Autumn: Hey everyone, welcome back! Today we're tackling something we all deal with: grief, failure, loneliness, injustice... basically, the messy parts of life. Cheerful stuff, right? Rachel: Sounds pretty much like my average day, actually. But seriously, why are we always drawn back to these… well, heavy topics? Is it just because they’re completely unavoidable? Autumn: Precisely! It's part of the human experience. And that's really the starting point for Kieran Setiya’s book, "Life is Hard: How Philosophy Can Help Us Find Our Way." He argues that these hardships aren’t just detours “on” the road to happiness, they “are” the road. Now, the real question is, how do we navigate it? Rachel: Ah, philosophically, of course. Which, let me guess, translates to "complicated." Expect some Aristotle, maybe a Camus reference thrown in for good measure? Autumn: Definitely some of that! But Setiya makes it super accessible. He blends insights from philosophy, literature, and even his own personal struggles to give us practical ways to face tough situations. It's not about magically "fixing" suffering; it's about actually finding “meaning” within it. Rachel: So, he's not selling us some kind of quick fix or a "10 Easy Steps to Eternal Bliss" type program? Autumn: Nope, nothing like that. Instead, he offers ways to build resilience, nurture human connection, and find hope – even when things feel completely absurd. Rachel: Hope amidst absurdity, eh? Seems like a pretty tall order. Alright, let’s break it down. What exactly are we diving into today? Autumn: Good question! We're going to unpack five big ideas from the book. First, the universality of adversity—it’s not just you; life is hard for “everyone.” Second, philosophy as a guide to building resilience—think of it as a map when you feel totally lost. Third, the power of connection to heal—why relationships matter now more than ever. Fourth, the role of moral courage when facing injustice—how should we act, particularly when it’s uncomfortable? And finally, finding meaning even when life feels pointless—because sometimes, the struggle itself is the answer. Rachel: So, basically: "Life's a slog, but here’s how to get through without completely losing it." Not bad. Let's see if philosophy can really guide us through this mess.

Autumn: So, let’s dive in. The core idea here is that adversity is universal. Setiya argues that life's hardships aren't just these random occurrences or detours. They're actually built into the whole human experience. Pain, grief, loneliness... they're not glitches in the system; they are the system. It sounds a bit bleak, but he says it’s actually where meaning and growth come from. What's your take on that? Rachel: To be honest, my first thought is, "Does life have to be this hard?" But I see his point. I mean, knowing that everyone goes through tough times doesn't exactly make it easier when you're in the middle of it. Still, the fact that hardship is a shared human experience has to mean something, right? It's like we're all in the same leaky boat, you know? Autumn: Exactly. Recognizing that adversity is part of the deal doesn't magically fix things, but it changes how we deal with it. Take Setiya's experience with chronic pelvic pain. He doesn't try to "overcome" it. He accepts it, lives with it, and allows it to change how he sees himself and the world. It's a total shift in mindset. Rachel: Let's talk more about that chronic pain story, because it “really” stuck with me from the book. He's at a movie, and the pain just hits him like a wave, and he ends up lying on the bathroom floor. If that were me, I wouldn't be so philosophical. I'd be questioning all my life choices, probably? Autumn: Totally. It's a “really” raw and, frankly, scary moment. But what “really” got me was how the pain messed up his whole world—not just physically, but emotionally and socially too. It made him feel so alone. He writes so well about how isolating it is to have invisible pain, especially when doctors can’t “really” give you a clear answer. Rachel: That “really” resonates—how medical uncertainty can make things even worse. He's suffering, and the tests come back unclear. And then, they finally diagnose him, and it's like, "Okay, you have chronic pelvic pain. Good luck!" I mean, it's good to have a diagnosis, but it doesn't actually solve anything. Autumn: Exactly. And this gets to a bigger idea from disability theorists and writers like Virginia Woolf and Elaine Scarry, who Setiya mentions. They talk about how pain can be so isolating because it's hard to put into words. Woolf even says that English