Thought and Action

I saw this photo on LinkedIn today, with an inscription wishing us all a brave new week. I loved it, and then began to think. I wrote a comment and now will expand a bit.

I love this picture for many reasons. For one, it shows the importance of paying attention to the gaps. Don't just look at what's there before you, put in place prior to your arrival, but also attend carefully to what's not there. Every plan and path forward has gaps. And you're much better off seeing them in advance rather than, unaware, stepping into them.

Second, this is an image that can give many people inner chills. And that's good. Even when you don't do extreme sports and outdoor challenges like the one depicted, you can metaphorically confront a version of the same sort of fear as you try anything new and daunting. All genuine adventures are surrounded by fog and fraught with danger and seem to promise a precipitous fall if things don't go just right. So, it's only the equally brave and careful who can reliably get to the other side. Thought and action together work best. And those with the vision to see the unseen most often gain the most of both.

The Magical Cousins for Leadership Greatness

In a world of hype and exaggeration, there's still one quality that's widely underrated and under-appreciated: Humility. It's to be found, in its true form, in the world's most spiritually mature people, whose authentic power quietly works wonders. And its cousin is nobility.

Nobility and humility together are perhaps the ultimate yin and yang—apparently polar opposites that are ironically and wonderfully involved in each other's true nature. I think true humility flows from a noble worldview and only arises within such a big picture of deep and true value. And a genuine nobility is always graced with the accompaniment of humility as it walks the world.

Those who balance these two qualities in their authentic beauty can do amazing things.

They are the twin keys to great leadership and fully realized personhood.

A Christmas Reflection

Christmas is about new beginnings. It's about the miraculous entering the mundane and transforming it, while also revealing its genuine nature. It's about the true power that comes in real humility. The big in the small. The most remarkable in the least expected of places. A gift that unfolds over the years. It's about the tiny beginnings of forgiveness, redemption, and reconciliation. It speaks of the great high value of the sojourner, and the power the lowest of us have to both witness and help usher in a new era. It's a call to us all. And a reminder of the joy at the bottom and pinnacle of this cosmic adventure.

Merry, Joyous, Happy Christmas, Y'all.

Religion and Business

One of the most unacknowledged problems we can face in business, as in society more broadly, is how the dark side of religious diversity in the workplace can play out in subtle and divisive ways. What I have in mind is any form of extremism, privately held, and its potential impact on the culture of an organization. Religious diversity in itself can be a wonderful thing, as we benefit from the various perspectives of good people who see life as shot through with the sacred, and treat others as inherently and eternally valuable. But there are extremists in nearly every tradition who view the world very differently from many who may fly the same general banner. And their divisive views, based on ancient struggles, can intrude into our best efforts in unfortunate ways.

The solution is as simple as it is difficult. Every mature religion needs hermeneutical principles, or rules of interpretation for their holy texts and practices, based on their highest and clearest spiritual and moral insights. We've always had our treasures in earthen vessels, and we need to grasp what that means. Otherwise, we'll never get past the terrible blight of tribalism.

A Philosopher Takes the Microphone

This is a true story in every detail. Last night, I dreamed that I was at a comedy club, sitting somewhere up front. And, before I knew it, I was in front of the crowd and I was telling jokes, extemporaneously. I suddenly woke up from sleep in the middle of it all, but the dream somehow still continued in my head. I looked at a watch on the bedside table. It was 6 AM. I thought about getting up to write down what I was seeing and hearing, but the jokes weren’t that good. So I stayed in bed and watched myself do the rest of the unplanned act. Then I got up and ate breakfast, as many professional comedians do after a late show, and perused the New York Times, and then decided I should write down my fantastical dream.

It was open mike night at the comedy club, and the first three people up had been pretty good. Then there was a long lull. I was there just to relax, and so far had enjoyed the experience. At that point, I finished a beer and got up from my chair to go to the men’s room, but as I crossed over the front of the club, the proprietor got the wrong idea and shoved a microphone at me, and then a spotlight swiveled in my direction. I was completely taken by surprise. And what I said apparently came over the sound system loud and clear.

"No, no, no, there's been a mistake—I’m a professional philosopher."

A guy up front shouted, 'Then, obviously,' and there was scattered laughter.

I said, "Don’t laugh, it’s true—or maybe, go ahead and laugh, in honor of our context, but not at me, of course, or my choice of work, if you can call it that." Scattered chortles could be heard and three people actually clapped.

