About transparency

In this week’s main essays in The New Yorker:

“Finn Janning, a Danish philosopher based in Barcelona, studies the gap between self-knowledge and self-deception. Under the guise of transparency, he told me, we can deceive ourselves, reasoning that we are good because we are open about what we are doing. (Modern-day-autocrats often present themselves as “transparent.”) He also noted that transparency is not necessarily a positive motivating force. “Transparency does not lead to you acting better,” Janning said. “On the contrary, you try to fit into the norm. You act in a predictable way.”

Read the whole essay here.

To Think Philosophically?

”If philosophy did not exist, we cannot guess the level of stupidity [there would be]. Philosophy prevents stupidity from being as enormous as it would be were there no philosophy. That’s philosophy’s splendor, we have no idea what things would be like … So when we say ”to create is to resist,” it’s effective, positive, I mean.” – Deleuze, L’Abécédaire de Gilles Deleuze.

What does it means to think philosophically?

I don’t think that only philosophers think or reflect. Rather, philosophers do so in a distinctive way by creating concepts that can help us see things we weren’t aware of before. It can be the way Simone de Beauvoir made many readers aware of the problematic assumption that men were the first sex and women were merely a diversion. It reminds me of how Deleuze and Guattari, years later, said that for far too long, the hegemonic ideal has been a white, 33 year old heterosexual man called Jesus, which not only discriminates, but also hinders our thinking. In a broader sense, be open toward other ways of living. This is also why solely giving advice, potentially, takes away the responsibility from each of us to be accountable for our actions.

So while we all – or most of us – think daily about what to eat, wear, do, etc. (especially if you have children who need healthy lunches and clean clothes), thinking philosophically requires that we pay attention to the present moment — that we critically reflect on what is happening, including evaluating our own behavior. It emphasizes that philosophy can’t teach you what to think or give you clear steps to attaining peace of mind. However, it can nurture critical thinking that can help us evaluate various forms of thinking. Instead of telling us what to think, philosophers can help us clarify how thinking is possible and perhaps even show us what philosophical thinking looks like.

For example, today it seems rather convenient to say that people who voted for Brexit or Trump can’t think, but here we might just be showing our own arrogant tendency for moralizing, i.e., judging. Instead, differences in opinions are an invitation to confront our own possible lack of understanding. Why do they believe that this is right? Once we get a better grab of their life-situation and moral reasoning, then we might show how the arguments behind these votes exhibit incoherent thinking. Thus, empathy for difference is not a blind acceptance but an ongoing process of questioning.

Similar, Trump voters, for example, seem to fear women, blacks, Mexicans, homosexuals, etc. He discriminates and represses what scares him, but more importantly, he does so based on irrational feelings of fear. He acts stupid. Yet, we should still ask whether Trump is the main problem, or whether it’s the ideology created him and later put him in power. There is, of course, no evidence that shows that men, in general, are better than women at anything, no evidence that Caucasians are better than blacks, etc. His value judgments, therefore, are not based on facts, but ignorance. But how can ignorance seduce so many?

So, although philosophy should not be about giving advice, it can still be taught. People can learn to become more aware about their own unreasonable beliefs and recognize their blind spots, such as whether they unintentionally discriminate by how they use language, etc. Such teaching is not taking away personal responsibility, but instead giving responsibility back to the people so they can become informed citizens and think for themselves.

Another example may illustrate this. Today, the media talk a lot about “fake news.” (I wonder whether all this talk is true or an example of how the concept of fake news can be used strategically.) People seem to ask: Who is responsible? Who should control it? However, instead of blaming Facebook or any other medium, I think it is troubling that so few people apparently are capable of critically questioning the news they receive — the sources, motives, agendas, and how the news is framed. Also, it seems as if many believe that objective journalists exist, even though everything is subjective. The truth is not out there, but created through our engagement with the world. Even journalists who strive to deliver well-researched news are still colored by their career objectives, personal beliefs and ideas, editors’ input, etc.

Therefore, if people really can’t think for themselves, then teaching them how to think becomes a social responsibility for all of us — mostly through schools.

