Robert Greene: A Process for Finding & Achieving Your Unique Purpose

Welcome to the Huberman Lab podcast, where we discuss science and science-based tools for everyday life. [Music] I'm Andrew Huberman, and I'm a professor of neurobiology and ophthalmology at Stanford School of Medicine. My guest today is Robert Greene.

Robert Greene is an author who has written more than five bestselling books, including *The 48 Laws of Power*, *The Laws of Human Nature*, and *Mastery*. He did his undergraduate training at the University of California, Berkeley, and the University of Wisconsin–Madison. Robert Greene's books are both unique and important for several reasons, not the least of which is that they explore the interaction between the psychology of self-exploration and the psychology of human interaction, all rooted in history and modern culture and, at the same time, in a way that pertains to everybody.

I first learned about Robert's work from reading *Mastery*, which, to my mind, is a brilliant exploration and a practical tool for how to think about and pursue one's purpose. Whenever I'm asked for book suggestions, I always include *Mastery* in my top three recommendations.

During today's discussion, we cover a wide range of topics, including how to find, pursue, and achieve one's purpose. We talk about the selection of a life partner, as well as romantic and other types of relationships. We also discussed the topics of motivation and urgency, and this concept of "death ground," which arose during our discussion of Robert's recent stroke. Robert's stroke rendered him certain limitations but also has allowed him to explore how to write, how to exercise, indeed how to interface with life in general, in new ways that allow him to continue to expand his sense of purpose.

I'm certain that by the end of today's episode, you will have gleaned tremendous amounts of new knowledge that will allow you to navigate forward along the path to your purpose, perhaps find your purpose if you feel you haven't done that yet, as well as to greatly enhance your relationship with yourself, with others, and indeed to the world around you.

Before we begin, I'd like to emphasize that this podcast is separate from my teaching and research roles at Stanford. It is, however, part of my desire and effort to bring zero-cost-to-consumer information about science and science-related tools to the general public.

In keeping with that theme, I'd like to thank the sponsors of today's podcast. Our first sponsor is Roa. Roa makes eyeglasses and sunglasses that are of the absolute highest quality. I've spent a lifetime working on the biology of the visual system. I can tell you that your visual system has to contend with an enormous number of challenges in order for you to be able to see clearly. Roa understands those challenges and has designed their eyeglasses and sunglasses accordingly, so that you always see with crystal clarity. Roa eyeglasses and sunglasses are designed with a new technology called Float Fit, which allows them to fit perfectly and not move around even when you're active. In fact, whenever I'm wearing my Roa eyeglasses or sunglasses, I usually forget that I'm wearing them. I happen to wear Roa eyeglasses at night when I drive or if I'm reading at night, and I wear Roa sunglasses during the daytime if it's very bright, especially if I'm driving into sunlight. If you'd like to try Roa eyeglasses or sunglasses, you can go to roka.com, that's R-O-K-A.com, and enter the code HUBERMAN for 20% off your first order. Again, that's roka.com and enter the code HUBERMAN at checkout.

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And now for my discussion with Robert Greene.

Robert, I'm so happy you're here.

I'm really happy to be here, Andrew. Thank you so much for inviting me.

A short story: In 2015, I was teaching a course to undergraduates. This was a big course—450 students.

Where was this?

This was when I was a professor at the University of California, San Diego. I was about to move back to Stanford. Um, but the course was entitled *Neural Circuits in Health and Disease*. But there was a final lecture where I would do a lot of Q&A with the students about science, about careers, about career paths. And what I found was that many of the students had questions about not just science but about how to learn and forage for information.

Yeah.

And I recommended three books at the end of the course every year that I taught it. I taught it for four years. And one of the books was the book *Longitude*, which is a wonderful story about the discovery of timekeeping devices at sea. Um, one book I'll leave as a mystery—not to be mysterious, but because it's not—it's a science book. I'll just tell you what it is: it's *Principles of Neuroscience*.

So I thought that—I don't know that one.

Yeah, it's a big—it makes a better doorstop for most than a book, but it's a wonderful resource um, if you want to learn about neuroscience. And your book, *Mastery*. And the reason I recommended *Mastery* is because these students were soon going to go into the great jungle of, yeah, you know, post-undergraduate education. And, for me, I found *Mastery* to be an absolutely transformative book in that it taught me so much about how to learn from others, how to expect certain types of interactions when one kind of assigns themselves to a mentor, um, and vice versa. And it talked about some things that we'll get into in more depth today, but not the least of which is about identifying that unique seed that exists within all of us that can guide our best decisions in terms of finding our purpose. And it—and so I will usually end with a great debt of gratitude, and I'll probably do that again at the end, but I want to start with a great debt of gratitude. *Mastery* transformed my entire life, and, in many ways, this podcast probably wouldn't exist were it not for *Mastery*, because um, it really embedded in me this idea that we all have a deeper purpose, and it explains how to go about finding that purpose. So I tell you that, and I also will use that as a segue for um, asking you now, since I'm sure people's ears are picked up to this: you know, how do you find your purpose? Um, could you share with us what—what it is to find one's purpose and how early life events perhaps can cue us to what that purpose is for each of us?