"No, I’m serious. I hold three degrees in philosophy, and they cost so much, I refuse to put them down. Well, technically, I earned only two degrees, but when my time at the university ended and I had to explain to my mother that I had chosen to study philosophy, she gave me the third degree—a grilling that would have made Socrates proud. It was nearly up to the standards of what the CIA calls 'enhanced interrogation.'

"Once mom had pronounced the word ‘philosophy’ properly and enunciated it a second time, she said, with a look of sheer disbelief, 'Who’s ever going to pay you to know about philosophy?' And, like with every other philosophy question, I found myself … not at all sure of the answer.

"But I imagine that Aristotle’s mother worried, too. She probably had something more practical in mind for him, like real estate. But he stuck with philosophy, and did pretty well. He invented logic. Not that anyone wants to use it, but still, it was a big deal. His mother probably ended up quite proud, but I’m sure she had her days.

"And then, I bet the mother of Aristotle’s most famous student also worried the day that the inventor of logic showed up to teach her son, Alexander the Great. First, can you imagine going through life with a name like that? 'Hi. I’m Alexander the Great.' The other kids must have teased him mercilessly: 'Hey, if you’re so great, how come I’m the one holding your lunch money?' There were a lot of bullies and stolen drachmas along the way. No wonder he ended up wanting to conquer and dominate. And, with his immersion in philosophy, he did pretty well for himself—ironically, in real estate, where his holdings were once described as 'the known world.' Not bad at all.

"But my mother was concerned. And it’s probably no coincidence that I also ended up ... with a license in real estate. I’m not kidding. And that made my mother proud. I mean, she was also proud of her son the doctor, even though it was a PhD. She had always thought MD, Medical Doctor, or JD, Juris Doctor, not PhD, Phoney Doctor.

"The day I officially became a Doctor of Philosophy, I remember well, I was in a small store an hour later, not far from the Yale Campus (notice how I slipped that in—we philosophers are always polishing our resumes for any job that might be out there), and I signed the credit card slip with my usual, big, sloppy signature. The young clerk looked at it and then at me and said, 'Are you a doctor?'

"I said, 'Well, yes,' But before I could give him the sort of long and detailed explanation that we philosophers always like to provide for nearly anything, he showed me a rash on his arm right below the elbow.

"He said, 'Look at this. I’ve got this skin irritation and it’s really bad. What should I do?'

"Well, I didn’t know how to react to that except to say, 'It looks like contact dermatitis. Soak it in warm salt water, which is called "Dakin’s Solution," and do this three times a day, and in a week or two it should be gone.'

"The guy said, 'Wow, thanks.' Then, as I turned to leave with my merchandise and get out as soon as possible, he asked, 'What kind of doctor are you?'

"I said, 'Epistemologist,' and walked quickly toward the door.

"That’s a completely true story. But I digress. I’m a real doctor, of philosophy, and the author of 26 published books. I should clarify that this is the number that have actually been printed and sold. It’s a shame. They said that the new technology for publishing was such a great thing—it’s called 'Print on Demand.' I should have realized that, for most philosophy books, there’s a fundamental problem with that approach—No demand. I mean, in a world of shrinking Kierkegaardians and expanding Kardashians, the profundity market has gotten pretty small. I’ve even heard that they’re about to shut off the lights at most major philosophy departments. But that shouldn’t be a problem. Philosophers have been groping in the dark for centuries.

"Are there any philosophy majors here tonight? Raise your hand. Come on. Let’s see a show of hands, please. Ok. One guy, raising his hand with great hesitation and a look on his face that says he’s not really sure about doing this. But, hey, a philosophy major ends up being not very sure about anything. And, this is a comedy club, so I can quote on this point another philosophy major and actual comedian, the great Steve Martin, who once said that, no matter what your major is in college, two years later you forget it all, except for one particular choice. If you major in philosophy, you’ll remember just enough to mess you up for the rest of your life. Am I right? Our philosophy major is nodding agreement—a historic moment, the first time in all of human history that two philosophers have agreed on anything, and it happened right here, right now. And if we include Steve, it’s actually three of us. We should call the newspaper. Or, at least, so it seems to me. I can’t, of course, be sure.

