In the previous article, I argued that anxiety is not an emotional reaction caused by losing status or failing at some objective condition. Anxiety appears when the control over your body, narrative, or meaning no longer belongs to you—when your survival is dependent on forces outside of your reach.
In other words: Anxiety is what you feel the moment you realize your survival is outsourced to the world. If you lived in full self-sufficiency like a turtle 🐢 —hunting, eating, sleeping alone—there would be no anxiety. But that is not a human life. Humans are creatures that exist between people. Meaning appears only when the world (other people) depends on you to survive. Meaning and anxiety are two sides of the same coin.
In this article, I’ll explore how meaning and anxiety are intertwined with survival itself. And I’ll explain why modern people feel anxious—even while receiving a stable paycheck—and what alternative ways of living remain possible.
1. Meaning and Anxiety Are One Body
(1) Anxiety and Alienation Are Determined Not by the Category of Labor, but by One’s Dependency on the World: A Critique of Matthew Crawford’s Philosophy
A newborn is not thrown into the wild. A baby opens its eyes inside a world shaped by hundreds of years of language, norms, symbols, law, and custom. The world is not an objective “thing” discovered—it is a perception that shapes us as we grow. A sound is not interpreted as vibration—it is heard as “someone saying hello.” The moment we begin studying a foreign language, a new world begins to open—and we slowly become a new kind of person.
Philosophers spent centuries debating how this subjective perception is formed. The American philosopher and motorcycle mechanic Matthew Crawford, in The World Beyond Your Head, describes this process using joint attention. A baby looks where the mother looks. She points and says, “Look.” If the baby calls a flower a “tree,” the mother corrects: “This is a flower. It has a scent. Its color is beautiful.” Through shared attention, a cognitive foundation—a shared world—is formed. The baby becomes “human” by attending to the same object as another.
Crawford’s framework actually traces back to Hegel. Hegel’s “struggle for recognition” argues that humans cannot become “selves” alone—identity emerges only through conflict and interaction. “Thesis–antithesis–synthesis” becomes the logic that shapes a shared world. Excellence—Crawford’s core value of craftsmanship—also echoes Hegel’s celebration of the Absolute Spirit.
Matthew Crawford adopts the Hegelian view that the meaning of life lies in the pursuit of absolute knowledge and gaining recognition from peers. He argues that through “joint attention,” humans form their perception of objects; thus, we grasp the world’s meaning by seeking the inherent properties—the absolute knowledge—of things. The reason he chose the term “Joint Attention” rather than “Attention” was to weave two distinct paths into one: the self-contained pursuit of objective knowledge about physical objects, and the social process of gaining recognition from peers. In his view, correct and excellent knowledge cannot be formed in isolation. However, using the single word “Joint” to bridge individual cognitive processes with communal validation is far too superficial. It ignores the reality that many individuals pursue their own subjective truths independent of social recognition.The reason Matthew Crawford’s logic became tangled is that he was trying to retroactively justify his own experience of finding manual labor more immersive than intellectual work. In doing so, he mixed several distinct layers together: the pride of being recognized by senior mechanics and customers, the sense of contribution from being useful to a local community, and the raw experience of interacting with a real, functioning machine—which felt far more concrete than abstract formulas like I = RV or complex political philosophy.But the core contradiction in Crawford’s argument is that pursuing excellence through the validation of peers ultimately makes one’s life dependent on outsiders. Feeling inferior to senior mentors and striving to emulate their expertise only breeds another form of anxiety.From this perspective, the very issues Crawford criticized—the instability, distraction, and alienation of office work driven by Taylorism—are no different from the inferiority and distraction experienced by manual laborers. In the end, both structures suffer from the exact same flaw: they rely on the external world for validation.
The core issue is dependency. To be free from anxiety, one must not depend on others for survival, whether in an office or a workshop. According to Crawford, Office workers are inherently anxious because they perform fragmented labor and rely entirely on money to consume, are addicted to capitalist products that disrupt joint attention. But even for a manual laborer, the state of anxiety remains the same if they depend on others for survival.
