Does Focusing on “What Works” Make Life Better and Is It a Pragmatic Path Towards Happiness?

I keep coming back to this simple but tricky question: does focusing on “what works” actually make life better?

On the surface, it feels obvious—of course doing what works gets us further than banging our heads against what doesn’t. But as soon as you scratch beneath the surface, it gets complicated. What counts as “working”? Who decides the metric of success?

And does effective always mean fulfilling?

This isn’t just an armchair puzzle. It shows up everywhere—from the way therapists use evidence-based methods, to how companies structure decision-making, to how we measure “success” in education or relationships. William James, the father of pragmatism, would argue that truth is whatever proves itself useful in experience.

That’s powerful, but it’s also unsettling: if happiness is just a byproduct of utility, are we flattening the richness of life into a spreadsheet of outcomes?

That’s where the real conversation starts.

Defining What Works

When we say “what works,” we often mean something deceptively simple: the thing that leads to results. But results can mean wildly different things depending on whether you’re a philosopher, a psychologist, or a policymaker. That’s why I think we have to unpack the concept before we can decide if it’s truly a path to happiness.

Pragmatism’s Origin Story

Let’s start with the pragmatists.

William James, Charles Peirce, and later John Dewey weren’t saying “what works” in the narrow sense of “what makes you more money” or “what feels good today.” They were after something subtler: truth isn’t an abstract, eternal ideal—it’s something tested and proven in lived experience.

A belief is true if it helps you navigate life effectively. That might mean surviving, building community, or even creating meaning out of chaos.

This is radical compared to, say, Plato’s vision of truth as eternal and universal. James is telling us: if believing in free will helps you live a fuller, more responsible life, then—functionally—it’s true. That’s “what works” at a very high philosophical level.

Psychology’s Take on It

Fast forward a century and psychology has taken this idea and run with it, especially in clinical settings.

Take Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). It doesn’t claim to dig up the deep existential roots of your anxiety. Instead, it gives you practical tools that “work”—challenging distorted thinking, reframing, exposure to fears. The data is clear: CBT is effective for millions. That’s “what works” operationalized in mental health.

But here’s the rub. Critics of CBT argue it can sometimes be too surface-level, treating symptoms without engaging with deeper meaning. Sure, you’re less anxious about public speaking, but have you really grappled with why you’re so desperate for approval in the first place?

That tension between efficacy and depth is at the heart of this whole debate.

Utility vs. Authenticity

Here’s where things get interesting for me. “What works” often points us toward utility: outcomes, problem-solving, measurable improvements. But human life also craves authenticity.

Existential philosophers like Kierkegaard and Sartre would throw their hands up at the idea of happiness being reduced to a checklist of effective habits. Is a life that “works” necessarily a life that feels real, true, and deeply yours?

This is where you see pushback against hyper-optimized living. We’ve all read those habit-stacking guides—wake up at 5am, meditate for 12 minutes, cold shower, green smoothie.

These things “work” in the sense of creating structure and maybe even performance gains. But there’s also a backlash: people feel alienated by living as if their existence is a series of hacks.

Different Standards of “Works”

What I find fascinating is how different fields define “working.” In public health, “what works” might mean lowering disease rates through vaccines. In economics, it’s increasing productivity or GDP. In personal life, it might be finding a sense of peace.

And these standards can clash. For example: a pharmaceutical intervention “works” statistically but might not work for the individual who feels dehumanized by being treated as a data point.

One clear example is education. Standardized testing “works” as a measurement tool—it gives policymakers numbers.

But teachers will tell you it doesn’t work for cultivating curiosity or critical thinking. So is it really working? The metric defines the outcome, which in turn defines the happiness or dissatisfaction tied to it.

The Risk of Narrow Pragmatism

Here’s my worry: if we take “what works” too narrowly, we risk what philosophers call instrumentalism—valuing things only for their utility. Friendship becomes networking. Art becomes content. Exercise becomes biohacking. Everything gets flattened into a means to an end. And when everything is instrumentalized, happiness slips through our fingers because we’ve lost sight of intrinsic value.

That doesn’t mean pragmatism is wrong. I actually think it’s incredibly powerful when used thoughtfully. But the danger is confusing short-term functionality with long-term flourishing.

Just because something “works” in the moment doesn’t mean it enriches life in the deeper sense.

So Where Does This Leave Us?

