Article by Remus Pricopie, rector of National University for Political Studies and Public Administration (SNSPA)
For more than two centuries, the relationship between work and society, between work and education, between work and democracy, as well as between work and human dignity has been one of the central themes of modern reflection. Not by chance, the way a society relates to work and education shapes not only economic prosperity, but also the quality of democratic life, respect for fundamental rights, and the capacity of communities to function in a spirit of solidarity.
Without entering into theoretical debates, the scholarly literature has consistently shown that work is far more than an economic fact. From analyses of the culture of work as a foundation of civic responsibility, to reflections on education as a form of social work and an investment in the common good, and further to studies on voluntary work and community cohesion, this theme repeatedly appears as an indicator of a society’s overall health. Thinkers such as Max Weber, John Dewey, William Lyon Mackenzie King, and more recently Robert Putnam have each emphasized, in their own way, that work—supported by education and lifelong learning—is a social value, a source of inspiration, and a pillar of democratic life.
This connection does not belong solely to classical thought. It is explicitly reaffirmed today in the discourse of international institutions concerned with development. It is no coincidence that the global development agenda is increasingly framed in terms of “skills and jobs”—competences, education, and employment. The World Bank, under the leadership of its current President, Ajay Banga, as well as the European Commission and the OECD, treat work and education as central mechanisms of social inclusion, dignity, and democratic stability, not merely as instruments of economic growth.
In the same vein, cutting-edge economic research confirms this intuition. The awarding of the Nobel Prize in Economics in 2023 to Claudia Goldin brought renewed attention to the fact that participation in work, the quality of work, and equitable access to education and the labor market are essential not only for prosperity, but also for equal opportunities, social cohesion, and the effective exercise of fundamental rights.
In this context, a few simple questions become unavoidable.
Is there a correlation between a nation’s prosperity and the way society relates to work and education?
Can a society be prosperous, stable, and developed where work and the effort to learn are not respected?
Can citizens’ rights and freedoms, in a democratic society, truly be upheld where work and education are disregarded or treated as mere formalities?
These questions are neither ideological nor moralizing. They are structural questions, related to the functioning of a modern society. And precisely for this reason, they are often avoided. They compel us to look beyond public policies, electoral cycles, or statistics, and to focus on something deeper: the culture of work, including the culture of learning as work.
Prosperous societies are not those that speak the most about work, but those that respect it implicitly. Where work is considered the norm rather than the exception; where effort is valued rather than ridiculed; where competence matters more than the ability to circumvent rules, prosperity becomes a natural outcome, not an accident.
Work is not merely an economic activity. It is a tacit social contract. Through work, the individual contributes, and society recognizes that contribution. Trust, predictability, and cohesion are built through work. When this contract is respected, society functions. When it is undermined, fractures emerge.
The first signs of this erosion do not appear in macroeconomic indicators, but in the way we talk about work. When effort is portrayed as pointless, when work is associated with naivety, and when success without work—and without education—is admired, we witness a dangerous shift in paradigm. We are no longer dealing with exceptions, but with a redefinition of what is considered normal.
A society may survive for a time under such conditions. It may consume previously accumulated capital, benefit from favorable circumstances, or even display apparent prosperity. But it cannot build sustainable development. Development requires continuous accumulation, and accumulation requires work.
When we speak about work, it is essential to make a clear distinction: work does not refer only to what we do for ourselves. A mature society respects and encourages work carried out in the interest of the community—voluntary work, discreet work, work without immediate personal reward, but also the assumption of the public duty to defend one’s country in times of war. This category of work is not defined by personal gain or social visibility, but by responsibility and commitment. It is not oriented toward status, it does not generate profit, and it should not be turned into spectacle. For this very reason, the way a society relates to such forms of work is a profound indicator of its moral health. Where people are willing to work for others, not only for themselves, solidarity is not a slogan, but a practice.
This dimension of work is closely linked to education. The work of learning is not merely an individual effort, but an investment in the community. A society in which people learn honestly, rigorously, and responsibly is a society preparing itself to function better—not merely to produce diplomas.
The way a society relates to this form of work is revealing. Where learning is treated as a formality, where intellectual effort is relativized, and where the simulation of work—or even the appropriation of others’ work—is tolerated, the message is clear: real work is not essential. Only the appearance of results matters.
In this context, plagiarism—encountered with increasing frequency among public figures holding positions of power—is relevant not because of its prevalence, but because of its meaning. It represents a denial of work as a value. It expresses the idea that recognition can be obtained without personal effort, that work can be imitated and the same rewards obtained. Tolerating such behavior undermines not only academic ethics, but the culture of work as a whole.
The way a society relates to work directly shapes the functioning of democracy. Democracy is not merely a set of procedures, but a system based on responsibility, trust, and accountability. All of these are learned and practiced through work—including work done for others. Through respect for rules. Through acceptance of the idea that freedom is inseparable from obligations.
Where work is not respected, rights tend to be perceived as benefits without counterpart. Freedoms are understood as the absence of all constraints. Responsibility is constantly shifted onto others. Such a society becomes fragile, regardless of how sophisticated its institutions may be.
The conclusion remains uncomfortable, but necessary: you cannot build a prosperous and democratic society on contempt for work. You can build appearances. You can build narratives. You can build conjunctural success. But you cannot build durability.
And yet, there is also a reason for lucid optimism. The culture of work is not immutable. It can be repaired, relearned, reaffirmed—through honest examples, through institutions that function, through leaders who do not disdain their own effort, and through the recognition of work carried out not only for oneself, but also for others.
Respect for work cannot be imposed through speeches or nostalgia. It is rebuilt through coherence and consistency. And where work—including the work of learning and work carried out in the interest of the community—is once again respected rather than merely invoked, society regains not only prosperity, but also confidence in its own future.