"Philosophy is admittedly a strange thing to study. I remember the professor of my Intro to Philosophy course. If you said, 'Good morning,' he'd spend ten minutes trying to prove you wrong. And about halfway, you'd be ready to agree you'd probably been overly optimistic. And it wasn't just him. Philosophers have never been known as easygoing and fun. I don't think Kant or Hegel were ever accused of having a laugh or even cracking a smile. And then there was Sartre with his claim that 'Hell is other people.' Not exactly the life of the party, either, that one. And don't even get me started with Schopenhauer.

"All this makes a New York Times story some time ago quite puzzling. Did you see it? They tried to find the number one spot in Manhattan for romantic hookups and were surprised to discover that it was the big Barnes and Noble store. Yeah, a bookstore. And the hot spot in the store was—I'm not kidding—the philosophy section. But maybe it makes sense after all. I mean, anyone you see there, you can be pretty sure they're not doing anything Friday night. Or Saturday night, or pretty much any other evening.

"And, you know, there aren’t that many philosophy majors at all these days, as you might imagine. And it’s a bit strange that there are any who do it successfully. I mean, if you think that majoring in philosophy would be a smart career move for you, then, maybe, you’re not quite bright enough to be tackling it in the first place. It’s a real dilemma.

"But I did it, and I continue to practice it for a living, I mean philosophy, spending my days doing what professional philosophers do—thinking, pondering, reasoning. Our friends and families should have a support group like ALANON: maybe they could call it PHILANON. I can imagine it now. Someone says: 'He’s just sitting around the house thinking all the time. I can’t take it any more.' In another folding chair, a lady replies, 'I know what you mean. My husband objects to everything I say, and to half the things that he says himself. It’s making me crazy!' Therapy might indeed help—or at least group empathy and commiseration would be nice.

"But, as I said earlier, I don't just think, I also write books. And, the last time I was here at this club, a few years ago, I hate to say, I brought one of them with me. And I remember well what happened. I put it down on a table and turned away for a few seconds and some guy nabbed it and took off. Yeah, really! A purloined philosophy book!

"But a block away from the club, a cop saw him looking suspicious and grabbed him. But when he got a look what he'd taken, he realized that all he could accuse him of, in the situation, was clearly not understanding the concept of theft. He explained to the guy that a real theft involves wrongfully taking something of value, and that what he had done was disqualified on numerous grounds. First, a book of academic philosophy has no obvious value, or, well, at least one of mine. Yeah, I was known around the precinct, where a former philosophy major worked in bookkeeping. There are jobs, after all. Second, it’s not obvious that you can wrongfully take a book of technical philosophy from anyone. You’re actually doing them a favor. You’re saving them the agony of reading all the incomprehensible sentences and serpentine arguments to be found therein, not to mention all the words like ‘therein’ also therein. It’s not a criminal act, but an altruistic one, almost like falling on a live grenade to save another person, or grabbing a poisonous snake away from a toddler.

"But then, the guy in custody made it worse for himself when he said, 'I took it because I liked the cover.' It did have a very pretty cover. But the cop knew that judging a book by its cover was one of the cardinal fallacies in philosophy. And yet, he reasoned that, ironically, maybe this particular guy really needed to read such a book after all.

"Beyond that, the cop saw right away that what the guy had stolen was … a book on ethics—yeah, ethics. And, of course, that’s exactly the sort of guy who should have such a book in his possession, one who actually needs the book. In a sense, you could say, it’s rightfully his. I mean, who better to possess and read a book on ethics than a guy who stole it? It’s a larceny that somehow reaches the level of serendipity.

"And I’m pleased to report that the whole situation worked out well in the end. The guy avoided jail time. And he actually read the book. So I do have at least one reader out there. Amazing. And it gets even better. My reader turned his life around, got an education, and double majored in business ethics and criminal law, two specialties that nowadays seem to be exceptionally well suited for each other.

"But, well, hey. That’s enough from me. You’ve been a great audience. And I was just on my way to the men’s room. So, as they say, I gotta go. Thanks!"

Wisdom and Virtue

The most dangerous things in our time may be counterfeit wisdom and faux virtue. Without real wisdom and virtue, there is no peace, no authentic partnership, no true courage, no genuine friendship, and no chance at all for any deep and abiding happiness.

Wisdom and Virtue: Simple. Elusive. Vital.

Elf on the Shelf and the Specter of Cognitive Decline

So. Apparently it was me. I was the one at fault. Without any shred of mindful, occurrent awareness of what I was doing, I had closed the kitchen cabinet doors, shutting in and away from view, our very own Elf on the Shelf.

