Depressing motivation
“No man is liberated from fear who dare not see his place in the world as it is; no man can achieve the greatness of which he is capable until he has allowed himself to see his own littleness.” — Bertrand Russell
Fear of failure is a prison. The trite self-help admonition to “imagine what you would do if you couldn’t fail” still manages to resonate, because it shines a light on what is available to us if we only notice that the cell door is unlocked.
This fear accounts for much of our mediocrity. It’s largely why we don’t talk to that good-looking stranger, or hazard that controversial thought, or dance on that table, or leave that job, or pursue that dream.
Why are we so scared? Often, we fear for our egos. What if I fall flat on my face? I’m somebody, and I don’t want to risk feeling like a nobody, even if the pay-off is being somebody better.
But here’s an uncomfortable truth: You probably aren’t somebody. You’ve heard of Einstein, Shakespeare, Picasso, and Mozart. Maybe you know Feynman, Ibsen, Goya, and Ravel. But how about Shannon, O’Neill, Hayter, and Hofmann?
Claude Shannon was a mathematical genius who invented information theory, without which that device you’re holding right now wouldn’t exist. Eugene O’Neill won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1936. Sir George Hayter was court painter to Queen Victoria. Leopold Hoffman was one of the most gifted violinists of the 18th century.
I knew about Shannon. The others — legends, all — I had to google. However good you are at whatever it is you’re good at, you’re extremely unlikely to be anywhere near as good as these folks were, and it takes a rare person to call their names now.
Since the sands of time are busy obscuring the contributions of even generational talents, by rights you should expect to be completely forgotten very soon after your death. And don’t think you’ll live on through your offspring either, because they will all be forgotten too. This whole project — your birth, hopes, desires, fears, joys, miseries, choices, triumphs, defeats, and ultimate death — will shortly fade from view without so much as a requiem from the cosmos. In the grand scheme of things, you’re not that important.
Here’s the silver lining: If what you’re doing now has no cosmic significance, you need not fear doing it badly. Maybe your great successes won’t count for much from the point of view of eternity, but neither will your worst failures. In 100 years, will it really matter what those people, now long gone, thought of you? Will it even matter what you thought of yourself, when everything went pear-shaped?
Oddly, the knowledge of our littleness, as Russell suggests, should push us to pursue even loftier goals. You’re not dead and forgotten yet, so while you’re here, why not swing for the fences? You might just achieve your true potential, and along the way, make a little difference to the people around you right now.
