I am excited to finally be able to announce what is I think my most important book: Stillness Is The Key, the books that completes the trilogy that began with The Obstacle is The Way and Ego is the Enemy. I put together a bunch of bonuses I’m offering to everyone who preorders. And there are 3,000 limited edition signed and numbered copies from Barnes and Noble.

There is a line attributed to Ernest Hemingway — that the first draft of everything is shit — which, of all the beautiful things Hemingway has written, applies most powerfully to the ending of A Farewell to Arms. There are no fewer than 47 alternate endings to the book. Each one is a window into how much he struggled to get it right. The pages, which now sit in the Hemingway Collection at the John F. Kennedy Library in Boston, show Hemingway writing the same passages over and over. Sometimes the wording was nearly identical, sometimes whole sections were cut out. He would, at one moment of desperation, even send pages to his rival, F. Scott Fitzgerald, for notes.

One passage clearly challenged Hemingway more than the others. It comes at the end of the book when Catherine has died after delivering their stillborn son and Frederic is struggling to make sense of the tragedy that has just befallen him. “The world breaks everyone,” he wrote, “and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills.”

In different drafts, he would experiment with shorter and longer versions. In the handwritten draft he worked on with F. Scott Fitzgerald, for instance, Hemingway begins instead with “You learn a few things as you go along…” before beginning with his observation about how the world breaks us. In two typed manuscript pages, Hemingway moved the part about what you learn elsewhere and instead added something that would make the final book — “If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them.”

My point in showing this part of Hemingway’s process isn’t just to definitively disprove the myth — partly of Hemingway’s own making — that great writing is something that flows intuitively from the brain of a genius (no, great writing is a slow, painstaking process, even for geniuses). My point is to give some perspective on one of Hemingway’s most profound insights, one that he, considering his tragic suicide some 32 years later, struggled to fully integrate into his life.

The world is a cruel and harsh place. One that, for at least 4.5 billion years, is undefeated. From entire species of apex predators to Hercules to Hemingway himself, it has been home to incredibly strong and powerful creatures. And where are they now? Gone. Dust. As the Bible verse, which Hemingway opens another one of his books with (and which inspired its title) goes:

“One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth forever…The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose…”

The world is undefeated. So really then, for all of us, life is not a matter of “winning” but of surviving as best we can — of breaking and enduring rather than bending the world to our will the way we sometimes suspect we can when we are young and arrogant.

I write about Stoicism, a philosophy of self-discipline and strength. Stoicism promises to help you build an “inner citadel,” a fortress of power and resilience that prepares you for the difficulties of the world. But many people misread this, and assume that Stoicism is a philosophy designed to make you superhuman — to help you eliminate pesky emotions and attachments, and become invincible.

This is wrong. Yes, Stoicism is partly about making it so you don’t break as easily — so you are not so fragile that the slightest change in fortune wrecks you. At the same time, it’s not about filling you with so much courage and hubris that you think you are unbreakable. Only the proud and the stupid think that is even possible.

Instead, the Stoic seeks to develop the skills — the true strength — required to deal with a cruel world.

So much of what happens is out of our control: We lose people we love. We are financially ruined by someone we trusted. We put ourselves out there, put every bit of our effort into something, and are crushed when it fails. We are drafted to fight in wars, to bear huge taxes or familial burdens. We are passed over for the thing we wanted so badly. This can knock us down and hurt us. Yes.

Stoicism is there to help you recover when the world breaks you and, in the recovering, to make you stronger at a much, much deeper level. The Stoic heals themselves by focusing on what they can control: Their response. The repairing. The learning of the lessons. Preparing for the future.

This is not an idea exclusive to the West. There is a form of Japanese art called Kintsugi, which dates back to the 15th century. In it, masters repair broken plates and cups and bowls, but instead of simply fixing them back to their original state, they make them better. The broken pieces are not glued together, but instead fused with a special lacquer mixed with gold or silver. The legend is that the art form was created after a broken tea bowl was sent to China for repairs. But the returned bowl was ugly — the same bowl as before, but cracked. Kintsugi was invented as a way to turn the scars of a break into something beautiful.

