June 2019 – Futility

This month’s article concerns a pivotal issues dealing with depression: is the sense of futility that is part-and-parcel of depression an objective reality, or a subjective sense? Futility—that state where a goal cannot be realized, i.e., “made real”—is what depression arises from, essentially as a way of managing energy. When a goal is productive, then our systems allow us to spend energy on it; when a goal is unproductive, then our systems withhold energy from that goal. Knowing whether or not “futility” is an accurate assessment of a goal allows either energy to flow, or not, towards something we desire.

I hope, wherever you might be in the country, you’re starting to get some spring and finding, whatever your challenges, some way to enjoy it all.

Futility: Clarifying the Inner and Outer Realities

Although the word “futile” is used routinely, unfortunately it is poorly defined, which gives a confused and misleading picture of what this futility thing actually is. Most importantly, there is a confusion between futility as a subjective feeling, and futility as an objective state. In the former, we have a sense of reality that is not necessarily aligned with reality; in the latter, we are actually registering an external reality clearly. Getting those mixed up is a big problem.

According to Merriam-Webster, futility is defined as: “serving no useful purpose: completely ineffective.” However, I don’t think that captures the core meaning well enough, so here’s the definition that I use:

Futility is the condition or state in which a goal, in relation to a particular defined context, cannot be attained.

My point is to emphasize the state in which goals are not just difficult to attain, but are impossible to realize (to “make real”), given a particular context. For example, if I want to be an NBA basketball player, and am a five-foot three adult, and given the current nature of professional basketball (i.e., the context of my goal), that goal is futile—not wrong, or bad, but simply unattainable, a statement of an objective condition. Or, if I have the goal to fly off my balcony without any assistance, given the nature of my human body and the nature of Earth’s gravity, that goal will be an objectively futile one. Consequences follow naturally from one’s refusal to accept that futility: embarrassment, frustration, depression on the former; death or maiming with the latter.

The sense of futility is of the same condition, but it is a subjective belief, rather than an objective (and thereby objectively verifiable) reality. The condition that we are perceiving is the same structure as objective futility—there is a relevant goal which is defined as unattainable—except that that perception is simply not accurate. It feels like a futile situation, but if it is a sense rather than a fact, then we are having the experience of futility when the objective situation has not been proven to be futile.

For instance: Let’s say that I am interested in getting into Harvard to study psychology—that’s my goal, a psych degree from Harvard. Cool, no problem, I’m an adult human with a decent enough intellect, so there’s no categorical futility, the bare criteria for admission. But I start contemplating applying to the program and then think, well, I don’t have money, I’m not from a wealthy or upper-class family, I was not top of my high school class, and I have not worked in psychology before. As I tick these off to myself, my mood starts dropping, my hopes start sinking, and I start thinking, “What’s the point? It’s impossible, I’m not going to be able to get in, and they wouldn’t want me. It’s futile.” I feel heavy, the future feels contracted and less abundant, with less potential or possibility, and the goal of Harvard studies comes up with disappointment and withdrawal, rather than excitement and eagerness.

This is the sense of futility, and although it is felt as a fact—”I’m feeling this way because the goal is clearly, and concretely, unattainable”—that “fact-ness” is not actually true as an objective reality. There are people who are admitted to Harvard on scholarship, on special programs, on merit determined by test scores. There are students who study the admission process, do the research, connect with the school’s admissions people, and do the work they need to do in order to be let in. For sure, there’s no guarantee, but that’s not the same thing as establishing a fact of futility. So, without that objective quality, the futility we’re experiencing is subjective, is a sense.

So, why does this happen, this sense of futility?

Well, it goes like this: when we are attached to a particular goal (e.g., Harvard psych), when we have tied life energy (hope, vision, fantasy, effort) to some desired outcome in the future, that attachment marshals a kind of internal bean counter. A part of us who, like the stereotypical withered back-office company accountant who is responsible simply for balancing the books, is summoned to do an accounting of the energy cost of this goal. The Bean Counter looks at the information on the goal, the pros and cons, the cost and benefits, and the likelihood of success and therefore return-on-investment, and makes a determination. Either the goal is determined to be a worthy expense of energy, given the risk, or not. If the former, we will be granted energy to spend towards accomplishing the goal; we get to expend time and excitement on research, studying for tests, etc. If no, then we either have to re-argue our case to the Bean Counter, or we are refused energy towards moving towards that goal. In this last case, if we still try to act, mentally or literally, on attaining the goal, we run into yes-buts, criticisms, guilt/shame, and usually depression. The Bean Counter says, “If you can’t understand that your goal a bad investment of energy, then I’m simply going to make it impossible for you to act on it.”

The Bean Counter has a very important job, as harsh as it can be. If the BC were not in us, we might get attached to a goal which is genuinely, objectively futile, in which case we will be wasting precious life energy and resources towards something that can’t happen. Meaning that the other things which could produce happiness, safety, satisfaction, meaning, connection, etc., which all themselves require energy, are being starved—which, as we know, eventually leads to death, literal or energetic (as in depletion). We need something to track our goals and measure them according to whether they are futile or not, otherwise there’s a very real danger. Notice then how important depression is in this sense: it announces that there is the experience of futility (because it comes in to shut down goals that are deemed futile). But since the Bean Counter is rather narrow in its assessment, and can include data that is not currently relevant (e.g., old negative beliefs, old traumas), it can be off base. So we have to consciously do this assessment of risk and rewards for our goals, consciously, because otherwise the Bean Counter, and depression, will do it unconsciously.

The most important question in this regard is: does this experience of futility reflect an inner state (a sense of futility), or does it reflect an accurate sense of the objective world (a registration of futility)? The answer is critical, because in the former, we need to accept that there is uncertainty—“Well, it seems futile, but actually I don’t really know”—and then take action, either to clarify the goal or to more effectively move towards it. Or, in the latter, we need to accept that as much as we’re attached to a goal, it actually is not attainable, and therefore must be let go of (which requires engaging the process of grief).

Whichever clarification turns out to be true—futility as subjective or objective reality—we need to go through that process of inquiry and assessment. Because, again, if we don’t do it consciously, depression will do it for us.