Luckily, I have seen a growing trend, which I embrace, in which philosophy is being taught to children. I think that going forward, teaching philosophy is the best way to combat future sexism, racism, and other discrimination, the sad consequences of not being able to think philosophically. I stress best way because teaching people how to think won’t necessarily guarantee that they don’t repress, discriminate or violate other human beings, still self-knowledge tend to minimize self-deception in most sane people.

Plato's Academy

Plato’s Academy, Athens: Philosophy was from the beginning open to the world, in direct relation with the world – in the streets, parks, etc. Philosophy for all!

Resisting the Self-Improvement Craze

“Selp-help books don’t work.” – Svend Brinkmann.

Svend Brinkmann, a professor of psychology, has written what I hope will be—but fear won’t be—the last self-help book. Contrary to the intentions of these books, they rarely help anyone but the publisher and, sometimes, the writer. It’s good business, Professor Brinkmann would agree.

Brinkmann’s Stand Firm: Resisting the Self-Improvement Craze is a paradoxical book. On the one hand, it’s billed as an “anti-self-help” book, while, on the other hand, it’s yet another self-help book. The author says, “The idea is that it will act as a kind of anti-self-help book, and inspire people to change the way they think about, and live, their own lives.” This description could fit any self-help book. Perhaps for this reason, he writes a few pages later, “Overall, the book should be read as a self-help book.” However, this one has a clear agenda: it tries to eliminate all other books in this genre.

In Stand Firm, Brinkmann presents seven steps to counteract the accelerating pace of contemporary culture and to find peace of mind. These steps are based on an easy-going reading of the Stoics and the philosophy of common sense. They are:

  1. Cut out navel-gazing.
  2. Focus on the negative in your life.
  3. Put on the “no hat.”
  4. Suppress your feelings.
  5. Sack your coach.
  6. Read a novel—not a self-help book or biography.
  7. Dwell on the past.

The first three steps are dualistic. Instead of looking inside ourselves, we should look outward. Instead of being positive all the time, we should cultivate our negativity. Instead of saying “yes” constantly, we should say “no” once in a while. It’s all about balance. Then, to emphasize this point, we are also encouraged to put a lid on our emotions—especially the more negative ones. Finally, we should just get rid of the coaches who tell us to look inside and be positive and authentic, and then we perhaps could read a novel, while we dwell on the past. Most novels, after all, deal with memories.

Thus, Professor Brinkmann encourages us to relax, that is, stand firm against the moralizing domain of change, movement, and development. “Mobility trumps stability in an accelerating culture,” he writes. Therefore, it has become difficult to put down roots or to achieve stability. How we then find balance, that is, know what is worth standing firm on and what is not, is probably the task that this professor finds most difficult to address. So, in a sense, he only helps the reader half of the way.

Stand Firm places itself in the continuation of the Frankfurter School and critical theory, with the main enemy identified as capitalism. This diagnosis of an improvement-obsessed culture is well-argued and solid, but it doesn’t add up to anything new. We can find more or less similar diagnoses in other self-help books or literature on mindfulness. However, Brinkmann’s errand isn’t so much a critique of capitalism as it is of positive thinking. His claim is that this pop psychology approach doesn’t lead to a richer life. On the contrary, what we need is a dose of negativity.

This particular fight against positive thinking is what makes Brinkmann’s book innovative, mainly because his critique of the self-improvement craze is formulated in the tone of those business consultants who push positive thinking. He uses their own vocabulary against them. This makes his ideas easier for the reader to follow because the vocabulary is familiar, but it also serves to keep the conceptual framework of the book rather simple (cf. the traditional self-help book).

Personally, I miss a deeper understanding of concepts such as self, time, character, and introspection. And, perhaps more importantly, as mentioned above, I’d like to read Brinkmann’s thoughts on what I should stand firm on in a metaphysical, changeable world. Yet, my frustrated interests stress that, like most self-help books, this advice is addressed to a privileged reader, who seems more bored with, and confused about, life rather than really suffering.

Let me clarify this point further. For instance, many people can’t just say “no” at work because they can’t afford to lose their income. Also, since Brinkmann refers to our duty to do good deeds, then when is it right to be tolerant and when is it right to express our disagreement with those who are intolerant? Imagine that we witness sexism or discrimination in our organization, what is our duty as good employees? What is our duty if we are also a father or mother and, therefore, also a primary supporter of our family?

