Yiks – I have my first gig as a self-help writer! It’s at the School of Life in Central London. I’m a speaker at the Self-Help Summit on January 15th – part of the afternoon session entitled “Help Yourself: How Does Self-Help Help?”
This is exciting stuff. External confirmation (as everyone with high fear of failure needs) that this isn’t all nonsense. That I have a point worth listening to – or, at the very least, worth appraisal from a cerebral and engaged audience. Yet I am immediately posed with a problem (beyond, that is, the obvious terror such a gig presents to someone with fear of failure). The School of Life prides itself on its enquiring agnosticism, as well as its wit and intelligence. Certainly, I hope What’s Stopping You? (TBP 2011) has lashings of all three, but I’d be sharing a platform with speakers that do enquiring agnosticism, wit and intelligence for a living. What can I possibly add?
In fact – with respect to the progamme at least – my potential positioning becomes clear after a quick scan of the speaker biographies. Among the speakers are psychologists, philosophers and writers. This is no more than one would expect from the philosophical and inquisitive School of Life crowd – all no doubt scarily tutored in the ways of dialectic debate. One expects searching questions regarding the true intent of self-help and lots of cynicism regarding its outcomes.
Although this is sympathetic to the positioning of the book, which is critical of the self-help industry for over-promising and offering near-instant cures for innate mental conditions, it provides me with little scope. I hardly add much to the debate if I stand up and say: I agree with the last speaker (at least the bits I understood) almost as wholeheartedly as I’ll no doubt agree with the next. It’s clear I'll have to take a different position: I'll have to defend self-help.
This shouldn’t be so hard. After all, I have written a self-help book, even if I seem to be in denial of the fact – largely because of the genre’s somewhat cheesy reputation.
Here are my notes so far:
Self-help sells...
In an age when everyone demands everything, instantly, a genre of books has emerged to tell us we can, indeed, have it all now. Shock, horror! They may be raising our expectations, sure, but they are also a response to the raised expectations of affluence. Isn’t this Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs in action? Having become materially secure, we seek self-esteem: cue self-help. At least that’s the majority position – to have reached the next level. Some in the audience may have progressed further and now seek morality (the top level, according to Maslow). Self-help is harder to defend from this height (though not impossible) because it can sometimes appear to be (and sometimes is) a false promise made to the afflicted desperate for a cure.
This is self help at its worst. Yet, even here, self-help can be defended as capitalism doing its job – creating and fulfilling demands for our general human improvement. For instance, as a kid I watched my dad do lots of jobs around the house. Meanwhile, I put an advert on gumtree.com and some Polish guy or Aussie sorts it out while I take the kids to Dad’s Club. In my view this is progress – both the Polish guy and the kids are better off and I’m using my time more enjoyably. And just as my Polish handymen improve – as long as the supply side is held up – so the bad side of self-help should over time be eclipsed by the good. At least that’s the theory.
...but the hyper-titles are off-putting to some.
The first title for my book was How Not to Fail. Yet my number one target publisher – John Wiley & Sons – suggested that this rather tepid promise was off-putting and wouldn’t sell, so I changed it to the more dynamic What’s Stopping You? In the end I agreed with their view, not because I wanted my advertised outcome to be more than the avoidance of failure – although I did – but because this is a crowded market place and you need to compete. And the title of the book is key.
Another example of hyper-titling comes from one of my heroes: Allen Carr. He wrote The Easy Way to Stop Smoking, a book I loved because it explicitly states there are no instant cures. Carr focused on self-awareness of the triggers trapping nicotine addicts and how they can navigate them. Yet look at the title – you’d think there was a frontal lobotomy kit included. Even Anthony Robbins – cheesy self-help king-of-the-gurus with hyper-titles such as Unlimited Power and Awaken the Giant Within – quickly settles down to offer strong methodologies for practical employment. Indeed, with most of the genre, the over-promising is usually mellowed within: it’s the over-hyping title and cheesy grin from the author that really gets rational eyes rolling.
Self-help helps...
