The Individual’s Struggle - Faith, Suffering, and Meaning

Every society is made up of individuals, and the choice between power and transcendence is ultimately decided in the heart of each person. Before tyrants rule nations, they are first ruled by their own unchecked desires-enslaved to ambition, fear, and the insatiable need for control. They do not master themselves in any true sense; rather, they are driven by their worst instincts, mistaking dominance over others for real strength. Likewise, before communities can rise above conflict, individuals must seek meaning beyond selfish desire. The struggle for power does not begin on the battlefield or in the halls of government-it begins within. In this chapter, we turn to that personal battlefield: the inner conflict between chasing comfort, control, and fleeting pleasures or embracing faith, purpose, and the willingness to suffer for what is truly meaningful.

Modern life offers countless distractions and pleasures. From the allure of consumer goods and entertainment to the endless validation loops of social media, it has never been easier to try to drown out emptiness with stimulation. Yet psychologists and sages alike warn that a life devoted only to chasing pleasure or avoiding pain leads not to happiness, but to a deeper kind of suffering. The existential philosopher Søren Kierkegaard saw this clearly in what he called the “aesthetic” life - the life of pleasure-seeking. The aesthetic mode, Kierkegaard observed, often results in a sense of frantic busyness and novelty-chasing that ultimately collapses into boredom and despair. He famously described despair as the sickness of the soul - a condition that arises when a person refuses to become who they truly are meant to be in relation to the eternal. The one who lives for nothing higher than personal satisfaction will inevitably find that satisfaction fleeting. Kierkegaard argued that reason and intellect alone cannot supply the deep contentment we crave; one can be very clever and successful and yet utterly in despair. This is why he insisted on the necessity of a “leap of faith” - a voluntary surrender to God or a higher purpose that defies cold rational calculus. Without that leap, one remains trapped in what he called the dizziness of freedom: too many choices, no grounding truth, and eventually a paralyzing nihilism.

To illustrate the impoverishment of a life without faith or self-transcending commitment, Kierkegaard often pointed to the biblical story of Abraham. God asked Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son Isaac - an ethical atrocity if taken literally, yet Abraham was willing to trust God beyond the limits of human reason (and in the end, God provided a ram so Isaac was spared). Kierkegaard used this story to show that true faith sometimes demands a teleological suspension of the ethical - meaning, a willingness to go beyond conventional “ethical” reasoning for the sake of a higher command. While most of us will never face such an extreme test, in everyday life we are frequently called to sacrifice immediate logic or comfort for something we feel intuitively is right: following one’s calling even when it doesn’t make financial sense, staying loyal to a friend at great cost, forgiving someone who hurt us deeply when revenge would be “justified,” and so on. These are personal leaps of faith in miniature. They require embracing some level of suffering or risk for the sake of love, loyalty, or truth. Kierkegaard would say that in doing so, we become our authentic selves - we align with the profound truth that a human being is more than a self-interested organism; we are also spiritual creatures yearning for meaning.

The Swiss psychiatrist Carl Gustav Jung, coming from a very different angle (the clinical study of the psyche), arrived at complementary insights about the human need for meaning and the transformative power of suffering. Jung observed that many of his patients, especially those in midlife and beyond, were afflicted not by clinical neurosis in the narrow sense but by a lack of meaning and purpose. Their lives had become shells - materially comfortable perhaps, yet spiritually empty. In a striking reflection, Jung wrote: “Among those in the second half of life… there has not been one whose problem in the last resort was not that of finding a religious outlook on life… Every one of them fell ill because he had lost that which the living religions of every age have given their followers, and none of them has really been healed who did not regain his religious outlook.”. This is a remarkable statement coming from a man of science: essentially, Jung concluded that without a connection to the transcendent (a “religious outlook”), the human psyche breaks down. No amount of rational analysis or therapy could fully cure his patients until they rediscovered a spiritual perspective - a sense that their lives were part of something larger, touched by the eternal.