I had been instructed before bedtime that our small thin and red-garbed guest would be residing overnight in the kitchen cabinet amid such items as pepper, and pasta, and assorted baking goods. And I was to leave the cabinet doors wide open so that he and his faithful steed, the silent reindeer, could be suitably discovered in the morning by our granddaughter, who has successful espied the capricious imp in creative recline, lo these many December days for countless years past.

And, apparently, when I paused a viewing of A Place to Call Home (Australian TV through subscription service) to prepare a bowl of popcorn and festoon it with fresh ground black pepper alongside blistered southern North Carolina peanuts, I grabbed the pepper mill from right under the visiting lad's dangling feet and spiced the corn, and then performed the forbidden act of closing the cabinet doors on Elf, who then had to endure the entire night in the company of boxes of uncooked pasta and sundry spices. But of course, the true crime was the rendering of him as relatively undiscoverable in the morning's dash to school.

I tell this sad tale for a reason. When confronted with the evidence of my wrongdoing, the clearly closeted Elf, I had literally no memory of having performed the heinous deed of shutting him away. Zero visual recall. And of course, I assumed that either my wife was the unintentional culprit, or that our large black and white cat had, on the prowl, decided to close the cabinet doors, but then of course, so silently as to give no hint of his mischief. It could not have been me. It was epistemically impossible that I could have done such a thing without even the slightest trace of memory. I could have accepted the hypothesis of rambunctious poltergeist before admitting that I could have been the doer of the deed.

I tell you all this for a reason. Don't worry. I haven't forgotten my point, as I had my mistake. Anyone at my age, and especially with my profession, sensibly prefers never to entertain a possible implication of poor memory, indicative as it might be of any measure of cognitive decline. It couldn't have been me! I cast a suspicious glance at the border collie. They are known for their canny intellect and prodigious feats of physical surprise. But no. All signs pointed to the philosopher. It was truly alarming.

But then I remembered the phenomenon of "selective attention." A decade or more ago, a video was being passed around of some boys playing basketball on an outdoor court. Viewers of the short clip were then asked if they had seen anything unusual. And I, like most others, replied with some perplexity that I had not. It was then revealed that a man in a gorilla suit had walked slowly through the video frame behind the action of our focused attention. We could not have been more surprised. So, perhaps, in my intense focus on popcorn and pepper and peanuts, and getting back quickly to the show, I had astonishingly not noticed the Elf of whose presence I had been warned, sitting just above the pepper. I had fixed my snack and, out of habit, closed the cabinet —a habit to whose superiority any married man will gladly attest. So that was it, not a memory lapse due to age, harbinger that it might be of untoward things to come, but merely the trick of selective attention, a weakness that can accompany any of us, whatever our age. That was it!

But then, I had been told of the Elf's location and need for fresh air. That, I had clearly forgotten in my own late night kitchen raiding activities. And this element was not about selective attention. So I had to admit to myself, the most stringent of judges on matters of evidence and reasoning, that a common attendant of age had been responsible for my lapse. And at that exact moment, I suddenly also realized I'd been waking around the house all morning without remembering to zip up my pants. Oh, well.

But then, the Elf himself comforted me with tales of his boss, and the Jolly Old Elf's own forgetfulness, after all the centuries of lists and appraisals of childhood conduct, and changes of address. You yourself may have been victim to a "naughty or nice" mix-up at some point. Mrs. Claus could only roll her eyes. And yet, still, he somehow gets the job done. And so, shall, perhaps I, despite such momentary, and at the same time, monumental, reminders that as the years pass, so will some of our capacities of mental retention. But don't yet put me on the shelf, Ok?

Rumination

Our noun comes from a Latin verb meaning "to chew." In the life of the mind, rumination is chewing over some idea or problem thoroughly. And that can be a very good thing to do.

But as with nearly all good things, rumination is subject to the Double Power Principle. The power it has for good is matched by the power it has for ill. I recently read a short article about the downside that's manifested in the mental activity of going over and over and over something that's negative in your life—mulling it, stewing over it, pondering it, trying to figure it out, repeatedly sensing anew how wrong it is, and endlessly asking, "Why has this happened to me?" Here's the problem. When the situation is something you can't control or even act on productively, rumination can become a very unhealthy habit. A better approach is to act on what you can control and walk away from what you can't control. Sure, seek to understand it. But then: Drop it. Forget about it. Move along.