When I step back, I see “what works” as a tool, not a destination. It’s a lens that helps us test ideas against lived reality. That’s valuable. But if we equate “works” with “good” or “true” without question, we run into blind spots. Some of the deepest sources of happiness—love, awe, wonder, moral courage—don’t always look like they “work” in an efficient, outcome-driven way. In fact, sometimes they look wildly impractical.

And yet, they’re what make life feel meaningful. So maybe the real challenge is learning how to balance pragmatism with other dimensions of human experience—holding onto “what works” without letting it crowd out what matters. That’s the conversation I think we need to keep having, especially as we live in a culture obsessed with optimization.

Pragmatism in Everyday Life

When I talk about pragmatism, I don’t mean some lofty concept that only belongs in dusty philosophy books. It’s alive in the way we handle therapy, work, health, and even politics. That’s why I like zooming into real-world examples—because that’s where the idea of “what works” either shines or shows its cracks. Let’s walk through a few domains where pragmatism shapes decisions, and see what we can learn from both the wins and the trade-offs.

Mental Health Interventions

The mental health field is probably the most obvious arena where “what works” has taken center stage. Therapies like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) are popular because they deliver results you can measure: lower depression scores, fewer panic attacks, higher functioning in daily life. That’s not nothing—it’s life-changing for many.

Take ACT for example. Instead of promising a cure for suffering, it helps people live more fully with it by focusing on values-driven action. That’s pragmatic to the core: if the goal is to live better rather than eliminate all pain, ACT “works” beautifully. But notice the subtle shift in the definition of success. It’s not about fixing what’s “wrong,” but about helping people engage more meaningfully with what’s right in front of them.

But here’s the tension: some critics argue this focus on outcomes risks leaving behind the big existential questions. Do we really want therapy to be about symptom reduction alone? Isn’t part of the point of therapy to wrestle with meaning, identity, and the messiness of human experience?

Workplace and Organizational Life

Move over Freud—pragmatism has made a home in business schools too. Think about evidence-based management. The whole idea is simple: make decisions based on data, not hunches. That “works” in reducing bias and improving efficiency. Companies that embrace A/B testing or data-driven hiring often outperform those that rely on intuition.

But let’s be honest: a workplace that only worships what’s measurable can quickly feel soulless. I’ve seen companies optimize productivity to the point that employees burn out. Sure, the metrics look great in Q2, but by Q4, half the team has quit. That’s the short-term versus long-term trap again. What “works” for the bottom line in the moment might not work for human flourishing inside the organization.

One story that sticks with me: a manager who reduced meeting times by 30% after studying “meeting efficiency metrics.” It looked brilliant—until people started feeling disconnected and undervalued because the human element of conversation had been cut. So yes, pragmatism improved efficiency, but it also undermined community. That’s a trade-off we can’t ignore.

Everyday Habits and Personal Growth

On a smaller scale, “what works” has become the language of self-help. Habit stacking, productivity hacks, biohacking—you name it. These methods can be great; I won’t deny that getting consistent sleep or designing an environment that nudges you toward better choices really does work.

But there’s also a cultural obsession here that can turn toxic. I’ve seen people spiral into guilt because they “failed” at the morning routine or didn’t hit their 10,000 steps. At that point, the pursuit of what works ironically stops working—it becomes another form of pressure and self-criticism.

One example: the trend of cold showers. Do they work? Well, yes, in the sense that they wake you up and might boost resilience. But if you hate every second of it and dread your mornings, is it really working for your happiness? That’s where I think pragmatism needs to meet a bit of human kindness.

Social Systems and Public Policy

Zoom out again, and you see pragmatism guiding social systems. Public health is a perfect case. Vaccination campaigns are the ultimate “what works” strategy: they save lives, reduce costs, and prevent outbreaks. The evidence is overwhelming. That’s pragmatism doing what it does best—delivering results at scale.

But even here, it’s not always straightforward. Sometimes what works statistically doesn’t work culturally. A top-down campaign might be effective in numbers but backfire in trust if people feel coerced. Policymakers are learning that pragmatism has to be more than technical efficiency—it has to work socially and emotionally too.

Education is another telling case. Standardized testing “works” for producing comparable data, but many educators argue it doesn’t work for inspiring curiosity or deep learning. The pragmatic question becomes: what’s the metric we actually care about—test scores or lifelong learning? Depending on how you define it, the answer to “what works” changes drastically.

