How We Treat Others

How we treat others is really, in the end, how we treat ourselves. Our outer conduct always has inner results.

In a great little passage from Shakespeare's play, Hamlet, the Prince addresses his colleague Polonius about some theatrical players who are visiting, and we get this exchange.

Hamlet: Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used, for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time; after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

Polonius: My lord, I will use them according to their desert.

Hamlet: God's bodkin, man, much better. Use every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honor and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in.

Notice the evolution of the reasoning Hamlet uses with his friend. At first, he asks Polonius to "use" or treat the players well, and appeals to his self-interest in a fairly superficial way, pointing out that these are people whose job is, in part, to broadcast news and gossip far and wide, and that they'll certainly tell tales of Polonius, depending on how he treats them. If he treats them well, he will be well spoken of everywhere they go, and if the opposite, then his reputation will surely suffer. But Polonius objects, on what look at first to be moral grounds. He won't treat them well just because he'd benefit from that - he'll hold to higher ground and treat them the way they deserve to be treated. Duty, from this point of view, is always related to desert.

Hamlet feigns shock at that declaration, and jokingly points out that, on this principle, any of us would be lucky to escape a public whipping. He then suggests that the better course is not to treat others in accordance with their character or merits, but rather in accordance with our own honor and dignity.

The high path of moral action is to act well toward others because of who we are, not just in response to who they are.

Our actions should express our higher nature, and there are four distinct benefits from that.

First, by acting out of honor and dignity and treating others well, we set a high moral tone of kind action, rather than just responding to others in kind. We are moral leaders, rather than just reactive puppets who allow our own conduct to be dictated by others.

Second, by acting well, we reinforce our own ideals and higher tendencies. Whenever we act, we never just do, we always become. Third, kindness, generosity, and mercy do, in fact, more often than not, generate the good report of others, and this reputation indeed will serve us well in the hearts and minds of other good people.

And, fourth, we should be reminded of the words once spoken by Goethe, when he said:

Treat others as if they were what they ought to be, and you help them to become what they're capable of being.

By treating others well, we make gains, however small, in surrounding ourselves with the sort of people who are good company and good partners in making great things happen.

When we do well, things tend to go well in many ways.

What Story Do You Tell?

One of the most important things about us is the story we tell ourselves, the overarching narrative within which we embed our daily actions. What story are you telling yourself? Is it helping or hurting you?

We love movies, and great television shows, and amazing novels so much because we each live a story, our own story, and these are media where stories are told. We viscerally understand other people's stories because of our own. That's why nothing touches us like a story.

Hollywood producer Peter Gruber wrote a book a few years back called Tell to Win. In it, he recounts that every business meeting he ever went into armed with facts and statistics was a failure, and he never got what he wanted, while, by stark contrast, every meeting he went into and told a great story was a stunning success, sometimes far beyond what he could have imagined. Stories have power.

The story we tell ourselves about our own lives has great power for good, or for ill. Do you empower and embolden and encourage yourself by the story you tell yourself in the quiet of your own mind, as well as in your words to other people? Or do you weaken your own prospects by a narrative that isn't right? Have you let other people or circumstances hijack your story? No one can know you as well as you can, if you're completely honest with yourself and relentlessly strip away the little self-deceptions that can so easily creep into any life. No one else is in a position to write your story for you - not in this world. So, make sure that you're the one who tells your story, and tells it powerfully, to open up the vast possibilities of the future that lie in wait for your particular talents, experiences, and sensibilities.

There is no other you. And there is no other story exactly like yours. Be sure that your story is worthy of you, at your best and your finest. Then, you can become what you're meant to be.

When a Sip of Wine is Much More.

Oh! The unexpected depths! The intense aromas! The rich bottomless structure, and yet ethereal smoothness! The mouth feel! The surprise of its all-enveloping engagement of the senses! And: The perfect match for a small burger. Or two.

I opened a bottle of wine this past weekend that practically jumped out of the glass. Or maybe what happened is that it almost pulled me into the glass. We had a mystical experience together, in any case, the two of us - and that's for sure.