Sometimes, we break out of the chains of rumination best when we find other things to do, creative projects, fun activities, any alternative things to keep our minds busy. Rumination has its place. But out of place, it can turn into a destructive loop of obsessive thoughts. The good news is that our thoughts are ultimately up to us. It make take effort, but with enough work, we can keep ourselves on a healthier track.

Go Deep. Be Wise.

It's time we stopped defining ourselves and others by our opinions, our beliefs, and even our knowledge, or ignorance. It's as bad as defining anyone by color or ethnic origin or gender. We're much more than that. And we have to look more deeply in order for understanding and compassion and love to get a firm hold in our lives.

It's also time we stopped defining ourselves by the perspectives and habits that have worked well for us in the past. We too easily fall in love with our own mindsets and frameworks, intoxicated by the sweet smell of their success. When we learn to hold more loosely to all our property, and that includes our "intellectual property," we then become more open to the new and perhaps superior path that a subtle form of arrogance or comfort would otherwise block us from seeing.

The moral structure of the spirit requires us to be closed off to very few things and their implications. Otherwise, to be open is to be empowered. To go deep is to be wise.

Socrates and Jesus

I always had my Intro to philosophy students read Plato's Apology (The Greek word means "Defense"), an account of the trial of Socrates, during the first week of our class, because of the portrait contained there of a man wholly dedicated to the life of the mind. Offered the chance to live and go free if he would just stop doing philosophy on the city streets, Socrates said, "As long as I live and breathe, I shall never cease to philosophize." My students were stunned to see an adult, as they would say, committed to a mission, so imbued with a purpose, that he would willingly go to his death rather than recant or change his ways. Such determination! Such passion!

Socrates was intensely committed to truth. And he died for that commitment. Jesus, by contrast, was fully committed to love, and he died for that.

I would suggest that you can be committed to truth without an equal felt commitment to love and compassion, but that you can't really and fully be committed to love without also thoroughly honoring truth. So Socrates had, perhaps, a big part of life's puzzle, but not the whole thing.

An old professor, an orthodox Jewish Rabbi who taught philosophy of science, once said to me, "Christianity is all about what you believe, while Judaism is all about what you do." Well. It's not quite so stark, is it? But I get what he was saying. Since Jesus was a Jew, and so were most of the early Christians, maybe we should dig a bit deeper. Perhaps Christianity is more about an attitude and commitment of the heart than about either the beliefs or the actions that might properly attend that attitude and commitment. We do cherish our beliefs and opinions. We're willing to fight for them. Maybe we should cherish God and his creatures more.

There's this other contrast between Socrates and Jesus. Socrates could come across as arrogant. Jesus, strangely, despite alluding repeatedly to his own literal divinity, seemed to live and preach humility. The trick in life is to have all the right commitments, but with all the right attitudes.

The Greeks didn't appreciate the deep power of humility. Christian theologians have, because of Jesus. In the end, truth may indeed be worth dying for. But it's love that's worth living for.

The Great Gift of Poetry

I hope you read good poetry now and then. Great poetry is of course even better. This week I've been reading the poetry of David Rigsbee, an amazing poet who grew up in a little house across the street from the home of my youth, his father a musician who had given up his performance dreams to have a son and then another, and took a job at the cigarette factory in town to support his family. And one boy, my funny and daring best friend in childhood, on a fraught day of anguish, shot himself dead. And the other grew up to perform, but with words. As I'm about to finish his third book of verse, I decided to write him my appreciation like this:

A Man Stretched Across The Hall, Four Feet Up

A philosopher, an older Yale trained logician and master of modality dedicated to defending the faith liked to walk outside my door like the rock climber he was, feet on the wall, soles pressing the paint as his hands pushed the opposing vertical face, shoving hard as if to relocate it inches farther back,

but then his body wouldn't span the full gap as your poems do so well, pressing the mundane, the small quotidian detail on one side, and keenly stretched to the metaphysical extreme on the other, caught between the concrete particulars of a flower or a bee or a gun, but with greater meanings

and longings tattooed on you, and now me, as on a father’s arm, intensely aware of the quick passing, evanescent, transient nature of all that we see and love and feel—and we're never really armed for that, are we?

But if I convey my appreciation like this, it’s as if a chimpanzee took a volume of Kant and opened it and stood on a podium, wearing a little suit

and said, “Chee, chee, chee” with a sound like a quotation from Confucius or Lao Tsu or one of their disciples on life energy—but we know better, and get it that he’s just monkeying around. And so, we can laugh.

