperous rule of Macedon, where comfort superseded adversity. And this is far from the only example. What of the Islamic Golden Age? The Renaissance? The Enlightenment? May might try to argue for the work of Laozi, Sunzi and Kongzi during the warring states period, but in fact all of these philosophical thoughts emerged during the Spring and Autumn Period, and though far from stable, it was still a prosperous period compared to the following Warring States.

So, where does this leave us? Those who want to create and who have been trained by a Romantic narrative to believe we must suffer in order to do so. In truth, as beautiful the notion of a tortured artist may be, there are always more pressing concerns in a life lacking in basic necessities. Now we must face the opposition of this revelation and come to grips with its shadow; that there are more pressing concerns in a life of complete satiation. Art, thought, any form of human creation is a way of reaching out into the empyrean to fill a longing untouched by the strictly material world. To have no longing to fill, to be bombarded by constant destraxion removes the soul of creation from the body. If the train of our future, if we are to have one at all, continues down this path, we will soon arrive at the final junxion. There will be a choice. Not an individual choice but one maybe by the systems we have built. Does Comfort, capital, in the purest form, outway the contribution of the spiritual, metaphysical works?

When that choice is made, whatever it may be, there will be no turning back. We  will arrive at the end of meaning, and nothing of importance will ever happen again.