I had never heard of Oliver Emberton before this piece
popped up on one of my news feeds. It is dated from around a year ago, and is
brief. And yet, despite or perhaps because of its brevity, it vastly outshines
the everyday round of earnest entreaties by would-be moral philosophers.
Emberton’s common sense, down-to-earth approach is refreshing.
Well, more than refreshing. Compared to those who want us all to run off in
search of an ideal, to tilt at windmills, to seek a pot of gold at the end of a
rainbow, Emberton is tell you to get out of the clouds and get down to work.
The internet and the media are filled with whiners whose plaints amount to: why am I not more successful? To which Emberton offers his
first moral principle: The problem is not that life is unfair. The problem is
that you don’t know the rules. (Evidently, this also means that Emberton is
British.)
What are the rules?
First, “life is a competition.”
This might seem clear, but those who rail against Western
civilization tell us that since competition involves winners and losers, it is
inherently unfair and unjust. If we are all equal, how can some be more equal
than others?
In truth, if you refuse to compete, you are more likely to
lose. Then you will hate competition even more.
Emberton writes:
That
business you work for? Someone’s trying to kill it. That job you like? Someone
would love to replace you with a computer program. That girlfriend / boyfriend
/ high-paying job / Nobel Prize that you want? So does somebody else.
Uh, oh. The lesson is: don’t just coast along. Don’t waste
your time protesting about how unjust it is. If you want to achieve something
in life you should begin by understanding that other people want the same
thing. And that if you are going to beat them at the competition, you are
probably going to have to work harder than they do... assuming that
you have the talent to do so.
He continues:
We’re
all in competition, although we prefer not to realise it. Most achievements are
only notable relative to others. You swam more miles, or can dance better, or
got more Facebook Likes than the average. Well done.
It’s a
painful thing to believe, of course, which is why we’re constantly assuring
each other the opposite. “Just do your best”, we hear. “You’re only in
competition with yourself”. The funny thing about platitudes like that is they’re designed to make you try harder
anyway. If competition really didn’t matter, we’d tell struggling
children to just give up.
I will grant that the platitudes are designed to get you to
do your best, but in truth, telling children to do their best is also a
consolation. Instead we should be telling them to be the best at whatever they are
doing. I appreciate that we lie to children to motivate them, but at some point
the truth will out.
Rather than complain about life’s unfairness, you should engage
fully in the competition:
But
never fall for the collective delusion that there’s not a competition going on.
People dress up to win partners. They interview to win jobs. If you deny that
competition exists, you’re just losing. Everything in demand is on a
competitive scale. And the best is only available to those who are willing to
truly fight for it.
I would mention that in order to compete you also need to
learn how to cooperate with your partners and colleagues. Competition is not
mano-a-mano; it is team vs. team.
Emberton’s second rule is:
You are
judged by what you do not by what you think.
To which I would add, as he does, that your good intentions
and your good feelings are for naught if they are not accompanied by good
deeds. It’s all about your actions in the world, not the state of your soul.
Society
judges people by what they can do
for others. Can you save children from a burning house, or remove a
tumour, or make a room of strangers laugh? You’ve got value right there.
That’s
not how we judge ourselves though. We judge ourselves by our thoughts.
“I’m a
good person”. “I’m ambitious”. “I’m better than this.” These idle impulses may
comfort us at night, but they’re not how the world sees us. They’re not even
how we see other people.
Well-meaning
intentions don’t matter. An internal sense of honour and love and duty count
for squat. What exactly can you
and have you done for the world?
The next time your therapist says that you should tell
yourself that you are a good person, you should ask yourself what you can do to
demonstrate to others that you are a good person or a great artist or a great
insurance salesman.
Emberton adds that your fame depends on the number of people
you impact. I take his point, but I do differentiate between fame and infamy. Celebrities impact large numbers of people,
but this does not, in my view, make them winners. If the whole world is
watching you make a blithering fool of yourself, this might make you rich, but
it will do nothing for your good name.
It’s possible to influence large numbers
of people for the worst. Infamy is not quite the same thing as fame. It does
not bring the same level of respect. Being a rich freak does not bring you to
have very many good friends.
In Emberton’s words:
Write
an unpublished book, you’re nobody. Write Harry Potter and the world wants to
know you. Save a life, you’re a small-town hero, but cure cancer and you’re a
legend. Unfortunately, the same rule applies to all talents, even unsavoury ones: get naked for one person
and you might just make them smile, get naked for fifty million people and you
might just be Kim Kardashian.
You may
hate this. It may make you sick. Reality doesn’t care. You’re judged by what
you have the ability to do, and the volume of people you can impact. If you
don’t accept this, then the judgement of the world will seem very unfair
indeed.
Emberton’s third rule: we should not mistake fairness for
self-interest.
I am modifying his expression slightly, but he is advising
people to stop thinking that if they don’t succeed, then life is unfair.
We are too prone to believe that once we puff up our self-esteem the world will
give us everything we want. Some day people will look back at this and ask: whatever
were we thinking?
In a cartoon illustration, Emberton pictures a whiny
schoolboy saying:
I’ve
sent her a thousand photos of my junk. Why won’t she love meeee?
The question answers itself.
Emberton explains what’s wrong with high self-esteem:
Take a
proper look at that person you fancy but didn’t fancy you back. That’s a complete person. A person with years of
experience being someone completely different to you. A real person who
interacts with hundreds or thousands of other people every year.
Now
what are the odds that among all that, you’re automatically their first pick
for love-of-their-life? Because – what – you exist? Because you feel something for them? That might
matter to you, but their decision is not about you.
Similarly
we love to hate our bosses and parents and politicians. Their judgements are
unfair. And stupid. Because they don’t agree with me! And they should! Because
I am unquestionably the greatest authority on everything ever in the whole
world!
And this means: get over yourself. Emberton does not use the
term but he is saying that you should get over your hypersensitivity and stop
being so thin-skinned:
But
however they make you feel,
the actions of others are not some cosmic judgement on your being.
So, life isn’t fair. Emberton explains his final rule:
Can you
imagine how insane life would be if it actually was ‘fair’ to everyone? No-one
could fancy anyone who wasn’t the love of their life, for fear of breaking a
heart. Companies would only fail if everyone who worked for them was evil.
Relationships would only end when both partners died simultaneously. Raindrops
would only fall on bad people.
Most of
us get so hung up on how we think the world should work that we can’t see how it does. But facing that
reality might just be the key to unlocking your understanding of the world, and
with it, all of your potential.