You can see in this tea bowl, which dates to the Edo period and is now in the Freer Gallery, how the gold seams take an ordinary bowl and add to it what look like roots, or even blood vessels. This plate, also from the Edo period, was clearly a work of art in its original form. Now it has subtle gold filling on the edges where it was clearly chipped and broken by use. This dark tea bowl, now in the Smithsonian, is accented with what look like intensely real lightning bolts of gold. The bowl below it shows that more than just precious metals can improve a broken dish, as the artist clearly inserted shards of an entirely different bowl to replace the original’s missing pieces.

In Zen culture, impermanence is a constant theme. They would have agreed with Hemingway that the world tries to break the rigid and the strong. We are like cups — the second we are made we are simply waiting to be shattered — by accident, by malice, by stupidity or bad luck. The Zen solution to this perilous situation is to embrace it, to be okay with the shattering, perhaps even to seek it out. The idea of wabi-sabi is precisely that. Coming to terms with our imperfections and weaknesses and finding beauty in that.

So both East and West — Stoicism and Buddhism — arrive at similar insights. We’re fragile, they both realize. But out of this fragility, one of the philosophies realizes there is the opportunity for beauty. Hemingway’s prose rediscovers these insights and fuses them into something both tragic and breathtaking, empowering and humbling. The world will break us. It breaks everyone. It always has and always will.

Yet…

The author will struggle with the ending of their book and want to quit. The recognition we sought will not come. The insurance settlement we so desperately needed will be rejected. The presentation we practiced for will begin poorly and be beset by technical difficulties. The friend we cherished will betray us. The haunting scene in A Farewell to Arms can happen, a child stillborn and a wife lost in labor — and still tragically happens far too often, even in the developed world.

The question is, as always, what will we do with this? How will we respond?

Because that’s all there is. The response.

This is not to dismiss the immense difficulty of any of these ordeals. It is rather, to first, be prepared for them — humble and aware that they can happen. Next, it is the question: Will we resist breaking? Or will we accept the will of the universe and seek instead to become stronger where we were broken?

Death or Kintsugi? Fragile or, to use that wonderful phrase from Nassim Taleb, Antifragile?

Not unbreakable. Not resistant. Because those that cannot break, cannot learn, and cannot be made stronger for what happened.

Those that will not break are the ones who the world kills.

Not unbreakable. Instead, unruinable.

P.S. Stillness is the Key comes out October 1st. I’m as proud of this as anything I have ever written. I hope you’ll check it out! 

Exciting news, my book Ego is the Enemy is just $1.99 as an ebook for a very limited time. Check it out!

Everyone is trying to do something.

Try start a company or write a book.

To be a good dad or a good employee.

To get in better shape, or help a friend.

To pick up the pieces after a divorce,

or to get picked for a new project.

Whatever it is, whatever we’re doing, ego is the enemy. 

It has to be. 

Because what is ego? It’s not confidence—which is properly defined as evidence of our strengths and abilities. Ego is something different, something less earned, a kind of unhealthy belief in our own importance. The idea that we have unlimited strengths and no weaknesses. It’s the voice whispering in our ear that we’re better than other people, that our needs matter more, that the rules don’t apply to someone as exceptional as we are. It’s the sense that we are special and therefore need this success or that piece of recognition to prove it (or rather, we deserve it because well, because). It’s the belief that everyone else is watching us, that we’re destined for greatness. 

I’m talking about ego in the colloquial sense, of course. Freud was fond of explaining the ego by way of analogy—our ego was the rider on a horse, with our unconscious drives representing the animal while the ego tried to direct them. Modern psychologists, on the other hand, use the word “egotist” to refer to someone pathologically focused on themselves and with disregard for anyone else. 

All these definitions are true enough but there is a more common form of ego. The one I was just talking about. It’s that petulant child inside every person, the one that must get their way. The need to be better than, more than, recognized for, far past any reasonable utility—that’s ego. It’s the sense of superiority and certainty that exceeds the bounds of confidence and talent. It’s when the notion of ourselves and the world grows so inflated that it begins to distort the reality that surrounds us. When, as the football coach Bill Walsh explained, “self-confidence becomes arrogance, assertiveness becomes obstinacy, and self-assurance becomes reckless abandon.”

We all have that. We’ve all been guilty of it at one time or another. 

The thing about ego is not just that it’s unattractive. It’s that it is much less effective as a lifestyle and professional strategy than humility and confidence are. 

