Minds in search of meaning

Almost 40 years ago, I was looking into the ordinary phenomenon of worry. Midway through the materialist decade of the 80s, this was an unusual research subject. But worry, I reasoned, was the cardinal symptom of generalised anxiety disorder – a potentially debilitating condition that affects around 3 to 8 per cent of the population. I discovered that the entire academic literature on worry amounted to about six or seven papers. Curiously, no one had bothered to ask people what they worried about. I promptly conducted some surveys and sent my numbers off to be crunched by a big university mainframe.

The results were mostly unsurprising. Worries “clustered” thematically. People worried about intimate relationships, not having confidence in social situations, making mistakes at work, running out of money, and bad things happening in the world. But there was also a cluster I wasn’t expecting. It was a group of worries about having no direction or prospects and the key item was “I worry that life has no purpose”. About half my community sample fell into this unexpected cluster, which I labelled “Aimless Future”. It was something of an anomaly, more like a collection of depressive ruminations – and I was supposed to be researching anxiety, not depression.

Looking back now, I wish I’d paid more attention to these meaning-related worries. For the preceding two decades, mainstream clinical psychology, in a bid to achieve scientific legitimacy, focused almost exclusively on observable behaviour and neglected subjective phenomena. Things have moved on: today, all forms of mental activity are considered fit for study. Even so, I think many health professionals are still overlooking an interesting relationship between worry and our need to live meaningfully.

What is the meaning of life?

We tend to worry when we feel threatened. Worry is a cognitive facet of anxiety; anxiety being a much broader concept that also includes physiological responses such as an accelerated heart rate and hyperventilation. A moderate amount of worry is probably beneficial because it prompts us to prepare and problem solve. However, if we doubt our ability to cope, worry can easily become untethered from reality and spiral in repetitive loops towards imagined disasters. Because mental health statistics show that people are currently very anxious, we can be reasonably confident that levels of worry are also high.

This might suggest that we are feeling increasingly threatened and unable to influence outcomes. The worries in my “Aimless Future” cluster were also triggered by a threat: the threat of meaninglessness.

As big questions go, you can’t get much bigger than “What is the meaning of life?” It is a question that is often modified slightly, becoming “Does life have a purpose?” One can quibble over the semantics, but for most people, meaning and purpose overlap significantly. If you are looking for a purpose, you are probably also looking for meaning. During the 80s, questions concerning the purpose and meaning of life gradually lost currency. Oversized suits, padded shoulders and brick-sized mobile phones became emblematic of an emphasis on money and material success. Although power dressing dialled down, the mindset persisted, and, for a long time, western society has been more interested in acquiring “things” than “purposes”.

Today, however, “meaning” seems to be making a comeback. It is frequently chosen as a topic of conversation in podcasts and panel discussions. Commentators suggest that we are living through a “meaning crisis”. For example, John Vervaeke – a professor of psychology and cognitive science at Toronto University – has reached a large audience through his 50-episode YouTube series “Awakening from the Meaning Crisis”. His fundamental assertion is that our mental health would improve if we were more willing to consult philosophical and spiritual traditions for guidance.

Recent studies show that young people are especially distressed by meaninglessness. In December 2022, American teenagers and young adults between the ages of 18 and 25 were questioned for a Harvard Graduate School of Education report titled “On Edge: Understanding and Preventing Young Adults’ Mental Health Challenges”. Fifty-eight per cent of young adults said that they had experienced little or no meaning in their lives over the course of the preceding month, and half said that their mental health had been negatively affected by not knowing what to do with their lives. Forty-five per cent were troubled by a “sense that things are falling apart”. A quotation from one of the participants gives a flavour of their mental state: “I have no purpose or meaning in life. I just go to work, do my mundane job, go home, prepare for the next day, scroll on my phone, and repeat.”

Meaning is important, because meaninglessness might be one of the main factors driving our “mental illness” statistics ever upwards. The meaning of life doesn’t feature very much in popular treatments like mindfulness, cognitive behaviour therapy (CBT) and supportive counselling. Perhaps we need to rethink the therapeutic landscape. A shift of emphasis in the direction of meaning could be helpful.

Could therapy help?