Well, thank you for that marvelous introduction. I'm almost blushing. That's—that's a fantastic story. Um, well, you know, being a human being is not easy, as opposed to an animal, because we're born and nobody gives us like a direction. Our parents might be a little bit—our college teachers, etc., mentors, but generally we're on our own, and it's a very, very difficult process. You wake up in the morning and you don't really know what you're—what you can do. You could choose 12 different paths. It can be very confusing and very overwhelming. When you find that sense of purpose, when you find what I call your life's task, everything has a direction, everything has a purpose. Your energy is concentrated. It's—it's not like you're just going down a single narrow pathway. It's not like life becomes boring and it's just about discipline and solving problems. It's actually the most exciting thing that can ever happen to you because you never have that lost feeling. You wake up in the morning, you go, yeah, this is what I need to accomplish. People come at you with all kinds of distractions and boring and irritating things; you're able to cut it out. It's just the most marvelous piece of internal radar that you can have. So I genuinely wish that everybody can find that kind of internal radar. And so it's not easy, and I understand that there's no like instant formula, because we're all about instant formulas. It's difficult, and I want you to know that. So it's not like Robert can give me the answer in three minutes. No, I can't. But there's a process involved. It's not—it's not, you know, a mystery. You can follow a very singular process. And the idea is—you're talking about childhood—the way I like to frame it is: when you were—were born, you are a phenomenon. You are unique. Your DNA has never occurred in the history of the universe, going back billions of years. It will never occur in the future. Your life experience with your parents and everything that you experience in your early years, going on up, is unique. It's yours. You are one of a kind, right? So that is your source of power. To waste that is just the worst thing you can do in your life. And what—what the power is is finding that uniqueness—what makes you you—and how you can—embrace that—and how you can go deep into it and use that to create a career path, right? And so I tell people: when you're a child, when you're four or five or even younger, you have what the great psychologist Maslow called "impulse voices." There are little voices in your head that say: I love this, I hate that, I like this food, I don't like when Mommy moves this way, I like when Daddy comes from here. Here, you're very keyed into who you are and what you like and what you don't like, and these voices kind of direct you in certain ways, right? And when you're very young, they direct you towards intellectual, mental pursuits as well. And there's a book I recommend for everybody; it's Howard Gardner's *Frames of Mind*. It's helped me immensely. The idea is he talks about five forms of intelligence. Our problem is we think of intelligence as mostly intellectual, but there are many forms of intelligence. There's the intelligence that has to do with words; there's abstract intelligence that has to do with patterns and mathematics; there's kinetic intelligence, it has to do with the body; there's social intelligence. He has five of them, and the idea is your brain naturally veers towards one of them. It can veer towards two of them; that happens, but generally one of them kind of dominates, right? And it's like a grain in your brain that's going in a certain direction. You want to go with that grain, and because that's where your power will lie. So when you're young, if you go back and think about when you were four or five, you—you can maybe get a picture of some kind of direction or voice inside of you that was impelling you towards this. I know for me it was words. From—I can remember when I was six years old, I was just obsessed with words, just the letters in words, almost like in—in almost slightly schizophrenic way. I would spell words backward; I would take them apart; I would do anagrams; I love palindromes, right? So I had a thing about words and language. It's very primal. Some people—you know, Albert Einstein, when he was four years old, his father gave him a birthday gift of a compass, and he was just mesmerized by this compass, the idea that there are invisible forces out there in the cosmos moving this needle, and he's obsessed with the idea of invisible forces. Steve Jobs, when he was like seven or eight or maybe younger, in Palo Alto, California, his father—they passed by a store with technological devices in the window, and he was just hypnotized by the design of those devices and the glass tubes and everything. So he wanted to go in that direction. You know, Tiger Woods saw his father hitting golf balls in the garage, and he was just like screaming with joy. He had to—he had to do that, right? You know, I can give you a million different examples of this. Of course, these are people who are famous. Obviously, we can go back and find that—it's easier, but what happens to you—and please cut me off if I'm going on too long—

No, please continue, please.

