Given that I read The Power of Habit a while back, and have been a subscriber to James Clear’s newsletter for a while, I should have read this a long time ago. But better late than never.
He begins by explaining how small changes can make a big difference over a period of time. Positively and negatively. ‘Habits are the compound interest of self-improvement.‘ Hence the word atomic – small, part of a larger system, and the building blocks of great results.
I think one of the best insights of the book is the three layers of behaviour change framework – outcomes, processes, identity. While most people focus on outcomes, systems (processes) are a better way. ‘ You do not rise to the level of your goals, You fall to the level of your systems.‘ But the best way is to focus on the ‘identity’ – the person you want to become. The first stop is to figure out one’s habits, which tend to be quite a few over a period of time. As per research, apparently 40-50% of our daily actions are habits. And many of them are not even consciously-created ones. A habit, as Clear brings up right at the beginning, is a routine or behaviour that is performed regularly – and in many cases, automatically. From an evolutionary perspective, ‘Habits are, simply, reliable solutions to recurring problems in our environment‘. And that means, nature has its own way of creating things that reduce our cognitive load.
He then proceeds to breaking down the process. The process of building a new habit (or getting rid of one) has four steps – cue, craving, response, and reward. Correspondingly, to create a good habit, make it obvious, make it attractive, make it easy, and make it satisfying (and their inversion to get rid of a habit). These make up the Four Laws of Behaviour Change. The remaining chapters are all about bringing this to life. From managing one’s environment to the role of friends and family, fixing procrastination, using commitment devices and motivation rituals, reducing friction, how to stick to good habits, and even automate them when possible. By the time you read the end of this part, you have a fantastic table that can be quite easily applied.
I liked the last 50-odd pages the most because of my own interest in the topics. The perspectives on the role of nature and nurture – ‘genes can predispose, but they don’t predetermine‘, and how to determine the game where your odds of success are higher. Habits are easier when they align to one’s natural abilities. ‘Boiling water will soften a potato but harden an egg. You can’t control whether you are a potato or an egg, but you can decide to play where it’s better to be hard or soft.’
He also brings up the downsides of even good habits, the importance of reviews and realignment, and how one can break the beliefs that are holding one back. Becoming the best version of yourself requires you to periodically edit your beliefs and worldview, and expand your identity. Some of the frameworks have been inspired by others (and Clear makes sure he mentions those) but through framing, easily relatable examples, and ways to implement them in daily lives, he makes application very easy. This is a must-read book, especially if you’re in your 20s and 30s. From experience, compounding is probably the most underrated phenomenon. The earlier you start, the better. ‘The costs of your good habits are in the present. The costs of your bad habits are in the future.’
As I was telling D one day, books are probably the only constant in my life. The earliest ones I have is from the 80s – Amar Chitra Katha. The books I read and the person I am have a correlation, though it’s difficult to establish the direction of causation. And so, continuing from 2019, 2020, and 2021, we have this year’s list. The shortlisting gets tougher as the years go by, so I will add my other favourites on the theme in [these]! From the 56 books I read this year…
Somewhere in the last 100 pages, Duchess tells us that in vaudeville, it is all about the setup. He brings up Mandrake the Magnificent, who wasn’t a great magician, but what he lacked in the general act, he made up in the finale. The book is something like that. The countdown approach to chapters also helps set up a fantastic climax.
The Lincoln Highway is not Rules of Civility, it’s definitely not A Gentleman in Moscow. You’ll be better off without that set of expectations. The characters are younger and less sophisticated though still fascinating, and the narrative didn’t have the subtle nuances the earlier books had. It is probably closer to say, a Huckleberry Finn. Or as someone wrote, it’s an ode or love letter to the classic American road trip. I didn’t love it like I did the other two, but having said that, it is well structured and an absolutely enjoyable read. Something about the book(s) reminds me of Jeffrey Archer – the unambiguity of right and wrong, morally upright characters and a world that was less complex.
The story is of three boys in their late teens who know each other from a juvenile ‘camp’ – Emmett, Duchess and Wally. And Emmett’s precocious younger brother Billy, the fourth musketeer. Towles does a good job of creating multiple narrators – they add perspectives and help in making the characters (and their actions) relatable. The circumstances of the three are completely different, as are the reasons they landed up in the camp. Both of these factors exist on a continuum, with the three characters at different points. And in many ways, this have an impact on their character and the decisions they make. That’s essentially the book – good, evil, the choices we make, and their implications – now and later. In fact, with the destinations and detours, the road (The Lincoln Highway) from one end to the other (in this case, America) is probably a metaphor for life.
The book has connections to Towles’ earlier works. Amor Towles doesn’t seem to be done with Manhattan, and while it doesn’t have the presence it did in Rules of Civility, it is at least a side character. On p455, when Wally describes his uncle’s watch, I had a feeling of deja vu. Turns out the uncle is Wallace from Rules of Civility! The camp at Adirondacks is also revisited. And this might be just a coincidence, but June 1954 is when The Gentleman in Moscow ends. That’s also when this book begins. Maybe we have an Amor Towles Universe forming. I, for one, won’t mind that at all.