doesn't have good words for something as common as a headache! How do you explain what you're feeling to someone who hasn't been through it? Rachel: True, but Setiya pushes back on that a bit, doesn't he? He says that language can actually describe pain. Words like "throbbing" or "pulsing" can be pretty specific. It's not perfect, but it's something, right? A way to connect, at least a little. Autumn: Yeah, I think he's finding a balance. Pain is super personal, and often hard to describe. But it's also universal. We might not have the exact same experiences, but we can understand each other through that shared vulnerability. And that's what adversity teaches us, according to Setiya, that our being fragile connects us, not as a weakness, but as something deeply human. Rachel: Alright, I'm listening. But how do we actually live that fragility without being completely overwhelmed? Setiya says it’s important to acknowledge pain, but then what? Do we just accept it? Fight it? Curl up in a ball? Autumn: Definitely not just curling up in a ball! Setiya suggests what you could call “philosophical engagement.” Meaning, we engage with our pain—whether it’s physical, emotional, or just existential angst—not as something we have to defeat, but as something we can coexist with. He takes ideas from ancient Stoicism and modern moral philosophy to give us tools for resilience. Rachel: Let me guess—Stoicism is a big deal here? "Get comfortable being uncomfortable," "Focus on what you can control," all that? Autumn: Exactly. Stoicism is the foundation. But Setiya updates it. He's not saying, "Just grin and bear it" or "Suppress your feelings." He wants us to “really” look at our struggles, think about them differently, and find meaning even in the things that seem pointless. Rachel: Like chronic pain—which doesn't exactly scream "meaningful," if you ask me. But Setiya says that pain can actually help us understand how vulnerable people are, and even build empathy for others. It's not just about you and your suffering. It's about seeing how we're all connected. Autumn: Right, and that's where his wife's story adds another layer. He talks about how, while he was dealing with his pain, his wife was caring for her mother who had cancer and also dealing with her own health issues. So, it was like a chain reaction of vulnerability—not just individual problems, but a whole network of them. Rachel: And that was during the pandemic, right? Which added another layer of collective struggle. I mean, if there was ever a time when we all faced fragility and loss together, it's been the last couple of years. Autumn: Exactly. Setiya uses these moments to show how suffering spreads through relationships and communities. It can be isolating, but it also forces us to think about what connects us. His point is that adversity isn't just something to get through; it can actually help us live more compassionate, connected lives. Rachel: Okay, I'll give you that, that's a good point. But is this all just philosophy pretending to be therapy? Are there actual real-world things we can do, or is it just "think deeply and embrace being fragile"? Autumn: Definitely. One big takeaway is focusing on collective resilience. Disability activists, in particular, have a lot to teach us. They challenge this idea that limitations make life less meaningful. Instead, they say that a good life is less about avoiding struggle and more about how we handle it—both as individuals and as a society. Rachel: So, it's about society's role, not just what we do as individuals. That makes sense. It's one thing to try to be tough on your own, but what systems are there to help people dealing with chronic pain or disabilities? That's where the conversation needs to go, I guess. Autumn: Exactly. Setiya doesn't let us off easy by saying resilience is just a personal thing. He says we need to change things at a higher level—recognizing people's experiences, providing resources, building communities of care. Resilience is a shared ethical responsibility, not just something you do for yourself. Rachel: Got it. So, to sum up, adversity isn't just this mountain you have to climb alone. It's more like we're all in the same rough area, trying to figure out how to walk it together. Which, I have to say, feels a bit less depressing than just gritting your teeth and bearing it. Autumn: Exactly. Hardship is universal, yes, but it’s also a chance for growth—both personally and for all of us. It’s not about avoiding adversity, it’s about dealing with it in a way that makes us stronger, more empathetic, and more connected to each other.