What happens to you is you're seven now, you're getting older, and you're starting to not hear that voice anymore. You're hearing the voice of your teachers telling you you're not good at this field, you need to get better at math, you know, you shouldn't be interested in these sports or anything, you should be going this direction. Your parents are starting to tell you this is the career they want for—or the direction they want you to go in, right? You start hearing that more than your own voice, and as you get older it gets worse and worse and worse. Then when you're a teenager, it's all about what other people are doing, your peers, what's cool, what's not cool, you know? And that kind of—is more so—all of these noises enter your brain, and you can't hear that anymore. You don't know who you are. And so you go to college, you kind of maybe choose a major that seems practical, that your parents want you to go into. Maybe you kind of wander around; you're not sure. And then you enter the work world without that inner radar that I'm talking about, and you—brother, you're lost, right? Where should I go? Well, I need to make money, right? And so you make a choice based on the need to make a lot of money. Some—not everyone, but some people do that, and I understand that need. We all need to make a living, but that can set you off on a very bad path because you're not connected emotionally. The thing is, when you figure out that primal inclination, that grain that's inside of you, then you have the—the energy to—to do—to be disciplined, to go through boring tasks, to learn. You learn at a faster rate because you're emotionally engaged. When you're emotionally engaged in a subject, the brain learns twice, three times, four times as fast as when you're not. I always give the example: in college, I studied foreign languages, which was kind of a passion of mine, for three or four years. I studied French, and then I went to Paris, and I couldn't speak a word. It was—it was useless because it didn't teach me anything practical, right? I was totally confused. And then—but I was in Paris, and I—and I loved it, and I wanted to live there, right? And I had a girlfriend, and I needed to speak French to her. And I can tell you: in one month, I learned more than those four years of university because I wanted to, because I was engaged. My emotions were there. It was like I had to survive—survive—to learn French, whereas—so most of us, we don't have a need really to learn this subject. We're—we're paying half attention. But when you find that thing that really connects to you, you're paying deep attention, your emotions are engaged, you're learning at a much faster rate. Okay? And so the thing is: how do you find that when you're older, when you're 21? I—I—I give people a lot of help, and it's usually not so difficult. We can go through that process. It gets harder when you're 30 and you've been wandering around, but it's not impossible. I didn't really start find my exact path until I was 38, 39, to be honest. So there's hope. When you get 40 and you get 50, it gets more and more difficult, right? And it's very sad if you wasted that seed of uniqueness that I'm talking about. And I tell people: there are ways of going back, and we go through a process like archaeology. We have to dig and dig and dig and find those bones from your childhood that indicated what you were meant to do. But when you find your life's task, everything opens up. It doesn't mean you figured out, okay, I've got to aim for this particular job when I'm 28. That's not how it works. It gives you a sense of direction. You can try different things; you can experiment; you can have fun. When you're in your 20s, you're going to learn—you're going to learn skills, but it gives you an overall framework instead of: whoa, all this confusion, this chaos, social media, the internet, I could go here, here, here—you're lost at sea. It gives you a very important sense of direction—a compass, as you described this.

I—I have this image of—um, you know, you mentioned animals—that presumably don't have a lot of flexibility in terms of the niches they can exist in. But the way I imagine this process is that as a human we're plopped into an environment, and here I'm using an analogy where—um, we don't really know if we are an aquatic animal, a terrestrial animal, or a—or an avian, right? Or an amphibian—or an amphibian, for that matter—um, and to make the wrong choice, right, to be an amphibian who's trying to fly—although I'm sure they're out there—in the animal kingdom—um, it—it's not just a waste of time, it's probably deadly—and not to overdramatize the failure of finding one's purpose, but I see it that way. Whereas—perhaps we could just say that the process of finding one's purpose is to—to realize like, ah, you know—I'm an amphibian. I can go in and out of water, whereas a bunch of other creatures around me stop at the water's edge, right?

Right.

And this is really cool. And a bunch of these other things, like these flying things, that they can't actually even go in the water. Some of them might, you know, be on the surface or dive into it, but they—they can't do what I can do. So the process of self-discovery, it sounds like it's about—restricting one's choices to a—a—a sort of wedge within the full landscape of—of options. And—um, you know, for me, I can certainly recall, after reading *Mastery*, it helped me recall some early seed emotions that I experienced as a very distinct sensation in my body. Can you describe that?

Yeah—um, without making it too—um, specific to my—my unique taste. You know, as a kid, I loved—flora and fauna. I loved learning about biology.

Sure.

Yeah, no surprise there—um, but animals and how they move in particular, and fish, and going to a—a proper aquarium store for the first time for me, and going snorkeling for the first time was like: Wow! And even as I describe it, it's almost like my body—I feel it in my left arm of all things, and it feels like there's something—to do about it. It's not just that I'm in observation of things that delight me, right? It's like there's something—there's an activation state created within me, like: I got to do something with this. And typically it's: tell everybody about it until they won't listen anymore—um, but oftentimes it's to also draw those things, to think about them, and I just delight in them. It's a constant source of delight. And so seeds such as those—and there are a few other things in that—in that landscape of flora and fauna and learning about animals and biology, including the human animal—and then organizing information feels so satisfying to me. It's like a drug—that—and so it just feels like this, you know, eternal spring of—of life, right? And so for me that's what it was, and to—and in 2015 when I was teaching that course—the course I loved, but I was feeling a little bit astray in my scientific career—and then I read *Mastery*, and I realized: yes, I love running a laboratory, I love teaching, but there's something else for me, and it has to do—not with a podcast. I didn't even know what a podcast—I probably—I knew what a podcast was, I was listening to podcasts at that time, but—um—but I wasn't on social media. I had no thoughts of having a podcast, but what I wanted was that feeling, in its total number of forms. That's the goal: get that feeling in as many forms as possible, right? Is that—is that about—

