After years of reading philosophy, I've noticed that contrary to the stereotypical philosopher image, I actually have less to say about meaning, not more. This isn't because I've learned nothing, its because the real answer is both simpler and more demanding than the endless circular debates. The truth is that meaning isn't discovered, or found at the end of any treasure map; it's built through a specific architecture that most of us never learn to see.

The standard questions—'What's the purpose of life?' 'How do we find meaning?'—assume meaning exists somewhere, waiting to be uncovered. My inquiry into the subject has led me to believing that its precisely the other way. Meaning emerges only when specific conditions align, and our job isn't to simply go out and blindly find it, but to understand the fundamental structure behind, and then build our way into a truly meaningful life.

This is my first attempt at outlining that architecture. So don't expect another list of philosophical positions to consider, but a framework for understanding how meaning actually works when it works, why it fails when it fails, and most importantly, how to build it deliberately.

The False Dichotomy Problem

Before I can explain this architecture, I need to clear away some philosophical debris. Most discussions of meaning get trapped in a comfortable but misleading debate: Is meaning subjective (entirely personal) or objective (existing independently in reality)?

This debate feels important because both sides capture something true. The subjectivists are right that meaning must feel personal—no one else can tell you what's meaningful to you. When something feels meaningful, that feeling is irreducibly yours, connected to your particular history, psychology, and circumstances. No external authority can simply declare something meaningful to you and make it so.

And yet, the objectivists are onto something too. Meaning must connect to something beyond personal preference, because when one experiences meaning, it is clear that it belongs in a fundamentally deeper, and more stable realm than that of fleeting subjective preference. When something truly feels meaningful, it doesn't feel like you're simply choosing it or preferring it—it is as if you're recognizing something that was already true, something that would remain important even if your mood or tastes changed tomorrow. It carries a weight that transcends 'I happen to like this.' (I believe this is also where the misleading notion of "finding" meaning spawns from. The purely phenomenological account of what it is to experience meaning seems to push us toward such an understanding. I do not adhere to such a purely phenomenological account, but it is nonetheless essential for pointing out the gap just mentioned.)

Moreover, think about the difference between saying 'I enjoy chocolate ice cream' and 'my work as a teacher is meaningful.' The first is clearly preference—it could change, and that would be fine. The second feels like it touches something more fundamental. Even if you stopped enjoying teaching on a personal level, you'd likely still recognize its meaningfulness. This difference—this felt distinction between preference and meaning—suggests that pure subjectivism is missing something essential.

But here's what I've come to think of this: the entire debate is asking the wrong questions. It's like arguing whether a bridge is 'really' about its foundation or its span. To be a bridge it obviously needs both parts present. A bridge without a foundation would collapse before we could even call it a bridge, and one without a span, well I can't even really conjure up a picture of what that looks like. The point being, the bridge needs both foundation and span to work together in a specific structural relationship, and only then does what we call a bridge come to life. The same is true for meaning. The question isn't whether meaning is subjective or objective—it's how internal and external dimensions combine to create the experience we recognize as meaningful.

The Intersection

So if meaning isn't purely subjective or objective but something else, what does that actually look like in lived experience?

The key is to focus on the intersection between internal disposition and external circumstance. By internal disposition, I mean your psychological makeup: your temperament, values, capabilities, and what genuinely resonates with who you are. By external circumstance, I mean the actual conditions of your life: the opportunities available, the constraints you face, the needs of your community, the historical moment you inhabit.

Sometimes this intersection creates friction. Other times it creates synergy. And it's in understanding this dynamic that we begin to see how meaning actually works.

Let me make this concrete. Consider two people (Lila and John), both with a deep psychological orientation toward teaching. They find genuine satisfaction in explaining complex ideas, feel energized by that moment when understanding dawns in someone's eyes, and have unusual patience with the repetitive aspects of pedagogical work. Their internal disposition is identical.

Lila, the first person, teaches in a well-resourced school with supportive administrators, engaged families, and a community that values education. The internal disposition of this person doesn't just find expression—it's amplified by the environment. Actually, I think a fitting and more precise concept to use here instead of amplified would be Hegel's notion of sublation, "Aufhebung" in german. Because Lila's internal disposition isn't just boosted, its preserved, cancelled, elevated to a higher and more complex form, to a more perfect form if you will. The internal disposition undergoes a form of metamorphosis in this milieu. If you are unfamiliar with Hegel and this conception, just ignore sublation for now, and think of it as amplification. It's crude but works fine as a starting point since it gestures to the same general direction.

Anyways, the point in large is that every external factor reinforces the Lila's internal disposition here. The intersection between internal disposition and external circumstance is purely synergistic.

Now let's circle back to the second person, to John. John teaches in an under-resourced system plagued by hostile bureaucracy, standardized test obsessions, and families who view school as glorified babysitting. John's internal disposition (even though it is identical to Lila's) crashes against these external constraints daily.

Here's what friction looks like: John spends his Sunday crafting an engaging lesson about the Civil War using primary sources, only to be told Monday morning he must use the district's test-prep packet instead. When a student finally grasps a difficult concept and wants to explore further, John has to cut them off—there are thirty-two other kids and no time. He watches bright students slowly dim as they realize no one expects much from them. Parent-teacher conferences are empty chairs and hostile confrontations about grades, never about learning. His principal observes his class for exactly seven minutes twice a year, checking boxes about whether objectives are written on the board.

Every external factor undermines what John knows teaching could be. He still has that same internal drive—that joy in explaining, that patience with repetition, that thrill when understanding dawns. But the structure constantly negates these impulses. The intersection creates constant friction.

Meaning as Quality of the Intersectional Relationship

Here's the crucial point I've tried articulating in this short piece: the difference in the experience of meaning isn't about passion, commitment, or even skill. It's about how internal disposition intersects with external reality. It's not just that Lila went out in the world and discovered her calling, her meaning. She is experiencing structural alignment. And John isn't feeling meaninglessness because he hasn't looked hard enough for his true purpose, he is actually precisely where his calling demands him to be, but alas, he has fallen into the demonic grip of structural misalignment.

And this is why I argue that meaning isn't something you simply find within yourself or discover in the world outside of yourself. It emerges from the specific quality of intersection between the two.