Developmental Epistemology.

One of the most important things I came to realize in graduate school eons ago at Yale was that there are, throughout life, conditions and preconditions for knowing. The basic idea is simple. Not everyone can, at any given time, know just anything. Little kids don't know algebra. A six year old doesn't understand the job of a comptroller. The deeper realization is that, all through life, there are developmental conditions for knowing. The first time I looked through a microscope, I saw only my own eyelashes and some blurs. I didn't know how to look, or how to see in that context, properly.

Time and experience led me to understand that there are also moral, aesthetic, and spiritual conditions for knowing. If you've not grown in the right ways, you won't be able to see certain things, or understand them, even if you do see them.

For example, a malignant narcissist can't even understand what's wrong with his actions. He also can't fathom the motivations of altruism. Likewise, a superficial materialist can't understand things of the spirit. Even a religious person may not grasp the deeper matters and perspectives of faith. It depends on whether they've grown yet into the requisite conditions for knowing.

There's an assumption of epistemological egalitarianism in our world that's just false. We aren't all equals in knowing, at any given time. Some of us are farther along than others of us. But there is, in principle, an equality of opportunity to develop appropriately with regard to the basics needed for true wisdom in daily life. The road is there. We just need to walk it.

Remember this when you're in conversation with another person who just does not seem to "get" what you're talking about. There may be an epistemic gap, an incomprehension that can't in that moment be breached. Further growth is needed. Patience may be required. And compassion.

Wisdom

Wisdom.

When you hear or see that word, what do you think? Far too many people seem to mostly draw nearly a blank these days. If asked what it means, they might hesitantly venture that wisdom has something to do with age, or insight, or a calm and peaceful perspective on things. But it seems to be a word and a concept on the far periphery of our culture now. And that's the opposite of how things should be.

Wisdom isn't an extra swirl on the icing of the cake representing a good life well lived. It's a main ingredient of any such cake whatsoever.

There have been times and places of greater perspicacity where wisdom was seen as the ultimate edge in life, or in business, or in all political and military affairs. Look at the book of Proverbs in the Bible. Wisdom is praised as precious beyond all other things. A Japanese proverb states that wisdom and virtue are the two wheels of a cart. In my view, you can't have one without the other. And you can't have either without at least some measure of the additional quality of love praised by top saints and sages—that compassionate care and concern for ourselves and others that lifts us above the petty and degrading squabbles and needless anxieties of this world.

My job is to bring people more wisdom for their lives. And this is more of a challenge than you might imagine. I used to think that people pursue what they need and what they want. I now realize that we pursue only what we KNOW we need and what we want. And too many people in our day have no realization that they need wisdom for the journey. They think that "basic common sense" is all they need, and they have too low a standard even for what constitutes that.

Help me bring an appreciation for wisdom back to the culture at a time when we all greatly need it—across demographics, professions, genders, political parties, industries, and races. Its absence grows increasingly dangerous as the world rambles and meanders forward without its guidance.

People or Principles?

What's more important, the principle or the person?

I was in a fascinating discussion the other day with some university deans. I had just introduced them to my 7 Cs of Success (for more on them, go to the web page located at my site, http://www.tomvmorris.com/the7csofsuccess/. We were talking about successful individuals and organizations and what makes for their success, consulting the wisdom of the ages.

One of the deans asked something that posed an interesting question: What's most important, people or principles? In his well known book Good to Great, Jim Collins talks about the crucial importance of, in his favorite metaphor, getting the right people on the bus, and then getting them into the right seats. In the recent political election, I found myself reminding people over and over that you can vote for principles and policies only by voting for people you have good reason to think you can trust to implement those principles and policies. So, considering Collins and politics both, it can seem like principles have to take a back seat to people. If you want a great business or great team, hire the right people. Principles like the 7 Cs may be interesting, on this line of thought, but are never the most important.

It's an interesting line of thought. But my reply is that the people we deem to be best for our teams and organizations are precisely those individuals who have, however explicitly or intuitively, lived and worked in accordance with what I call The 7 Cs of Success, which crucially include a Character condition, from which trustworthiness grows. In the end, it's so important to have great people because those are the people who act in the right ways to attain proper success in any endeavor. Then, when we show them a framework of wisdom like The 7 Cs, we give them more of a perspective on what they've been doing and will need to do to retain the trajectory of their success in new challenges. The framework itself, in its universal comprehensiveness and logical inter-relations, will help us to take whatever we do to a next level.

