Buckle in. This is a long review. I spent nearly as much time writing it as I did reading the book. And while this review is largely negative, it’s not a take-down (note the three stars). I felt that some parts of the book were captivating. In particular, the mini-biographies of masters (contemporary or otherwise). Whenever I was immersed in the life of Leonardo da Vinci, Darwin, or Glenn Gould, I was fully engaged, and these biographical sketches alone made the book worth purchasing. Additionally, the overall structure of the book is well-thought-out, as the outline at the beginning makes clear. The outline is valuable in and of itself, as it makes the entire book comprehensible at a glance.
I could go on. There are many praiseworthy aspects to this book, but I won’t spend much time on them because they have been thoroughly touted in the near-ubiquitous five-star reviews.
Like I said, I found the biographies captivating and interesting. But often, while reading through Robert Greene’s analysis of mastery that follows each biographical sketch, a question began to nag at my mind, and that question was this:
“Is this bullshit?”
Much of the book reads like a cross between Thich Nhat Hanh and a Tony Robbins self-empowerment seminar: listen to the voice within to discover who you really are, be authentic to your true self, resist the pressures of conformity, and unleash the power within. Each one of these points needs a lot of unpacking. Let’s deal first with the notion of discovering who you really are. Is there merit to the idea of a core, innate self?
David Foster Wallace (Master™) has a very poignant and somewhat sad observation that bears mention here:
“Day to day I have to make all sorts of choices about what is good and important and fun, and then I have to live with the forfeiture of all the other options those choices foreclose. And I’m starting to see how as time gains momentum my choices will narrow and their foreclosures multiply exponentially until I arrive at some point on some branch of all life’s sumptuous branching complexity at which I am finally locked in and stuck on one path and time speeds me through stages of stasis and atrophy and decay until I go down for the third time, all struggle for naught, drowned by time. It is dreadful. But since it’s my own choices that’ll lock me in, it seems unavoidable — if I want to be any kind of grownup, I have to make choices and regret foreclosures and try to live with them.”
I bring this up in the context of Mastery for two reasons:
1.) The notion of “being authentic to your true self” is kinda sophomoric in the sense that your self is constantly evolving and changing, and also the fact that your “true self” might contain impulses towards serial homicide as much as astrophysics or chess, and should thus be regarded with due caution. I think your true self is something you create by making decisions, rather than something you excavate by listening to voices, inner or otherwise.
2.) Success, while coveted, is also a form of prison. One of the consequences of being great at something is that you lose the option of being great at something else. If it were true that each of us has one and only one life’s task, which we must divine and pursue, then the foreclosure of other options wouldn’t be an issue. But sometimes people have multiple life’s tasks and they must choose. Do I want to be a writer or a filmmaker? Do I want to be an athlete or a pastry chef? Do I want to be a teacher or sumo wrestler? I contend that people might find several fields, not one, in which they would be equally fulfilled and actualized. Also sometimes zero fields, which is another sad reality which goes unremarked here.
Let’s address another notion that runs rampant through this book, that we must “resist the pressures of conformity.” That’s about as profound as saying “It’s best not to get hit by a car.”
I was a teenager once too. Resisting conformity was my raison d’être. I harbored a vague resentment towards shopping malls and fashion magazines and I read a lot of Howard Zinn. As I matured I realized the equation of conformity = bad is simplistic. First off, most conformity is harmless. Is it really oppressive if you buy a shirt or get a certain haircut because it happens to be in style? Second off, some baseline conformity is essential to the functioning of civilization. Like, obeying traffic laws or refraining from public nudity.
So I’m not arguing in favor of conformity. It’s just as I’ve grown older I’ve noticed that while everyone agrees (in theory) that conformity is bad, (in practice) they conform on a number of fronts, and that the reasons for this conformity are most often benign, and that paradox is interesting to me.
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Let’s start with the premise. What is mastery? He defines it on the first page as “. . . a form of power and intelligence that represents the high point of human potential. It is the source of the greatest achievements and discoveries in history.” And goes on for another page and a half elaborating mastery as a form of “intense concentration,” “heightened creativity,” and an ability to “penetrate to the core of something real.” All of this is frustratingly vague, but let’s roll with it.
