Achilles’ Choice
Achilles got it wrong. As the son of Thetis, a goddess of the sea, Achilles is given an important choice: live a short and glorious life, to be remembered by man for thousands of years, or a long and happy life, to be remembered only by his children and grandchildren. Achilles wavered at first, but he eventually decided to live a short and glorious life–and it worked for him; 3,000 years later, we still know his name and of his deeds. But he got it wrong; he really did.
One of the reasons that ancient literature still resonates is that the situations it considers are still with us today. Most of us are faced with Achilles’ choice at some point in our lives. Larry Niven’s book explores this choice in the context of athletics, taking us to a not-so-distant future where athletes must decide whether to sacrifice their bodies for a shot at greatness.
But less extreme choices we make almost every day. An executive decides whether to work ten or twelve hours, then commute two hours to get home. He is achieving greatness, climbing the corporate ladder, getting ahead in the world. And his kids are home, asleep when he leaves in the morning, asleep when he returns at night. A venture capitalist splits his time between Seattle, Portland, and Denver, and he doesn’t know where home is anymore.
Many people face Achilles’ choice. When I was younger, I knew the right choice: glory, above all else. The way I saw it, it was better to lead a meaningful life, albeit short, than a long, boring one. I still believe that, but with age, I have come to realize there are other ways to measure meaning. And I’m not talking about the obvious incongruity that assigns glory to killing and dying in battle. No, I’m talking about more important things. The cost of Achilles’ choice wasn’t the length of his life; it was his children and their children.
When I drive, I’m always very conscious of the two children riding in the back seat. I would do anything for them. And it gives me great pleasure to think that someday they will remember me with fondness. What they think of me is a thousand times more important than what anyone else thinks. How they remember me is more important than how anyone else does. And their life gives meaning to mine.
This came home to me last week, when the 21-year-old son of a dear friend lost his year-long battle with leukemia. I can’t imagine the pain that caused, and I hope never to know it. But I do know this: His parents would have happily traded their careers, their wealth, their prestige, their health, even their lives for their son. As would I, for mine. As would almost any parent. And if that is true of you, then you know what is most important in your life. You have made Achilles’ choice. And if you say it’s true, but you don’t remember the last time you did something with your family, or if you act like your work, your life, your anything is more important than your family, then ask yourself how you really feel about Achilles’ choice, and maybe make the choice again.