Sourcing answers to problems has to be good for society. All advances require experiment and analysis and, if the self-help industry helps popularize this endeavour, so much the better. For instance, my father was good with a drill and screwdriver but was a pretty hopeless dad. He didn’t think he was hopeless – he’d just swallowed the accepted thinking of his age that small boys had to be toughened up through emotional rejection and mental barbarism (or they'd end up "soft").
Fine, except that we now realise this is utter codswallop. A recipe for low self-esteem and high fear of failure, although such an upbringing probably helped when it came to dealing with restive natives. Yet it took self-help writers such as Steve Biddulph to finally destroy the myth of “tough love” with respect to the treatment of young boys. Sure Biddulph is a psychologist but, make no mistake, Raising Boys is a self-help book aimed at popular consumption. And it took a popular book to change the way people thought about parenting boys. Without him dads would still be in the Dark Ages.
Certainly, my dad never read a self-help book in his life – would scoff at the very notion. Yet this did little for his parenting skills, which was not his fault: bless him. But in our more enlightened age – where self-awareness if more encouraged than self-discipline and where just about every endeavour talks about "best practice" – this is unacceptable.
Meanwhile, I defy anyone to read Stephen Covey's Seven Habits of Highly Effective People and not become more efficient, or Richard Carlson’s Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff and remain as angry and irritated by tiny annoyances, or Mark McCormack’s What They Don’t Teach You at Harvard Business School and not become more effective in their career pursuits. Each contains great truths to help mere mortals navigate the modern jungle. Yet all belong on the bookshop's equivalent of a cheese counter.
...and knowledge is always a benefit.
Why is ignorance to be cherished, with respect to anything – even self-help? It amazes me the number of times I hear people declare their ignorance with pride, usually when such knowledge is unfashionable. For instance, although a southerner, I like the North of England. I went to Manchester University and have a passion for football, so perhaps that helps. Yet I’m constantly amazed by the number of southerners that say: “Oh I’ve never been up north,” usually with a dismissive wave of the hand as if this somehow makes them a better person. It doesn’t – it makes them small-minded and ignorant of their own country.
Dismissing anything – especially something aimed at expanding our understanding of ourselves – is for those with very short horizons. American educator Derek Bok said: “If you think education is expensive, try ignorance” and that is just as true for self awareness, of which self-help is the frontline.
Self-help has a perception problem, especially in the UK...
If you ask someone if they believe in self-development, most right thinking people will of course say “yes”. Self-improvement is also likely to be answered in the affirmative as is self-awareness, self-confidence, self-respect and even self-control. Yet all are alternative names or potential outcomes of self-help. Only the term “self help” generates cynicism – largely because it brings to mind angst-ridden under-confidents lurking in the wrong part of the bookstore and being sucked in by the hyper titles and surgically-whitened grins on the cover. It all seems so embarrassing – like asking for something horrendous at the pharmacist. Yet it also appears synthetic: a bit trashy, sleazy – dare I say it, even a bit too American for us stiff-upper lipped Brits. We’re happy being crap thanks – especially when it comes to our emotions.
...which makes even the self-help writers a little defensive.
In fact my book is no more than a self-help book that begins by dissing the genre. It then nicks its best ideas. Isn’t this how everyone muscles their way in? Certainly, I remember from my political theory and philosophy classes at university each guy demolishing the thesis of the previous thinker before adding his or her view on top. Given this, just maybe I shouldn’t be so embarrassed at the notion of being a self-help writer and, indeed, should use the School of Life talk to “come out” as a wannabe self-help guru. Either that or be “outted” by the other speakers, it seems.
Showing posts with label University of Manchester. Show all posts
Showing posts with label University of Manchester. Show all posts
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The greatest self-help philosopher of all? Karl Popper of course
A reposting of old posts (from the old blog) that I like.
