Retirement isn’t just a financial decision. It’s a deeply existential issue
Most discussions of retirement focus on the financial aspects of leaving the workforce: “How to save enough for retirement” or “How do you know if you have enough money for retirement?” But this might not be the biggest problem that potential retirees face. The deeper issues of meaning, relevance, and identity that retirement can bring to the fore are more significant to some workers. Work has become central to the modern American identity, as journalist Derek Thompson bemoans in The Atlantic. And some theorists have argued that work shapes what we are. For most people, as business ethicist Al Gini argues, one’s work—which is usually also one’s job—means more than a paycheck. Work can structure our friendships, our understandings of ourselves and others, our ideas about free time, our forms of entertainment—indeed, our lives. I teach a philosophy course about the self, and I find that most of my students think of the problems of identity without thinking about how a job will make them into a particular kind of person. They think mostly about the prestige and pay that come with certain jobs, or about where jobs are located. But when we get to existentialist philosophers such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, I often urge them to think about what it means to say, as the existentialists do, that “you are what you do.” How you spend 40 years of your life, I tell them, for at least 40 hours each week—the time many people spend at their jobs—is not just a financial decision. And I have come to see that retirement isn’t just a financial decision, either, as I consider that next phase of my life. Usefulness, tools, and freedom For Greek and Roman philosophers, leisure was more noble than work. The life of the craftsperson, artisan—or even that of the university professor or the lawyer—was to be avoided if wealth made that possible. The good life was a life not driven by the necessity of producing goods or making money. Work, Aristotle thought, was an obstacle to the achievement of the particular forms of excellence characteristic of human life, like thought, contemplation, and study—activities that express the particular character of human beings and are done for their own sake. And so, one might surmise, retirement would be something that would allow people the kind of leisure that is essential to human excellence. But contemporary retirement does not seem to encourage leisure devoted to developing human excellence, partly because it follows a long period of making oneself into an object—something that is not free. German philosopher Immanuel Kant distinguished between the value of objects and of subjects by the idea of “use.” Objects are not free: They are meant to be used, like tools. Their value is tied to their usefulness. But rational beings like humans, who are subjects, are more than their use value. They are valuable in their own right, unlike tools. And yet, much of contemporary work culture encourages workers to think of themselves and their value in terms of their use value, a change that would have made both Kant and the ancient Greek and Roman philosophers wonder why people didn’t retire as soon as they could. “What we do is what we are” But as one of my colleagues said when I asked him about retirement: “If I’m not a college professor, then what am I?” Another friend, who retired at 59, told me that she does not like to describe herself as retired, even though she is. “Retired implies useless,” she said. So retiring is not just giving up a way of making money; it is a deeply existential issue, one that challenges one’s idea of oneself, one’s place in the world, and one’s usefulness. One might want to say, with Kant and the ancients, that those of us who have tangled up our identities with our jobs have made ourselves into tools, and we should throw off our shackles by retiring as soon as possible. And perhaps from the outside perspective, that’s true. But from the participant’s perspective, it’s harder to resist the ways in which what we have done has made us what we are. Rather than worry about our finances, we should worry, as we think about retirement, more about what the good life for creatures like us—those who are now free from our jobs—should be. Marianne Janack is a John Stewart Kennedy Professor of Philosophy at Hamilton College. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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Most discussions of retirement focus on the financial aspects of leaving the workforce: “How to save enough for retirement” or “How do you know if you have enough money for retirement?”
But this might not be the biggest problem that potential retirees face. The deeper issues of meaning, relevance, and identity that retirement can bring to the fore are more significant to some workers.
Work has become central to the modern American identity, as journalist Derek Thompson bemoans in The Atlantic. And some theorists have argued that work shapes what we are. For most people, as business ethicist Al Gini argues, one’s work—which is usually also one’s job—means more than a paycheck. Work can structure our friendships, our understandings of ourselves and others, our ideas about free time, our forms of entertainment—indeed, our lives.
I teach a philosophy course about the self, and I find that most of my students think of the problems of identity without thinking about how a job will make them into a particular kind of person. They think mostly about the prestige and pay that come with certain jobs, or about where jobs are located. But when we get to existentialist philosophers such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, I often urge them to think about what it means to say, as the existentialists do, that “you are what you do.”
How you spend 40 years of your life, I tell them, for at least 40 hours each week—the time many people spend at their jobs—is not just a financial decision. And I have come to see that retirement isn’t just a financial decision, either, as I consider that next phase of my life.
Usefulness, tools, and freedom
For Greek and Roman philosophers, leisure was more noble than work. The life of the craftsperson, artisan—or even that of the university professor or the lawyer—was to be avoided if wealth made that possible.
The good life was a life not driven by the necessity of producing goods or making money. Work, Aristotle thought, was an obstacle to the achievement of the particular forms of excellence characteristic of human life, like thought, contemplation, and study—activities that express the particular character of human beings and are done for their own sake.
And so, one might surmise, retirement would be something that would allow people the kind of leisure that is essential to human excellence. But contemporary retirement does not seem to encourage leisure devoted to developing human excellence, partly because it follows a long period of making oneself into an object—something that is not free.
German philosopher Immanuel Kant distinguished between the value of objects and of subjects by the idea of “use.” Objects are not free: They are meant to be used, like tools. Their value is tied to their usefulness. But rational beings like humans, who are subjects, are more than their use value. They are valuable in their own right, unlike tools.
And yet, much of contemporary work culture encourages workers to think of themselves and their value in terms of their use value, a change that would have made both Kant and the ancient Greek and Roman philosophers wonder why people didn’t retire as soon as they could.
“What we do is what we are”
But as one of my colleagues said when I asked him about retirement: “If I’m not a college professor, then what am I?” Another friend, who retired at 59, told me that she does not like to describe herself as retired, even though she is. “Retired implies useless,” she said.
So retiring is not just giving up a way of making money; it is a deeply existential issue, one that challenges one’s idea of oneself, one’s place in the world, and one’s usefulness.
One might want to say, with Kant and the ancients, that those of us who have tangled up our identities with our jobs have made ourselves into tools, and we should throw off our shackles by retiring as soon as possible. And perhaps from the outside perspective, that’s true.
But from the participant’s perspective, it’s harder to resist the ways in which what we have done has made us what we are. Rather than worry about our finances, we should worry, as we think about retirement, more about what the good life for creatures like us—those who are now free from our jobs—should be.
Marianne Janack is a John Stewart Kennedy Professor of Philosophy at Hamilton College.
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