Of course, there is nothing stopping any therapist – practising in any modality – from discussing meaning, although in reality, they are likely to have other priorities. The majority of CBT referrals, for example, are for clearly circumscribed problems, such as panic attacks or obsessive-compulsive disorder. Long waiting lists mean that there is little time available for leisurely explorations of vaguely articulated forms of existential discomfort. Yet there have always been two ways of approaching symptoms. The first supposes that symptoms can be treated in isolation, whereas the second supposes that symptoms are related to more fundamental aspects of being. A corollary of this second approach is that therapy should be as much about personal development as it is about treatment – a notion that invariably involves at least some consideration of purpose and meaning. Symptoms can be “outgrown”.

A similar relationship probably underlies the extraordinary efficacy of psychedelic medication across multiple diagnoses. Individuals suffering from depression, anxiety, PTSD, obsessive-compulsive disorder and addictive problems all respond well. An experience of altered consciousness (usually involving temporary ego-dissolution) changes the person’s perspective – their philosophical outlook – and symptoms become less troubling or disappear.

There are many reasons why we might be living through a meaning crisis: the decline of religion in western democracies, hyper-capitalism, social fragmentation and the pernicious effects of social media, to name but a few. A less obvious contender is bullshit. It was in the 80s that the philosopher Harry Frankfurt prophetically identified the disproportionate social danger concealed within an ostensibly amusing pejorative. While a liar is still responding to truth when he or she misrepresents it, the bullshitter operates completely beyond falsity and truth – two essential orientation points that guide us towards what is meaningful.

Far too many politicians and public figures now spout bullshit as a matter of course. Growing up in a culture mired in bullshit is confusing. There are now several studies published in psychiatry and psychology journals that have demonstrated a link between lack of meaning and suicidal ideation. Bullshit can be deadly – especially when fed to young minds through smartphones. In his recent book The Anxious Generation, American social psychologist Jonathan Haidt has written that young people – particularly after the introduction of the smartphone – are “drowning in anomie and despair”. It is very difficult, he suggests, “to construct a meaningful life on one’s own, drifting through multiple disembodied networks”.

The tradition of existential psychotherapy

The phrase “the meaning of life” sounds like a deeply embedded idea. But it doesn’t appear in English until the philosopher and historian Thomas Carlyle used it for the first time in 1834 (although human beings must have been reflecting on existence and purpose as soon as brain development made this kind of thinking possible). The date is significant, because in the 1830s the intelligentsia were still reeling from three revolutions: the scientific, the industrial and the French. People were looking for new ways of answering old questions.

“The meaning of life” (as used today) has two interpretations: one universal, the other particular. Firstly, we can suppose that life has a single, over-arching purpose, which eventually connects with the insoluble conundrum of why there is something rather than nothing. But apart from people of faith, few people today believe in, let alone seek, ultimate meaning. Secondly, we can suppose a plurality of personal purposes – idiosyncratic objectives that make being in the world “bearable”. As Dostoevsky asserted, human existence isn’t just about staying alive, but finding something to live for.

This is where consulting the psychotherapeutic tradition could prove useful. Existential psychotherapy rises to the challenge of finding something to live for, and it emerged from a dialogue between philosophy and psychiatry. The first significant existential psychiatrist was Ludwig Binswanger, a colleague of both Jung and Freud. His largely theoretical writings were later developed clinically by his acolyte Medard Boss.

Only two existential psychotherapists have achieved global renown. These are Viktor Frankl – who lived until 1997 – and the iconic 60s counter-culture psychiatrist R.D. Laing (although not everyone agrees that Laing was a true existential psychotherapist). Existential psychotherapy is a broad church, but it was Frankl who developed the first “meaning-based” existential psychotherapy. In his best-selling book Man’s Search for Meaning, first published in 1946, Frankl described the genesis of “logotherapy” during his time as a prisoner in Nazi concentration camps. In fact, he had already formulated the tenets of logotherapy before he was incarcerated in Dachau and Terezin. Concentration camps were not so much where Frankl constructed his theories, but where he tested them. Logotherapists frequently adopt a didactic method, and patients are “taught” the importance of living meaningfully before potential sources of meaning are explored.