Crawford seemed to sense this contradiction. He needed to prove that manual labor is inherently more sovereign than office work. Yet, Seeking absolute knowledge while suffering from recognition struggle is the same for both the clerk and the mechanic. So, he argues that the “labor process” of office workers and manual laborers is different. That is, manual laborers can feel a sense of presence by directly interacting with things, whereas office workers cannot. This is why he pivots to Merleau-Ponty. Merleau-Ponty believed we perceive the world only as much as we can express and feel through our bodies. He didn’t believe in pre-existing ‘absolute properties’ of objects; instead, he emphasized that meaning is already embedded in human ‘gestures and skills.’ Under this logic, the pursuit of absolute knowledge or recognition is irrelevant to life’s meaning. Murdoch didn’t learn Russian to impress natives; she did it to access the world of Russian literature through a physical skill.
However, what Merleau-Ponty defines as “embodiment” is a phenomenon where the body integrates with a skill, tool to perceive the world in a more expanded way. This is incompatible with the concept of “joint attention” that Crawford initially uses to argue for the superiority of manual labor, because joint attention is a high-level social-cognitive concept that requires looking at and communicating about the same object with another person.
To fuse Merleau-Ponty’s and Iris Murdoch’s phenomenology with Hegelian objective reason, Crawford is forced to apply different temporal perspectives. He ends up arguing that the working process should be enjoyed subjectively, like Merleau-Ponty’s sensory experience, while the result must be pursued in a functional, objective manner. But these two philosophies are polar opposites. Merleau-Ponty refuted the transcendence of consciousness and the objectivity of objects early on. How can you fuse them? A life cannot simultaneously obey strict Hegelian order and enjoy Merleau-Ponty’s wild sensory freedom. To put it bluntly, living like Merleau-Ponty means rejecting Hegelian reason, communal recognition, a priori knowledge, and morality altogether. To him, those are merely secondary constructs manufactured by the human mind. When the physical body—in its most fundamental form—merges with a skill or a tool to leave its own mark on the world, it already transcends the need for anyone else’s consensus or moral approval.
The core point I want to make is that we should not look at anxiety, distraction, or alienation as issues that can be solved simply by choosing whether to be a manual laborer or an office worker. We must understand anxiety through an existential lens, not a cognitive one. No matter what work you do, the more your survival depends on others, the more anxious you become; conversely, the more others depend on you for their survival, the richer your life’s meaning becomes.
Recall the case of Jiriso from the first part—a severely deformed man who supported ten people through divination. According to Zhuangzi, Jiriso enjoyed supreme contentment. Even though he was branded as useless by the state and denied any recognition from the community, he lived a complete and fulfilled life by pursuing his own truth.
Actually, Even office work can provide a profound ‘meaning of life’ provided it is not fragmented into meaningless tasks. When a single gesture of yours can determine the survival of thousands, the work becomes visceral. Why else would dictators like Stalin or CEOs like Steve Jobs immerse themselves so ruthlessly in their labor? The fundamental distinction is not in the work process, but in the nature of dependency.
(2) The Survival System — Your Body Is Only One
Let’s bring this down to the level of survival. To make a living, you must produce something—something the world recognizes as meaningful. Considering the division of labor in modern society, even if you want to live a meaningful life as an individual, a certain degree of dependence on others is necessary. However, if this dependence becomes excessive, it can instead heighten your anxiety.
Even if you design a “field” you think is meaningful, its subsystems will inevitably be run by others. Take Altman himself: he dreams of AGI and prosperity for mankind. But the field is moved by Google, Apple, Samsung, SoftBank, Trump, regulators, boards, customers, employees. If these players leave—or betray—sleep disappears. That is anxiety. If your ambition is to make six billion people depend on you, your anxiety will grow to the same scale.
(3) Meaning Exists Thanks to Others — Anxiety Exists Because of Others
A quick recap to solidify the learning loop: Humans feel meaning when we contribute to someone else’s survival, solve a problem, or reduce suffering. It doesn’t matter whether it is done through tools, knowledge, care, food, or hands.
Meaning is instinctive: I exist → therefore someone else lives. Parents feel joy when their baby depends on them 100%. When the child becomes independent, parents feel both relief and—quietly—loss. Because their existence is no longer required for survival.
