48 pages 1 hour read

Beyond Order: 12 More Rules for Life

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 2021

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Chapters 3-5Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Chapter 3 Summary: “Rule III: Do Not Hide Unwanted Things in the Fog”

Content Warning: This part of the guide contains descriptions of mental illness, addiction, and traumatic events relayed to the author from his patients. 

Peter describes his father-in-law as a strong and admirable person despite his many health issues. The family tells a story in which, after his wife had served him lunch on the same small plates for twenty years, he snapped one day and complained about their size. Peterson sees this as an example of the need to voice one’s displeasure, even over fairly minor issues, rather than allowing such grievances to linger and lead to misery. He then pairs this funny family anecdote with the story of a client, a woman profoundly unhappy in her marriage. In addition to her husband’s narcissism and alcohol addiction, she loathed all the furnishings in their house, and so never invited anyone to visit. However, she never did anything about it, “because she understood that a serious discussion, once initiated, risked expanding to include all the things that were troublesome about her marriage and that a real, no-holds-barred battle would therefore likely ensue” (93). Ultimately, they divorced. Peterson believes that even the most trivial problems ought to be addressed. Failing to address such problems, in his view, is a form of self-deception—a phenomenon made possible because, as Freud explains, the personality is a “loose, fragmented cacophony of spirits, who do not always agree or even communicate” (95). Freud’s analysis was limited in some respects—he failed to account for people turning a blind eye rather than engaging in harmful acts, and he tended to assume that memories were accurate representations of reality. It is very common for people to misremember or misunderstand events because they frame them through an emotional lens that they may not even realize is there. Also, an event is never simply a collection of occurrences—it depends on context, which is invariably subjective. Everyone brings in their own layers of meaning, and it is nearly impossible for two people’s views of anything to line up completely. 

Peterson then turns to the concept of “the fog,” which he defines as “the refusal to notice—to attend to—emotions and motivational states as they arise, and the refusal to communicate them both to yourself and to the people who are close to you” (101). The problem is that the fog creates uncertainty for others as well as the self, so that people might continue to act in a harmful way because someone does not clarify their emotional boundaries, instead building up layers of internal resentment. Peterson insists on facing difficult truths, as “you cannot hit a target that you refuse to see” (103). Admitting to one’s own feelings is necessary for learning, as it is a statement of humility that opens up communication with another person. Being honest with one’s own feelings will make it easier to understand the feelings of others. Taking the risk of pain is the only way to extract lessons from experiences, making oneself more resilient in the process. Stuffing away unpleasantness is a form of corruption, especially of the mind, while the truth is a source of liberation.

Chapter 4 Summary: “Rule IV: Notice That Opportunity Lurks Where Responsibility Has Been Abdicated”

Peterson counsels, “if you want to become invaluable in a workplace—in any community—just do the useful things no one else is doing” (112). The best life is one of accepting responsibility and embracing what is difficult. Honing one’s ability to solve problems not only makes one a better contributor to the common good but is psychologically beneficial as well. In Peterson’s view, lacking ambition is a far greater cause of distress than vying for something and falling short since at least there are lessons in the effort. He cites the example of Peter Pan, who refuses to grow up, while Hook lives in constant fear of death. It is Wendy who takes the bold choice to leave her friend behind and become an adult. To remain in adolescence is to have “all the suffering of life, with none of the meaning. Is there a better description of hell?” (117)

As an illustration, Peterson turns to the Egyptian myth of Osiris, the founding god of the ancient Egyptian pantheon, who once made the fateful decision to close his eyes, leaving him vulnerable to his evil brother Set. Since Osiris represents the social impulse, he cannot die, so Set broke him into pieces and scattered him across the countryside. The goddess Isis, Osiris’ consort, was able to find his penis and make herself pregnant with it, giving birth to her son Horus. Represented by a single eye, as the other was torn out by Set in battle, Horus nonetheless triumphed, banished Set, brought his severed eye to the underworld, and gave it to his father. “The Egyptians insisted that it was this combination of vision, courage, and regenerated tradition that constituted the proper sovereign of the kingdom” (123). There are aspects of our ancestors that ought to be rescued, to rediscover a part of what was in order to become what one can be. 

Everyone is expected to take care of themselves, but the self is a fluid concept. It is always possible to pursue momentary satisfaction without regard for its long-term consequences, but the damage to a later you may far outweigh the immediate benefits. Unlike many other animals, humans have a profound sense of the future and complex relationships with other people, making it hard to disentangle self-interest from the good of others. Happiness is an immediate phenomenon, while a more sophisticated alternative is “the simultaneous optimization of your function and the function of the people around you, across time […] that is the highest good” (128). Genuine happiness arises only out of the fulfilment of responsibility because it strengthens relationships with others and secures one against the uncertainties of the future. Failure to plan for the future, to heed the voice of conscience that advises caution and preparation, must sooner or later lead to disaster. Listening to one’s conscience can cause frequent discomfort, but this discomfort is a worthy guard against the “nihilism and despair” (133) that results from an immoral life. A sense of purpose informs a meaningful life, and so a lack of fulfillment is probably an indicator that one lacks purpose or a sufficiently noble purpose. A profound sense of disappointment, however, can be a “call to the action and adventure that make up a real life” (137).

