Kieran Setiya on Midlife 9/19/22

A man who spends his life teaching philosophy at MIT confesses that knowing all the theories about death does not console him in the slightest. Kieran Setiya, author of "Midlife," openly says that every time he thinks about his own end, he still feels that panic he had as a child: "There's no philosophical remedy that's really worked for me." And here is the first crack in the classic narrative of the midlife crisis: it is not an American movie cliché, nor an excuse to buy a motorcycle, but an existential question that culture has taught us first to ridicule and then to optimize. Instead, the real breakthrough is to accept that a certain discomfort halfway through life is inevitable and even healthy, because it arises from a combination of factors that no optimization algorithm can solve. Most people think that the midlife crisis is a made-up fad, but recent studies show that life satisfaction follows a U-shaped curve around the world: it starts high, drops between the ages of 40 and 50, and then rises again. The decline is comparable, in terms of impact, to losing a job or getting divorced. It may not be a crisis for everyone, but that dip in the curve is real. Setiya puts his face to it: at 35, after achieving everything he had strived for, he woke up with a sense of emptiness that he had not anticipated. He was happily pursuing his career, with no apparent drama, yet he wondered: "How is it possible that everything is going well, but I feel that something fundamental is missing?" What makes the issue universal is the fact that it is not just about regrets for paths not taken, but about a misconception of what makes life truly fulfilling: we spend too much time solving problems, "plugging holes", and too little time cultivating what Setiya calls existential value. It is not enough to take away the pain: we need something that has value in itself, such as reading a poem, contemplating nature, laughing with a friend, playing, eating well, loving. These "small human gestures" are often overlooked precisely because they do not lead to a measurable result. And here comes the twist: we think that happiness is about accumulating successes, but pursuing only goals – the so-called telic activities – always leaves us racing towards the next finish line, never truly satisfied. When we finally reach a goal, such as writing a book or getting a promotion, the satisfaction quickly fades, and we immediately find ourselves asking, "What now?" Setiya distinguishes between "telic" activities (which have an end, such as closing a project) and "atelic" activities (which have no end, such as spending time with someone you love, reflecting on a conversation, or walking). True wealth lies in the ability to experience the process as well, not just the result. A human example: Setiya himself says that, although he loved philosophy as a boy, university led him to think only about publishing articles, getting a professorship, and passing yet another selection process. Eventually, he realized that he had lost his taste for "philosophy as an activity in itself," the one for which he had chosen that profession. Recognizing this mechanism is not enough to resolve the discomfort, but it is the first step. Western culture bombards us with the mantra of optimization: maximize productivity, choose the best, accumulate results. But this logic makes us chase an illusion: there is no objective way to compare the value of a career, a relationship, an unforgettable trip, or a moment of art. The plurality of values makes regret for the paths not taken inevitable, but it is precisely this variety that makes life worth living. And when the past weighs on you? Here Setiya offers a powerful mental weapon: instead of dwelling on what could have been, try to look carefully at the concrete details of your life as it is—the people you have met, the unique experiences you have had, the relationships that have also arisen from mistakes. Attachment to real details wins out over the abstraction of "what could have been." But beware: this strategy has its limits, especially when the regret concerns moral mistakes. In those cases, mental restructuring is not enough: you need to acknowledge your fault, apologize, and learn to accept the radical imperfection of living. The theme of death, which should close any discussion on the midlife crisis, is addressed with disarming sincerity: fear remains, but perhaps the point is not to eliminate it, but to accept it as part of the price for a full life, where the intensity of moments is increased precisely by their finiteness. After all, as Setiya says, "the meaning of life is not in completing as many projects as possible, but in knowing how to inhabit the time that is given to us—with all its imperfections, its regrets, and its fragile beauty." If this perspective has changed the way you see middle age, you can mark it on Lara Notes with I'm In—choose whether it's just curiosity, whether you've experienced it firsthand, or whether you really believe it. And if in a few days you find yourself talking about it with a friend or your mother, on Lara Notes you can tag whoever was with you with Shared Offline—because certain conversations deserve to be captured, not just remembered. This episode comes from EconTalk and has saved you ninety-five minutes of listening.