Look at Donald Trump. Sure, he’s president and it was partly ego that got him there (a confident person looking at his skills and his chances of winning probably wouldn’t have run). But even his supporters concede that his ego has made a very difficult job even harder. It dragged out the Mueller investigation (indeed, it brought it on in the first place). It’s prevented compromises and collaboration. It shut down the federal government. It’s led to a number of bad hires and unnecessary stumbles. It’s prevented him from achieving an equally large number of easy policy wins that would have made him exceedingly popular with more than just his base. 

Check out our Ego is the Enemy coin and use the code “EGOCOIN” for $6 off

The same was true for Richard Nixon. Ego has been a nightmare for Elon Musk. For Kayne West. Ask Hillary Clinton about ego. Or what, just look at the title of the book she wrote after losing, What Happened. (Um, your ego cost you the election?) It should not be controversial then, to say that ego is the enemy. 

In the recovery community, they like to say the E.G.O stands for “Edging God Out.” That makes sense. There’s no room for God in your life if you believe you’re the center of the universe. But I would argue that ego edges out a lot more than just a higher power… 

Ego pushes away feedback.

Ego pushes away realism.

Ego pushes away potential friends and allies.

Ego pushes away an accurate picture of risk or failure. 

Ego pushes away opportunities that don’t come gift wrapped. 

Ego pushes away understand and self-reflection.

Ego pushes away the desire to improve–the essence of mastery. 

How can we make things for other people if all we’re thinking about is ourselves? How can we motivate or lead other people if we have no ability to care or see what is happening inside them? As the performance artist Marina Abramović put it, “If you start believing in your greatness, it is the death of your creativity.”

It might very well be the death of you…as many generals on the battlefield and athletes and addicts who plunged ahead despite all the warnings soon found out. 

So what keeps ego around then? If it is so dangerous and deleterious to our self-interest? It’s simple: Comfort. Pursuing great work—whether it is in sports or art or business—is often terrifying. Ego soothes that fear. It’s a salve to that insecurity. Replacing the rational and aware parts of our psyche with bluster and self-absorption, ego tells us what we want to hear, when we want to hear it.

But it is a short-term fix with a long-term consequence.

So whatever you’re doing. Whether you’re young and brimming with ambition or you’ve made that first couple million, signed your first deal, been selected to some elite group, or you’re already accomplished enough to last a lifetime. Whether you’re stunned to find out how empty it is at the top or you’re charged with leading others through a crisis. Whether you just got fired or hit rock bottom, beware. 

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, your worst enemy already lives inside you: your ego. “Not me,” you think. “No one would ever call me an egomaniac.” Ah, but there it is. That’s ego already! Like the devil, it’s trick is to convince you it doesn’t exist—that you don’t have one. 

We must be on guard. We must be constantly pushing it away before it pushes our more cherished assets and insights away. 

Ego is the enemy. 

***

Ego Is The Enemy by Ryan Holiday is $.99 on Amazon right now for a very limited time. If you want to check it out, or give it as a gift, it’ll never be cheaper than that.

And along with the Amazon discount, you can get $6 off our Ego Is The Enemy medallion with the code “EGOCOIN” AND $10 off our Ego Is The Enemy print with the code “EGOPRINT” at checkout in the Daily Stoic store.

The following article is an adaption of one of best chapters in my book Conspiracy: A True Story of Power, Sex, and a Billionaire’s Secret Plot to Destroy A Media Empire. The book is out in paperback today and I think is one of my best pieces of writing ever. The New York Times called it “one helluva pageturner” so if you’re looking for something to read this summer, give it a look.

It is easy to confuse strategy and boldness. 

 “Given the same amount of intelligence,” Clausewitz dictum goes, “timidity will do one thousand times more damage in war than audacity.

It was a favored expression of the Roman poet Virgil, for instance, that Fortune favors the bold. 

But the truth is that most difficult ventures and even most stunning victories are as much the result of patience and due diligence than any single, brave stroke. 

For instance in 2012, nearly five years have passed since Peter Thiel had been outed as gay very much against his will by by Gawker Media. It hadn’t taken too long after that Wednesday in December for him to decide that something had to be done, but it had taken four full years since then to conceive of what kind of response might even be possible. Thiel founded and sold PayPal in considerably less time. Gawker itself had gone on to become a company worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

But Thiel, sworn to exact vengeance on the people who he believed had humiliated was not noticeably any closer to his goal. He had made only a single hire, a then-anonymous twenty-something named Mr. A would be tasked with leading Thiel’s conspiracy to destroy Gawker.  