That's—that's—that's absolutely perfect, because the connection to what I'm talking about—it's not an intellectual thing, it's—it's visceral, it's emotional, it's physical, right? And you feel it in your body, and when you're doing it, it's like—it's at your level. It's like you're swimming with the current. You feel it; things are easy; everything clicks together; there's a delight. Not everything is going to be delightful; there's going to be tedium involved; there's going to be moments of boredom, but you're able to withstand the moments of boredom because you feel the deep overall connection. So yes, that's precisely what I'm talking about. I mean, it's—for me, it's a little bit similar thing, is I said about words, but the other thing that I was obsessed with when I was a kid was early human ancestors. Don't ask me why; I just was so obsessed with our ancestors millions of years ago and how it's possible to be living here in the '60s or '70s with cars and everything, but to come to where we are now. And I wrote a short story when I was eight years old about a vulture. It was written from the point of view of a vulture watching the first humans kind of emerge on the planet. I'm sure it was absolutely awful, dreadful, but the weird thing is I'm writing a new book, and all I'm doing in that book is going into—into early humans, and I feel like a kid again. I'm so excited, I'm so happy. So I can very much relate to your story.

You mentioned these five different forms of intelligence or frames—frames of mind, as you refer to them—um, and I'm certainly aware that, you know, I lean towards more intellectual interests, although, as you pointed out, the excitement, the delight is visceral.

Yeah.

And the actions are actions; they're of the body ultimately, right? Um, one has to draw, speak, write books, etc.—to—to transmute that excitement into something real for people that are not as intellectually tuned, but maybe are kinesthetically tuned, for instance. Um, I can only wonder what that's like. Uh, I'm not completely uncoordinated, but I don't think I have a kinesthetic attunement—or frame of mind. But I, for instance, um, had a podcast listener mention that they think—in feels—that they literally experience thought as a—as sort of a patchwork of bodily sensations, right? And that thought, for them, is not of the stuff from the neck up, but only from the neck down, which, to me, was really intriguing. And so I only raise this because—um, there have to be a—as you point out, there's an infinite number of different sort of—orientations based on our unique DNA and experience. But what do you think explains why these particular seeds—or—as you point out, like the—the—the direction that the grain runs in the brain?—I mean, it's—it's partially going to be nature, it's going to be DNA—um, but we—we're talking about this as if there's some exciting or inspiring or delightful thing that captures us. Can it be the other way too? Can it be—um, you know, one has a bad experience as a child in an intellectual environment, and then decides: you know, I'm—I'm going in the—things of the body feel good, things of the mind—of intellect—feel bad. And does it matter whether or not we are drawn to our purpose by recognizing what we love or what we hate—or are both useful?

Oh, they're both very, very useful. Um, you know, a lot of intelligence is—is non-verbal. We think in terms of images; we're—we're very much infected by the emotions of other people. So I know, for instance, uh, my mother is very, very interested in history. She's obsessed with history, and I probably absorbed her interest in history. I don't think there's a genetic—a gene for that interest, you know? So you're—you're going to absorb things from your parents as well. So it's not all just genetic. But yeah, what you hate will pay a big—will have a big thing, but the problem with doing that is: if you go into a direction—in—you're in—you're in elementary school, etc., and they force you to learn math and you hate it, what it tends to do is it turns you off from learning in general. You think: I don't want to—I don't want to—I don't want to be disciplined; I don't want to go through anything because it's painful, doesn't lead anywhere, it's not me—frustration. It turns you off from learning in general. So it's really, really important for a child to have the love experience as early as possible so that they can know what they hate and why they hate it, right? And then they can rebel, and they can go into that field as opposed to: I hate learning, I hate discipline, I hate studying, I hate trying things over and over again. If you're kinesthetically oriented—and you know, a part of me—I understand that because I love sports—is you have to—you have to practice. It's going to take a lot of—it's not—you're not going to instantly be good at something, right? And that's going to require a love of it, right? But if your math experience—I hate learning—you're not—you're—it's going to transfer to sports; you're going to hate discipline in general. So it's very important for parents to let that child have at least glimmers of that love moment. I know for me, when I—um—finished college and I entered the work world, I had to get a job. I got worked in journalism. I hated it. I hated working for other people; I hated—hated office politics; I hated all the egos; I hated the smarminess; I hated the lack of quality. It was all just about, you know, making money and getting things out there. And then I worked in Hollywood. I hated Hollywood. I hated working in Hollywood. That formed me very much—maybe go in the direction that I went in, but only from the basis of: I knew that I wanted to be a writer. So, you know, that's very important—that it's not just hate. It can form you, but there also has to be that posit of deep emotional love of something that also is grounded in you in some way.