Asides: Once you’ve read about Leonello’s amazing business model and that special dish – Fettuccine Mio Amore (p 138), look up Amor Towles’ website for the recipe 🙂 My favourite part was in p505-6 when Abacus Abernathy gives a perspective on the two halves of life – divergence and convergence. First, the world opens out and then, as we age, it closes in. It was amazingly articulated and I could relate to it a lot.
If it doesn’t upend deeply held beliefs and origin stories, it isn’t really a Graeber book! The story goes that from money came debit and credit, but in Debt, he argues, with excellent evidence as always, that long before money came into the picture, we had ‘human economies’ which were imprecise, informal, and had a community-focused and shared ecosystem approach. An ‘everyday communism’ in which people owed favours to each other. And then the favour was converted into a mathematically precise entity, mostly thanks to the machinations of war, and sponsored by the state. Cash, barter, and every other method of financial transaction came later, and began exclusively for scenarios where there was low trust. Debts cannot be stolen, gold and silver can. Favours are relationships. Debt is a transaction. And thus ‘the history of debt is also the history of money’.
He begins with the morality of debt and the paradox of two popular views – paying back what one owes is moral, and lending money as a habit/profession is evil. In the fantastic section on ‘primordial debt’, he traces the cultural narrative of humans owing debts to the God who created them, and how sacrifices were a means to try and pay a debt that could never be repaid. People also owed a debt to society in general, and governments became the custodian of it.
Using evidence (or the lack of it) he shows how the common story of barter leading to a common currency is a myth and that it stemmed from a narrative of ‘the economy’ that was ‘separate from moral or political life’. Barter is a very recent phenomenon, and the correct order is actually credit systems (‘virtual money’ – not to be confused with digital!) – money – barter. And when money came into the picture, it served as a yardstick – of debt. A coin was an IOU. And one that the state was interested in because they wanted uniform systems of weights and measures across their kingdom. He proposes that there are three moral principles on which all economic relations are founded – communism (or love if you don’t want to sound political), hierarchy, and exchange. The first was based on expectations and responsibilities from/to each other. Then there is exchange based on equality and reciprocity (these don’t lead to a ‘market’). The hierarchies, over a period of time, formalised inequalities into castes and related customs and behaviour.
In early civilisations – India, Sumer – there were ‘primitive money’ mechanisms, such as the ones which were used to arrange marriages, resolve blood feuds ans other social interactions where there was a debt, but which was not easy to quantify. It was common for people to get into levels of debt that forced them/their family to get into ‘peon service’, which resulted in slavery. But they could work their way out of debt. Also, early kings did a reset on a regular basis by canceling all debts. But when violence got into the picture, things changed. War converted ‘human economies’ into ‘market economies’. In war, a person ‘owes’ his/her conqueror his/her life, and the conqueror can extract anything he wants. Humans became slaves, a commodity that could be bought and sold. To be a slave was to be ‘not free’ and in debt, forever.
All of this last part began in the Axial Age (800BC to 600AD) when markets first started appearing as a side effect of government administration. But this soon got mixed up with war. When wars abounded, being a soldier became a profession. Coinage was a way to pay these soldiers/mercenaries. Gold and silver were mined by slaves and/or acquired during a war, and states started insisting that they serve as legal tender for all payments. A sort of ‘military-coinage-slave’ complex. This was the time that coinage was invented. First by private citizens and then appropriated by the state. Alexander was apparently responsible for killing the old credit systems. Precious metals, owned by temples and rich people thus far, started making its way into the life of common folks.
In parallel, historic all-time greats such as Pythagoras, Confucius and Buddha co-existed (with little knowledge of each other) and humans started reasoned enquiry into the nature of things, and practically every major religion in the world was born, trying to find new ways of thinking about ethics and morality. They rejected the violence of politics, and tried using the knowledge from impersonal markets to create a new sense of morality. But except in China, religion and market couldn’t stay together for long. In the Middle Ages (600-1450 AD), when old empires collapsed and new ones began to form, hard currency began to be less commonly used, but the system of accounts and credit continued to be used. Even Europe did not revert to barter. And elsewhere in the world, new financial systems and instruments began to emerge – promissory notes and paper money (China, where the empire survived), and letters of credit and cheques (in the Islamic world). The roots of most of the worldview in finance can be traced back here. First, China’s less-than-appreciative view of capitalism. ‘Merchants were greedy and immoral’ and ‘if kept under careful administrative supervision, they could be made to serve the public good.’ There is a very interesting part about Buddhism turning to high-interest loans and altering debt-contracts to fuel its expansion! In the Islamic world, the merchant was a respected figure, pursuing honourable adventures in far lands, sealing transactions with ‘a handshake and a glance at heaven’. Despite this capitalism in its current form didn’t emerge there because the government was kept away from the markets, and the merchants ensured profits were the reward for risk. Guaranteed returns (fixed rates of interest) were a concept frowned upon in Islam. Interestingly, over in Europe, this was when Roman law was revived and ‘interest’ began to be seen as ‘a compensation for losses suffered due to delayed payment’. It was also when the Jews started getting a bad rep for charging high interest rates. Interesting side journeys include the Crusades as a way to create new markets, and Shakespeare’s ‘Merchant of Venice’ being a guilty projection of terrors directed the other way around.