“With patience and resources,” Mr. A would come to say often on his weekly calls with Peter, “we can do almost anything.” Tolstoy had a motto for Field Marshal Mikhail Kutuzov in War and Peace—“Patience and Time.” “There is nothing stronger than those two,” he said, “. . . they will do it all.” In 1812 and in real life, Kutuzov gave Napoleon an abject lesson in the truth of that during a long Russian winter.

Their target, Nick Denton, the founder of Gawker, is not a patient man. Most entrepreneurs aren’t. Most powerful people are not. One of his editors would say of Denton’s approach to stories, “Nick is very much of the mind that you do it now. And the emphasis is to get it out there and be as correct as you can, but don’t let that stand in the way of getting the story out there.” Editorially, Nick Denton wanted to be first—which is a form of power in itself. But this isn’t how Thiel thinks. He would say his favorite chess player was José Raúl Capablanca, and remind himself of the man’s famous dictum: To begin you must study the end. You don’t want to be the first to act, you want to be the last man standing.

How does one do that? Especially against a wily and powerful opponent? 

We can look to Eisenhower in his battles with Joseph McCarthy, then at the height of his power as a demagogue. Though most Americans would come to see Eisenhower as the kindly, friendly “Ike,” they did not realize that beneath that exterior was a cunning strategic mind that knew how to wield power without raising alarms and was, if anything, a patient plodder. Seeing that opposition and publicity were what gave McCarthy his power, he looked for a better opportunity. Eisenhower began to work behind the scenes, directing and pushing for others to limit McCarthy’s power, stripping the man of allies, using his own allies to criticize him, removing opportunities McCarthy would have liked to take advantage of. It’s because of this use of the “hidden hand” that McCarthy never knew that the president was working against him, and so when Eisenhower crushed McCarthy, and crushed him completely using the man’s weaknesses against him, it would be decades before historians could even piece the evidence together.

So the user of special means must scorn the obvious—ignore the conventional wisdom and voices from the sideline. Eisenhower watched as McCarthy attacked his closest friends, pocketing at one point a full- throated defense of George Marshall that he must have wanted to give so badly, because while it might have scored public points against his opponent, it wasn’t the right strategy.

“It’s almost limitless what one could do,” Mr. A said, musing on all the theoretical angles of attack they brainstormed in meetings at Thiel’s house and in late-night phone calls. Given the resources he had to draw on, the limitlessness of the options is nearly true: they could have bribed employees at Gawker to leak information, or hired operatives to ruin the company from the inside. They could have directed hackers to break into Gawker’s email servers. Someone could have followed Nick Denton and, while he dined at Balthazar one morning, stolen his cell phone. A team could have attempted to bug the Gawker offices. You could fund a rival website, operate it at a loss, and slowly eat away at the razor-thin margins of Gawker’s business. Or create a blog that does nothing but report on gossip about Gawker writers—returning the very pressure and scrutiny they’d put on other people. “There are things that were very tempting, an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Retributive justice,” Peter said. “But I think those would’ve ultimately been self-defeating. That’s where you just become that which you hate.” The victory would be pyrrhic, too, easier but at a higher personal cost.

A decision was made to eliminate the strategies that would either be illegal or fall into any one of a number of gray areas. For instance, Thiel could have easily hit Gawker with many meritless cases that he never expected to win in order to bury the company in legal bills, but how effective would that really have been? It’s a brute-force tactic that ignores the strategic value of exploiting your opponent’s fundamental weakness—if one could be found. “There were all these things that you could be tempted to do and it’s not clear they would work any better. So we decided very early on we would only do things that are totally legal, which is a big limitation. But it forced us to think really hard about what to actually do,” says Peter. “We were comfortable taking a very aggressive legal posture, just entirely within the system.”

As they had decided from the outset, Thiel would not be a claimant in any of these cases and, equally early, Thiel claimed to be interested only in litigating and funding claims that could be expected to survive appeal, were they fortunate enough to reach a positive verdict. “We had the idea early on that there must have been any range of legal violations,” Peter tells me, echoing the thrust of Mr. A’s pitch to him in Berlin the previous April, “but I wanted to find a cause of action that wasn’t libel.” 

