The Humanist Work Ethic

Growing up Protestant, I felt an odd sort of pride in the idea of the Protestant work ethic. Weber’s socio-theological observation is an interesting one: Protestants identify success achieved through hard work and thrift as a sign that one is saved. It is a fulfillment of the calling God has put on your life. The transcendent meaning engendered makes the work worth the deferral of happiness. Moreover, as I referenced in my previous post, research suggests the stress of increased labor could indeed add to that sense of meaning (though not happiness).

This concept has been a sort of catalyst for Capitalism. Professional success is a sign of salvation justifying any personal and societal costs.

This explains the tendency to defer happiness for financial success; however, in an increasingly secular world, this rarely coincides with the transcendent meaning of the original Protestant work ethic. Ironically, we’re left with a sort of cogs-in-the-machine situation that aligns better with a Marxist critique of Capitalism than a salvific satisfaction of a job well done.

So, if the fruit of our labor is indeed alienated from us (per Marx), and we don’t believe our bank account reflects our salvation, what are we left with? Working hard at the cost of happiness without the exchange for transcendent meaning leaves us with a deferral of happiness and a dearth of meaningful work.

Instead, we work because we value productivity in a society that can’t turn off.

We work because our self-esteem depends on the gilded façade of social media.

We work because in today’s society, salvation is economic not eternal.

I suspect any meaning we do find in our work relates to our identity. Just as religious belief for many people is a cornerstone of identity, our profession, pay grade, and the consumerism that permits is a cornerstone of identity. We work careers to prove something (intelligence, prestige, etc.) and use our income to consume things that display our success (the economic substitute for the salvation of the Protestant work ethic).

Unfortunately, this consumer performance of identity, however deep our pockets go, is not sufficient for either meaning or happiness. And, however correlated stress, worry, and anxiety might be with meaningfulness according to the aforementioned research, they are not sufficient either.

I value hard work, discipline, and commitment, but investing more of this does not make something meaningful. Romanticizing long hours at the office, telling yourself you work harder than your colleagues, or convincing yourself of the importance of what happens in your business too often justify unhappiness. It should not need to be said, but being unhappy is not the same thing as finding meaning.

Practicing the well established tradition of memento mori, remembering that we all must die, it quickly becomes apparent that most of what we trouble ourselves with is mere vanity. If you can’t take it with you, what remains?

The idea that meaning and happiness are not the same experience, and can in fact take place in mutually exclusive circumstances (i.e., meaning can actually be engendered within unhappiness), is an interesting reality to wrap our minds around. Happiness and meaning seem to be two sides of the same coin, with many people using them interchangeably. This suggests that they share a nature, but simultaneously implies that mutual exclusivity I just mentioned (you can’t flip heads and tails when flipping a coin). I realize that the “two sides of the same coin” trope needn’t be taken so literally, but what if we continue the metaphor? What if we strive to balance the coin on its edge?

A balance between happiness and meaning strikes me as either the best option or the worst; I’m not sure whether the attempt will mean neither or both.

As discussed, our hard work and discipline seem to invest meaning in something but those commitments tend to inhibit happiness. On the other hand, our consumer performance of identity provides ephemeral happiness, while alienating us from meaningful labor. As far as I can tell, our society tends to work hard in order to consume, suppressing the benefits of either.

As odd as it sounds, I think we need to care less.

Care less about making ourselves happy, and be mindful of the happiness we have.

Care less about financial success and consumption, and be present in the space we occupy and with the company we keep.

And care less about our identity (an essentially extrinsic quality, as I discuss here), as it is a stifling obligation.

Just like we can rewrite our cognitive scripts to reshape our emotional landscape, so can we intentionally display our identity at the nexus of our behaviors and values.

Perhaps happiness and meaning are in the story we tell: they are the context for our behaviors, the hue of our emotional experiences, and the subtext of our values. It is not an achievement or an end to pursue. It is the infrastructure, the aesthetic, the way of being in the world. It is Frankl’s logos. It is the Stoic’s amor fati. It is the serenity of the burning monk.

Maybe this is a humanist work ethic: we strive for what we know to be meaningful and find happiness in the striving. Salvation is a present state of being for those who can slow down enough to recognize it.