We finally get to the Age of the Great Capitalistic Empires (1450-1971 AD) – the Atlantic slave trade and the mining of gold and silver in the Americas, which was mostly used to trade in China, India and the Far East. This prompted the return of the bullion economy and the emergence of Italian city-states which ignored the Catholic Church’s ban on usury and ultimately led to the current age of great capitalist empires. Also, a reemergence of military endeavours – ‘when Vasco da Game entered the Indian Ocean in 1498, the principle that the seas should be a zone of peaceful trade came to an immediate end’. In the Axial Age, money was a tool of the empire. When the latter collapsed, the former went with it. But now, money was autonomy and political and military powers were reorganised around it. Municipal bonds were first introduced by the Venetian government as a way to levy a compulsory loan on taxpaying citizens to fund a military campaign. It promised 5% annual interest and these bonds were negotiable, creating a market for government debt. The beginning of paper money in the Western world. But it was the creation of the Bank of England in 1694 and its bank notes that truly made paper money mainstream.
In 1971, Nixon announced that foreign-held US dollars would no longer be convertible to gold. And that was the end of the gold standard. Since then, American imperial power is based on a perpetual debt – a promise to its own people and nations across the world! Fiat money backed by public trust. When it needs money, it prints it! And the premise that some of us have to pay our debts and some of us don’t.
Thus, a book that has world history, religion, the state and the military, and yes, the origin of money. It isn’t as though I can absorb or understand all the contexts and perspectives that Graeber offers in his books. But I read it for three things – one is that he provides view that is starkly original, different and thought-provoking as compared to prevalent narratives, the second is that his research quality is so good that even though I may not comprehend everything, there are bits that are amazing information/insights, and the third is that is that he is incredibly empathetic and earnest about how things should be better for everyone.
Michael Finkel begins the book with a quote attributed to Socrates – “How many things there are that I do not want.” It’s a perfect start because the subject of the book – Christopher Knight – eschewed everything that was non-essential to himself back in 1986, the year that Chernobyl happened, when he was twenty. In his first road trip, he drove till he nearly ran out of gas. “I took a small road. Then a small road of that small road. Then a trail off that.” And then he disappeared for the next twenty-seven years, in the woods of “the maine land of New England”, Maine. Living less than three miles from society, and yet inhabiting a world that was only his.
He ‘raided’ camps for his food, fuel, entertainment and other requirements. Books were a weakness – spy novels and science fiction to Ulysses, his favourite was ‘The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich’. Never extravagant, he only took what he absolutely needed, and felt deeply guilty about that. Reactions to him ranged from a deep admiration for the life he chose to hatred for the feeling of insecurity he created among residents. Eventually, he came to be known as the hermit. One whom no one could track, because he didn’t even leave footprints. He tried not to even give a hint that the place had been robbed, even refitting doors if it came to that! Though sensors and surveillance tools became more efficient, he managed to evade them. A camp for the disabled was ‘his private Costco’, and that’s where he was finally caught.
He didn’t really know why he chose to do this, but he was an introvert who found interactions with society and its rules tedious. Hermits are usually of three types – protesters, pilgrims, and pursuers. Japan has a million of the first kind – hikikomori – dubbed the lost generation. Most religions have the second kind. The third are the most modern, and they seek ‘alone time’ for what they want to do -from artistic freedom to self discovery.
Knight left because ‘the world was not made to accommodate people like him.’ ‘It wasn’t so much a protest as was a quest; he was like a refugee from the human race. The forest offered him shelter.‘ His plan was to eventually die in the forest. After he was apprehended, he spent some time in prison. In his own way, he tried to adjust. But he just couldn’t socialise, even his meetings with the author were awkward and full of silence. When the author saw him last, in court, after he had been living with his family for a while, he seemed compliant, where once he had been full of defiance. ‘He had seen the bottomless nonsense of our world and has decided, like most of us, to simply try to tolerate it‘.
I found the book deeply poignant. There is something noble about a person whose response to the way of the world was to quietly withdraw from it. Twenty seven years is a long time to survive outdoors, especially in a geography whose winters are cruel. And yet, that’s where he found peace.
Favourite quote: Not till we have lost the world do we begin to find ourselves ~ Henry David Thoreau