Philosophy and Business

Philosophy: Etymologically, it's the love of wisdom. And an object of love is an interesting thing. When you lack it, you pursue it. When you find it, you embrace it. Such love has its own fascination. It's not a soft, warm, glow of feeling, or a giddy infatuation. It's a committed pursuit, an arduous adventure, a voyage, a quest, a stripping away of illusion and everything that's false to get to the beauty of truth, goodness, and unity. The excitement of the pursuit can be great, but the thrill of discovery is even greater. And then the deep satisfaction of using real wisdom and seeing it work to build something stunning can be overwhelming.

True philosophy dips into the mystical to bring us the greatest of the practical. True philosophy breaks all idols and opens us to the absolute numinous behind and within all things. True philosophy empowers us uniquely.

I can't imagine great business devoid of great philosophy. And that's the missing link for so many who have extraordinary products or services or structures to enable new ways of living, but have not yet grasped the deepest wisdom that could propel them to that epoch making world changing success that we sometimes see. That's why I recently wrote up a little book on Steve Jobs: Socrates in Silicon Valley. It's an example of what we can discover when we look at the use of philosophical ideas and techniques and realizations in the world of business. Even for people like Steve, who had so much going against him inwardly in the deep and convoluted wrinkles of his personal struggles, a few philosophical realizations could conquer all. Plato brought us the idea of the philosopher king. I like the idea of the philosopher business builder, as well.

In the end, it's not about how to make your money, but how to make your impact, your difference, and even your soul. Why should we ever settle for anything less?

The Paradox of Our Time

There is a great paradox in the human experience right now. We've never understood leadership better and we've never had worse leaders. We're inundated with books on success and yet failure is everywhere. Never have there been as many courses, essays, and studies stressing the importance of ethics, and yet unethical conduct not only surrounds us but threatens to take us under. We've never understood better the need for unity in our world, and yet we've perhaps never been so divided in so many ways. We live in an age of medical miracles, but far too many struggle to have any access to basic healthcare. We're poisoning the air we breathe and the water we drink. Nations threaten nations at a time when there could be no winners. Knowing that we face imminent existential problems as a species, we dawdle and deny and postpone doing anything.

In every case, at the core of each of these paradoxes we see people valuing position over purpose, status over service, and money over meaning. Warring egos become warring ideologies. We need to turn that around. There's no benefit to being King of the World if the world is in ashes. And it strikes me that our fundamental attitudes are key for any likely transformation. Only the right values and commitments can pull us out of this global and cultural tailspin. And that can arise only from a worldview that values Truth, Beauty, Goodness, and Unity above narrow considerations of self-interest. Working for a true revolution in human hearts and populations is the only way to break the paradoxes than now hold us back and threaten our existence. We can't let the human adventure come to such a sad impasse that we're surrounded with riches and resources that we're unable to use because of the turmoil in too many souls. It's my job as a practical philosopher to point this out. But it's everyone's job to help turn it all around.

The Coming Train

Near Clio, South Carolina
It's a clear fall day, 1960
and I'm eight and I've never
been so far from home.

I'm outside my uncle's house
that badly needs paint
in the hot dry country
that's desolate and remote.

And in his front yard,
if you can call it a yard
since it's all dirty white sand
and tall scattered weeds

There's an old railroad track
crossing the yard too close
to the porch and you can stand
on it and gaze for miles each way.

And then I see a distant train
coming toward me with its light
dim in the distance but I know
it's really bright and it scares me

And I want to cross the track
if I have time to get back again
on the side by the house before
the dark awesome force arrives.

It's an urge to run across that
no-boy's land if I dare, but why
should I care about it at all? And
as the train approaches closer

I feel the pressure inside me
to cross or not to cross.
Will I do it or try it, as the
opportunity rushes on by?

Can I catch it—the chance, not
the train—or will I wait a second
too long and dash just to be dashed
and end my world in that strange place?

And now I know I can cross tracks,
but it’s not always good, and not
ever healthy to wait too long to make
the choice if you might want to return.

Give Your Best. Consistently.

I'm editing a book manuscript on what a successful life is, in our time. In the book I'm interacting extensively with six great thinkers throughout the centuries, including Lao Tsu, Confucius, Cicero, and Emerson. In a passage on Confucius, while explicating some of ideas, I made a point that I'd like to pass along today.  We enter amid the passage. So here goes.