What you just said really highlights the fact that energy and motivation can come from either—either pressure, you know, desire for something or desire to get away from something. And—um—earlier when you were talking about—um—how we are so much more engaged and driven toward things that stir us emotionally, and—and actually we know, based on the neuroscience, you know, too—I'm sure that—only by the release of certain neurochemicals in the brain and body would our brain have any reason to change, right? If you don't feel agitation, and you can do everything that you're trying to do, of course your brain wouldn't change—like, why would it? Right? That agitation is a—is a signature of the neurochemicals that are saying: hey, something's different now, right?

Right.

You might need to do something different, including rewire yourself, right? Um, and that can come from positive or negative experiences. I'm obsessed with this idea of energy. I mean, we all want to have more energy and focus, and normally we hear about the concept of energy in the context of caloric energy—like, what should we eat and when and how much—and we need to get sleep. But what you're really referring to is neural energy—like the—the engagement of ourselves—that's, you know—uh—sitting there ready to be engaged, but it requires the right experiential macronutrients, right? The experiential micronutrients, as opposed to—of course we need good nutrition, but that's not sufficient. It's necessary, but not sufficient. So—uh—would you say that when—um—we are—let's say, since a good number of our listeners are in adulthood—um, you know, from our 20s on—that the things that excite us as adults that really generate some feeling of readiness or—or grab our attention—um—are still informative toward guiding our decisions about best life and life purpose?

Well—um—what do you—what exactly do you mean by that? I mean, like—because there are things that excite you in—in a kind of a quick way, like, you know, where you have to relieve some tension, and you—there's entertainment, and there's things that kind of give you pretty immediate gratification, and there's the larger—picture of something that will give you fulfillment over years to come. So you can feel that when you're older, and you can pay attention to it, but a lot of the time is we—we're paying too much attention to the immediate pleasures of life, to what gives us instant gratification, and that's what we're grabbing for. So this is a much more kind of deeper process that involves that digging that I was saying. It—it's—it's deeper than just kind of: I like this, I don't like that, you know, kind of thing. It's—it's more—it's more something macro than—than just—just that. And so when you're in your 20s or in your 30s or your 40s, you want to be paying attention to yourself. And the problem with people in the world today is: you're not paying attention to yourself—not inside your own head. You don't hear those voices; you don't hear what you love, what you like anymore, because, as I said, there's so many of these other distractions going on, and so you're always like attuned to what other people like, right? Because you're in social media, this is what people are following, this is what they're interested in, as opposed to disengaging, backing off from that and—and looking at yourself and going through the process of: that's not me, actually. I don't really like that, you know? And so what you're talking about is, I think, very profound: levels of frustration or anxiety are definite signals that you must pay attention to—that they're telling you: this isn't a good direction for you, this is a waste of time for you. And in general, I tell people: self-awareness—being able to hear those voices, to understand that your frustration is telling you something—and sometimes you—you just act on it without understanding it—but understanding why—why you're frustrated, why you don't like your career, why you're not happy about where you're going—is the key to everything. It will open up—it will actually be able—even in your 30s—to return you to that childhood inclination. But if you can't listen to where those emotions come from, then they're useless; they're not teaching you anything.

As we all know, quality nutrition influences, of course, our physical health, but also our mental health and our cognitive functioning, our memory, our ability to learn new things, and to focus. And we know that one of the most important features of high-quality nutrition is making sure that we get enough vitamins and minerals from high-quality, unprocessed or minimally processed sources, as well as enough probiotics and prebiotics and fiber to support basically all the cellular functions in our body, including the gut microbiome. Now, I, like most everybody, try to get optimal nutrition from whole foods, ideally mostly from minimally processed or non-processed foods. However, one of the challenges that I and so many other people face is getting enough servings of high-quality fruits and vegetables per day, as well as fiber and probiotics that often accompany those fruits and vegetables. That's why, way back in 2012, long before I ever had a podcast, I started drinking AG1. And so I'm delighted that AG1 is sponsoring the Huberman Lab podcast. The reason I started taking AG1 and the reason I still drink AG1 once or twice a day is that it provides all of my foundational nutritional needs—that is, it provides insurance that I get the proper amounts of those vitamins, minerals, probiotics, and fiber to ensure optimal mental health, physical health, and performance. If you'd like to try AG1, you can go to drinkag1.com/huberman to claim a special offer. They're giving away five free travel packs plus a year supply of vitamin D3 K2. Again, that's

I'm working on a chapter about love, although I'm currently focused on a chapter about history. The point is, the human brain is wired for transcendental experiences that take us beyond our everyday lives. We're aware of our mortality, uniquely among animals, and that terrifies us. The idea of something larger than our mundane existence is a doorway to transcendence, connecting us to something greater, to a cosmic power, to evolution itself. I'm writing about this, focusing on the Upper Paleolithic period, 40,000 years ago, when I believe the sublime was born. It's deep within us; we need it.

