What If This Were Enough?: Essays by Heather Havrilesky (2018)
What If This Were Enough?: Essays by Heather Havrilesky (2018)
A Scourge of Gurus
The guru is not an expert in happiness or inner peace, although he plays one on the internet. He is not a role model in the realm of fighting injustice or saving the world from disease or throwing his body onto the battlefield. He is a champion of the self. His livelihood relies not only on the defeat of human emotions, but on a denial of the existence of prejudice, of resistance, of the machinery of oppression, of the impenetrable forces that maintain the status quo, of the ever-widening gap between rich and poor, of the disastrously callous habits of the overclass and the bought-out legislators who serve them. The guru will not instruct you on how to navigate a world that distrusts or despises you, nor will he acknowledge that the landscape you inhabit was built to keep you poor, powerless, and suspect.
In other words, the guru is an expert at gaming privilege. Many of his so-called life hacks are just that, hacks-sly methods of disrupting other people’s resources for the sake of your own. If you happen to have a few demographic advantages, plus the raw self-loathing and lack of affection for humanity that tend to accompany any sustained imperative to maximize your own delicious supremacy behind fortress walls, the guru can make you king or queen of all that you survey. Everyone else can, of course, get fucked (191-2).
But what is the point of all of this maximized, optimal, highly efficient, connected, charismatic effectiveness? If Ferriss himself is any indication, it’s to be a cipher that stands for nothing beyond success itself, a brand that touts its best-seller status like a street barker, that boosts itself on the shoulders of other such brands, that throws a never-ending party for itself. Like his guru ilk, Ferriss manages to be invisible, efficient, and enviable, without daring to be honorable or righteous or admirable. He is, in other words, the ultimate American hero, the Greatest of Gatsbys, an evanescent tech-bro heartthrob, an emperor with no face. If his bibles for better living could be reduced to a single phrase, it would be: “Become less human.”
This goes back to the core religion of the guru, of course: More than anything else, the modern guru denies the existence of external obstacles. Racism, systemic bias, income inequality-to acknowledge these would be to deny the power of the self. They are sidestepped in favor of handy modern conveniences, or the importance of casting off draining relationships, or the constant quest to say no to the countless opportunities rolling your way. What an indulgence it must be, to have your greatest obstacles be “sugar” or “anger” or “toxins.”
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In many ways, the artist might be seen as the polar opposite of the guru. The artist (or at least some imaginary ideal of the artist) leans into reality-the dirt and grime of survival, the sullen, grim folds of the psyche, the exquisite disappointments, the sour churn of rage, the smog of lust, the petty, uneven, disquieted moments that fall in between. The artist embraces ugliness and beauty with equal passion. The artist knows that this process is always, by its nature, inefficient. It is a slow effort without any promise of a concrete, external reward.
In order to create, the artist can’t live behind walls or embrace fantasies. The artist must recognize that the real- world stakes are high, and control is hard to come by. The artist can’t hide or sidestep total honesty or avoid taking a stand. How could the artist make something meaningful without revealing himself and his position in the world? He can’t deny his emotions. He is forced to slow down and grapple with the injustices he encounters at every turn. To the committed artist, “extracting your max” sounds like yet another masturbatory pro tip, a way of turning inward as disappointments and upheaval threaten your good life.
In the introduction to Tribe of Mentors, Ferriss writes, “[S]uccess can usually be measured by the number of uncomfortable conversations we are willing to have, and by the number of uncomfortable actions we are willing to take.” The guru’s words sound so wise in a vacuum, or printed on a poster, or tapped out in a tweet. Yet Ferriss neglects to address the fact that it matters a great deal what kinds of conversations we have, what kinds of actions we take, and on whose behalf we act.
It makes perfect sense, really, that Ferriss begins his book with this question: “What would this look like if it were easy?” The point is not to dig into hard things. The point, always and forever, is to clear an effortless path before you. You are to avoid “unnecessary hardship,” by asking abstract questions like “[W]hat happens if we frame things in terms of elegance instead of strain?”