Autumn: Okay, so we’ve agreed that adversity is just part of life, right? Which leads perfectly to our big question: How can philosophy guide us through it all? Kieran Setiya sees philosophy as more than just abstract ideas; he believes it offers real, practical help with life's tough problems. Basically, how do we make sense of suffering, and how do we live with it without letting it completely take over? Rachel: Practical philosophy? Isn't that kind of an... contradiction? But, alright, I'm curious. What exactly are we talking about here? How can philosophy actually help someone dealing with, say, chronic pain or, you know, grief? Autumn: Good point. Setiya argues that philosophy offers ways to rethink suffering, to see it as a normal, unavoidable part of life. It gives us the tools to face it head-on, not just survive it, but actually learn and grow from it. He uses ideas from ancient philosophies, literature, even personal stories to show how this works. Rachel: So, let me guess, Stoicism is the star player here? Autumn: Absolutely! Stoicism has some really timeless advice: focus on what you can control, and don't worry about what you can't. Setiya often mentions Epictetus, who taught that the key to a resilient life is to shift your attention from external chaos to your own inner calm. Think about it – with chronic pain, like Setiya experiences, you often can't "fix" the pain itself. But you can choose how you react to it, internally. Rachel: Right, but is there a risk of sounding a bit... detached? I mean, if someone's really struggling, they probably don't want to hear, "Oh, just don't worry about the stuff you can't change." Autumn: Exactly, and Setiya is very careful to avoid that. He's not saying we should ignore our feelings or pretend pain doesn't matter. It's more about actively engaging with suffering— trying to understand it, rethink it, and even use it to connect with other people. Rachel: This idea of "reframing" is interesting... If pain is just this constant thing in your life, seeing it as something more than just a problem to be solved totally changes the game, doesn't it? Autumn: Exactly. Like, Setiya talks about how his own chronic pelvic pain changed his whole perspective. Getting a diagnosis didn't magically cure him, but it changed how he felt about it. Just having his suffering acknowledged was so powerful. It validated his pain and helped him feel less alone. Rachel: Okay, but what exactly makes that acknowledgement so effective? I mean, it didn't make the pain go away. And he didn't suddenly become happy to feel terrible all the time. Autumn: True, but it helped him connect with others. Realizing that suffering isn't just a personal thing, that others experience it too, helped him feel less isolated. Setiya builds on this by referencing disability theorists, people like Rosemarie Garland-Thomson, who say that suffering isn't just an individual problem, it's a shared human responsibility. We need to break down the barriers – social, emotional, systemic – that make pain even more isolating. Rachel: Ah, I see how this connects to the bigger picture. It's not just about "deal with your pain better"; it's about creating communities where people feel seen and supported. But what about language? Setiya talks about how describing pain can either isolate you or bring people together, depending on how you do it. Autumn: That's a really important point. He mentions Virginia Woolf's observation about how hard it is to describe something as simple as a headache. And Elaine Scarry talks about how isolating pain can be, calling it almost impossible to represent. But Setiya challenges that a bit, suggesting that while language might not perfectly capture pain, it can help us define its contours. Rachel: And that's important because it gives others a way to understand what you're going through. Words like "sharp," "burning," or "constant" – they're not perfect, but they build a bridge. Autumn: Right, and that bridge reduces the loneliness that comes with pain. That's where philosophy comes in – to remind us that suffering can lead to connection, not just isolation. By making an effort to describe your pain, you're opening the door for others to empathize and maybe even share your emotional burden. Rachel: Okay, so we've got reframing suffering and connecting through language. But where does the Stoic idea of control fit in? I mean, you can't just willpower chronic pain away. Autumn: Absolutely, and here's where Setiya moves beyond old-school Stoicism and applies it to modern life. He emphasizes what is within your control. It's not about curing pain, but about developing qualities like empathy and solidarity. In his case, chronic pain taught him to see his own vulnerability as part of a larger human experience. That helped him connect more deeply with others who are struggling. Rachel: So, pain goes from being this terrible, isolating thing to a shared reality we all participate in – even if our experiences are different? That's actually... less depressing than I expected. Dare I say it, almost hopeful? Autumn: That's exactly what Setiya is getting at! It's about finding meaning and connection, even in the midst of difficulty. He even connects this to bigger discussions about disability. By reframing suffering as something that can spark empathy and collective action, he makes it a more universal, and less isolating part of being human. Rachel: But, you know, leaning into vulnerability isn't exactly a natural thing, especially in a world that's always telling us to be strong and overcome everything. Is he suggesting we should just stop trying to “fix” things like chronic illness? Autumn: Not at all. While Setiya questions the overemphasis on "fixing," he absolutely supports creating solutions that ease suffering. For example, he agrees with disability activists who argue for societal changes. Instead of just focusing on curing or "normalizing" disabilities, he believes in creating a more inclusive world – breaking down the barriers that prevent people from thriving within their conditions. Rachel: I like that idea of shifting from an individual "just fix it" mentality to a collective responsibility to create conditions where people can flourish. It's philosophical, but it's also practical. Autumn: Exactly. It's philosophy applied to both personal perspective and public policy. Personal resilience and societal responsibility, two sides of the same coin. Rachel: And I guess both sides depend on this key idea: suffering doesn't isolate you as much as you think. If anything, it can bring people together in unexpected ways.

Autumn: So, with philosophy as our guide, let's dive into something that really pulls everything together: the power of human connection. Specifically, how it fights back against that awful feeling of loneliness and the pain of grief. Setiya’s take on this is super relational, looking at how our relationships – both with individuals and with communities – can soften the blow of suffering and maybe even turn it into something meaningful. Rachel: Okay, "The Power of Connection." Sounds like philosophy is finally stepping out of its ivory tower and getting its hands dirty, huh? I'm intrigued by the idea that connection can actually heal loneliness or grief. So, Autumn, lay it out for me. What's the game plan here? Autumn: Well, Setiya starts with a key idea: loneliness and grief might feel incredibly personal, but they're actually symptoms of bigger problems in our society. Think about how isolating modern life can be, right? Declining communities, this obsession with being an individual… Then you throw in something like a pandemic, and boom, you've got a perfect storm of disconnection. Rachel: Right, and the numbers don't lie. Setiya mentions that back in 2006, people were three times more likely to say they had no close confidants compared to a few decades prior. That's not just a bit sad, that's a full-blown social crisis. Autumn: Exactly! And what makes his approach so powerful is how he sees loneliness and grief as both personal and societal problems. Take COVID-19. Lockdowns isolated billions worldwide, leaving many completely alone for long stretches. Suddenly, loneliness wasn't just your own struggle – it became a collective one, highlighting the systemic roadblocks to connection. Rachel: So, loneliness isn't just this vague feeling of "I miss my friends," but something with real, long-term consequences. Setiya even compares its health impact to smoking or high blood pressure. I mean, who needs that on top of all the existential anxiety? Autumn: He doesn't shy away from the hard truths. But his answer isn't just, "Go make a friend!" It's about acknowledging that loneliness is made worse by the way modern society is structured. And then using tools like storytelling and rituals to patch those broken connections. Rachel: Hold on, storytelling and rituals? You're