the Good Life vs. the Worthy Life

As a high school freshman, we took a history course called Western Civilization that started with an introduction to ancient Greece (one can argue if that is the appropriate starting point, but I'm not interested in that right at the moment). In particular, we were introduced at a rudimentary level to Greek philosophy, and the fundamental question, What is the good life? This was not the first time I had been exposed to this question. Having grown up in a Catholic home where we attended church every week, I had heard priests throughout my life explaining the religious argument for the good life, but this was really the first time I had heard a secular discussion.  And it was more of a discussion than an assertion, which made it more interesting to me. This question really gripped me as a pimply, hormone infused 14-year old, and has gripped me ever since then, even though the pimples are (mostly) gone and I'd like to think I have a little more discipline than my teen self. 

I present as evidence for the above assertion Exhibit A - the fact that I was a philosophy major in college. I doggedly worked my way through that degree despite becoming disenchanted with it pretty early on and finding the classes uninspiring, and the conversation at once esoteric and pedantic. Some of that sense came from not being well-read enough and lacking patience. The gifts of philosophy, and by this I mean it in the original meaning, love of wisdom, not an academic discipline, do not readily yield themselves up easily. But I also observed that philosophy professors did not seem to live better lives than the average Joe. If one truly loved wisdom, one would presume that this would yield real, observable effects in one's life. It took me a long time - a few more decades - to realize that what I  had wanted from philosophy professors was for them to be secular priests. But that is not what philosophy professors are - or at least not most of them. The worldy rewards of academia are mostly tied to professors picking over fine points and talking to each other about them. I have observed this is true in almost every academic discipline. And yet most of us hold a PHD - a Philosophiae Doctor - which implies we have proven through hard struggle our love of wisdom. 

Now that I have been a professor for some years and have successfully navigated the gauntlet of tenure, I can tell you that it is indeed a good life. But is it a good life in the sense that Socrates and the gang on the Agora meant? Being a professor is a good life in the sense that one has a modest income but an exceptional amount of freedom and autonomy. If these appeal to you more than wealth and power, then it is a good life. You also have the opportunity to serve people who are seeking knowledge, and that is to me a real privilege. For me, that is the element that makes it something more than just a good life, it makes it a worthy life.  

To parse my meaning, I think you can live a good life that is largely self-focused and gently hedonistic (i.e., without being harmful to others). But to live a worthy life requires something more - and I think that something more comes in two parts: 1) you recognize and use your unique gifts, and 2) you use your gifts at least to some degree in service of others' well-being. (I refer you to my essay on Aquinas and love as well-being here.)

I wrote an essay considering the Parable of the Talents here that I think captures my thoughts well on this. I won't reiterate the whole thing - but I do believe we are each endowed with unique gifts, and it is part of living a worthy life to discover and use our unique gifts. Some of us have more than others - physical, mental, social - "privileges" in the language of the so-called "Social Justice" discourse. The second part of the worthy life is to use those gifts in service of others, to make a positive impact on the world. Some of us have small talents - we are one-bag men as I say in my Parable essay - but with small talents we can still make positive, if small, impacts. 

Worthiness implies an outside observer who is judging what you do. Adam Smith talked about this at length in The Theory of Moral Sentiments. When we are young, we rely on the judgment of other human beings. Over time we develop a sense of what is right and wrong and a "man in the breast" emerges in our minds (or breast) - an internalized sense of what is right and wrong, what is worthy and what is not - such that we no longer require external judges. 

Worthiness is as variable as the gifts we are each given. It takes a man in the breast to know the truth about whether we are doing all we can with what we have. Are we taking what we have and putting it to its best possible use in service of others? To be clear, when I say in service to others, that does not mean just charity. It could also mean starting or working in a business that provides value to customers. This is a form of service. While we hope physicians are altruistic, they are not just motivated by the desire to heal. They are also motivated by high levels of compensation and social status. That is acceptable. They still provide a service. Professors are motivated in part by pay as well, just like physicians. Some of them do not provide particularly much beyond serving their own interests. No two worthy lives will look the same because the people living them are different. The man in the breast is internalized wisdom. This fictional character exhorts us, like a priest, to be the best we can be. 

The reality of our existence is it is brief and then it is gone. Almost none of us will be remembered beyond a few generations - even those who occupy society's thoughts most highly. Those who are remembered will be remembered mostly in name and for a few actions - but such a memory is a caricature - a sketch or a line drawing with only the rudiments of shape and none of the details. This is even true of Socrates. But our interactions and impacts reverberate through generations, even after the actor and the action itself are forgotten. 

I think the Good Life that is usually associated with Socrates is also the Worthy Life. Socrates was not especially hedonistic. To make a life worthy requires something beyond satisfying the self, though not to the ascetic denial of the self. There is Aristotle's golden mean here - an appropriate balance. To live a life that is worthy is to fully use what is given to us and to use those gifts in service of others - in other words, to fill one's life with Aquinas's love.