Why would this be the case? Jung’s theory of the psyche included the concept of the Self (with a capital S), an archetype that represents wholeness and the imago Dei - the image of God - within the unconscious. The ego (our conscious identity) is but a fragment of the psyche, and it needs to relate to this greater Self to feel complete. If the ego tries to make itself the center of everything - effectively worshipping itself or superficial things - it cuts itself off from the source of deeper meaning and healing. Jung noticed that many pathologies emerge from the ego’s refusal to acknowledge its limits. For instance, a person might develop an inflation (grandiosity) or, conversely, crippling anxiety and depression, as a result of losing touch with the guiding wholeness of the Self. The remedy often involved what Jung called individuation: a process of integrating the disparate parts of oneself, including the shadow (the darker, repressed aspects of the personality), to become a more balanced and whole individual. This process is inherently challenging - even painful. “How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow?” Jung mused. “I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole.”. In other words, one must confront one’s own darkness and suffering rather than flee it.

For Jung, as for many wisdom traditions, suffering has a purpose in the development of the personality. The trials we face - loss, failure, illness, the collapse of cherished illusions - can serve as initiations into a deeper level of understanding. They strip away our naïve attachments and force us to ask the big questions about life and ourselves. In Jungian terms, suffering often prompts the ego to relinquish its illusion of total control. It humbles us, opening the door for the Self (and by extension, the sense of the sacred) to enter our consciousness. As long as we refuse to accept suffering - if we try to numb it with distractions or project our pain as blame onto others - we remain stuck. “We cannot change anything unless we accept it. Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses,” Jung wrote. The paradox is that by accepting the reality of suffering and our own capacity for evil or weakness, we actually transcend it to some degree - we rob the “shadow” of its sting by integrating it. This is akin to the religious idea of accepting one’s cross to ultimately overcome it.

In practical terms, what does it mean for an individual to choose ordered sacrifice over raw power in daily life? It can mean many things: choosing honesty even when a lie would be advantageous, practicing self-discipline in one’s appetites (for food, sex, entertainment) rather than indulging impulsively, dedicating time to help others with no expectation of reward, or committing to a path of personal growth (therapy, spiritual practice, creative labor) that is arduous but meaningful. These are all forms of voluntary suffering - or put more gently, they are sacrifices of immediate comfort for the sake of a higher good. The alternative is to live governed by the pleasure principle and the ego’s demands: take what you can, avoid what hurts, assert your will at others’ expense if necessary. That alternative might feel liberating in the short run, but it tends to backfire, leading to chaos in one’s life and character.

Consider a very vivid real-world example of the hedonistic path gone awry: the life of classic Hollywood film star Errol Flynn. Flynn was famous for his swashbuckling roles and equally notorious for his off-screen pursuit of every conceivable pleasure. As recounted in his autobiography and by those who knew him, Flynn sought to “get as much out of life as he could”, indulging in constant adventure, sexual escapades, luxurious living, and heavy use of drugs and alcohol. He lived, in a sense, the dream of unfettered freedom and enjoyment. Yet, as one analysis notes, Flynn “exemplifies the illusory nature of hedonistic happiness”. Despite all his experiences and excesses, he died at the young age of 50 - physically ravaged by cirrhosis and other effects of addiction, and by many accounts a profoundly dissatisfied man. In chasing every pleasure, Flynn neglected any sense of responsibility or higher purpose. His four children and multiple wives suffered greatly from his absences and betrayals. He had wealth, fame, and thrills, yet he confessed to feeling empty. And he is not alone. The tragic fates of other icons - Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, to name but a few - underscore a pattern: extreme success in feeding the ego and senses often coincides with inner torment or collapse. These individuals had nearly unlimited ability to wield personal “power” (over their lifestyles, over adoring fans) but it did not translate into wellness or joy. As the psychologist observing Flynn’s story remarked, “In the long run, trying to find happiness solely through hedonism leads to a sense of meaninglessness and emptiness.”.

On the flip side, research in psychology has found that people who orient their lives toward meaning, community, and virtue tend to experience greater well-being. Modern positive psychology distinguishes between “hedonic” happiness (pleasure, comfort) and “eudaimonic” happiness (meaning and fulfillment). While a balance of both is healthy, numerous studies show that pursuing eudaimonic goals - such as personal growth, family, service, or creative achievement - yields more profound and lasting satisfaction than chasing hedonic pleasure. When we commit to something larger than ourselves, we often have to give up certain freedoms or endure hardships. A parent loses sleep and free time to raise children; a volunteer gives up their weekend to care for the needy; an artist foregoes financial stability to hone their craft; a monk renounces sexual relationships and wealth for spiritual focus. Outsiders might look at these sacrifices and see only loss. But those who practice them often report a deeper sense of purpose and even joy that far outweighs the pleasures they abandoned. As one Stoic proverb puts it, “Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty.” The disciplined life - the life of ordered sacrifice - actually frees one from the tyranny of incessant wants and fears.