saying these aren't just fluffy, feel-good ideas for building community, but actual, practical tools for dealing with isolation and grief? Autumn: Precisely. Take his example of a Zoom memorial during the pandemic. These folks couldn’t be together in person to mourn Edward, but they built a virtual space to share stories and memories. Instead of grieving alone, they made it a communal thing – laughing, crying, you know, remembering him together. Rachel: Sure, but a Zoom call doesn't exactly scream "healing," does it? Connecting's nice, of course, but does it really fill the hole left by losing someone? Autumn: It's not about replacing the traditional ways of grieving, but about finding new ways to connect when you can't do those things. That virtual memorial wasn't "perfect," but it created a sense of shared loss. It showed that you don't have to carry that pain all by yourself. And even though one person, Marah, had a breakdown later, that just shows how deep grief can be, and how important it is to have some kind of communal outlet, even if it's not ideal. Rachel: Okay, I see what you're getting at. The storytelling part seems key. By sharing stories about Edward – his humor, his passions – everyone built this shared memory. I guess telling stories can make pain feel real, turn it into something people can actually deal with. Autumn: And that's exactly what Setiya emphasizes. Storytelling doesn't just help us process our own grief; it invites others into those emotions, making what he calls "empathic bridges." Sharing a story is like an act of trust. You're letting others see your pain and, in doing so, helping them carry some of that weight. Rachel: "Empathic bridges"—I like that. But what about rituals? Besides Zoom calls, what role do they play? Autumn: Rituals do something similar – they give collective experiences structure, whether it's mourning or celebrating. Even when things are disrupted, we find ways to tweak them, like that virtual memorial. Rituals give us a framework for dealing with pain, a way for people to come together, even when they can't be in the same physical space. Rachel: They're not just for processing grief, but also for building resilience, right? Shared moments remind us that we're part of something bigger than ourselves, even if that "something bigger" is just a Zoom gathering. Autumn: Exactly! Both storytelling and rituals push back against that isolating nature of grief and loneliness. They turn raw, messy emotions into something manageable, something people can carry together instead of alone. Rachel: Alright, I'm buying the idea that these tools can work. But Setiya's gotta point out the roadblocks, right? What's stopping people from connecting? Is modern life really so anti-connection that we need philosophy to fix it? Autumn: In a word, yeah. Setiya points to shrinking social circles, this obsession with individuality, even economic systems that put efficiency ahead of relationships. It's not that people don't want to connect; it's that modern life often makes it harder. Think about how some jobs or technology can isolate us. Suddenly, you're working remotely, glued to your screen—but adrift emotionally. Rachel: So, the loneliness crisis isn't a people problem—it's a systems problem. And reconnecting requires more than just personal effort? Autumn: Exactly, Setiya is calling for changes to the system, as well as what we do as an individual. Programs like Nan Stevens' work in the Netherlands is a great example. They use things like social network assessments and careful strategy of intervention to rebuild connections at a societal level. The results? Significantly reduced loneliness for participants. Rachel: Okay, so there are actionable paths forward. It's not just a philosophical fantasy. What's the main takeaway Setiya wants us to remember here? Autumn: That connection isn’t just a luxury or a “nice-to-have.” It’s absolutely fundamental to our well-being. We can’t solve loneliness and grief by ourselves. We need to tackle them together, recognizing each other and standing in solidarity. Whether it's through stories, reimagined rituals, or fixing the systems around us, that way connection makes suffering a shared, human experience. Rachel: And that's where philosophy really pulls it all together, I suppose. It's not just about thinking about the hard things in life, but about actually figuring out how to face them using the tools that remind us we're not alone.