Based on the examples in the book, the ideal reader doesn’t suffer financially. For example, we are encouraged to discipline ourselves by avoiding an extra glass of wine or desert, not cheating while playing golf, or taking the bus instead of our car. I recall a classic self-help book about a man who sold his Porsche . . . To continue, Brinkmann suggests that we should visit a museum once a month, as well as reading at least one novel per month. This tells us something about who he expects to read his book.

Still, I have respect for this author’s project. I think that Brinkmann shows courage in writing this self-help book disguised as an anti-self-help book. Also, more importantly, his work as an academic—a highly-respected professor at a good Danish university—give his words more weight. He legitimizes the idea that it’s okay to be negative and so on. He deserves a big round of applause for this undertaking. This book will without doubt help many people who are caught in our current performance society.

Yet, some other questions emerge: How can we know when to say no if we are encouraged not to reflect or engage in introspection (i.e., steps one and three)? Philosophical self-knowledge has nothing to do with the navel-gazing that he so rightly attacks, but this knowledge is needed to minimize self-deception. Also, how do we know what is our duty? What is right or even morally good in society? Morality is related to knowledge that changes over time. For example, people now rarely beat their children to educate them because this doesn’t cultivate caring and curious individuals. These norms are human artefacts that can be rejected. Similar, we might ask: How do we dwell on our past and write our story without at least a little self-reflection? Or, even more clearly, if we should avoid the cliché of being authentic, then how does this interact with Brinkmann’s ideas about creating a coherent character?

In most self-help books, we are often encouraged to locate a narrative thread in our life to develop a trustworthy character. These threads can be rather inventive ways to suit personal agendas. Personally, I doubt whether life isn’t more a zig-zag movement of becoming another, rather than staying predictable. In the end, this is a rather conservative book with elements of nostalgia, but perhaps this is needed.

I wonder, still, whether it’s sound advice to encourage people to be too polite to be honest if this violates their duty. I prefer to resist conformity by creating alternatives, whereas Brinkmann tends to come close to advocating passive nihilism. For instance, he writes, “People have to adapt to the world around them.” This sound like resignation, not acceptance. Furthermore, this advice sounds like the business consultant adage that, instead of following “best practices,” sell the “best fit.” This is also not without problems. Perhaps, the professor has written af selfmanagement book?

Is it a problem that this book is both against the wellness syndrome but also part of it? I’m not sure. What Brinkmann’s advice lacks in precision, might also gain it more popularity, and his message is needed. I fully support his critique of the self-help industry and the current “terror of positivity,” as Byung-Chul Han once called it.

Thus, despite these critical remarks, my questions actually show this book’s quality. Unlike other self-help books, this invites us to question and think. So, perhaps what it offers really is more anti-self-help than self-help. I do truly hope that this will be the last self-help book. I hope so because Brinkmann’s advice is far better than the majority in this genre.

Therefore, if you have a coach, then sack him or her. Do it, and do it now. Then, go to the library or local bookstore and get yourself a novel. Read. If you’re not convinced, then read Dr. Brinkmann’s book. Give it to a colleague and so forth. Then, perhaps one sunshiny day, the libraries and bookstores will be full of novels, essays, and poetry instead of . . . yet, another self-help book camouflaged as anti.

I recommend Stand Firm for those who are tempted by the self-improvement craze.

Why do I suffer?

Why do I suffer? In asking and answering this question, I may be mistaken with respect to the reasons for my suffering–for example, due to lack of knowledge, or to clever ways of deceiving myself. Yet, I can’t doubt the utterance. It’s there, expressed and alive.

In the book Self-Knowledge and Self-Deception, the philosopher Hugo Strandberg analyzes what we mean when we ask the question, “Who am I?” This classical question opens up the potential for a critical self-examination that is also a moral examination. For me to know who I am, I take myself as the object of my investigation, knowing, of course, that both “I” as the subject and “I” as the object will change during the process of living. The “philosopher’s knowledge,” he writes, “is then self-knowledge, and self-knowledge is not knowledge about just another object in the world but about my alleged knowledge of the world.” In other words, self-knowledge is knowledge about my relationship with (or relationships in) the world.