Having just written a self-help book (What’s Stopping You? TBP 2011) about overcoming fear of failure, it may seem odd that one of the books I enthusiastically quote is an anti self-help diatribe. In The Last Self-Help Book You’ll Ever Need (2005) neuropsychologist Paul Pearsall attacks the self-help industry’s version of happiness and fulfilment and instead suggests greater “well-being” may come from developing a “contrarian consciousness” or what he calls a “yes but” mental attitude.
In other words Pearsall’s plea is for a high level of scepticism regarding the claims of the self-help industry or “self potential” movement as he calls it. There’s “not just one good life” he states, so we should stop looking for it – and instead search for “a good life”. Discontentment cannot be cured by consumption, he claims, even of ideas. Indeed, it is the “compliant thinking” encouraged by the self-help industry that seems to most annoy Pearsall. Sometimes vulnerable people evaluate this now huge industry at face value, he states – accepting the strong words flowing from the page or DVD because they sound right and feel comforting and appeal directly to our own personal pain. Yet in doing so we are ignoring the rigours of scientific reasoning – often we are ignoring our own intuition and experience.
Indeed, we have been hypnotised – but not in order to improve our lives. Instead, we have been seduced into unquestioningly believing and accepting the statements of the “guru” or “life-coach” saying them. How could we not? After all, to question the validity of the cure is to render it impotent. The balm only works if we believe – and even if that belief conjures no more than the benefits of a placebo effect, at least it still counts as a benefit, doesn’t it?
Yet Pearsall states we must be mindful of the claims of the self-help industry – nothing is proven and much of it is “grounded” not in science but in mysticism and spirituality. Of course, Pearsall’s attitude chimes well with my own, which is why I liked his book. In my view conditions such as fear of failure are incurable, although progress is possible once we realise this and restructure our responses accordingly. But he also struck a chord because he made me realise my own approach may have stronger theoretical roots than I had previously realised.
In fact, Pearsall’s book took me right back to my first-year undergraduate lectures in political theory. Wide-eyed with enthusiasm I would arrive at the Monday lecture to hear about the works and theories of Thomas Hobbes, or John Locke, or Jean-Jacques Rousseau or Max Weber or Karl Marx. After 90 minutes I was inevitably convinced and would spend the rest of the week becoming further indoctrinated by reading the actual works or other supporting books and articles. Yet on the following Monday we’d hear the critique of the theorist – the often blood-drenched riposte that would leave me cursing my naivety at ever being taken in by such an obvious charlatan with so easily-refutable ideas.
This cycle of conviction and disillusion – of total belief followed by total disbelief – lasted until the Monday of the lecture on Karl Popper. Popper’s quest was to decide from all the theories and ideas that had sometimes fiercely competed in the post-Enlightenment world what was science and what was not science. Far from trying to disprove a particular theory or philosophy, Popper was simply trying to find a way of cutting through the noise – of being able to evaluate the ideas being postulated and see which deserved to be labeled a “science” and which didn’t.
This transformed my view of politics. Popper had shared my confusion, but instead of bobbing about with the ebbs and flows and currents – as I had in those Monday morning lectures in 1980s Manchester – he had invented a structure by which non-quantifiable ideas could be immediately judged. His key notion was one of falsifiability or refutability – that anything purporting to be a scientific theory had to be able to submit itself to physical experiments that could show it to be false. This doesn’t mean that it is false, just that the theory offers observable predictions that are open to being proved or disproved.
For instance, if we theorized that once the workers had seized the modes of production for themselves the state would whither away, we are open to the charge of refutability if the state stubbornly refuses to die and in fact grows stronger. And while we can quibble regarding the reasons why our theory failed to pan out as predicted, it has nonetheless been falsified and therefore can no longer call itself a scientific theory. Of course, those that cling to this view could add the word “eventually” to the notion that the workers’ paradise will lose the mechanisms of the state – but this is to render the theory “unfalsifiable” according to Popper, which still relegates it from the world of scientific theory.