This reveals the hidden subject behind Silicon Valley’s motto: “Make the world a better place” Always contains a silent word in front:“I”. I want to make the world a better place → because that is how meaning of life is maximized. But meaning is not created alone. And because the body is only one, if we forget that, dreams inflate—and anxiety inflates with them.
This explains modern life: Everything we choose for convenience—platforms, corporations, employers, medication, algorithms, government— actually increases anxiety. Our survival system is outsourced. Remove any one of them and frustration explodes.
(4) Those Who Depend on Others for Everything Always Talk the Most
With this lens, we can reinterpret an old figure: Confucius. His mother was a shaman. His original profession was not philosopher—but funeral conductor. He mastered rites and ceremonies—he believed society is peaceful when etiquette governs behavior, and music disciplines the heart.
He refused to remain a farmer or ritual worker. He wanted to connect his ideas to reality—so he entered politics. He failed. He resigned. He wandered. During his wandering, Confucius did not cook, earn money, or physically secure survival. His disciples—Zigong, Zilu, Yan Hui—handled those things.
Confucius was a saint in virtue— but in survival, he could do almost nothing. To contribute meaning, he had to become a self-development mentor. He had to speak. Teach. Persuade. Moralize. If he didn’t, he would simply not survive.
Zigong, a wealthy disciple, finally complained: “Master, you teach us literature and beautiful words. But when it comes to the nature of humanity and heaven itself, you give us nothing.” If Confucius heard that, he would have felt a sting. He relied entirely on Zigong for survival— yet provided not enough meaning in return.
Talking too much is the confession: “I cannot hold the world with my hands. So I must survive with words.”
This does not mean that Confucius was incompetent. However, it means that while he depended on Zigong for his survival (earning a livelihood), he failed to provide what Zigong truly wanted: the nature of humanity and heaven itself. Elegant words are well and good, but if you depend on others for your basic survival, you are bound to face resentment. I have no desire to become Confucius— to speak grand ideals while relying on others to make my rice. My dream is simpler: to build self-sufficient survival first— to cook, to make objects, to sell with my hands. Only after that—to help others, and let meaning arise naturally.
2. The Reward System That Dissolves Anxiety
(1) Personal Reward: Xiaoyou(逍遙遊) — Wandering in Ease
The core of the Endorphin model is: 1% pain → 99% comfort → becomes routine. Raise the hurdle slowly → immersion grows → pride emerges.
This is a closed internal circuit. Walking, body-weight exercise, language study, cooking, bike repair, brewing, baking— raising difficulty 1% at a time requires no external recognition. validation. Consistency is the point. Every time you overcome a difficulty, your skills build up, and your individual viability increases.
Endorphin reward = the internal certainty that you can take care of yourself. Even with little money, you can live at ease. That is xiaoyou—wandering freely. This does not mean you should just idle away like an unemployed slacker. As explained above, you must actively embrace that 1% of pain to become a better person than you were yesterday.
This is the ‘Zhuangzi’s tortoise’ model introduced in the previous post. It enjoys the freedom of self-sufficiency at the edge of civilization. However, it cannot be seen as fulfilling the meaning of life as a ‘human being’ who must help others.
(2) Social Reward: Belonging
When I lived in Korea, I rode motorcycles. Three ways to repair one:
- Buy parts and fix it yourself using YouTube
- Call a truck driver and outsource
- Hang out at a shop, watch the mechanic, ask questions
I always chose #3. Not for romance of craftsmanship— that illusion dies quickly. It was a transactional, survival-linked relationship. I paid → I supported his survival. He repaired → he supported mine. But neither of us wanted total dependence. The state where each contributes to the other’s survival is both independent and stable.
A healthy community is that we depend just enough to matter, but not enough to fear each other. Pure passion communities rarely survive. Real communities must include either emotional exchange (love) or material exchange (trade). That is the birthplace of belonging.
(3) Personal Reward + Social Reward
To dissolve anxiety, two layers of reward must operate together.
