One for the Books #3
One for the Books #3
Unclenching my mind and asking what’s true with Harris, McKenna and McCarthy
Hey everyone! Greetings from Munich. Whether you’re a long-time reader or a recent subscriber, it’s great to have you here.
This year has seen a mix of business lessons and book reviews from me.
In March, I wrote about what I learned from Ben-Hur and Doctor Zhivago.
Last month I shared career advice from Peter Ohnemus (CEO of dacadoo) and Oliver Burkeman’s slow productivity technique called the 3-3-3 method.
Today I’d like to give a short reading update by diving into three of my favourite books from 2024 so far.
1. Lying by Sam Harris (2011)
Number one today and number one for the ‘highest impact per page’ (if that’s even a metric) this year.
At only 108 pages (including a delightful reader Q&A section) this book punches way above its weight.
Harris’s mantra is simple - don’t tell lies.
That sounds rather obvious. I think most of us get that in an Old Testament “thou shalt not lie” kind of way.
Where it gets interesting is that he also says we should refrain from telling white lies or half-truths.
Telling a lie - because you think it’s kind or harmless - is patronizing towards the other person. You are effectively saying they can’t handle the truth.
As Harris explains:
“When we presume to lie for the benefit of others, we have decided that we are the best judges of how much they should understand about their own lives—about how they appear, their reputations, or their prospects in the world.”
This was a big penny-drop moment for me.
For most of my life, I’ve thought of myself as a truthful person. But if I looked in the mirror, I was also guilty of telling white lies — out of kindness or to avoid conflict or to sidestep uncomfortable conversations.
Like telling family you like the Christmas present when you don’t. Or telling a colleague their presentation was great when it had some glaring gaps.
“By lying, we deny others a view of the world as it is. Our dishonesty not only influences the choices they make, it often determines the choices they can make—and in ways we cannot always predict. Every lie is a direct assault upon the autonomy of those we lie to.”
It’s been two months since I finished the book.
In the last two months, I’ve felt empowered and kind of badass.
I’ve used “not lying” as a sword to cut through the web of half-truths and people-pleasing that have previously filtered into conversations. I find it easier to say “no” to social engagements when I need downtime, it’s less uncomfortable to give constructive feedback to colleagues, and it’s simpler to express my needs in my relationships.
While I still catch myself telling silly white lies here and there, for the most part, I’ve been firm in my convictions, summoning Lying’s hardcover image in my mind as a north star when necessary.
The truth will set you free, as the old adage goes.
2. Spiritual Enlightenment: The Damnedest Thing by Jed McKenna (2002)
Similar to Lying, Spiritual Enlightenment is one of the books that challenged my standard operating procedure the most this year.
Where Lying was more of a moral correction, like adding chlorine to a pool of muddy water, Spiritual Enlightenment shook the entire foundation of the pool.
I’ve had some exposure to writers who talk about enlightenment. Sam Harris (from above) touches on it often in his conversations on the Waking Up app. I’ve also read the likes of Eckhart Tolle (A New Earth) and Peter Matthiessen (The Snow Leopard).
I believe these encounters prepared me to some extent, if not fully, for this friendly assault (I can’t think of a better word) by Jed McKenna.
For context, McKenna (who writes under a pen name as far as I can tell) is a spiritual teacher who lives on a farm in Iowa and runs a retreat where people can meditate and ask him questions. While this might sound trippy and out there, I would encourage you to read it if you’ve ever been tickled by concepts like non-dual awareness, the state of no-self and the illusion of free will.
I can’t say for sure if McKenna is enlightened or not (whatever that means to you). What I can say is that he is hilarious (I caught myself laughing out loud often). He’s a normal dude who plays video games, rides a mountain bike, skydives occasionally, and reads Walt Whitman.
He offers a direct, no-nonsense approach to enlightenment.
“Suffering just means you’re having a bad dream. Happiness means you’re having a good dream. Enlightenment means getting out of the dream altogether.”
I don’t think he cares if more people get enlightened. He is (or he says he is) and he’s happy to ask guiding questions to help other people seeking enlightenment. Instead, McKenna debunks the myths of traditional spiritual practices and teachings, which often lead people away from true enlightenment rather than toward it. While a teacher can point the way, each individual must walk the path alone, confronting their own illusions and misconceptions. There are no shortcuts here, sadly.
I especially enjoyed his analogy about being enlightened versus unenlightened. From his perspective, unenlightened people are all in a dream state, performing, merely playing their part. Like actors on a stage who don’t know they’re in a play compared to the audience looking on (very reminiscent of The Truman Show).
As McKenna explains:
“Imagine you’re in the audience watching a play, and you slowly come to realize that the actors don’t know they’re actors. They think that they’re normal people going about their normal lives, unaware that they’re on a stage, performing. You could never even believe such a thing would be possible if you hadn’t been up there yourself believing the same thing.”
He goes further to explain that the next level would be to leave the theatre. That would be real enlightenment. To leave the constraints of the world, scary as that sounds. Simply put, it’s about letting go of all the beliefs we (our egos) cling to so tightly.
Reading the book left me with a bigger sense of wonder and made me more forgiving towards others and especially myself. A good outcome, I’d say. Apart from not knowing up from down (and being slightly afraid of true enlightenment) after reading it
It felt like unclenching my mind, relaxing my constant search for control and meaning.
