Mark: Have you ever stopped to think about what people will say about you at your funeral? Not what’s on your LinkedIn profile—your job titles, your promotions, your worldly successes. But the real stuff. Were you kind? Were you brave? Were you capable of deep love? David Brooks calls these the ‘eulogy virtues,’ and he argues our entire culture is pushing us to obsess over the ‘résumé virtues’ instead, often leaving us with a profound inner emptiness. Michelle: It’s a terrifying thought, isn't it? That we could spend our whole lives climbing a ladder only to realize it was leaning against the wrong wall. Brooks, a prominent political columnist, wrote his book, The Road to Character, and in his own words, he did it "to save his own soul" from a life of "smug superficiality." That level of honesty from a public figure is arresting. Mark: It really is. And today, we're diving deep into his book. We'll explore this from two powerful perspectives. First, we'll uncover the 'Two Adams' living inside each of us—the career-driven achiever versus the moral being—and how our culture has dangerously tilted the scales in favor of the former. Michelle: And then, we'll get practical. We'll explore the often-painful road to building real character, looking at how figures like Frances Perkins and Dwight Eisenhower forged their inner strength not through self-discovery, but through self-conquest and service. This isn't about finding yourself; it's about making yourself.

Mark: So let's start with this core idea of the two Adams. Brooks borrows this concept from a rabbi, Joseph Soloveitchik, and it’s a brilliant framework for understanding our inner lives. He says we all have two conflicting natures. There's 'Adam I,' who is the external, ambitious, career-oriented self. This is the part of us that wants to build, create, produce, and conquer the world. It operates on a straightforward, utilitarian logic: effort leads to reward, you build your strengths, you maximize your utility. Michelle: That’s the résumé-building Adam. The one who gets the promotions, the accolades, the corner office. It’s the part of us our society is constantly feeding. Mark: Exactly. But then there's 'Adam II.' This is the internal self. Adam II wants to embody certain moral qualities, to have a serene inner character, to live for a purpose beyond the self. Adam II operates on an inverse logic: you have to give to receive, you have to surrender to something outside yourself to gain strength, you have to conquer yourself to win. It's the part of us that builds our eulogy virtues—honesty, humility, kindness. Michelle: And Brooks’s central argument is that our culture has become a giant megaphone for Adam I, while Adam II is left whispering in a corner, and we've forgotten the language he even speaks. Mark: Precisely. And he illustrates this with a story that really stuck with me. He was driving home one night, listening to an old radio program from August 15, 1945. It was a show called Command Performance, broadcast to American troops just hours after they learned they had won World War II. The host was Bing Crosby. Michelle: You’d expect a massive, triumphant celebration. The biggest victory in a generation. Mark: That’s what you’d think. But Crosby gets on the mic and says, "Well, it looks like this is it. What can you say at a time like this? You can’t throw your skimmer in the air. That’s for run-of-the-mill holidays. I guess all anybody can do is thank God it’s over." The whole broadcast had this tone of profound humility, of gratitude, of solemnity. There was no chest-thumping, no "We're number one!" It was a culture of self-effacement, a 'Little Me' culture. Michelle: And then he walks in the door… Mark: He walks in the door, turns on the TV to a football game. A defensive player makes a tackle for a measly two-yard gain. And what does he do? He leaps up and performs this elaborate, self-puffing victory dance, a whole choreographed routine in honor of himself. Brooks had this aha moment: he’d just witnessed a bigger victory dance for a two-yard gain than he’d heard after winning the Second World War. Michelle: That’s such a perfect, visceral illustration of the shift. From the 'Little Me' to what Brooks calls the 'Big Me.' And the data backs it up. He cites this incredible Gallup survey. In 1950, researchers asked high school seniors, "Are you a very important person?" Only 12% said yes. They asked again in the 2000s. What do you think the number was, Mark? Mark: I’ve read the book, so I know, but it’s still shocking. It was 80%. Eighty percent! Michelle: From 12% to 80%. And it's not just about feeling important; it's about what we value. In the 70s, fame ranked 15th out of 16 life goals for young people. By 2007, 51% of young people said being famous was one of their top goals. We've become a selfie culture, literally and figuratively. We're constantly curating our own brand, performing for an audience, and as you said in the intro, building our résumé. Mark: And the cost is the neglect of Adam II. We become, as Brooks puts it, "shrewd, self-preserving" individuals who lack a clear sense of meaning and purpose. We have a clear strategy for our careers, but a vague, fuzzy aspiration for our inner lives. We know how to get a promotion, but we don't have a clear vocabulary or a set of steps for how to become more humble, more courageous, or more kind. Michelle: But to be fair, isn't there a positive side to this shift? The old culture of self-effacement also kept a lot of people down. Brooks mentions Katharine Graham, the publisher of the Washington Post. She was raised in that old culture to be deferential, to be the "tail to her husband's kite." It was only by embracing a bit of that 'Big Me' energy, that sense of self-worth and assertiveness, that she was able to step into her power after her husband's death and become one of the most formidable leaders of her time. Mark: That's a fantastic point, and Brooks absolutely acknowledges it. He's not saying we should go back to the 1940s. The problem isn't self-esteem itself; it's the imbalance. It's when Adam I, the 'Big Me,' becomes the only voice in the room. When the pursuit of external success completely drowns out the quiet, difficult, and essential work of building an inner life. The question then becomes, if our culture isn't helping us, how on earth do we build that inner character?

