On Being Human
My book, Good Burdens: How to Live Joyfully in the Digital Age, arrives soon. Following is a discussion of the chapter, “Be Human.”
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Time for a quick, reflective exercise- don’t ponder, don’t overthink, just answer:
What do you consider your most “human” trait?
Was your answer something positive, or negative? It’s very often the latter. Language has evolved around the word to describe our species (and, to many anthropologists, a significant number of our ancestral species), homo sapiens, mankind, humanity, the human race, etc. Many of the idioms incorporating this collective word- human- are designed to articulate our fundamental flaws:
“You’re only human.” As opposed to something less fallible or frail.
“Human error.” As opposed to the mechanical failure of unthinking machines.
“To err is human.” We are fundamentally characterized by our proclivity for screwing up.
And so on. We also see this in the majority of world faiths: no matter the particular theology around the creation of the universe or the deities responsible, humans stand as tragic figures in the religious stories of the universe: beloved creations of superior beings or fragments of a perfect consciousness, for whatever reason cursed to live limited lifespans where we poop and cry and get cancer and murder- and spend a lot of time wanting to be more than we are and feeling alternately angry, disappointed, or despairing about it.
The Church of Marketing has a dogma even more firmly rooted in the fundamental inadequacy of being human: buy this, subscribe to this, and you can fix a failing within your being (you’re not doing enough; you don’t have enough; YOU ARE NOT ENOUGH) and be happy.
All around us, we’re assured that we’re fundamentally inadequate, and a shot at a good life (just a SHOT, mind) hinges on fixing our flaws.
I want to stop for a moment and address those of you who may be thinking I’m calling out self-improvement- I’m most categorically not, and the latter half of this essay will make you very happy. There is nothing more positive and joyous than self-improvement and self-directed growth; I’m speaking to the often misguided and equally often cynical and manipulative messaging that our individual and collective intrinsic qualities are somehow “bad” and need “fixing”- that, for example, every woman must alter her body permanently (at great and traumatic cost) or impermanently (as an exhausting duty of constant maintenance) to achieve a specific appearance or that our diversity of gifts and abilities (great at math, terrible at English, vice versa, or something else altogether) demand “correction.”
Human beings are social animals- I cannot stress this too often or enough, because it lies both at the center of everything I try to teach but also at the center of the vast majority of our quest to understand ourselves and our well-being. We are an unlikely miracle- the result of deliberate or convergent forces, depending on what you believe- a not-very strong, not-very durable branch of primates that nevertheless now stand alone as the apex predator, scavenger, and harvester of every ecosystem we inhabit. Yes, it’s true that this great success couldn’t have happened without our relatively large, extremely sophisticated brains, but this alone doesn’t tell the story of human dominance: it’s only because all the big brains got together in large groups, stayed in large groups, and worked together towards mutually-beneficial, long-term goals.
I’m taking this dip into anthropology because I encourage you to think of what you may perceive as your own “flaws” or “failings” as, rather, the interlocking edges of your identity as a jigsaw puzzle piece in a bigger set that includes your family, friends, and community. I’m good at something you’re not, and vice versa: we need each other, even if it’s just for a moment to reach something on a high shelf or change our oil or get our computer working. When we ask another human directly for help- paid or otherwise- we are reaffirming our bonds with the broader community of humans, and the same is true when we give that help to others. If we literally never needed help from anyone, not even to entertain us, cheer us up, or keep us company- if we were the Übermensch of Sartre, the perfect superman- we’d have no reason to interact with anyone, and they’d only disappoint, bore, or frustrate us if we did.
Our natural limitations give us a reason to need and help each other and to constantly renew, strengthen, and seek out bonds with others, and as I’ve said countless times across my body of work, consistent findings from research like the Harvard Grant Study prove that maintaining as many close, positive, committed bonds with other humans as possible is the single greatest determining factor in determining diverse life outcomes like lifetime income, longevity, wellness, and perceived happiness.
The second half of this idea is where the title of my book Good Burdens comes from: the way we achieve all this giving and receiving is by voluntarily choosing to do things that make us uncomfortable, demand exertion, and take the time that would otherwise be allocated to other activities. A burden is something you carry; something with weight. You’re continually aware of its presence. There are potentially significant consequences for dropping it or setting it down. A 50 lb. sack is a burden; a quarter in your pocket is not. Caring for a bedridden elderly parent in your own home is a burden; saying “you’re welcome” when someone says “thank you” is not.
Friend, mentor, and source of inspiration Albert Borgmann, who coined the term “good burden” to describe the commitments we take up that connect us to others AND bring us joy in the doing, which become progressively less “burdensome” as we master the skills needed to perform them well. For many humans, becoming a parent is the most significant good burden we’ll take up in our lives; regardless of our personality, the demands of parenting go beyond attitude and require labors that are not easy, no matter who you are. We have to learn- and get increasingly better at- having patience, exercising discipline, self-sacrifice, and making wise decisions that affect the human life we’re responsible for. We do not start out highly competent in all of the almost-infinite list of specific skills that accompany these broader strengths, like changing diapers, breastfeeding, talking to teachers, teaching how to drive or ride a bike or tie shoes or write, cooking, cleaning, and shopping for a completely dependent human, and so on.
Parenting is a burden- that’s a pretty defensible argument from nearly any philosophical corner. But parents who love their children will universally say that it’s a good burden: that the enormous responsibility taken up for the life of this small human brings richness, texture, depth, meaning, opportunity, satisfaction, and experience to one’s own life that is absolutely impossible to find anywhere else.
Parenting is an extreme example of a good burden- a lifelong responsibility with enormous potential spiritual reward. But Borgmann tells us that a joyful life is, fundamentally, constructed of dozens and hundreds of good burdens, big and small, with widely varying consequences, from taking piano lessons to saving a life. Again: a good burden is a responsibility you take up that requires commitment, connects you to others, brings you joy in its doing, and becomes less burdensome as you master it.
In light of this, I hope you won’t find it paradoxical when I say that the existential value of human limitation sits side-by-side with self-improvement in living a joyful, purposeful life. Good burdens are what it’s all about: we will live a shorter, less healthy, and less happy life without any- pursuant to my previous essay, there is a diminishing return to the convenience that eventually becomes deleterious to a healthy and joyful life.
When we voluntarily choose growth and self-improvement, we’re expanding the repertoire of ways we can connect to someone asking, “can you help me with this?”
When we embrace without judgment our natural limitations, we’ll joyfully ask someone else, “can you help me with this?”
Just don’t expect your self-improvement to make you the perfect Übermensch covering every one of life’s contingencies alone- it won’t and never will.
You are not #limitless. But put enough of us together, and we come pretty damn close.
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Originally posted on my dedicated blog on Medium.com
