I’ve been considering the idea of “meaning,” in its more or less emotive context, over the past few days. One of the things that has struck me repeatedly is that in order for something to have meaning in our lives - and now that I see this, it strikes me as so simple that I wonder if it’s even worthwhile discussing - we must acknowledge some sort of personal limitation on ourselves by that thing. This is not a limitation in the sense of being fenced by an exterior force, but rather a self-limiting, a self-giving or gift, which results in a personal connection with that thing.

I think it may be analogized with art. Consider painting. The canvas, of whatever size, is the limitation. Or sculpture. The sculptor pares away stone (for instance), gradually evolving a figure out of it. Meaning is only acquired by limitation of space in accordance with reason. (Perhaps this is why “modern art” seems so devoid. The artists seeks no self-limitation, and asks none of you - interpretations might limit the artist in some way, and so therefore, the art is literally without meaning in being without limitation.)

This idea of meaning through limitation seems contrary to what society demands. Limitation is viewed as constriction on freedom (whether imposed within or without). However, in demanding unlimited access to anything, one thereby makes that thing devoid of meaning, for such is the emotional effect of unfettered choice.

-j.