Yet just because something is "falsifiable" doesn’t mean it is false, just that it can be tested and potentially disproved by observable experiments. However, it is a hurdle that most political theories failed to overcome – most either failing falsifiability tests or ducking them – although it must be stressed it doesn’t render them pointless or false. They may still be valid treatise on the perfectibility – or otherwise – of man. But, importantly, they are not science and should not be treated as such. Certainly, Popper wasn’t condemning unfalsifiable theories, just stating that they were non-scientific. For example, he stated that religious ideas have cultural or spiritual meaning and that people were entitled to believe them, especially if it brought them some comfort. But they were not and could not be scientifically proven, which matters in terms of claims regarding the “truth” of any hypothesis.
In my view the self-help industry would be revolutionized by a swift application of Popperian rigour. Almost all the “guaranteed” cures and methodologies – often wrapped up in fantastically pseudo-scientific language – would be rendered “unfalsifiable” and therefore unscientific. Valuable they may be to those they give comfort, but science – at least according to Karl Popper – they ain’t.
So where does this leave us in terms of seeking a cure for fear of failure, or any other fear of emotion-based condition? Potentially in a better place, in my opinion. With no guaranteed cure available, maybe we are – according to Pearsall – able to develop a better perspective, although not necessarily a more positive one. Indeed, constantly “thinking positively” about tomorrow robs us of the joys or critical thinking and of fully experiencing today, he says. Instead of “self-absorption” via all-embracing philosophies or techniques, he suggests we develop the seven more critical attributes of a healthy personality:
1. Be sceptical,
2. Be willing to deceive yourself, especially in favour of loved ones,
3. Embrace the craziness that is your family,
4. Workaholism is not necessarily bad for you if you’re doing something you love,
5. Obsessing about your health isn’t good for your health,
6. Realise its impossible to stay young forever and get on with the rest of your life,
7. Death is not the enemy. It is just another part of life – deal with it.
And while these seven attributes may not be Popperian in their falsifiability – in fact Pearsall makes no claim to be scientific – they at least take the world as it is and therefore have some grounding in reality, which in the self-help industry is progress indeed.
Having just written a self-help book (What’s Stopping You? TBP 2011) about overcoming fear of failure, it may seem odd that one of the books I enthusiastically quote is an anti self-help diatribe. In The Last Self-Help Book You’ll Ever Need (2005) neuropsychologist Paul Pearsall attacks the self-help industry’s version of happiness and fulfilment and instead suggests greater “well-being” may come from developing a “contrarian consciousness” or what he calls a “yes but” mental attitude.
In other words Pearsall’s plea is for a high level of scepticism regarding the claims of the self-help industry or “self potential” movement as he calls it. There’s “not just one good life” he states, so we should stop looking for it – and instead search for “a good life”. Discontentment cannot be cured by consumption, he claims, even of ideas. Indeed, it is the “compliant thinking” encouraged by the self-help industry that seems to most annoy Pearsall. Sometimes vulnerable people evaluate this now huge industry at face value, he states – accepting the strong words flowing from the page or DVD because they sound right and feel comforting and appeal directly to our own personal pain. Yet in doing so we are ignoring the rigours of scientific reasoning – often we are ignoring our own intuition and experience.
Indeed, we have been hypnotised – but not in order to improve our lives. Instead, we have been seduced into unquestioningly believing and accepting the statements of the “guru” or “life-coach” saying them. How could we not? After all, to question the validity of the cure is to render it impotent. The balm only works if we believe – and even if that belief conjures no more than the benefits of a placebo effect, at least it still counts as a benefit, doesn’t it?
Yet Pearsall states we must be mindful of the claims of the self-help industry – nothing is proven and much of it is “grounded” not in science but in mysticism and spirituality. Of course, Pearsall’s attitude chimes well with my own, which is why I liked his book. In my view conditions such as fear of failure are incurable, although progress is possible once we realise this and restructure our responses accordingly. But he also struck a chord because he made me realise my own approach may have stronger theoretical roots than I had previously realised.