Here’s what happens: We elegantly proceed to publish sterile, platinum-elite “wisdom”-lite, assembled into a 589-page tome that exists only within a hermetically sealed bubble of the self. Such a book will be a comfort to your personal tribe of fledgling, wannabe gurus, because their goals match yours: to float high above the grime of life and the rage of injustice. The aim is always to maximize your own gains while thoroughly expunging the inconvenient humanity out of yourself...
But the real moral of Tribe of Mentors lies elsewhere within the book’s pages: “Don’t trust gurus, whether a marketing guru or a life guru,” writes entrepreneur- turned- philanthropist Jérôme Jarre. “The guru separates himself from the rest of us. Anything that creates separation is an illusion. In reality, we are all united, all the same, all smart parts of the same bigger thing, the universe.”
Jarre then pinpoints the state of affairs that keeps the entire guru industry afloat: “Most of the world is asleep today, playing a small role in a gigantic illusion. You don’t have to be. You can choose a different life. It’s all within. You will know the answers when you take the time to find yourself and trust yourself.” This message necessarily counters much of Ferriss’s offerings, since it entirely obviates the need for the products he peddles so relentlessly. And not surprisingly, this message alone upstages most of Ferriss’s repetitive tome: You don’t need more of anything to find your true path. You have everything you need already.
What Jarre implies but doesn’t spell out is that this realization tends to transcend the self, building momentum until it becomes something much bigger and more expansive and porous. Because once we learn to cultivate compassion for ourselves without improvements or upgrades, we also learn to have compassion for other people, as broken and flawed and different from us as they might be. And if we’re ever going to recognize that our survival is inextricably linked, this is how we’re going to get there. We can no longer close the doors to the outside world and expect to survive. In fact, we have to resist the temptation to handle our fear by placing ourselves above others, or by building up our fortress walls. We are called to reject the “gigantic illusion” of our separateness and see reality clearly at last.
In other words, at this late date in human history, it would behoove most of us to think less like gurus and more like artists-deeply connected to ourselves and each other, painfully, beautifully aware of reality, and exquisitely alive to the moment-in order to build a new world outside of the toxic illusions of this one (195-9).
A Scourge of Gurus
The guru is not an expert in happiness or inner peace, although he plays one on the internet. He is not a role model in the realm of fighting injustice or saving the world from disease or throwing his body onto the battlefield. He is a champion of the self. His livelihood relies not only on the defeat of human emotions, but on a denial of the existence of prejudice, of resistance, of the machinery of oppression, of the impenetrable forces that maintain the status quo, of the ever-widening gap between rich and poor, of the disastrously callous habits of the overclass and the bought-out legislators who serve them. The guru will not instruct you on how to navigate a world that distrusts or despises you, nor will he acknowledge that the landscape you inhabit was built to keep you poor, powerless, and suspect.
In other words, the guru is an expert at gaming privilege. Many of his so-called life hacks are just that, hacks-sly methods of disrupting other people’s resources for the sake of your own. If you happen to have a few demographic advantages, plus the raw self-loathing and lack of affection for humanity that tend to accompany any sustained imperative to maximize your own delicious supremacy behind fortress walls, the guru can make you king or queen of all that you survey. Everyone else can, of course, get fucked (191-2).
But what is the point of all of this maximized, optimal, highly efficient, connected, charismatic effectiveness? If Ferriss himself is any indication, it’s to be a cipher that stands for nothing beyond success itself, a brand that touts its best-seller status like a street barker, that boosts itself on the shoulders of other such brands, that throws a never-ending party for itself. Like his guru ilk, Ferriss manages to be invisible, efficient, and enviable, without daring to be honorable or righteous or admirable. He is, in other words, the ultimate American hero, the Greatest of Gatsbys, an evanescent tech-bro heartthrob, an emperor with no face. If his bibles for better living could be reduced to a single phrase, it would be: “Become less human.”
This goes back to the core religion of the guru, of course: More than anything else, the modern guru denies the existence of external obstacles. Racism, systemic bias, income inequality-to acknowledge these would be to deny the power of the self. They are sidestepped in favor of handy modern conveniences, or the importance of casting off draining relationships, or the constant quest to say no to the countless opportunities rolling your way. What an indulgence it must be, to have your greatest obstacles be “sugar” or “anger” or “toxins.”