Michelle: So if our culture is pushing us toward the 'Big Me,' how do we fight back? Brooks argues it's not about 'finding your passion,' which is a very Adam I way of thinking. It's not about looking inward to see what makes you happy. Instead, he says character is often forged when you are summoned by a problem outside yourself. Mark: This is the idea of the 'Summoned Self,' and the story he uses to illustrate it is unforgettable. It’s March 25, 1911, in New York City. A young social worker named Frances Perkins is having tea with friends in a wealthy home near Washington Square Park. Suddenly, they hear fire engines. They rush outside and look up at the Asch Building, which houses the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. Michelle: And what they see is just pure horror. Mark: Unspeakable horror. The top floors of the factory are engulfed in flames. The owners had locked the exit doors to prevent workers from taking unauthorized breaks or stealing scraps of fabric. The fire escape was flimsy and collapsed under the weight of people trying to flee. The fire department's ladders couldn't reach the upper floors. So, trapped by the flames, young immigrant women, some as young as 14, began to jump. Michelle: Perkins described it later, saying, "They had been holding on until that time, standing in the windowsills, being crowded by others behind them, the fire pressing closer and closer." She watched, helpless, as 47 women jumped or fell to their deaths on the pavement below. In total, 146 people died that day. Mark: And for Frances Perkins, that moment changed everything. It wasn't a choice she made in a career counseling session. The world presented her with an urgent, undeniable problem. The sight of those bodies, the injustice of it all, summoned her. She said that day was "the day the New Deal was born." Her life was no longer about her own ambitions; it was about answering that call. She dedicated the rest of her life to fighting for worker safety and social justice, eventually becoming the first female Cabinet secretary under FDR. Michelle: That’s such a powerful distinction. A career is something you choose. A vocation is something that chooses you. It's not about what you expect from life, but as Viktor Frankl wrote, what life expects from you. It shifts the focus from "What do I want?" to "What is needed?" Mark: Exactly. And this path isn't easy. It requires what Brooks calls 'self-conquest.' This is the Adam II journey. It's not about self-discovery; it's about fighting the battle within yourself. And no one exemplifies this better than Dwight D. Eisenhower, or more specifically, his mother, Ida. Michelle: Right, the story of the apple tree. It's fantastic. Mark: It is. When Eisenhower was about ten, it was Halloween. His older brothers were allowed to go trick-or-treating, but his parents told him he was too young. Ike flew into an uncontrollable rage. He ran outside to an apple tree and started punching the trunk with his bare fists, over and over, until they were raw and bleeding. Michelle: A very Adam I response. Pure, untamed emotion and will. Mark: Absolutely. His father came out, gave him a switching, and sent him to bed. But an hour later, his mother, Ida, came into his room. She didn't scold him further. She sat down, bandaged his hands, and talked to him quietly. She quoted a line from the Bible: "He that conquereth his own soul is greater than he who taketh a city." Michelle: Wow. What a lesson. Mark: She explained to him that the person he had to conquer was himself. That hatred and anger were poisons that would destroy him from the inside if he let them rule. Eisenhower later said that conversation was one of the most valuable moments of his life. It was the beginning of his own road to character, a road built not on asserting his will, but on learning to control it. Michelle: And that's the core of the "crooked timber" tradition Brooks talks about. It's the idea that we are all born flawed, with a "course in" as he puts it. We're not perfect, beautiful souls just waiting to be expressed. We are crooked timber, and out of that crooked timber, as Kant said, "no straight thing was ever made." Character isn't about letting your true self shine; it's about the daily, difficult work of sanding down your own rough edges. It's a struggle. Mark: It's a struggle, and it's one you can't win alone. You need family, community, and institutions to provide the structure and support. But it starts with that fundamental recognition: the most important battle you'll ever fight is the one against yourself.

Mark: So, when you put it all together, Brooks is painting a picture of two very different paths through life. The first path, the Adam I path, is the one our culture celebrates. It's about external achievement, building your résumé, and promoting the 'Big Me.' It's a life of expansion. Michelle: The second path, the Adam II path, is much quieter and much harder. It's the road to character. It's not about finding yourself, but about conquering yourself. It's about being summoned by a need greater than your own desires and answering that call with service and humility. It's a life of submission to a higher cause. Mark: And the key to navigating this, the practical tool that Brooks offers, comes from the theologian Augustine. It's this beautiful idea that we sin, or we go wrong in life, when we have our loves out of order. Michelle: I love this concept. It’s so clarifying. We all love a lot of things: our family, our friends, our work, money, status, truth, justice. And we all instinctively know that some of these loves are higher than others. Love of family is higher than love of money. Love of truth is higher than love of popularity. Mark: And according to Augustine, our moral life is a mess when we get that order wrong. When a friend tells you a secret and you blab it at a dinner party to seem interesting, you are putting your love of popularity above your love of friendship. You have your loves out of order. Michelle: When you lie on your résumé to get a job, you're putting your love of success above your love of truth. The order is wrong. Character, then, is the difficult, lifelong work of getting your loves in the right order and then living by that order. Mark: So the question for all of us, the one that sits at the very heart of this book, is this: What do you love? And in what order do you love them? Is the time, the attention, and the energy you spend each day actually aligned with your highest loves? Answering that question honestly is the beginning, and the entirety, of the road to character.