I was just cooking hamburgers and wanted something good to go with them. I had no idea.

I really didn't know anything about the Schrader 2006 Beckstoffer To Kalon Vinyard pictured above, except that I'd had it squirreled away for a long time, and basically forgotten about it, but when I happened to come across it, I sort of vaguely remembered having really enjoyed another of their bottles years ago. So I picked it up, carried it into the kitchen, and popped it while the bacon was still sizzling in the old black, cast iron skillet, prepping the surface for the burgers.

Oh, man.

Have you ever had a well-made Napa Cab that you almost didn't have to drink? The nose enough was sufficient to engage you down to your soul, not to mention your toes? You just breathe deeply and say, "Oh, My! Oh Gee!" Or some more colorful linguistic equivalent thereof. And then you go running across the room or down the hall to share it:

"Hey! Take a Whiff of This! Can you believe it? Yeah! Take a Taste! Go ahead!"

And then you delight in the look of ecstasy on the face of your spouse, friend, neighbor, or whomever you handed the glass to.

Down the rabbit hole, through the looking glass, behind the wardrobe and into Narnia. Mr. Tumnus! You make an incredible cab!

Quality counts. Passion, care, and world-class expertise pay off.

When something stands apart in an immensely crowded field, you take notice. It evokes a rare sort of respect, and genuine admiration.

Whenever I come across anything of such excellence, it makes me redouble my own commitment to quality. It reminds me of the difference that makes. And it makes me grateful once more to share the planet with some other people who care about what they do.

I can be inspired by almost anything that displays excellence of the highest caliber. In fact, I was inspired by the first moment of aromas wafting forth from the glass. Not even the bacon in the pan could mask the magic that leapt up to my nose and reeled me in like a fish on a line.

Inspiration.

What, recently, has inspired you?

For those who are reading this here at my website, rather than on LinkedIn, I have an extra word or two. This Schrader was like a recent Futo and my first really great cab, a 2001 Shaeffer Hillside Select. Also in this category are a Colgin I had a while back, and a few Herb Lamb Cabs. Tell me what you like! In Vino, Veritas.

My Most Embarrassing Book Signing. Ever.

A major bookstore event to herald a new publication can be an interesting experience.

I was telling one of the staff members at our largest local bookstore yesterday how much I loved Donna Tartt's new tome The Goldfinch. I had come back to buy her first book, The Secret History, which I'm now reading and also loving. He asked what it's like for me, as an author, to read other people's books, and in the end, he told me that when my new novel series is published, I should launch it at his shop, with a big book signing, and with lots of local publicity. At my last event there, eight years ago, they told me it was the first time in the history of the store that they ever sold out of books in the first hour of an author signing. It was great. I felt like a local version of J.K. Rowling, only male, and a philosopher, and publishing a nonfiction book, except it was indeed about Harry Potter.

But, in retrospect, I couldn't help but think of other book events past, all over the country - some with huge crowds, in places like Manhattan, and Kansas City, and Boca Raton, and others with small and yet very interesting turnouts.

My most embarrassing book signing wasn't the one in Washington, DC, long ago, where only one person showed up, and he told me he was the father of one of my students at Notre Dame, and then asked me for a $20,000 loan. No, that didn't come close. The cosmic nadir, the ultimate bottom of the vortex, was when I was at an independent bookstore somewhere in America, and had spoken to about fifty or so people regarding my newest effort, and had signed books for most of them, and then had talked to the manager of the store for nearly an hour afterwards, standing near the register, and signing lots more books for the shop to keep in stock with those little stickers that say "Autographed By the Author."

Right before I was going to leave, I saw an elderly lady walk up to the cash register and put down a stack of books - bird books, dog books, gardening guides, and … there it was: my new book about philosophy and life. As her other selections were being rung up, she picked mine out of the stack to examine. With a glow of pride, I watched her face as she thumbed through it, starting at the end and flipping backward. She finally got to the first page and stopped in shock. She looked up at the bookstore employee who was ringing up the sale. And, in a voice of supreme irritation, she said, "Some fool has written in this book!"

