Symphonies and paintings turn out to be sublimations of the sex drive or productions of the right brain hemisphere. Love turns out to be a matter of stimulus and response or a series of transactions conditioned by family patterns.
Why does knowing that make a symphony or a painting meaningless?
How does secular psychology (kind of redundant, since there really isn't any other kind) eliminate meaning? Why do humans have to be treated as some kind of forever-unknowable black box for our works to be meaningful?
Try as it might to give us skills for living, psychology has never been able to give a reason for living.
Maybe that's something you can't be given. Is there some reason you're having trouble finding your own things to live for?
It offers no vision.
"Know yourself." How's that for vision?
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