Chapter 5 Summary: “Rule V: Do Not Do What You Hate”

One of Peterson’s clients offered him a window into what he views as an absurd fixation in corporate America with avoiding any language potentially deemed offensive, even if there were only meager and obscure grounds for objecting to the term in question. The client expressed great frustration with such “political correctness” (143), seeing it not only as annoying but as morally troublesome, the manifestation of an “authoritarian ideology” (145) that inhibited the company’s actual productive work. Viewing it as futile to voice her objections to superiors, she nonetheless offered public opposition to some of their policies and the ideas behind them, exposing her to the risk of censure. Peterson finds even these small measures to be consequential, as “tyranny grows slowly, and asks us to retreat in comparatively minor steps” (147), and so every small thing someone does in opposition can be meaningful. Ignoring that which offends one’s conscience because it is considered minor ensures that sooner or later, a far more major problem will emerge and it will be much more resistant to challenge. Such efforts may not succeed, but they will at least have positive psychological effects on the person engaged in them.

Challenging stale orthodoxies may bring about trouble, Peterson argues, but it may also draw admiration, and it is only with such challenges that things can ever change for the better. There are practical considerations—the possibility of getting fired should prompt someone to have another job lined up. But even if another job seems unlikely, fears of what might happen may preclude the fact that “the true worst-case situation [is] one that drags you out and kills you slowly over decades” (153). This is not just a matter of not liking one’s job, but rather of compromising one’s principles and allowing the unjust to triumph.

Chapters 3-5 Analysis

One of the most frequently articulated themes of the text is The Importance of Stories. Peterson frequently cites myths, legends, and religious stories from ancient civilizations alongside stories from modern popular culture (he betrays a particular fondness for Harry Potter). In this set of chapters, the most prominent story of this kind is the Egyptian myth of Osiris and Horus, from which Peterson draws two critical lessons: the need for constant vigilance against the prospect of evil and disaster, and the value of chaos in restoring order (as it is Isis, “the queen of the underworld, the goddess of chaos [who] is also the force that eternally renews” (120). This myth, like nearly all the stories Peterson cites in the book, reflects The Balance Between Order and Chaos. In this case, the balance engenders a cycle of disintegration and renewal. Peterson argues that this cycle takes place simultaneously across multiple timescales: Death is the ultimate destroyer of order, but order is renewed in the next generation. In the same way, civilizations decline into disorder and eventually vanish, making way for new civilizations to take their place. While children will ultimately inherit the world from their parents, Peterson uses the example of Horus to demonstrate the importance of respect for the old when bringing in the new. Peterson insists that the wisdom of the ancients has not lost any of its relevance in the passage of time, that it speaks to fundamental truths of human existence that have become difficult to grasp amid all the distractions of modern life. 

The stories in these chapters take other forms as well. When recounting the experience of a patient or a family anecdote, the events involved are not just a setup for moral teaching, although they do serve that purpose. They are meant to embody the stories that people tell themselves and one another to give their lives structure and meaning, sometimes productively and sometimes not. A key theme here is The Power of Purposeful Thinking: Peterson argues that individuals have control over the stories they tell themselves, and these stories can be either helpful or harmful. The person who avoids difficult conversations for fear of an argument is, in Peterson’s view, continually telling themselves that their own happiness is not a priority, that whatever is challenging or frightening is better off untouched. In doing so, “you do not allow yourself to know what you want. You manage this by refusing to think it through. You are happy, satisfied, and engaged sometimes and unhappy, frustrated, and nihilistic other times, but you will not enquire deeply into why, because then you would know, and then you would encounter yet-again shattered hope and confirmed disappointment” (101). This is a lonely story, one that drives one ever further into oneself, while a more accurate and productive grasp on the world depends upon the ability to build stories with others and in doing so find a shared meaning for what is otherwise uncertain. 

Peterson’s emphasis on stories is ultimately meant to inspire the reader to make their own life into a story, complete with a protagonist, a problem, and a succession of obstacles that the hero must overcome, undergoing a personal transformation in doing so. People have been attracted to stories since the dawn of civilization because they answer that most fundamental of questions: “who could you be? You could be all that a man or woman might be. You could be the newest avatar, in your own unique manner, of the great ancestral heroes of the past. What is the upper limit to that? We do not know.” (123) Stories reduce everyone to a state of childlike wonder and admiration. Just as watching a professional athlete might inspire one to pursue their own athletic excellence, stories suggest a world beyond the doldrums of everyday life. 

Peterson turns to the Harry Potter series as a modern example of the power of stories. These books loosely follow the “hero’s journey” structure identified by mythologist Joseph Campbell as forming the backbone of narrative traditions across many cultures. Harry begins as an ordinary boy, neglected by his adoptive parents in a drab English suburb and soon finds himself called to a special destiny in which he must face off against terrifying monsters (representing the forces of chaos within both himself and the world at large) in order to save the world and discover who he is. In Peterson’s view, stories like this have been told throughout human history because they offer a template for the battle between order and chaos within the individual.

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