It is in suffering for what we love or believe in that we frequently discover the true value and strength of those things. This is the redemptive paradox of sacrifice: by giving away, we gain; by surrendering, we overcome. Nearly every spiritual tradition teaches this truth. In Christianity, Jesus tells his followers that “whoever loses his life for my sake will find it”, and exemplifies it by accepting death on a cross only to rise again. In Buddhism, the very act of meditation is a voluntary sacrifice of the wandering mind’s cravings - a disciplined letting go of attachments and ego - in order to attain enlightenment and compassion for all beings. The Buddha, like Christ, gave up a life of comfort (he was a prince who renounced his palace) to wander, fast, and face temptations in search of ultimate truth. In Hinduism, the idea of tapas (spiritual austerity or heat) suggests that by undergoing hardships in devotion to God or dharma, one burns away impurities and gains spiritual power. A modern Hindu sage, Gandhi, demonstrated how embracing suffering (through hunger strikes and willing imprisonment) could become a formidable tool for justice - a concept he called satyagraha (soul-force), which is the opposite of brute force.

The psychological cost of avoiding suffering at all costs is perhaps most evident in the epidemic of anxiety, depression, and addiction in affluent societies today. When individuals have never been taught to tolerate discomfort or deny themselves, they often crumble at the first major hurdle, or they numb themselves with substances and endless distractions. By contrast, those who cultivate resilience through chosen sacrifice often display remarkable strength in the face of adversity. They have trained, in a sense, for life’s inevitable trials. They have learned to find meaning even in pain. The psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl wrote that humans can endure almost any “how” of suffering if they have a “why” - a reason or meaning to live. His experience in concentration camps showed him that those who found meaning in caring for others or believing in a future task survived longer, whereas those who lost all inner purpose wasted away.

In our own ordinary lives, we don’t need such extreme circumstances to apply this insight. We can begin by reframing the small sufferings and duties of each day as part of a meaningful path rather than meaningless burdens. Waking up early to exercise can be seen as a sacrifice of comfort for the sake of health - an affirmation that one’s body is a temple worth tending. Enduring a tedious commute to work becomes more bearable if one frames it as providing for one’s family or contributing to society. Staying in on a Friday night to study or hone a skill, while friends party, might be painful in the moment but deeply rewarding in the long run. These mindset shifts, while seemingly minor, accumulate to shape a life story in which suffering is not something purely negative to be avoided, but a necessary investment in something meaningful.

Ultimately, at the individual level, the struggle between power and transcendence comes down to a struggle between the ego and the soul (or psyche). The ego wants to be in charge - to assert, to enjoy, to secure itself. The soul whispers that fulfillment lies in service, in surrender, in union with others and with the divine. The ego screams for certainty and dominance; the soul asks for trust and humility. This is not a one-time choice but a daily, even hourly, tension. Sometimes we will fail and choose the easier, egocentric path. But every act of voluntary sacrifice - every time we do what is right rather than what is easy, every time we endure pain for love’s sake or hold on to faith amid uncertainty - we strengthen our alignment with the transcendent path. We become a little less governed by fear and compulsion, and a little more guided by truth and meaning.

The individual’s journey, with all its trials and tribulations, thus directly feeds into the larger journey of civilization. A society of individuals who have never learned to sacrifice or find meaning in suffering will be a society easily swayed by demagogues promising comfort and easy answers. Conversely, a society composed of individuals who cultivate character, faith, and resilience is far less likely to fall prey to tyranny or despair. In the next chapter, we will examine how these personal choices scale up to the collective level - how our tendency to avoid or mismanage suffering can lead to dangerous social phenomena like the scapegoating of others, and how embracing truth and responsibility can offer an alternative.