-
In many ways, the artist might be seen as the polar opposite of the guru. The artist (or at least some imaginary ideal of the artist) leans into reality-the dirt and grime of survival, the sullen, grim folds of the psyche, the exquisite disappointments, the sour churn of rage, the smog of lust, the petty, uneven, disquieted moments that fall in between. The artist embraces ugliness and beauty with equal passion. The artist knows that this process is always, by its nature, inefficient. It is a slow effort without any promise of a concrete, external reward.
In order to create, the artist can’t live behind walls or embrace fantasies. The artist must recognize that the real- world stakes are high, and control is hard to come by. The artist can’t hide or sidestep total honesty or avoid taking a stand. How could the artist make something meaningful without revealing himself and his position in the world? He can’t deny his emotions. He is forced to slow down and grapple with the injustices he encounters at every turn. To the committed artist, “extracting your max” sounds like yet another masturbatory pro tip, a way of turning inward as disappointments and upheaval threaten your good life.
In the introduction to Tribe of Mentors, Ferriss writes, “[S]uccess can usually be measured by the number of uncomfortable conversations we are willing to have, and by the number of uncomfortable actions we are willing to take.” The guru’s words sound so wise in a vacuum, or printed on a poster, or tapped out in a tweet. Yet Ferriss neglects to address the fact that it matters a great deal what kinds of conversations we have, what kinds of actions we take, and on whose behalf we act.
It makes perfect sense, really, that Ferriss begins his book with this question: “What would this look like if it were easy?” The point is not to dig into hard things. The point, always and forever, is to clear an effortless path before you. You are to avoid “unnecessary hardship,” by asking abstract questions like “[W]hat happens if we frame things in terms of elegance instead of strain?”
Here’s what happens: We elegantly proceed to publish sterile, platinum-elite “wisdom”-lite, assembled into a 589-page tome that exists only within a hermetically sealed bubble of the self. Such a book will be a comfort to your personal tribe of fledgling, wannabe gurus, because their goals match yours: to float high above the grime of life and the rage of injustice. The aim is always to maximize your own gains while thoroughly expunging the inconvenient humanity out of yourself...
But the real moral of Tribe of Mentors lies elsewhere within the book’s pages: “Don’t trust gurus, whether a marketing guru or a life guru,” writes entrepreneur- turned- philanthropist Jérôme Jarre. “The guru separates himself from the rest of us. Anything that creates separation is an illusion. In reality, we are all united, all the same, all smart parts of the same bigger thing, the universe.”
Jarre then pinpoints the state of affairs that keeps the entire guru industry afloat: “Most of the world is asleep today, playing a small role in a gigantic illusion. You don’t have to be. You can choose a different life. It’s all within. You will know the answers when you take the time to find yourself and trust yourself.” This message necessarily counters much of Ferriss’s offerings, since it entirely obviates the need for the products he peddles so relentlessly. And not surprisingly, this message alone upstages most of Ferriss’s repetitive tome: You don’t need more of anything to find your true path. You have everything you need already.
What Jarre implies but doesn’t spell out is that this realization tends to transcend the self, building momentum until it becomes something much bigger and more expansive and porous. Because once we learn to cultivate compassion for ourselves without improvements or upgrades, we also learn to have compassion for other people, as broken and flawed and different from us as they might be. And if we’re ever going to recognize that our survival is inextricably linked, this is how we’re going to get there. We can no longer close the doors to the outside world and expect to survive. In fact, we have to resist the temptation to handle our fear by placing ourselves above others, or by building up our fortress walls. We are called to reject the “gigantic illusion” of our separateness and see reality clearly at last.
In other words, at this late date in human history, it would behoove most of us to think less like gurus and more like artists-deeply connected to ourselves and each other, painfully, beautifully aware of reality, and exquisitely alive to the moment-in order to build a new world outside of the toxic illusions of this one (195-9).