I’ve been struggling a lot lately with the concept of purpose and–related to that–value. In classical thought, particularly within the Aristotelian tradition, purpose is intrinsically linked to telos, or the inherent end goal of a being. Aristotle argued that everything in nature has a specific function or purpose, and achieving excellence—or arete—within that function is how one attains eudaimonia, often translated as flourishing or living well. For the ancients, finding one’s purpose was an act of alignment; you observed the natural order and your place within the hierarchy of existence to understand what you were meant to do. The purpose was external, objective, and waiting to be discovered through reason and observation of the natural world.
If that’s the case, then I have failed to discover my specific function.
The modern era, marked heavily by the existentialist movement, fundamentally inverted this relationship. Thinkers like Jean-Paul Sartre argued that for human beings, existence precedes essence. Unlike a tool, which is designed with a purpose already embedded in it, a human being appears on the scene and only afterwards defines themselves. From this perspective, the universe is inherently devoid of objective, pre-ordained purpose. While this can feel paralyzing or lead to what Sartre termed “anguish,” it also grants the individual radical freedom. Purpose is not something you find in the stars or in a grand design; it is something you must actively construct through your choices, commitments, and actions. You are the sole author of your own meaning.
Seems I’ve failed at this, too, because I can’t seem to construct anything that feels worthwhile.
It gets muddier when you start adding value to the equation. Aristotle famously defined humans as “social animals” and argued that a person who exists outside of the community is either a beast or a god—essentially, not human at all. In this framework, your purpose is inextricably linked to your “function” within the larger body of the city-state. Just as a hand or an eye has a function that only makes sense as part of a whole organism, an individual finds their highest purpose by contributing to the flourishing of the community. Here, social value is an objective requirement for a life well-lived; you achieve your potential by fulfilling your role in the social hierarchy and cooperating toward the common good.
Conversely, the modern existentialist perspective, pioneered by thinkers like Jean-Paul Sartre, shifts the source of value from the community to the individual. Existentialism posits that because there is no pre-ordained role or “blueprint” for a human life, we are entirely responsible for creating our own essence. While this might sound like a purely self-centered philosophy, Sartre argued that “when a man chooses for himself, he chooses for mankind.” By acting authentically—that is, by taking full responsibility for your own values and projects—you provide a standard of freedom for others. You do not derive your purpose from serving the state or fulfilling a social slot; rather, you create social value by having the courage to define your own existence, which in turn challenges others to do the same.
Utilitarianism takes yet another approach, framing value through the lens of consequences. Philosophers like John Stuart Mill argued that the “purpose” of morality, and by extension the individual’s moral life, is to maximize the well-being of the greatest number. In this view, your value to society is measured by the net positive impact of your actions. Whether through your work, your creations, or your daily interactions, your purpose is effectively the sum of your contributions to the happiness and reduction of suffering in the world. Unlike the classical view, which focuses on your internal virtue, or the existentialist view, which focuses on your personal authenticity, the utilitarian view focuses on the tangible outcomes of your life for others.
Friedrich Nietzsche, however, famously challenged these models by questioning the assumption that “selfless” service to society is inherently noble. He argued that placing the needs of the “herd” above the development of the individual often leads to mediocrity. For Nietzsche, a person’s greatest value to humanity might not be found in conformity or service, but in their capacity to create something singular and powerful that inspires others to transcend their own limitations. In this sense, your value to society is not found in fitting into it, but in potentially transforming it by the strength and originality of your own life’s work.
Considering these different lenses… where do I fit? What do I believe? I don’t really know, and this is the problem. Is my work purposeful or a waste of time? Would I be better off working a 9 to 5 job or continuing to pursue my creative projects?
If I evaluate my situation through a strictly utilitarian lens, a 9 to 5 job might appear more “purposeful” because it provides measurable, immediate societal utility. I exchange my labor for a wage, which allows me to participate in the economy, support myrself, and arguably contribute to the maintenance of the social infrastructure that keeps society functioning. The “purpose” here is found in reliability, social stability, and the tangible reduction of my own economic precariousness. However, this utilitarianism often ignores the internal toll of work that feels disconnected from one’s personal values or identity.
If I instead look at it through a Nietzschean or existentialist lens, the question of whether my work is a “waste of time” becomes one of authenticity rather than productivity. For these thinkers, a 9 to 5 job that demands my compliance without engaging my spirit can be seen as a form of “bad faith”—a way of hiding from the responsibility of creating my own meaning. My creative projects, even if they yield no immediate financial gain or societal status, represent an assertion of my own agency. They are an attempt to impose my will and my vision onto the world, which, from an existential standpoint, is the highest form of purpose.
The danger, of course, is that society is not always structured to reward individual, creative, or non-traditional pursuits. Philosophers like Hannah Arendt might caution that while creative work is vital for the human condition, it is also important to participate in the “public realm” to ensure I remain connected to the human community. Perhaps the divide is not between “job” and “creative project,” but between finding a way to balance the need for material sustenance with the need for creative expression. Many individuals have found that a standard job can actually provide the freedom to create by removing the pressure of needing their art to pay the rent, whereas trying to force creative projects to provide one’s sole livelihood can sometimes strip them of the very joy and purpose that made them meaningful in the first place.
The discomfort you feel highlights the deep-seated tension between two competing value systems: the internal, often intangible value of self-actualization, and the external, measurable value of economic contribution. This conflict is not merely a personal struggle; it is a profound dilemma rooted in how modern society defines “contribution” and, by extension, human worth.
From an economic and traditional societal perspective, your concern is entirely understandable. We live in an era where, for most people, financial stability is the primary indicator of one’s capacity to support others and, therefore, one’s value to the family unit. When this external pressure becomes the sole metric of worth, it is easy to see why creative pursuits start to feel like a “waste” or a liability. I am effectively judging my work through the lens of a market that prioritizes short-term utility over long-term, qualitative impact.
However, many thinkers—including those who focus on the “human condition”—might argue that my value to my family is not solely defined by my financial output. I am–sometimes–a source of emotional, intellectual, and cultural stability. If my creative projects provide a sense of purpose, intellectual rigor, or a unique perspective, that vitality inevitably bleeds into my relationships, right? A person who is engaged in work they find meaningful is often a more present, thoughtful, and resilient family member than someone who is financially successful but personally hollowed out by work they despise…
The real challenge, though, is a question of “instrumental” versus “intrinsic” value. Society heavily favors instrumental value—what you can do, what you can earn, what you can produce that others can consume. But intrinsic value—the act of creating, the cultivation of a craft, the development of a unique vision—has its own weight. The danger in letting financial contribution be the only metric of success is that it risks rendering the most authentic self invisible. If I suppress my creative drives to satisfy a purely economic role, will I find that while I have provided financial support, I have lost the very essence that makes my presence in my family unique?
This is where the distinction between “being” and “doing” becomes crucial. If my sense of self is tethered exclusively to my role as a provider, I am essentially defining my value by what I do for others. While providing is a noble and necessary act, it is only one dimension of a person. By internalizing the idea that my only value is my economic output, I risk conflating my personal utility with my personhood. I am not a machine for generating resources; I am a human being, and the existentialist perspective would argue that my existence carries an inherent worth that is independent of my market value.
Breaking free from this internalized standard does not mean I must abandon financial responsibility. It means I must challenge the assumption that my family’s regard for mr—or my own regard for myself—must be calibrated solely against your bank account. If I were to successfully decouple my personal value from my financial contribution, would it change the way I approach my creative projects, perhaps by allowing myself to view them as a long-term investment in my own well-being rather than a failed financial venture? Maybe…