Autumn: So, moving from personal connections, we're now looking at the bigger picture – systemic issues. We're talking about how structural injustices keep inequality and suffering going, and what we can do, both individually and as a society, to change things. This is where Setiya broadens his scope, urging us to face injustice through working together and taking responsibility. Rachel: Right, the complicated world of systemic injustice. This is where philosophy gets real, I think. So, where do we even start? How do we even begin to deal with something so huge? Autumn: Setiya starts by pointing out that injustice isn't just about individual actions or mistakes. It's built into our systems—inequality in healthcare, education, environmental issues, economics, everything. These systems create and maintain these cycles of oppression, and fixing them takes more than just being personally moral. It requires us to be aware and act together. Rachel: Okay, but "systems of oppression" can sound pretty abstract, right? What are we actually talking about? Can you give me a concrete example? Autumn: Sure. Think about the COVID-19 pandemic. Setiya points out how clearly it showed structural inequalities. On the one hand, billionaires got even richer—companies like Amazon boomed. On the other, millions lost their jobs, struggled to afford food, and became homeless. Marginalized communities suffered the most, and all of this was made worse by weak social safety nets. Rachel: Yeah, it’s that contrast that’s sickening, isn’t it? The fact that the same crisis could create massive wealth while plunging others into poverty. And what’s even more infuriating is that it wasn’t just random bad luck—it was predictable, right? Systems are designed like that. Autumn: Exactly. That’s why Setiya focuses on these systemic problems. The pandemic didn’t create these inequalities; it just made them worse. And yet, many responses treated these disparities as if they were unavoidable. Setiya challenges that. He argues that we need to move from just acknowledging the problem to actively working to fix it—he calls it "active hope." Rachel: Okay, I like that idea, but what exactly is “active hope”? How is it different from regular old hope? Autumn: Well, passive hope is just waiting for things to get better, assuming the world will fix itself or that someone else will take care of it. Active hope, on the other hand, is about putting hope into action. It’s acknowledging the scale of injustice while still committing to steps—no matter how small—that work toward change. It’s hope as a verb, not just a noun. Rachel: Got it. So instead of just endlessly scrolling through bad news about climate change or inequality, you actually have to, you know, write a letter to your representative or join a local protest? And somehow that makes hope less... fragile? Autumn: Precisely! Setiya takes inspiration from movements like climate justice and Black Lives Matter, which show how working together can bring about real change. Even historical examples—like the end of apartheid in South Africa—show that systemic issues, as deeply rooted as they may seem, can be challenged when people unite with a common goal. Rachel: Alright, but here’s where my inner cynic pops up. Isn’t that easier said than done? These movements often face massive resistance. And let’s be honest, getting involved can feel overwhelming—like throwing a pebble into the ocean and hoping for it creates a wave. Autumn: It’s a valid point, but Setiya addresses it. He doesn’t say one person can change the world overnight, and he acknowledges the resistance these movements face. Instead, he suggests starting where you are—taking small, intentional steps that align with your values. It might feel like a pebble, but, you know, enough pebbles can shift the tide. Rachel: Okay, so it’s about scaling your efforts. But how does moral responsibility fit into all this? Is he saying we’re all equally obligated to fix these imbalances, or does that burden fall more heavily on those with power? Autumn: Great question. Setiya acknowledges that moral responsibility isn’t equal. Those with privilege and power have more ability—and therefore more responsibility—to make changes. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are off the hook. Simone Weil’s philosophy adds another layer here: she argued that empathy and moral responsibility should guide everyone. Even small acts of solidarity can lay the groundwork for bigger systemic shifts. Rachel: Which brings us to Simone Weil herself, right? Talk about someone who truly lived her beliefs. Her stories are wild—like when she refused to eat sweets during World War I because French soldiers weren’t getting proper rations? Autumn: Exactly. Weil’s life is a lesson in radical solidarity. For her, moral integrity wasn’t just about good intentions—it had to be demonstrated through action. She worked in factories, laboring alongside the working class despite her own health problems, because she believed that understanding their struggles firsthand was crucial for meaningful solidarity. Rachel: That’s some serious commitment. But I wonder—does Setiya think we all need to go to Weil’s extremes to make a difference? Most of us aren’t giving up sweets or working in factories anytime soon. Autumn: Thankfully, no. Setiya uses Weil as an example, not a model to be copied exactly. Her actions illustrate the principles of empathy and shared responsibility, but how we apply them can be different. The point isn’t to mimic Weil’s sacrifices but to embody her spirit of engagement—finding ways, big or small, to contribute to justice. Rachel: Alright, so if Weil is the poster child for radical responsibility, what’s the practical takeaway for the rest of us who, let’s face it, probably won’t live up to her level of dedication? Autumn: The takeaway is that action, no matter how small, matters. Setiya emphasizes bridging the gap between recognizing systemic injustices and actually doing something about them. That could mean pushing for policy changes, supporting organizations that address inequality, or even just fostering small acts of kindness in your community. The scope of your participation can vary, but the commitment to justice should be unwavering. Rachel: And I guess that’s where the power of collective action comes in, doesn’t it? Small contributions from many people can snowball into large-scale change. Kind of like a cascade effect? Autumn: Exactly. Collective action doesn’t diminish responsibility; it amplifies it. And Setiya points to examples like climate justice initiatives and movements against racial oppression to show how solidarity can transform societies. These aren’t just abstract ideas—they’re pathways that show the tangible impact of shared effort. Rachel: So if I’m understanding this correctly, Setiya’s main message is that justice is a shared project. It takes personal involvement, but it also relies on a collective commitment to dismantling those deeply rooted systems of inequality. Autumn: Perfectly put. Justice isn’t just about ideals; it’s about action, both individual and communal. Setiya challenges us to rethink how we see responsibility—not as a burden to carry alone, but as something shared. And that’s the foundation for hope and progress, both personally and as a society.