In fact, Pearsall’s book took me right back to my first-year undergraduate lectures in political theory. Wide-eyed with enthusiasm I would arrive at the Monday lecture to hear about the works and theories of Thomas Hobbes, or John Locke, or Jean-Jacques Rousseau or Max Weber or Karl Marx. After 90 minutes I was inevitably convinced and would spend the rest of the week becoming further indoctrinated by reading the actual works or other supporting books and articles. Yet on the following Monday we’d hear the critique of the theorist – the often blood-drenched riposte that would leave me cursing my naivety at ever being taken in by such an obvious charlatan with so easily-refutable ideas.
This cycle of conviction and disillusion – of total belief followed by total disbelief – lasted until the Monday of the lecture on Karl Popper. Popper’s quest was to decide from all the theories and ideas that had sometimes fiercely competed in the post-Enlightenment world what was science and what was not science. Far from trying to disprove a particular theory or philosophy, Popper was simply trying to find a way of cutting through the noise – of being able to evaluate the ideas being postulated and see which deserved to be labeled a “science” and which didn’t.
This transformed my view of politics. Popper had shared my confusion, but instead of bobbing about with the ebbs and flows and currents – as I had in those Monday morning lectures in 1980s Manchester – he had invented a structure by which non-quantifiable ideas could be immediately judged. His key notion was one of falsifiability or refutability – that anything purporting to be a scientific theory had to be able to submit itself to physical experiments that could show it to be false. This doesn’t mean that it is false, just that the theory offers observable predictions that are open to being proved or disproved.
For instance, if we theorized that once the workers had seized the modes of production for themselves the state would whither away, we are open to the charge of refutability if the state stubbornly refuses to die and in fact grows stronger. And while we can quibble regarding the reasons why our theory failed to pan out as predicted, it has nonetheless been falsified and therefore can no longer call itself a scientific theory. Of course, those that cling to this view could add the word “eventually” to the notion that the workers’ paradise will lose the mechanisms of the state – but this is to render the theory “unfalsifiable” according to Popper, which still relegates it from the world of scientific theory.
Yet just because something is "falsifiable" doesn’t mean it is false, just that it can be tested and potentially disproved by observable experiments. However, it is a hurdle that most political theories failed to overcome – most either failing falsifiability tests or ducking them – although it must be stressed it doesn’t render them pointless or false. They may still be valid treatise on the perfectibility – or otherwise – of man. But, importantly, they are not science and should not be treated as such. Certainly, Popper wasn’t condemning unfalsifiable theories, just stating that they were non-scientific. For example, he stated that religious ideas have cultural or spiritual meaning and that people were entitled to believe them, especially if it brought them some comfort. But they were not and could not be scientifically proven, which matters in terms of claims regarding the “truth” of any hypothesis.
In my view the self-help industry would be revolutionized by a swift application of Popperian rigour. Almost all the “guaranteed” cures and methodologies – often wrapped up in fantastically pseudo-scientific language – would be rendered “unfalsifiable” and therefore unscientific. Valuable they may be to those they give comfort, but science – at least according to Karl Popper – they ain’t.
So where does this leave us in terms of seeking a cure for fear of failure, or any other fear of emotion-based condition? Potentially in a better place, in my opinion. With no guaranteed cure available, maybe we are – according to Pearsall – able to develop a better perspective, although not necessarily a more positive one. Indeed, constantly “thinking positively” about tomorrow robs us of the joys or critical thinking and of fully experiencing today, he says. Instead of “self-absorption” via all-embracing philosophies or techniques, he suggests we develop the seven more critical attributes of a healthy personality:
1. Be sceptical,
2. Be willing to deceive yourself, especially in favour of loved ones,
3. Embrace the craziness that is your family,
4. Workaholism is not necessarily bad for you if you’re doing something you love,
5. Obsessing about your health isn’t good for your health,
6. Realise its impossible to stay young forever and get on with the rest of your life,
7. Death is not the enemy. It is just another part of life – deal with it.
And while these seven attributes may not be Popperian in their falsifiability – in fact Pearsall makes no claim to be scientific – they at least take the world as it is and therefore have some grounding in reality, which in the self-help industry is progress indeed.
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