Both Michel de Montaigne (pictured) and Ignacio de Loyola had privileged upbringings. Both were born to wealthy Catholic families in Renaissance-era Europe. Both had a fine education, but Loyola's wasn't quite as extravagant as Montaigne's.
In Montaigne's infancy, his father ensured that his tutor, his parents, and his servants all spoke to him exclusively in Latin. The idea was that Montaigne would learn Latin as his first language, as his father believed 'the tedious time we [apply] to the learning of the tongues of them who had them for nothing, [is] the sole cause we [cannot] arrive to the grandeur of soul and perfection of knowledge of the ancient Greeks and Romans'.
Each day, Montaigne's father also ensured Montaigne was woken 'by the sound of some musical instrument'. At six years of age, Montaigne was sent to an elite French college, where he completed the entire curriculum by age 13. Montaigne then went on to study law.
Both Loyola and Montaigne proceeded to lead illustrious early careers. Montaigne became a public figure, acting as counsellor and courtier to various important men. Loyola became a distinguished soldier, a career he later admitted appealed mainly because of its glamour and excitement.
At this point, the two men's lives diverged. Montaigne retired to a chateau to write and think, emerging occasionally to involve himself in local politics. In his writings, Montaigne decided he had led a commendable life of 'affability and good humour'. He had done little wrong to anyone: 'The most injurious [complaints I hear of myself are] not ... "Why has he taken such a thing? Why has he not paid such a one?" but, "Why does he part with nothing? Why does he not give?"'
Montaigne felt his critics were too demanding: 'They are unjust to exact from me what I do not owe, far more rigorously than they require from others that which they do owe,' he complained. Montaigne did not feel he owed anyone anything. As long as he did not actively take, who would have the temerity to ask him to give?
Loyola's career as a soldier abruptly ended after sustaining serious battle injuries. In the resultant period of convalescence, Loyola decided upon a new career. He founded a religious order, the Society of Jesus, and dedicated his life to the service of others through the Society's works. His radically altered perspective led him to conceive of his career in terms alien to Montaigne:
'The human person is created to praise, reverence, and serve God', he wrote. 'Thus ... we should not want health more than illness, wealth more than poverty, fame more than disgrace, a long life more than a short one ... but we should desire and choose only what helps us more towards the end for which we are created.'
He adopted as his mantra: 'What have I done for Christ? What am I doing for Christ? What will I do for Christ?' Loyola felt life was about a calling, a mission from God to live our lives in his service.
Several centuries after Loyola and Montaigne's lives, I was born. Like them, I was privileged to receive a rigorous education — 13 years of private education, followed by five years of university studying arts and law. When this year ends, I will have finished university and will be forced to begin forging my life's path.
Will it be sufficient that, like Montaigne, I have a happy disposition, find a job I enjoy, and do no harm? Or ought I to follow Loyola's philosophy, and regard 'happiness' as simply a distraction from the real goal of life — 'to serve'?
In his book, The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work, Alain de Botton expresses scepticism at the notion of a 'calling' that so influenced Loyola. He believes 'calling' is an 'unfortunate' term, prone to torturing us with false hopes of fulfilment and meaning.
Acknowledging its Christian heritage, he laments that a 'secularised' version of the notion persists. Oprah Winfrey proved his point when, on her recent final show, she gave her fans one last piece of advice: 'Start embracing the life that is calling you and use that life to serve the world.'
Botton seems more sympathetic to the views of a career counsellor he observes, who believes one's career is 'an act of selfhood'. A good career, according to him, is one that makes you happy, one where you do what you love. When one of the counsellor's clients says she likes helping people, the counsellor adds 'altruism' to a list of the client's interests. To the counsellor, altruism is just another interest, another clue to what career this client might find most rewarding. It shares equal weight with the client's interest in a seafood restaurant.
The Loyola approach of 'service' appeals for two reasons. First, Montaigne sees no contradiction in complaining that his fellow citizens demand from him 'what I do not owe'. His incredibly privileged youth has left him with no feeling of obligation towards his much less fortunate fellow humans.
I was not given a Latin tutor at birth, and my father is yet to hire a musician to wake me up. But when I consider all I have been given, all the sacrifices that have been made for my sake, and all the work nearly two decades of education has involved, I cannot help but feel that if the objective of all that was simply my contentedness, the means were disproportionate to the end. The Loyola approach speaks to this sense of obligation, what some disparagingly label 'middle class guilt'.
Second, despite his Christianity, the Montaigne approach makes little allowance for any Christian desire to live out Gospel values. To Christians such as myself, this also makes Loyola's approach to one's career appealing. A personal passion for 'making a difference' — seeing things change for the better, ideas becoming reality — also motivates my preference for Loyola's call to unselfish service.
Botton's career counsellor might at this point claim no contradiction exists between the two approaches. If I am passionate about 'service', I should follow that passion, and have a rewarding, happy career. However, 'service' almost inevitably means less money and less respect. It would be untruthfully high-minded to claim complete indifference to such considerations. Further, areas of interest often don't correlate with areas of need. I find constitutional law fascinating, but see little scope for a steady career in that area that could honestly be characterised as altruistic.
Proponents of the 'Montaigne approach' argue there is a false dichotomy between commercial jobs, where the object is financial gain, and altruistic jobs. This argument adopts the capitalist philosophy that acting in one's self-interest is the best means of furthering the common good. Self-interested actions lead to economic growth, and economic growth will eventually solve all the world's problems. In this way, everyone from investment bankers to road workers all work towards the common good.
It is certainly wrong to characterise any commercial job as somehow evil. Yet simply becoming a 'cog' in the 'capitalist machine' seems an incremental way to achieve any real good. Further, the 'capitalist machine' might not be perfectly designed to achieve good for each member of society equally.
Though the Loyola approach holds considerable appeal, in many ways the Montaigne approach is more sensible, and probably more conducive to happiness. Perhaps it is foolish to attempt to practice altruism in an employment context. Employment is about remuneration for labour, not changing the world. If one wishes to practice altruism, perhaps that is best pursued through volunteering.
In this way, a happy, but also ethical life can be attained, by working in a field you enjoy, and then volunteering in one's spare time.
An obvious issue with both approaches is that not everyone can pursue an altruistic career, nor a fulfilling one. Many must simply find whatever employment is available to earn a living. Some therefore perceive an arrogance in agonising over this dilemma. It's certainly a preferable position to be in. But there is nothing arrogant about recognising that your privileged position might alter your motives in seeking employment.
I am inclined to conclude that though the 'Montaigne approach' is sensible and easy, life is not about being sensible and taking the easiest route, and so I will always pursue a path of service. I fear, however, that this is a view too easily expressed on paper. The truth is that, as I conclude my studies, I have only a handful of clear ideas as to how my life ought to proceed.
Perhaps the best approach is not to determine my life's course at this moment. In the end, words and the writings of Renaissance-era thinkers can take us only so far. Perhaps all I can do is throw myself into the world, and hope that by doing so I will discern my place within it.
Patrick McCabe studies Law and is a contributor to the Adelaide University magazine On Dit. With this essay he won Eureka Street's 2011 Margaret Dooley Award for Young Writers.