I found his insistence that “mastery” is a form of power to be problematic. Let’s define power as the ability to effect change. To get others to change their behavior, or to change the world. Certainly Dawrin’s mastery accomplished that, as did Einstein’s. But what about Glenn Gould? Bobby Fischer? Usain Bolt? These guys are immensely skilled at a particular task, but does their skill amount to power? In other words, did Bobby Fischer’s mastery of chess really change anything about the world? Perhaps “power” doesn’t need to be defined that broadly. Maybe it’s only power over your own self represented by mastery, the power to practice and improve. Glenn Gould et al would now fit the bill. I think this would be better defined as discipline, but whatever. You want to call it power? Be my guest.
The problem here is that we’re still left wondering what, exactly, is mastery? Is it simply being highly skilled? Or is it being effective? Or being successful? Or being recognized? Or original? These are overlapping but distinct ideas, and Greene doesn’t parse them in any satisfactory manner.
Another weakness is that the book presumes you want to be a master. Even if it’s true that everyone desires to be truly great at something, the book never elucidates why, and thus misses a prime opportunity to get at the core of the human condition. What’s driving us? Why are we so dissatisfied? What is it about the existential maw that drives us to practice scales at the piano or found internet start-ups? That’s the truly interesting question, and the book never once addresses it, only threatening us with depression if we don’t pursue our life’s task.
The book explains that attaining mastery is hard work. It can involve isolation, poverty, and sheer drudgery. And while most of us intuitively agree that mastery is worth it, again, the book doesn’t really explain why. It makes a half-assed attempt at one point, saying that pursuing your life's task is the only way to be truly happy. But what if you actualize your life’s task and you’re still unhappy? David Foster Wallace, Kurt Cobain, and Virginia Woolf were all masters, and guess what they have in common…
There are many things I would like to be truly great at. I have enormous respect for anyone with a work ethic. I play piano, fairly well, but I’m no Glenn Gould. I sometimes wonder what potential could be unleashed if I seriously sat down and started practicing six hours a day. But I also suspect that the secret to a good life is more balance than achievement. And I’m confused how to navigate these seemingly contradictory intuitions (working hard vs. stopping to smell the roses). I received no guidance from this book.
I’m not an evolutionary biologist, but I’m skeptical of the idea that we each possess secret intellectual superpowers temporarily suppressed by modern civilization. I think that modern civilization has unleashed the potential of the average human far more than any time in history. I’m suspicious of Greene’s characterization of human evolution more broadly. If it’s true that evolution programmed us with the ability to be really really good at something if we try really really hard, it’s also true that evolution programmed us with the instinct to conserve precious calories by sitting on the couch and watching Netflix. So our evolutionary heritage is less a force to be unleashed than a force to be overcome if we want to put a man on Mars or learn to break dance.
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Other problems:
Generalizations - lots of generalizations of the prima facie sort, such as “our minds are always hurrying to generalize about things,” which is itself a generalization.
Giving names to things that don’t need names - on pg. 180 he writes, “This is The Primary Law of the Creative Dynamic that you must engrave deeply in your mind and never forget: your emotional commitment to what you are doing will be translated directly into your work. If you go at your work with half a heart, it will show in the lackluster results and in the laggard way in which you reach the end . . .” Basically, he’s saying you gotta be sincere. The Primary Law of the Creative Dynamic is a big dull clumsy equivalent of “sincerity.” And I wish like hell it was true. I wish that emotional commitment truly correlated with results, 100% of the time. The poetry of any random teenager is counterevidence. Greene goes on to write that if your motivation is merely money or recognition you will never create great work, and I think this is sort of true, but I also think the desire for money and fame isn’t mutually exclusive from the passionate need to express oneself. As Paul McCartney said, he and Lennon used to sit down and say, “Let’s write a swimming pool.”
Tautologies - such as, “All sound is vibrations.” “Inspiration leads to creativity and creativity leads to inspiration.” “Everything in nature has a structure.” It’s a weakness of style.
Typos - I noticed several errors in subject-verb agreement and one misspelling. If you’re going to write a book about mastery, you might want to master copy-editing first.
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If you’ve actually read this entire review, I’m impressed. Again, I generally enjoyed the book and got a lot out of it. It just that I felt nearly every conclusion that Greene drew from his well-written biographies needed to be qualified.