How to assess the value of one’s life (Dworkin’s proposal)

One of the moments that remains most vividly in my memory from my time at Oxford University was attending a class given by Ronald Dworkin about The good Life. On that occasion, the University College classroom was packed with attentive students and faculty members, some of them sitting on the floor. Few sessions had such crowed attendance then, and, I suspect, even today.

Dworkin held the Chair of Jurisprudence and was the successor of the renowned H.L.A. Hart. As a former attorney, he loved debate: he was a magnificent speaker, eloquent, sometimes provocative, and never indifferent toward his audience. Referring to his ability to argue a point during his many years in the legal profession, he was once described as “that lawyer that beats them all.”

On one occasion he came to Madrid, and I was asked to transcribe a talk he had given at our university without any notes. I was impressed, since the text required virtually no editing, reflecting his mental discipline and oratorical skills.

Dworkin was also a great lover of art, and the analogy he used to describe what to him was a good life was creating the best work of art possible, depending on our personal opinion. He explained that assessing the success of this artistic endeavor should not focus solely on the outcome, the work of art in itself, or our achievements in life, but more importantly on the process that has led up to that outcome. In sum, life should be not valued on the outcomes, achievements or accomplishments. What really gives meaning to life is the personal experience and the inner stories.

In the same way that in the artistic world what matters is the genesis of a work of art or a style—for example, Picasso’s move from his blue period to cubism, rather than a particular painting, which after all can be copied by somebody else—when evaluating our lives, we need to focus on the itinerary, on the path we take through life: “We value human lives well lived not for the completed narrative, as if fiction would do as well, but because they too embody a performance: a rising to the challenge of having a life to lead. The final value of our lives is adverbial, not adjectival—a matter of how we actually lived, not of a label applied to the final result. It is the value of the performance, not anything that is left when the performance is subtracted.” (1)

An important part of what gives our lives meaning is work: it takes up an important amount of our time, provides us with the means to live, and hopefully can be a source of satisfaction and personal development. That’s why it’s so important we like our profession. Sadly, most people in the world do not enjoy their job. But if you are reading this, then in all likelihood you’re among those lucky few who have chosen their profession.

This freedom of choice comes with the responsibility of carrying out that profession to the best of our ability; in short to be a consummate professional. Fortunately, we live in a diverse world, one that offers us the opportunity to choose how we want to work, as well as to reach our own conclusions about what constitutes the good life, conclusions we must always reach as a result of our own experiences: others can tell us about their lives, we can follow their model, but in the final analysis, how we live is down to us.

Dworkin’s advice that we see life in terms of a process rather than the outcome can be applied to any manner of topics, and has even become a mantra for many golf coaches in recent years. Regardless of the position we might occupy in an organization, or even if we have reached the pinnacle of a company, it is the experience and the development process that really gives meaning to professional endeavor. That’s why there is no point in feeling frustrated if we don’t get this or that position. What counts is what we have learned and experienced in trying.

In fact, many psychologists say that we get more pleasure from the effort of trying to achieve something than we do once we have it. Following Homer's Odyssey, the analogy of life as a journey, in which the more intense emotions happen along the way rather than when we arrive, may be a common one, but as we get older, the sense in it becomes ever clearer.

Evoking this analogy, the Greek writer K. Kavafis composed a poem recommending Ulysses - and all fellow humans - that they enjoy their trip to Ithaca, a journey representing their lives:

As you set out for Ithaka

hope your road is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

Laistrygonians, Cyclops,

angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:

you’ll never find things like that on your way

as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,

as long as a rare excitement

stirs your spirit and your body.

(...)

Hope your road is a long one.

May there be many summer mornings when,

with what pleasure, what joy,

you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time; (2)

Note

The picture above is a detail from Hieronymus Bosch painting "The Ascension" (Galleria della Academia, Venice) hieronymus bosch ascension