Last winter I visited Vienna, and while walking around the city and enjoying the omnipresent history, I noticed, by the Belvedere Gardens, a memorial plaque: “The distinguished philosopher and university professor Moritz Schlick (1882-1936).” The name somehow sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember from where. When a taxi driver explained to me that Schlick was the founder of the influential Vienna Circle and that he was murdered “accidentally” by a student, I wanted to learn more.
At a nearby library I found Schlick’s 1927 essay “On the meaning of life”. A quick glance revealed his main idea: that life can be meaningful only if we turn everything we do into a play. That sounded strange, coming from a serious philosopher. I had to sit down and read the entire essay to realize what he meant: When we play, Schlick’s explains, we find meaning in the activity itself, not in some future goal. The same must apply to life in general: We should find joy and meaning in everything we do while we are doing it, as if we were playing. Meaning is now, not in the future.
I put down the book and reflected. Is this a realistic attitude to life? And then I an old memory surfaced in my mind.
A number of years ago, I got a temporary position at some university as a guest lecturer of literature. As I remember it now, it was an enjoyable semester, even though working with talented students was very challenging. Fortunately I had a good friend, a professor of art at the same university, and I contacted her immediately. She was only a few years older than me, a passionate and literate person: Claire.
Being new to academic teaching, I was a bit nervous about my seminars. Although my classes were going well, I often came to see Claire at her office to seek her advice and support. In one of my visits I found her standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by her students’ paintings that were leaning against the walls. She was preparing her students’ mid-semester evaluations. Two of the paintings struck me immediately as far better than the rest. They were rich, elaborate and professional-looking.
We chatted for a while, when she suddenly pointed to these two paintings.
“Final projects of my two best students,” she explained. “Which one should get a higher grade?”
I felt off balance and hesitated. They seemed opposite to each other in style and spirit, but I liked them both. Claire smiled at my indecision.
To postpone my answer, I started with an abstract analysis: image structure, composition of colors, expressive power… Claire listened quietly to my long winding analysis. When finally I came to the conclusion that Pete should get the higher credit, she smiled again.
“No,” she shook her head. “The real masterpiece is the work of Hugh.”
Her firm statement surprised me, and even offended me a little. She was usually a gentle person. I tried to explain again my reasoning, but she stopped me.
“Listen Alma, don’t look at the obvious objective reasons. Try going deeper. Look under the surface.”
“But the surface is all we can see,” I objected. “I cannot base my evaluation on the invisible!”
Claire laughed. “The depth is not invisible! It’s in the paintings.”
I felt a bit embarrassed. “Alright, Claire, explain what you mean.”
“Look, Alma, Pete works in a popular style which is meant to please the eye. He knows exactly what he wants this painting to do for him – to give him a nice contract with a nice art gallery. He is using a contemporary artistic trend for a future result – success, fame, money.”
“But how do you know, Claire? Did he tell you what he thinks?”
“I don’t care what he thinks or says. I listen to what his paintings say.”
“Well, maybe you are right, he wants success – so what? What’s wrong with success?”
My friend became serious now. “Nothing is wrong here, Alma. That’s human nature. That’s the way of today’s world. Pete’s work is not at all bad, but it does not come genuinely out of himself. Hugh, on the other hand, paints out of the sheer joy of expressing himself – without trying to please anybody, without calculating the effect on gallery owners. He simply paints. That’s why he has a real potential as a future artist.”
I looked at the paintings again, and I could see what she meant. I nodded.
“As an art teacher,” she continued, “my main task is to help my students find meaning in the act of doing art. As philosopher Moritz Schlick said, you should do what you do because you find meaning in doing it. A true artist finds meaning in putting paint on the canvas, in experimentation and struggle, and even in moments of confusion and difficulty. It may not be fun, but it’s meaningful. That’s the attitude I want to see in my students’ artwork.”
“And Hugh’s attitude is…”
“Philosopher Schlick called it ‘meaning as playing’ – and Hugh plays, in this deep sense of this word.”
She picked up a book from her desk and read:
“Play… is any activity which is done entirely for its own sake, independently of its effects and consequences. Nothing prevents these effects from being useful and valuable. If they are useful, so much the better – the action still remains a play, since it already carries its own value within itself.”
Back then, eight or ten years ago, I understood Claire only vaguely. But now, sitting in this small Viennese library, with more life-experience behind me, I think I understood. I held in my hands Schlick’s essay and whispered his words:
“Life means movement and action, and if we wish to find a meaning in life, we must find activities which carry their own purpose and value within themselves, independently of any external goals. … The highest rule of action would be the principle: ‘What is not worth doing for its own sake, don’t do for anything else’s sake!’ All of life would then be truly meaningful, down to its ultimate details.”
= = =
To read the fuller text by Schlick, see the Agora website at:
https://www.philopractice.org/web/meaning#Schlick