Where This Leaves Us

So across therapy, business, personal life, and public systems, pragmatism has proven powerful. It helps us measure progress, adapt strategies, and avoid dogma. But in every case, there’s also a shadow side—a risk of narrowing our vision, flattening the richness of human life into bullet points and benchmarks.

That’s why I think pragmatism is best understood as a tool, not a philosophy of everything. It gives us leverage, but it can’t carry the full weight of meaning. When we apply it thoughtfully—aware of its limits—it absolutely makes life better. When we worship it blindly, it can do the opposite.

The Limits of What Works

Now comes the uncomfortable part: talking about what pragmatism misses. Because as much as I respect the power of “what works,” I can’t shake the sense that something essential slips through the cracks if we rely on it too much.

The Danger of Instrumentalism

Here’s the first big risk: reducing everything to a means to an end. If friendship only “works” because it boosts longevity, or art only “works” because it lowers stress, then we’ve lost sight of their intrinsic worth. They become tools rather than experiences. That’s instrumentalism, and it quietly erodes meaning.

Think about the way we often justify exercise. Instead of saying, “I love how it makes me feel alive,” we say, “It lowers my cholesterol” or “It increases my productivity.” Those are valid benefits, but if that’s the only lens, we start treating our bodies like machines to optimize rather than sources of joy.

Happiness Beyond Metrics

Another limitation is that happiness itself isn’t always pragmatic. Joy, awe, or love don’t always “work” in obvious ways. Sometimes they’re wildly impractical. Falling in love can make you irrational. Choosing to be an artist instead of a banker might wreck your finances. Volunteering for a cause might drain more time than it “gives back.”

And yet, these are often the very things people point to when asked about the happiest or most meaningful parts of their lives. So maybe happiness thrives in spaces that resist pragmatic measurement.

Depth vs. Surface

This is where existential philosophy has a lot to teach us. Kierkegaard argued that despair comes not from inefficiency but from living inauthentically. Sartre would say the challenge is embracing radical freedom, not just finding effective habits. In other words, “what works” can keep us on the surface—helping us cope, manage, and optimize—without ever pushing us into the deeper confrontation with who we are and what we want our lives to mean.

I think about Viktor Frankl here. His whole idea in Man’s Search for Meaning was that survival alone wasn’t enough in the camps—it was meaning that sustained people. That’s not “what works” in the narrow sense; it’s something richer and harder to measure.

The Problem of Short-Term Wins

Pragmatism is also vulnerable to short-term thinking. What works now might backfire later. A government might boost GDP quickly by exploiting natural resources, but at the cost of environmental collapse. A company might increase quarterly profits by overworking employees, but then face mass resignations. A person might avoid discomfort by drinking every night, which “works” today but destroys them tomorrow.

That’s why we have to ask: what time horizon are we using to define “works”? Because happiness, as most of us experience it, is tied to long arcs—relationships, purpose, growth—not just quick wins.

The Mystery Factor

Finally, I think there’s something mysterious about happiness that pragmatism can’t quite capture. Some of the best parts of life arrive unplanned, unoptimized, and completely useless in the utilitarian sense. A spontaneous laugh, a piece of music that moves you to tears, a walk with no destination. These things don’t “work” toward a goal, and that’s exactly why they’re precious.

So if we make “what works” the primary lens, we risk crowding out the mystery. And without mystery, happiness feels sterile.

Bringing It Together

The point here isn’t to throw pragmatism out—it’s to put it in its place. I want us to keep using it for what it’s good at: cutting through dogma, testing ideas, building systems that actually help people. But I also want us to remember that happiness lives partly in the ineffable, the impractical, and the unmeasurable.

Maybe the wisest stance is this: pragmatism is a great compass, but it shouldn’t be the whole map. If we want lives that are not only effective but meaningful, we need room for what doesn’t work, at least not in the narrow sense. That’s where the depth of being human still has a chance to breathe.

Final Thoughts

So does focusing on “what works” make life better? Yes—when we define it carefully, when we resist reducing everything to utility, and when we remember its limits. Pragmatism is a tool for navigating the world, but it’s not the whole story. Happiness isn’t just a product of efficiency—it’s a blend of practicality, authenticity, and a dash of mystery. And maybe that’s what truly works in the end.