Beyond ‘positive thinking’: How a philosophy professor sustains hope

Defining what entails a meaningful life has preoccupied philosophers from Plato and Aristotle to Simone de Beauvoir and Iris Murdoch. Surveying centuries of thoughtful chin-tugging about the human condition, Kieran Setiya identifies a broad trend: “an affinity with ‘the power of positive thinking’ that implores us not to dwell on trials and tribulations but to dream of the life we want.”

He offers that critical appraisal early in “Life Is Hard: How Philosophy Can Help Us Find Our Way,” his latest book and a meditative antidote to the “best life” orthodoxy that fuels the sprawling, insatiable self-help industry.

Tacking away from both magical thinking and soothing rationalizations, Professor Setiya, who teaches philosophy at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, urges us to look straight at hardship and uncertainty as part of “living well.” He argues that only through a candid reckoning with the darker side of human experience – grief, failure, loneliness, injustice – can we arrive at a hard-earned hope that counters denialism and defeatism alike.

He takes readers on an engaging journey through ancient and contemporary philosophy,  literature and film, and personal experience and reflection. We hear from René Descartes, Immanuel Kant, and Simone Weil; from William Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf, and Joan Didion; and from the author himself about his struggles, doubts, and qualified optimism.

Professor Setiya spoke to the Monitor about the power of compassion, the pitfalls of life narratives, and the ability to sustain hope in the moment and for the future. This interview has been edited and condensed.

How are unhappiness, anger, grief, and other painful emotions part of “living well,” as you define it?

There’s a big-picture thought that came into focus [while I was] writing the book. It's about an abstract distinction between happiness as a state of mind and living well as meaningful engagement with what’s actually around us. The task is finding a path between unrealistic visions of an ideal life and a kind of detachment or acceptance.

It’s very clear to us that there are many forms of unhappiness. Grieving about individual loss is one; grief or anger about injustice in the world is another. Certain kinds of negative emotions are part of living well – the task is to say, “We can’t just accept things as they are. We have to make the best of a bad lot.” In trying to make the best of it, there’s a tolerance for our own and other people’s frailties that is part of philosophical wisdom.

In what ways can compassion for others help us cope with our own burdens?

My sense is that often the experience of suffering involves an oscillation between being very self-focused and, other times, having the revelation that everyone is going through their own difficulties. There’s the possibility of leveraging our own difficulties into the realization that other people have difficulties and having empathy for them. There’s a confluence between thinking about others and living well in a way that answers our own needs. Those two things are not incompatible.

When we look at issues like climate change, economic inequality, and social injustice, how can empathy motivate us to act?

There’s the moment of hopelessness, the moment of thinking, “There’s nothing I can do.” The response to that is simple but it’s hard to hang on to, which is that the difference between doing nothing and doing something is the key. The fact that we’re relatively limited – we can’t change everything – doesn’t mean that the little differences we can make count for nothing and we should just forget it. We have to try to live up to the obligation to do something about the injustice we’re entangled with.

But how do we overcome a sense of resignation when those problems can feel insurmountable?

The danger is a certain kind of black-and-white thinking. If you look at what’s happening with climate change or the faltering of democracy or women’s rights, there’s an inclination to say, “Should I be hopeful or should I despair?” – as if those are the only two options.

The option we should be taking is almost always, “What should I realistically hope for, and what can I realistically do about it?” We’re not living in the black-and-white world. We’re living in shades of gray, and that is uncomfortable. You’re forced to face the questions, “Could I be doing something more? How much does the world demand of me?” I don’t think there’s a simple rule for adjudicating those questions. All you can say is, if you’re asking those questions, you’re in the right place – it’s a sign of what living well has to look like in conditions where there is grave injustice.

In warning against viewing our lives as narratives and dwelling on success vs. failure, you suggest that we emphasize “process” over “projects.” What’s the purpose of that shift in thought?

There is a temptation to picture oneself as the hero of a Hollywood movie: “So what’s the plot? What’s the great challenge facing this hero?” The more you think of your life in those terms – as defined by a central project – the more you risk mortgaging your life to that project. You may succeed. But if you fail, it won’t be just that something went wrong. You’ll be inclined to see yourself as a failure.

Everyone’s life is a mess of little successes and failures and attachments. Focusing on one big project – one kind of defining narrative – is a blinkered way of approaching life. That’s something we should resist – to not see ourselves through the lens of failure and success, and thinking instead of the ongoing process that accompanies those particular achievements or failures.

How can that framework help us confront injustice and inequality writ large?

When we engage in protests, for instance, we’re not sure it’s going to make a difference. [But] there’s value in the process. There’s value in standing up against injustice and trying to make a difference, even if we fail. That can play a role in giving us a healthier perspective on what to expect and demand of ourselves as people who are responsible to some degree for making the world a better and more just place.

Near the end of the book you write, “To hope well is to be realistic about probabilities, not to succumb to wishful thinking or be cowed by fear.” Is there a way to envision the future that helps us navigate the present?

When you’re looking at the next 50 years, it’s going to be very tough, even in the best-case scenario. When I take a longer view, it’s not unreasonable to hope that we’ll have a green economy, we’ll have more sustainable economic practices, people will be living on better terms.

It may not happen, but we don’t know. And hope thrives on not knowing. To fully feel the force of that, you have to think, “I care about humanity in 2100 or 2150.” Caring about the future is a source of consolation for dealing with the sense of despair and anxiety in one’s own life now. That’s one of the ways in which compassion for others can be a source of solace for us, too.