There are now around 30 meaning-based psychotherapies, and they are all predicated on a basic assumption: meaning is so fundamental to the human animal that if we do not find meaning we will experience distress. It can be argued that psychiatrists have habitually misclassified this kind of distress as “mental illness”.

Beyond meaning

The idea that meaning is fundamental to being human is supported by neuroscience. Our most recently evolved brain areas are the frontal lobes. They mediate the functions
that distinguish us most clearly from our animal relatives – reasoning, judgement, problem solving and impulse control, for example. One of the main functions associated with the frontal lobes is setting goals. When we set a goal and achieve it, the neurotransmitter dopamine is released, and we experience pleasure – or, more accurately, increased motivation to seek pleasure. The influential neuroscientist and polymath Iain McGilchrist maintains that the essential underlying function of the right hemisphere of the brain is to understand the world and invest it with meaning. We are comprehensively wired to look for meaning in much the same way as we are wired to look for food. When we are deprived of food, we experience hunger, and when we are deprived of meaning, we experience distress.

However, not everyone agrees that we should privilege meaning. Eastern philosophies like Taoism are much more about harmony than purpose. Yet in the west, many eastern philosophies and practices are popularly considered to be good for mental health. There might be some overlap. When people take up meditation, yoga or tai chi, for example, they could also be hoping to enrich their lives in a meaningful way.

In fact, the most vociferous criticism of meaningful living hasn’t come from the east. Some western philosophers complain that searching for meaning is the ultimate act of bad faith – a denial of life’s inherent randomness and absurdity. This is an important point because shying away from reality is generally thought to be damaging to psychological health.

Even if one accepts that the pursuit of personal meaning is important for well-being, there is still the question of whether narrowing one’s focus on meaning alone is optimally therapeutic. Meaning is discovered through living and a person must be ready to find it – so perhaps other psychotherapeutic goals must be met first. Millions have read Man’s Search for Meaning – it can still be found in high street bookshops after 80 years – but few go on to read about how logotherapy evolved and of the differences of opinion that arose in Frankl’s circle.

Frankl’s close associate Alfried Längle eventually disagreed with his mentor and by the 90s he was advocating for substantive modifications to logotherapy. Längle – who lives in Vienna and has established his own school of “existential analysis” – suggested that meaning is preceded by more fundamental existential goals. We need to feel safe in the world; we need to experience life as valuable; we must have some notion of self-worth. If we pursue meaning prior to completing the necessary existential groundwork, we will be less likely to experience the beneficial psychological outcomes that Frankl promised.

Personal purpose

Meaning-based psychotherapies – past and present – urge us not to find the meaning of life, but a meaning. The replacement of the definite article with the indefinite article is problematic, because it implies that any meaning will do. Can this be right? What if your chosen purpose in life is to collect Rolex watches, or Louis Vuitton handbags? To what extent can you expect purposes of this kind to reduce your existential angst? Talking to patients, one gets a strong impression that different purposes are associated with different degrees of benefit.

Frank Martela, a popular philosopher of meaning, claims that the finding of meaning in life can be expressed in a single sentence: “Meaning in life is about doing things that are meaningful to you, in a way that makes yourself meaningful to other people.” It is a definition that emphasises connectivity. The most satisfying personal meanings combine inner connectivity, that is, self-knowledge, with external connectivity – in other words, points of human contact. Martela’s account of meaningfulness creates an area of overlap with transpersonal psychology, which suggests that well-being is closely linked to reflective self-inquiry and pro-social values.

It is unlikely that collecting Louis Vuitton handbags will reveal unsuspected aspects of the self and bring you into closer relationship with others. Not impossible, of course, just not likely. Purposes have hinterlands of meaning, some narrow, some wide. Some offer few opportunities for enrichment, while others offer many. The practice of psychotherapy suggests that for most people, purposes with wide hinterlands of connectivity are more likely to be associated with improved mental health than purposes with narrow hinterlands of connectivity.

The most famous living existential psychotherapist is Irvin Yalom, a psychiatrist and emeritus professor at Stanford University. Yalom has gained a large mainstream readership with titles such as Love’s Executioner, which drew on the lives of ten of his patients, and Staring at the Sun, on our ideas about mortality. Yalom isn’t usually classified as a meaning-based therapist, but meaning still features in his work. He is identified with the existential-humanist school, which has its roots in late-50s America.