In the 21st century, avenues for experiencing the sublime are few. Religion used to be the primary means of accessing it. Because this need is so profound, we reach for false substitutes that mimic transcendence, but they aren't real. The true sublime originates internally, a self-generated experience. False sublimity comes from outside: drugs, alcohol, shopping, online rage, even joining a cause and acting out aggression. These give a temporary sense of transcendence, calming anxieties and creating a sense of purpose beyond a disliked job. But it's not real, not lasting; it's an illusion. It doesn't tap into the deep-seated human need for such experiences, so you need more and more—more drugs, alcohol, sex, porn—it’s never enough.

The real sublime is transformative and lasting. Maslow called it a peak experience. I haven't fully connected this to your point, but I think it's relevant. My early experiences of encountering something wondrous—a feeling of "Oh my goodness, I can't believe this exists!"—created an activation state. It felt like "I'm part of this, and this is part of me." There was an urge to learn more, to share it, to find more examples. This definitely fits the criteria of a sublime experience. Even in graduate school and as a young professor, I felt on the threshold of something significant; I could trust it, like an amphibian in its element. This feeling transcended time. I’m fascinated by time perception; human ability to compress or expand time is incredible.

Addictions, and interactions with toxic people, "murder time," preventing us from confronting our mortality. One psychologist said addictive behaviors are attempts to murder time. We say "kill time," whether through passive activities or overwhelming experiences. But when truly connected, time flows effortlessly; three hours pass unnoticed. Time is subjective: excruciatingly slow when depressed, or blissfully fleeting when immersed in something pleasurable. My writing is like that; I'm so absorbed I'm unaware of time. It’s deeply pleasurable, a sublime experience. I agree with your distinction. I’m working on a chapter about the “daemon,” that inner voice; connecting with it is profoundly sublime. This book connects to Maslow’s work, but it's in the next chapter.

I'd like to shift to power, seduction, and finding one's purpose. I see power as a resource, usable or not. Seduction is an exchange; power is more of a noun. Purpose is about devoting power, seduction, and other forces to a goal. Power is often perceived negatively; it evokes manipulation. But power dynamics exist everywhere—mentors and mentees, teachers and students, romantic relationships. There are overt and covert contracts. Covert contracts involve actions taken to ease feelings of danger. So, how would you define power in interpersonal relations, and why is it essential to relationships?

I try to deconstruct the negative connotations of power and go back to something primal: the feeling of lacking control. Early humans lacked control over their environment, wild animals, and nature. Now, that lack of control extends to careers, children, parents—it's deeply distressing. This compels us to act, either positively or through covert means. Passive aggression demonstrates this inherent need for control. We can never have complete control; the idea is absurd and destructive. We need a degree of letting go. We want to influence others, to move them in a direction that benefits us or them. This need is universal, though we're often embarrassed by it. We can't force people; overt commands create resentment.

People are complex; they wear masks, resist, have egos that can be wounded. Power is an invisible realm of continuous struggle, rarely acknowledged. Entering the social or professional world, unprepared for these battles, is disorienting. Those adept at deception and manipulation can thrive, but most aren't "sharks." For the majority, navigating this world is challenging. Power isn't just domination; it's an internal need. Suppressing it leads to passive-aggressive behavior. To influence people, you need subtlety, understanding of psychology. The art of seduction is about moving people without them realizing it, in their interest or yours. It's not about manipulation, but about achieving results. The 48 Laws of Power are primarily about self-defense; how to avoid classic mistakes. It improves social interaction.

As a young person, finding my place in my friend group and academic studies wasn't about hierarchy, but about finding my unique slot where I could benefit myself and others. I had to figure out who was exerting power, overtly or covertly. Knowing one's place—professionally, interpersonally, and personally—is crucial. Trying to gain power inappropriately is energetically costly and miserable. Finding where you are most powerful, benevolently, is a good pursuit. This ties into mastery and finding one's purpose. I lacked physical power, so I pursued intellectual pursuits. I compensated for my weaknesses, finding my strengths and gaining power.

My dislike of office politics led me to a career I love. I’m an intellectual "beast," but not in a negative sense. Finding where we can excel, be a "beast," whether in painting, gardening, or anything else, ties back to mastery. Seduction is even more loaded than power, implying trickery. But it's hardwired into our nervous system. Seduction, to me, implies exchange. What are its core principles, and why are we wired for it?

My theory is that it relates to social taboos, particularly the incest taboo. Malanowski's theory suggests that prohibiting something creates desire. Suppressing a thought makes it stronger. The prohibited stirs desire. Seduction involves vulnerability; letting someone "under your skin." The seduced is complicit. Vulnerability is key; it creates patterns. Freud discussed this, noting that children are seduced by parents. The child is vulnerable, dependent, and the parent's energy is seductive. This pattern continues throughout life. Being carried by a parent is a form of seduction. Stories seduce us; we don't know what comes next. Surprise lowers resistance. Fairy tales, childhood stories, parental interactions, all deeply ingrained.