- Internal: endorphin reward — immersion, calm, self-efficacy
- External: social reward — mutual contribution for survival without over-dependence
These are not two separate systems. They integrate around the body. For example, it goes something like this. Even if it is tedious and demanding, taking apart components piece by piece and immersing yourself in the study upgrades your skills. As you repeat this routine daily, you sink deeper into the world of motorcycles. Because those heightened skills directly contribute to the survival of the riders, your anxiety diminishes.
Consequently, the rider and the mechanic forge a sustainable community. You arrive at a place where hunger and meaning are both satisfied. That is why a chef feels deepest joy the moment a guest eats his food and pays— because both rewards merge into one.
3. The Fake Community of Modern Life — Hipster Crews
A real community means: we stake survival on each other — but not to the point of fear. Your output must hold intrinsic value inside the group — helping others survive through something real. Then: meaning rises, anxiety drops, belonging appears. But recently, a different model dominates: the Hipster Crew.
A crew that seeks group attention from the outside together. This is precisely why the ‘shout-out’ is the heartbeat of hipster culture. It’s the classic rule: if three people stare at the sky, everyone else eventually looks up. When they start stroking each other’s egos, the masses flock in, convinced that there must be something real behind the hype.
Let’s take a restaurant as an example. A community that cooperates to upgrade its cooking skills and create a meaningful experience for customers with excellent taste creates real value. Then, customers seeking the ‘real deal’ gather and rely on that community. Naturally, the anxiety of the community members decreases. However, a hipster crew that relies heavily on TV appearances, Instagram, and viral reviews to attract attention always suffers from anxiety. This is because they do not relieve anxiety by contributing to the survival of others, but rather rely on the attention of others. Furthermore, since hipster communities sell their own individual coolness, it is difficult to create shared value through an internal division of labor. Therefore, the more they are together, the more their anxiety is bound to grow. After all, it is the customer, not the hipster crew, who ultimately pays.
A sustainable tribe is built between you and the person who pays for your output. Because they depend on it to live a little better. Always ask: How does my output change the customer’s survival?
4. Who Actually Lives a Meaningful Life — Without Internal Anxiety?: The Monk Who Walked Off the Map
After all this theory, the question becomes real: Who, in the real world, lives with meaning — and without internal anxiety? If we combine the requirements we’ve discussed, such a person would:
- Contribute to someone else’s survival → meaning
- Possess embodied skills → self-sufficiency / minimum economic dependence
- Live through endorphin-based routines → no psychological dependence on dopamine
Does such a person exist?
One of my distant relatives was a monk — not affiliated with a major temple, not obsessed with doctrine, never quoted scripture (his books were always pristine). He had children before ordaining. He wrote commercial “healing” books. He earned money chanting at funerals and reading fortunes. People liked him — because his words comforted them.
Followers brought him food. They voluntarily gave offerings. He drove an SUV. And yet — I felt he was free. Because he built a stone grotto with his own hands, and prayed there every morning. That was his endorphin routine. He did not need dopamine.
His life had:
- Small contribution (comforting others)
- Embodied ritual
- Moderate dependence
- Peace
He had no grand vision. No innovation. No wealth. But he lived and died without internal turbulence. Can modern people live like this? I want to build a philosophy for that life.
5. Conclusion
Anxiety and the loss of meaning are not emotional failures. They are frictions that occur between the world and an individual’s survival system. This relationship follows a clear rule: meaning disappears when personal contribution vanishes, and anxiety rises when external dependence becomes excessive.
Within any community, occupation, or relationship, meaning functions as a tangible structure where an individual’s output directly helps someone else survive. Anxiety, conversely, is a state where an individual’s own survival depends on external forces they cannot control.
This dynamic explains why anxiety remains chronically high in modern South Korean society. Individuals here have developed an excessive dependence on centralized platforms, public reputation, Instagram metrics, and external traffic. Yet, the wider world rarely contributes back to their actual survival. This asymmetry generates a constant state of existential tension.
The social mechanisms of hipster crews, Instagram creator circles, and self-proclaimed entrepreneur networks follow the exact same principle. Seeking belonging without offering a tangible contribution yields a cheap form of dopamine. This dopamine inevitably creates dependence, and that dependence manufactures anxiety.
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