The First Amendment was unappealing not because Thiel is a libertarian, though he is, but because as a strategist he understood that it was Gawker’s strongest and most entrenched position: we’re allowed to say anything we want. It challenges the legal system and conventional wisdom where they are the most clearly established. Forget the blocking and tackling of proof and precedent. At an almost philosophical level, the right to free speech is virtually absolute. But as Denton would himself admit to me later, free speech is sort of a Maginot Line. “It looks formidable,” he said, “it gives false confidence to defenders, but there are plenty of ways around if you’re nimble and ruthless enough.” That’s what Thiel was doing now, that’s what his legal time was paid to find. 

Someone from Gawker would observe with some satisfaction to me, many years away from this period of preliminary strategizing from Thiel, that if Thiel had tried to go after Gawker in court for what it had written about him, litigating damages and distress from being outed, for example, he certainly would have lost. This was said as a sort of condemnation of the direction that Thiel ultimately did attack Gawker from. Which is strange because that was the point. The great strategist B. H. Liddell Hart would say that all great victories come along “the line of least resistance and the line of least expectation.” John Boyd, a fighter pilot before he was a strategist, would say that a good pilot never goes through the front door. He wins by coming through the back.

And first, that door has to be located.

“The gating resource here was not capital,” Thiel said. “The gating resource was the ideas and the people and executing it well. It’s not like lawsuits haven’t been brought in the past. It’s something that’s been done, so we were required to think very creatively about this space, what kind of lawsuit to bring.”

In the first year that this conspiracy is picking up steam, Gawker Media would post something like 100,000 articles across its eight sites. Almost none of these pieces see an editor before they go live. In 2012 alone, Gawker would find itself the recipient of multiple leaks of celebrity photos, it would unmask a famous internet troll, it would go after politicians, break technology news, publish controversial first-person essays, repeat gossip, and antagonize the sports world. Most of its posts were ephemeral, simple aggregation of the news and trends of the day. Not all, though.

Contained within Gawker’s hundreds of thousands of articles, Mr. A and Peter Thiel were sure, were the seeds of destruction. How many? One? A handful? A hundred? Thiel had limited him in terms of what the range of violations he was comfortable funding would be, so now his legal team would need to really look, not for the obvious but for the ones that everyone else had missed.

That would be their door. That’s how they would destroy Gawker. 

As an investor, Thiel’s question is always: What do I know about this company that other investors don’t know? In other words: Do we have an edge? It’s only with some sort of informational asymmetry, goes his thinking, that one can not only beat the market but dominate it, and get the kind of return that takes a $500,000 check and turns it into a billion. Or pulls off what no one else thought possible. 

Peter Thiel was looking for Gawker’s version of Al Capone’s tax evasion, a legal mistake that no one else had bothered to enforce, something dismissed potentially even by the person on the other side of the story. The conspirators wanted valid causes of action that did not involve the simple fact of whether a journalist has a right to say something or not. They wanted examples of Gawker’s potentially violating the law, violating a copyright, violating the rights of others in ways that might not be protected under the generous shield offered by the Constitution to reporters and citizens. Not just the kinds of cases that a judge would allow to proceed, but ones that would resonate with a jury of ordinary people in whatever jurisdiction they might find themselves. 

Gawker was designed to give someone an opportunity like this, even if they did not know Thiel was plotting against them. They had always pushed the boundaries. They had courted controversy. They had blown apart the old model of journalism. They published first and edited (and fact checked later). A Gawker writer once explained why he liked working at Gawker, what drew him there: “Ultimately, I would rather work at a place that’s bold enough to fuck up than one that is too afraid to ever risk it.” But would someone ever spend $550 an hour to crawl through everything they ever did to find that mistake? Would they take them to court over it? Who would to get sucked into a knock-down, drag-out fight with the outlet that will say anything and everything? The overwhelming belief of their enemies, as was true of Walter Winchell decades before, was that to sue Gawker was to touch pitch.

Gawker bet they were unbeatable. 

Thiel was willing to call the bluff. 

And he within just a matter of weeks, he would find the perfect weak spot in their defenses. It’s name was Hulk Hogan.