Therefore, by looking more thoroughly at these relationships, I may discover that there are things I don’t know. I might become aware of my lack of knowledge.

“Self-knowledge is not one thing,” the author states” (Strandberg 14). It’s a concept related with many other questions that emerge during my life. “Self-knowledge is a moral question” (24) It is a matter of befriending myself, as Strandberg writes, referring to Seneca. In other words, getting to know who I am is an ongoing dance between the two concepts of “self-knowledge” and “self-deception”. Self-deception, according to Strandberg, is a moral phenomenon, a mixture of knowing and not knowing, but always in a moral sense. To emphasize this point, he relates the idea of self-deception with remorse; if things “should” be seen differently, then “this ‘should’ is given by the perspective of remorse itself.”

The correlation of self-deception with remorse is quite innovative because it helps Strandberg to illustrate how “self-deception shows that I am morally split.” For this reason it is difficult to answer the question “Who am I?” The whole book is a reflection about what it actually means to answer this question.

For example, one question related to “Who am I?” would be to ask whether the self is something fixed, or something created that changes as one lives? The problem with the fascinating idea that we create our selves is, as Iris Murdoch is quoted for saying, “man is a creature who makes pictures of himself and then come to resemble them” (67). So, it may be morally good if the picture I paint about myself is good according to the consensus, but I may still deceive myself in the process. Perhaps I am just suffering from group pressure; i.e., I do not have the courage to live out what I already know about myself.

Self-Knowledge and Self-Deception, while well written and engaging, is a scholarly work filled with references and requires close attention on the part of the reader. This is nice in a time where many books try to popularize concepts at the risk of losing scholarly rigor or precision. The chapter “The True Self” could be useful to study for all those in the self-help industry who wish to improve people’s self-image and sense of self-worth. Arendt, Descartes, MacIntyre, Kierkegaard, and Sartre–among others–show up. Personally, I enjoyed seeing Sartre back and being incorporated into the philosophical dialogue.

I believe that, ultimately, one asks “Who am I?” in relation to another question: what does it mean to live. For Strandberg, the answer is related to my will to pay attention or not pay attention to something specific (for example, living up to certain moral ideals or not). Contrary to the state of not paying attention (and the lack of awareness that comes with this), a well-developed attention allows the self to dissolve or become “who one is” with the world.  This leads Strandberg to suggest that the answer to the question “Who am I?” is answered by the way we live–perhaps the question is not even asked.

To return to the topic of remorse, Strandberg argues that remorse is the distance between self-knowledge and self-deception that can be reduced by love. To put this into romantic terms, it is when I am not following my heart that I experience moments of regret.

I began this review by asking, “Why do I suffer?” To answer this properly– following Strandberg–I need to be open to others and befriend others and myself with love and compassion. I may then realize that my suffering is related with my relationship with the world. The point is that “goodness constitutes me in a way badness does not, and when I treat someone badly this does not mean that I become, or some part of me becomes, fully evil, for that would mean that full moral badness would be possible, that is, that badness would be possible without self-deception. This goodness which constitutes me in a way badness does not is non-determinable, is openness to others, and is love and friendship, whereas badness could be said to be an attempt at determining me and these relations to others” (180).

The lesson is to not presuppose, but rather to be open and curious in your interaction with life.

Self-Knowledge and Self-Deception deals with a classical question: who am I? At times it’s a difficult book due to the amount of theories discussed, but in general the author is quite good at guiding the reader by being very explicit about what he aims at, noting how he differs from Socrates, and so forth. Still, the book requires philosophical knowledge. Students who have a certain level of mastery of philosophy and its concepts will enjoy this book, as will other philosophers who are grappling with similar topics. It’s a rewarding read, and one that’s quite complex–I have in this short review only touched briefly on some key issues. I admit also that I found it rather encouraging to read a philosopher who brings philosophy back to the terrain of ordinary life, and dares to speak about “goodness” and “love”.

This review was published in Metapsychology (Volume 20, Issue 17).

Finn Janning, PhD in philosophy, is a writer.

Hugo

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