One of the writers I enjoy following,
, pointed out something similar — how books by “people who get spirituality” like Merton, McKenna etc. should come with a disclaimer: this will seriously reduce your ambition. He’s not wrong.That’s probably what McKenna means by the “damnedest thing”. The quest for enlightenment is an utterly surprising and paradoxical experience. You start off wanting one thing and end up with something completely different.
3. All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy (1992)
And lastly, we turn to fiction from one of my favourite modern authors, Cormac McCarthy.
After reading Blood Meridian last year, I’ve been on a McCarthy-bender, lapping up everything he’s written. Where I used to be a big Kazuo Ishiguro fan, I now feel myself gravitating to McCarthy’s writing, which is more brutal, matter-of-fact and masculine.
Most recently I completed the Border Trilogy — All the Pretty Horses, The Crossing and Cities of the Plain. Book #1 spoke to me the most, but they’re all damn good.
What I love about McCarthy is that he tells the story at two levels. At the first level, he builds a world of characters and scenery, with grand quests, stories of love, fighting and bloodshed. But at the deeper level, these creations are only devices used to explore philosophical and existential themes.
It’s like a dense philosophy lesson presented as a novel.
What’s fascinating is to note the connection between McCarthy and McKenna’s writing. Everything is as it should be, don’t get trapped in illusions, seek the truth. As one of McCarthy’s characters muses:
“The world is quite ruthless in selecting between the dream and the reality, even where we will not.”
As for the story, All the Pretty Horses is set in the 1940s and follows the journey of a young cowboy, John Grady Cole, who seeks a new life in Mexico after his family loses their farm in Texas.
Grady’s character represents everything that’s right in the world. He’s fair, kind, and honourable. A main character you love to support, even when the odds are stacked against him. Because he’s so young, only 16 years old, he’s naive in the best kind of way. He truly believes his willpower and moral character will carry him through everything.
“Long before morning I knew that what I was seeking to discover was a thing I'd always known. That all courage was a form of constancy. That it is always himself that the coward abandoned first. After this all other betrayals come easily.”
During his journey, he finds work on a ranch (or Hacienda) where he demonstrates his talent for breaking wild horses. While training them, he displays a level of care and understanding for the beasts like no other.
“What he loved in horses was what he loved in men, the blood and the heat of the blood that ran them. All his reverence and all his fondness and all the leanings of his life were for the ardenhearted and they would always be so and never be otherwise.”
On the farm, he falls in love with Alejandra (small spoiler alert), the daughter of the farm’s owner (the Hacendado or patrón). Their love is doomed from the start, which sets the scene for Grady to show his character in hardship.
This is where McCarthy comes into his element.
‘Life is tough and you have to deal with it’ is the underlying message. While that sounds sombre, I actually like the honest, unromanticized point of view.
The illusion of free will (a core McCarthy theme) also rears its head. Even though Grady knows it is a forbidden life, he can’t un-love Alejandra. You are free to do whatever you desire, but you are not free to choose your desires.
Pretty sobering stuff, but McCarthy makes it digestible with the odd joke and comic scene. I have a new appreciation for horses, cowboys and hanging tough now.
That’s all for this edition.
If you'd like to read some of my previous reviews, please check out:
One for the Books #1: My Reading List: 30 Books to Base Your Life On
One for the Books #2: What I learned from Ben Hur and Doctor Zhivago
Also, here’s a quick round-up of the books I’ve reviewed so far in 2024:
Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton (1948) — written on the eve of Apartheid in South Africa. How us versus them (black versus white) politics feeds on fear and baser instincts.
Liar’s Poker by Michael Lewis (1989) — an insider’s account of Wall Street in the 80s. Big egos, big booms and big busts.
Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ by Lew Wallace (1880) — the story of Jesus, but told in a historical fiction, narrative form. One of my all-time favourite books now.
Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak (1957) — a tale about the brutal impact of communism on society. How the promise of the Russian revolution quickly turned into a nightmare.
Prophet Song by Paul Lynch (2023) — set in a dystopian future where Ireland falls into a dictatorship. A grim, but important read about the fragility of democracy and the rule of law.
The Anthology of Balaji: A Guide to Technology, Truth, and Building the Future by Eric Jorgenson (2023) — a technologist’s view of how the world will look 20-50 years from now. Think cryptocurrency, the fall of nation-states and the rise of the sovereign individual.
Angela’s Ashes, a memoir by Frank McCourt (1996) — a funny, yet heartbreaking account of an Irish kid’s upbringing in New York during the Depression.
If you’ve read anything you think will be right up my alley, please leave a comment below. I’m always on the lookout for great works of writing.
Until next time - happy creating.
— John
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I've followed Sam Harris for years, but I find him to be strident, particularly in his ever-present theme of atheism.
I find that in our current time, the art of dissembling is an absolute necessity. I want to keep my literary and cultural friends and if ignoring the elephant-in-the-room, political identity, is necessary for maintaining those relationships, well, that is the price. And the price is a small loss of personal integrity. But at least I am aware of the equation.
I really must read McCarthy. Harold Bloom wrote of him being the heir to the American and Emersonian tradition of Melville.
Thank you for the update and the reminder, Friendo!
Thanks for this John, some really interesting books to add to my reading wish list.
I’ve really enjoyed a few books by Cormac McCarthy, but I couldn’t find a way in to ATPH. I think it broke me when I stopped counting at 100-odd words in one sentence without punctuation. Might be time for a revisit.
Two that really struck me recently in unexpected places were Memoirs of Hadrian by Marguerite Yourcenar & My Struggle by Knausgaard. Both came highly recommended and rewarded me for stepping outside of my usual crime fiction comfort zone.