<<When there’s action to be taken, give your best. This is great, basic advice for any endeavor. Early in my career as a public speaker, someone occasionally would tell me in advance of a talk, “This is a really important group”—as if I should take care to be on my game for this one. My response was always, “Every group is a really important group.”  And I meant it. Whether I’m earning the equivalent of a year’s academic salary from speaking to an international group of powerful leaders for an hour, or I’m giving a free talk to a local school or charity, I can’t even conceive of not doing my very best.  

Each group I speak to is, in my estimation and for the duration of that presentation, the single most important gathering of people on earth—regardless of their worldly status as measured by any other standards. I have my own standards. That group is of unrivalled importance to me. The same goes for sitting at home alone with a book, or typing away at the computer. My level of commitment is always the same. Why? First, it’s a matter of personal identity and professional honor. I am who I am. And my work is what it is. No external circumstance can change that. I bring to any situation the utmost of respect for all the people involved, or even potentially involved.

But there’s a second reason as well. A consistent effort in all things on a daily basis can make a huge difference to the ultimate outcomes we experience. Consistency is akin to what military thinkers call “a force multiplier.” It’s a source of leverageand power. And yet, it’s oddly and surprisingly rare to come across this quality in people’s lives – which truly astonishes me. Whether we think of consistency as harmony, fidelity, or constancy, this characteristic is as vital as it is widely ignored in our day.>>

The Meaning of Life is in Small Things

My favorite line in the ancient Chinese wisdom text, The Tao te Ching, always makes me smile. The first time I read it, I laughed out loud at its insight. It says:

"Accept being unimportant."

The New York Times today ran an amazing essay on big dreams, fame, and meaning. Author Emily Smith reflects on George Eliot’s novel Middlemarch, where a character has to give up her big dreams and find her meaning in the small details of a faithful life, raising a family. She will never be famous, or celebrated, Eliot says, and points out to us all:

“But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”

Yes. It's worth reading that again, and slowly. Smith goes on to say, and I'll quote her liberally here:

<<It’s one of the most beautiful passages in literature, and it encapsulates what a meaningful life is about: connecting and contributing to something beyond the self, in whatever humble form that may take.

Most young adults won’t achieve the idealistic goals they’ve set for themselves. They won’t become the next Mark Zuckerberg. They won’t have obituaries that run in newspapers like this one. But that doesn’t mean their lives will lack significance and worth. We all have a circle of people whose lives we can touch and improve — and we can find our meaning in that.

A new and growing body of research within psychology about meaningfulness confirms the wisdom of Eliot’s novel — that meaning is found not in success and glamour but in the mundane. One research study showed that adolescents who did household chores felt a stronger sense of purpose. Why? The researchers believe it’s because they’re contributing to something bigger: their family. Another study found that cheering up a friend was an activity that created meaning in a young adult’s life. People who see their occupations as an opportunity to serve their immediate community find more meaning in their work, whether it’s an accountant helping his client or a factory worker supporting her family with a paycheck.

As students head to school this year, they should consider this: You don’t have to change the world or find your one true purpose to lead a meaningful like. A good life is a life of goodness — and that’s something anyone can aspire to, no matter their dreams or circumstances.>>

The author, Emily Esfahani Smith, is an editor at the Hoover Institution at Stanford University, and is the author of The Power of Meaning: Finding Fulfillment in a World Obsessed With Happiness.

Philosophy: Some Musings

Philosophy is an object of study that's ultimately meant to be a way of life.

Philosophy can confuse and confound, irritate and even enrage before it enlightens. But it will ultimately justify its pursuit and contribute to a distinctive inner peace.

A little philosophy is a dangerous thing because it easily raises questions that can be answered only with great effort in more philosophy.

At the root of philosophy is the love and quest for wisdom. And at the heart of wisdom is compassion. If anyone purports to espouse philosophy, but without compassion, walk away.

Philosophy is questioning what others take for granted, and seeking to understand whatever can be understood among life’s most important matters and mysteries.

Philosophy will not stay silent in the face of lies, ugliness, evil, or alienation because it values Truth, Beauty, Goodness, and Unity.

Philosophy is a calling for some, a reminder for all, and a resource at each of life's big junctures.

Philosophy at its best encourages not just the good of a few but the proper inner health of us all.