You can't be seduced without vulnerability. Many today are too invulnerable, unwilling to let anything in. This affects relationships; they resist influence. Surrendering to another's power is delightful. Reading, for example, can be seductive; letting the writer into your mind. Vulnerability is emotional and intellectual intelligence. It implies confidence, the ability to retreat if necessary. In romantic seduction, you open yourself up but retain the ability to withdraw if things turn dark. Attachment systems can overwhelm one's ability to disengage, even from harmful relationships. Women often write about men using manipulative tactics from my book, recognizing behaviors they'd experienced.

Men write less frequently about female seduction, although it exists. Female seduction often uses adornments – makeup, perfume, clothes – less often physical abuse. I acknowledge some strategies have a nefarious edge. I didn't want to censor myself. The archetype of the female seductress is the siren; men want to let go, surrender to a powerful woman. Powerful men have fallen for such women. They enjoy the release from control.

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My friend posed a question: all sexual exchanges involve a power exchange. "Topping from the bottom" – appearing weaker while actually controlling the dynamic – is a common tactic, creating potential problems later. This relates to covert contracts. How would you elaborate on the power dynamics in sex and romance?

I wrote *The Art of Seduction* focusing on women who historically lacked power, using sex as their tool. Cleopatra is an archetype, luring powerful men into a dynamic where she controls, even though it appears he's pursuing her. It's a game of appearances, making it hard to determine who's really in control. Sex, power, and romance are intertwined. It's dishonest to deny this; it's not wired in us for egalitarian relationships.

(Discussion of David Anderson's research on neural circuits for sexual mounting vs. nonsexual mounting/power display in animals omitted)

This is true; I've never read that. I wrote a chapter on love in my new book, contrasting it with seduction. I explored biological and physical aspects of love, describing a form of love that is equal, lacking the power dynamics of seduction. This is almost contradictory to *The Art of Seduction*. I discussed a French biologist (name forgotten) studying *Paramecium*. He found moments where these single-celled organisms coupled, absorbing one another's membranes, then separating. This suggested a deep biological desire for connection, going back millions of years. This desire transcends power dynamics; it’s a biological need for love. This energy permeates everything, showing a fundamental drive to connect. It's a need to connect, to let go of ego games, even transcending our own physiology. I call it "love sublime," involving physical and sexual aspects. Sex makes our bodies permeable to the other.

Energy, in a way you can't control, releases powerful brain chemicals. Often, this sensation is overwhelming, causing fear and retreat. But if you don't react and proceed, your mind becomes permeable to the other person's energy and desire. This creates a spiraling effect, a physical and mental connection reaching a state I call "Sublime Love." It's an ideal, rare in today's world, but historical stories illustrate it. I believe this deep connection is a biological necessity, often attributed to religion or God. However, I believe the essence of love's model exists between two human beings—straight or homosexual, it doesn't matter. Surmounting our neurology to enter this zone is deeply satisfying; we all crave it. This involves letting go of power dynamics, achieving equality. It's not about the other person being exactly like you, but recognizing their worthiness and respect, leaving other concerns aside. A zone exists outside these power dynamics.

I'm excited you're writing about this for your next book. I see parallels to today's political and social dynamics. Egos aren't set aside; both sides feel attacked, and those in between are confused. There's no sign of future reconciliation. Using your definition, nobody feels safe enough to be vulnerable, preventing the union of people—a key to many rewards. Setting aside power dynamics and embracing vulnerability is key to love, romantically and societally. What are the channels for this? While psychedelics might increase interconnectedness, it’s unrealistic and potentially unhealthy. Short of a magic solution, how do we save humanity?

I'm concerned about young people, hookup culture, and pornography, which rewires the brain, losing the connection I described. Young people, not surprisingly, grew up in a chaotic, hostile world. Things like pornography are hijacking brain hardwiring. While we can't fully rewire the brain, we can expand and rewire upon existing hardwiring. Your books focus on finding one's essence and the dance between hardwiring and potential through effort. How do we get out of this?

I address this in my chapter, "Escape the Prison of the Ego." I wanted to seduce the reader into seeing vulnerability as pleasurable and healthy. Creative people are extremely vulnerable to ideas and the environment. Closing yourself off into your ego is like a prison; escape is sought through drugs or porn, but these don't lead to true escape. We all desire to let go of the self and escape this prison. I frame this as a positive dynamic. The ability to be vulnerable, to accept potential hurt and learn from it, is key. Many young people write, saying they can't fall in love, fearing loss of control. Their behavior creates a sense of control, leading to over-indulgence in pornography and masturbation to avoid relational dynamics.