Autumn: So, all that talk about justice really boils down to this: life throws all sorts of curveballs—absurd systems, uncertainties galore—how do we even find “meaning” in it all? That's the big question, right? How do we find purpose in a world that often feels… meaningless? Today, that's exactly what we're diving into: finding meaning in absurdity. Rachel: Ah, the million-dollar question. "Meaning" and "absurdity"—those are two heavy hitters. So, are we kicking this off with Nietzsche, Camus, or a combo deal? Feels like they're the usual suspects here. Autumn: A combo, naturally! Setiya builds on their work. Nietzsche gives us the "create your own meaning" vibe, while Camus, of course, champions "embracing the absurd." Setiya takes it a step further, suggesting we find a sort of balance, you know? Instead of trying to craft some epic, life-defining narrative or just giving in to despair, he says we can create meaning in those everyday, ordinary moments. Rachel: Okay, but does "ordinary meaning" feel… enough? I get the big, existential questions—"Why are we here?" and all that—but "ordinary" doesn't exactly scream "satisfying answer." Autumn: That's the paradox, isn't it? Setiya points out that meaning isn't always some grand epiphany. It's often hiding in plain sight—building relationships, getting creative, contributing to something bigger. And, he introduces a cool philosophical idea here: the whole "telic" versus "atelic" activity thing. Rachel: Telic is goal-oriented–right? “Write a novel" or “Run a marathon." Milestones you grind toward? Autumn: Bang on. And society loves telic activities. We're constantly told to chase achievements—getting that degree, landing the amazing promotion, buying the dream house. But, as Setiya sees it, life becomes all about the endpoints. We’re always looking ahead, like true fulfillment is always just out of reach. Rachel: But isn't that just… ambition? I mean, a life of accomplishment feels pretty good! So what’s the downside? Autumn: Ambition itself isn’t the problem. Setiya argues it becomes… hollow if we only focus on what's next. That's where "atelic" comes in—activities where the joy isn’t about finishing. Think chatting with friends, really appreciating art, or, honestly, gardening. The experience itself is what matters, not crossing some finish line. Rachel: Ooh, I get it. It's the difference between binge-watching just to say you finished versus, you know, savoring the quirky meta-commentary on something like The Good Place. Gotcha. Autumn: Exactly. And it's fascinating how this small shift in mindset can change everything. By focusing on the atelic, Setiya invites us to see meaning not as some grand quest but as building habits and connections that make our daily lives richer right now. Rachel: Alright, but how do we make that stick in the real world? Most of us are wired to focus on results, whether it’s a paycheck, grades, or whatever it is that keeps the lights on. Autumn: That's where philosophy gets practical. Setiya’s not saying ditch your goals—just balance the telic with the atelic. Say, instead of just seeing work as a list of deliverables, what if you found joy and connection in the people you work with? Or in the skills you’re actually building? Rachel: Okay, so savor the commute, not just arriving. Sounds good when things are smooth, but what about when life throws a wrench in the gears? When people lose jobs or have to deal with grief? It's tough to find meaning in that. Autumn: And that's what's so compelling about Setiya’s angle. He doesn’t ignore the hard stuff, the randomness, the unfairness of life. Instead, he says that actually facing those realities can make us stronger. Think about existentialist novels. In Sartre’s Nausea, the main character, Roquentin, is totally overwhelmed by how arbitrary everything is—just staring at tree roots sends him spiraling. But, by the end, he stops resisting and decides to live authentically