He stopped and looked at the page she was pointing to and said, "Oh, yes, that's the author's personal signature! You have an autographed copy!"

She contemplated it for a second and looked back up and said, "Well, I don't want a book some fool has written in!"

He got her a clean copy, and I went home, suitably humbled.

But I still sign books when I can, assured by my wife that, surely, it doesn't detract too much from the value of the item.

Seneca on Difficulties and Confidence

Difficulties and confidence: On a superficial consideration, they might seem to be inversely related - the more you have of one, the less you'll have of the other. But allow me to quote one of my favorite philosophers, the prominent first century Roman lawyer, and advisor to very successful people, Seneca. These are his thoughts, in my own translation from The Stoic Art of Living:

"The powers we have can never inspire in us a genuine inner self-confidence until we have confronted many difficulties along the way, and even now and then have had to struggle fiercely with them. This is the only way our true spirit can ever really be tested - the inner spirit we have that will never consent to be ruled by outer forces. The nature of such a spirit can be seen in the fact that no prizefighter can go into a contest with high spirits if he has never been beaten black and blue. The only man who can enter the ring with confidence is one who has seen his own blood, had felt his teeth rattled by an opponent's fist, has been tripped up and has experienced the full force of an adversary's charge, who has been knocked down in body, but not in spirit - one who, as often as he falls, gets up again with greater determination than ever." (Epistulae Morales, I.75)

In another place, Seneca goes so far as to say:

"Disaster is virtue's opportunity."

Disaster. Catastrophe. Failure. Disappointment. It's all about how we react to difficulties. Do they weaken us and take us down, or strengthen us and build us up? To an amazing extent, and within an extraordinarily wide range of circumstances, that's largely up to us. And in responding well to the trouble we face in our own lives, we can be an example to others of what it's like to be knocked down, but not knocked out.

Trust The Process

We have this tendency, most of us, to want things in the world to operate like a classic light switch, on or off. You want to change a bad habit? Cut the switch off. Done. You want a new skill? Click the switch on. You got it.

But, of course, life is mostly about process. As Aristotle realized long ago, we're all in a state of becoming. As we pursue goals, we're engaged in a process of transformation, altering not just the world around us, but ourselves, along the way.

If you want a light switch image for making things happen, try the modern dimmer switch, where you can start seeing positive results with the least little bit of illumination and gradually, over a sweep of effort and time, however brief in this little symbol, increase the results to a blaze of light where you then glow, along with your circumstances.

Almost everything in the world is a process. We're in a hurry for results. But if we're moving in the right direction, there's one thing we need, one thing we often forget. We need to trust the process, however slow or indirect it might seem. We can certainly improve the process, in many cases, and where we can, we should. But in order to be motivated to do even that, we need to trust the process. We need to honor the truth, or reality, of process itself.

We value doing. Most of us value being. More of us need to value becoming.

Trust the process.

That's your thought for today, as your process unfolds.

Pondering Tenacious Curiosity

Recently, I wrote in praise of curiosity ("The Secret Source of Creative Success" - to be found about a dozen blogs below). Today, I have an addendum. A friend yesterday sent me a link to a New York Times article on a 76 year old mathematician who happens to be a billionaire, and a good deal richer than others in the world of business whose names are nearly household words. Plus, he's a really nice guy who gives to worthy causes.

In the article, Jim Simons gradually reveals the key to his success. It's tenacious curiosity.

Curiosity can sometimes be like a bubble, forming quickly and popping just as fast. I wonder, we think, and then something interrupts us, ending our momentary intrigue. And the fleeting interest results in nothing. But in some people, curiosity can be like a plant, or a tree, springing forth from a seed of wonder, and then continuing to grow, and becoming strong. It's more like persistence, and dogged pursuit in this state of attention and concern that can lead to something great.

Clearly, curiosity won't help us much if it has an ephemerally short shelf life. It's tenacious curiosity that gives rise to patient investigations and what Simons credits as his ultimate secret weapon to seal the deal in his investigations - the proclivity to ponder.