For Yalom, living is a challenge because full engagement with reality makes us anxious. Consequently, we erect defences that warp and distort experience. In this respect, he is a close relative of Freud. Human beings must negotiate what Yalom calls the “existential givens” – of which there are four: death, freedom, isolation and meaninglessness. We must accept that we are mortal, exercise choices and accept responsibility for our actions, understand that we are ultimately alone, and acknowledge that there is no cosmic purpose. Yalom – like Frankl – believes that finding personal meaning is good for us. But at the same time, he insists that we must never lose sight of the void in our metaphorical rear-view mirror. The void adds urgency to life.

Physical and mental health benefits

So much for the theory, what about the evidence? There have been many controlled outcome studies of meaning-based psychotherapies and the results have been – on the whole – positive. They seem to be particularly suitable for people suffering from depression, and more generally, successful completion of therapy is associated with reduced stress and improved quality of life. They are also notably helpful for people suffering from chronic or life-threatening conditions. This shouldn’t be too surprising, perhaps, as the existential tradition engages with the big questions of life and death more than any other.

So, why aren’t more people offered meaning-based therapies? Answer: there aren’t that many meaning-based psychotherapists. CBT has become the dominant therapeutic modality in the UK and the US. This is largely because CBT practitioners were among the first to conduct successful and well-designed outcome studies. Moreover, CBT developed primarily as a treatment for problems that have observable symptoms. If after ten sessions of CBT a former agoraphobic can leave his or her home, then this is a decisive and irrefutable indication of improvement. Proving that a vague sense of aimlessness has lifted and that life has become more meaningful isn’t quite so straightforward.

Some have also suggested that the ascent of CBT in the 80s was assisted by the prevailing cultural headwinds. A cheap, efficient therapy was viewed favourably, especially when compared with the interminable labour of psychoanalysis, which can take years.

However, given the current state of the nation’s mental health, I can’t help wondering whether mainstream clinical psychology was wrong to restrict its scope in this way. Perhaps we should have been more willing to consider the bigger picture.

Meaning is undoubtedly important, and it is perplexing that – until very recently – it hasn’t featured very much in public conversations about mental health. After all, most of us will have experienced periods in our lives when meaning has become elusive. We are familiar with the consequences: the feeling of being adrift; the obfuscating fog of a vaguely depressive malaise; the hollowness that we try to fill with ineffective substitute gratifications. Frankl identified a pernicious mental state that he called “Sunday neurosis”. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, time to kill; the void gaining confidence and pressing against the windows as twilight falls.

Living meaningfully isn’t only good for our mental health; it seems that it also improves our physical health. In 2023, Frank Martela and colleagues analysed a large US medical data set that was collected over a period of 23 years. The results, published in the journal Psychology and Ageing, found that both satisfaction and purpose predict physical health and longevity; however, people who lived purposeful lives lived longest. This was the first time that a study comparing purpose and satisfaction as competing variables had been conducted.

‘The meaning crisis’

As a culture, we pursue happiness, but the effects of happiness on longevity are in fact weaker than the effects of meaning. It is interesting that the Brain Care Score – a measure developed recently at the McCance Center for Brain Health in the US to motivate patients to reduce their risk of developing age-related brain disorders – contains a section devoted to the assessment of “Meaning in Life”. Meaning is acknowledged as a factor relevant to brain health and longevity, along with more obvious candidates such as blood pressure, cholesterol, exercise, diet, sleep and smoking.

When I reflect on my old worry research, I can see now that the annoying “Aimless Future” cluster that I ignored was a real missed opportunity. It might even have been the seedbed of what has since become the florid malignancy of the meaning crisis. As Albert Camus pointed out, meaning is a serious business. When human beings can’t find a reason to live, they tend to decide not to live. Someone in the world decides not to live every 40 seconds.

“What is the meaning of life?” It is a question that we have become accustomed to encountering in humorous contexts where it is usually linked with the number 42. If we stop taking it seriously, perhaps the joke will be on us.

This article is from New Humanist’s Summer 2025 issue. Subscribe now.