within that absurdity. Rachel: Tree roots leading to existential crisis—so Sartre. But how does Setiya make that relate to our lives? Most of us aren't wandering around parks, contemplating the void on a Tuesday. Autumn: Agreed. But we’ve all had those moments where life’s randomness just hits us hard. A sudden illness, a loss, even something as small as a delayed train. Setiya argues those moments of absurdity, unsettling as they are, can actually spark some important thinking. They make us really think about what we value and how we can create meaning, even then. Rachel: So, don’t run from the void, lean into it. Use those tough moments as a chance to ask bigger questions about what truly matters. I’m in… but where does Tolstoy fit into all of this? Autumn: Ah, Tolstoy. Setiya looks at his famous existential crisis from Confession. Even at the peak of his career—wealth, fame, literary rockstar status—Tolstoy wondered why he should keep going. Eating, writing, breathing—it all felt meaningless when you looked at the vastness of existence. He just couldn't shake the feeling that it was all… pointless. Rachel: Existential dread from a guy who had it all. Textbook. So, how did he pull himself out of it? Autumn: He started looking inward but soon realized that meaning had to extend beyond himself. Tolstoy turned to community and spirituality—connecting to something bigger than just his own ambitions. And Setiya uses that to highlight a key idea: individual meaning is great, but it's not enough. Real purpose comes when we connect to something larger—through relationships, creative projects, or causes that matter. Rachel: Yeah, that makes sense. Even your own wins feel… empty without some bigger context. It’s like a solo violin—you need the orchestra to make sense of your part. Autumn: Beautifully put. And that's why Setiya offers a framework, not a simple answer. Finding meaning isn’t about cracking some universal code; it's about building connections, doing those atelic activities, and embracing the unknown. Rachel: It's not about solving life's absurdity—it's about learning to live with it, maybe even… thrive within it. Autumn: Exactly. And what's so powerful about this is that it allows for imperfection. Life is messy and unpredictable, but that’s where the richness and humanity come from, after all.

Autumn: So, to bring our conversation about Kieran Setiya's “Life is Hard” to a close, we've really explored how adversity isn't some side trip, but actually is the landscape of life itself Through connecting with others, working together, and rethinking how we find meaning, Setiya gives us some real, usable ways to navigate those tough spots that define what it means to be human Rachel: Right, and we didn’t exactly shy away from the big stuff, did we Resilience when things get rough, finding hope in community, and even embracing the whole absurd nature of it all without trying to, you know, “win” against it It's not about cracking some cosmic code or pretending hardship doesn't exist; it's about figuring out how to live a life that means something, even with all the mess Autumn: And Setiya really challenges us to see life's mess – all that stuff we usually want to avoid – as actually what connects us Whether it's building resilience as a group, diving into relationships that matter, or just seeing the things we do every day in a new light, there's always a chance to make purpose, even when things seem totally pointless Rachel: So, the big lesson here isn't about finding the one magic answer, eh More like, keeping those important questions coming Adversity, injustice, the absurd—yeah, they're part of life But what we do with them? That's where we actually have some say Autumn: Exactly Life is hard, no question about it But making the effort to connect, to find meaning, and to hold onto hope? That’s what makes it worth it And maybe, just maybe, philosophy can be that guide along the way