Now, let's face it, pondering is not high up on the list of activities we're encouraged to engage in at the current cultural moment. To many people, it would seem as practical as yodeling, but without all the noise. And yet, it's behind breakthrough creativity, in math, science, business, art, and life.

Philosophy, Aristotle said, begins in wonder. Philo - the love of. Sophia - wisdom, or insight. All creativity begins in curiosity, or wonder, and the highest creations then come from sustaining that state of mind and heart, while also putting to work the power of pondering - turning ideas around in our thoughts, contemplating various aspects of them, consulting our deepest intuitions, and opening ourselves almost meditatively to greater insight.

So, my augmented recommendation today is to cultivate in yourself a tenacious curiosity, coupled with the profound power of pondering.

And when people question you for simply sitting still, staring out the nearest window, in silent consideration of the thoughts that your curiosity has sparked, you can tell them your philosopher recommended it as your key to the next great thing you'll do.

Ponder the possibilities.

A Simple Luxury: Everyday Beauty

Every morning, we get these push notifications from social media - this person has requested or accepted a LinkedIn connection, that person has endorsed you, there is a new comment on your post, and you have new followers on Twitter. Going through the first run of emails for the day, I usually brush by these quickly. But today, a name caught my eye. I have a new Twitter follower who is the founder and CEO of one of the world's most interesting companies, and one that I especially admire. 

In 1988, Peter Stas and his wife Aletta Bax launched the Swiss watchmaking firm of Frederique Constant. Their vision was simple and brilliant: craft beautiful, elegant watches that would be useful works of art, and accessible to more people than the already existing high-end timepieces for which Switzerland had long been known.

If you are fortunate enough to have artwork in your home that you love - paintings, drawings, sculpture, beautiful rugs, china, or pottery - I hope you enjoy each piece nearly every time you pass it, or sit near it. And if you have easy access to a great museum, or gallery, you can visit to enjoy whatever is on display, sometimes created by the most talented of artists in history, or perhaps in your region of the world. But what about the rest of your time? Are you in touch with beauty in an ongoing way? I've come to believe quite firmly that there is a deep aesthetic dimension to our experience of the world, every day, and that we need frequent contact with beauty, in many of its various forms, in order to be our best, feel our best, and flourish in the most complete ways.

A beautiful watch is a small work of art, inside and out, that can go with you nearly everywhere, available throughout the day to add just a spark of the aesthetic to your experience. But the most beautiful watches, for the past half century, have become exorbitantly expensive, and have, in many circles, turned into rare luxuries whose value has subtly shifted, from intrinsically valuable works of art, to often primarily social signifiers - signs that set their wearers apart as members of the cultural elite, the "one percenters" with power, money, and status. Too many people who purchase such amazing, small handmade machines of intricate elegance that sit on the wrist and provide some of the most important information we can gain, do so these days primarily for show, to prove something, to indicate their level of financial attainment and membership in a rarified club of peers. Luxury, in step with this, has become almost synonymous with inaccessibility, the unaffordable and out of reach for the majority of people who could genuinely enjoy that experience of using the goods and services typically thought of as luxuries.

Peter rightly saw that this has gotten all out of joint. Luxury, at its heart, is meant to be primarily about ease and enjoyment, not social display and status achievement. So he and Aletta set out to create beautiful watches, useful works of art that could travel with you throughout your day, and be accessible luxuries, valued primarily for their mastery of craftsmanship and aesthetic qualities, not simply for their brand symbolism, flash, or bling. But of course, beauty has its own flash and bling. And now their brand, Frederique Constant, has become known for its purity of concern with luxury in its original sense, providing ease and enjoyment, which, of course, for most of us must involve reliability, something else they view as of peak importance. They significantly underprice their competition, not by cutting corners on quality, but by focusing on what really matters, and on what they most want to accomplish. And they provide beauty to more of the world, as a result.

Welcome to my little philosophy family, Peter! You believe in the right things!

You can follow Peter on Twitter, where he exists as @pcstas.