When young, we are idealistic, with dreams and hopes. Letting go of this possibility, deeply pleasurable and therapeutic, is the highest form of social interaction. My chapter portrays the awaiting pleasures of letting go of defenses, opening yourself up to others—key to romantic relationships, career success, mental energy, and creativity. I may not have a huge impact, but I'm advocating for opening yourself to the universe as an energy that permeates the world. I want people to feel the pain of being closed off, to understand it’s deeply painful and disconnecting. My other hope lies in the human spirit. Social media and instant gratification cause much of this disconnection. My hope is that young people will grow disgusted with this and hunger for something more communal and real. History shows cycles of invulnerability and closure followed by creative explosions (1960s, 1920s, 18th-century Europe). I hope for a similar shift, and structured my chapter to nudge this along.

I believe your conversations will have a tremendous effect. It's exactly what's needed. While power dynamics and seduction are inherent in human relations, we are in a challenging period. It's relieving to know it's happened before, but in a different context. It's not a pendulum swinging back and forth; it's become a wrecking ball, doing damage as it reaches extremes. I look forward to a time when people acknowledge injustices but transcend them. Justice is important, but the ready availability of pornography, high-density calorie foods, and constant examples of injustice on social media hijack our creativity and prevent vulnerability. We feel compelled to act on every injustice, becoming overwhelmed and distracted from deeper purpose. It's not just the lure of sex, food, and social media; it's the constant bombardment of injustice. We need to determine what we can actually control. I constantly catch myself discussing injustices with coworkers, instead of focusing on anything else. We need to learn what to ignore.

I used to use Nextdoor, but the constant reports of theft and crime made me enjoy Oakland less. The app is algorithmically designed to show negativity, triggering our natural responses. We must learn to shut this stuff out and focus on what we can control. My outrage over the situation in Ukraine consumes me, but I limit my exposure to the constant barrage of negativity. We need instruction on what to ignore and what to pay attention to. We can control some injustices through voting, activism, and addressing climate change. Falling into these negativity rabbit holes is disruptive, weakening and draining. Learn to ignore what you can't control, focus on what you can. We are wired to see red alert buttons, but this is negative and a distraction from our purpose.

Modern life requires the ability to ignore certain things. Channeling negative energy into something positive and prosocial is crucial. This could be art, activism, or a life purpose. You’ve discussed masculine and feminine roles and the crisis in these dynamics. Men have feminine sides, and women have masculine sides, as Jung described. It's confusing for both men and women; there are conflicting messages. Young women are told to strive for equality, yet are judged on their appearance. Young men are told that traditional masculinity is negative. We lack positive models of femininity and masculinity.

I think of positive masculine traits: inner strength, emotional control, resilience, quiet calm, the ability to handle criticism and failure. This contrasts with the negative portrayals of aggression and abuse. True masculinity should be about security, confidence, and inner strength. We should venerate these qualities, not the destructive behaviors. There's also a role for men with more feminine virtues. For women, it's about power, competence, expertise, and career success, not constant appearance judgments. I was fortunate to grow up with positive models, such as my father, a quiet, calm, empathetic man. Many lack these models and are lost. I don't have easy answers, but I wish I did.

Social media provides many more examples of masculine and feminine qualities. A key to being functional is learning to ignore. We have access to a vast array of food options, unlike our ancestors. Similarly, we have an overwhelming number of options for self-expression. How do we choose? Teenagers constantly ask "Who am I?" Adults don't ask that often. We've gone over a cliff with this; young people are confused. The moment one assumes a balanced set of masculine/feminine attributes, countless examples contradict them. Anchoring to one's own sense of self invites conflict. There is no single set of ideals, making picking role models crucial.

I learned the importance of picking role models from your book *Mastery*. I had lonely years, lacking male role models. I adopted mentors, changing them as needed. I combined and integrated different influences, creating a patchwork of mentors. *Mastery* taught me this process. I had a wonderful graduate advisor, but she couldn't explain certain things, so I found others. This created a well-rounded set of mentors.

This process is ongoing; who you glom onto at 14 changes by 19. My high school English teacher taught me to write; a Berkeley professor became a surrogate father; a book packager mentored me later. I found people with qualities I admired. They were flawed, and eventually I moved on, but this process was key. We learn not just from ideas but from energy and spirit. You may not have picked up my energy from *Mastery*, but you’ve internalized positive qualities from mentors through verbal and nonverbal communication. You can rewrite your family history by choosing mentors. It must be the right fit, someone you connect with emotionally and intellectually, possessing the qualities you admire.

Since college, I’ve kept a notebook of people I admire and emulate. Names are crossed off, but most remain. After reading *Mastery*, your name joined the list. I experienced the misfortune of having all three academic advisors die, leaving me scientifically orphaned. I had to find new mentors and essentially learn to be my own mentor. Following people on social media is easy; mentorship requires work and courage. It’s about engaging with people you admire, which strengthens social skills. You must actively engage, not just passively observe.

Engaging with recommended tools is immensely helpful—hearing about a book, reading it, thinking about it, and writing your own ideas. That's what the universe wants—to think for yourself, not mimic others. You want to absorb ideas, process them, and make them your own, putting them through your own lens. A book I’m considering is on the art of thinking, distinguishing between dead and alive thinking. An alive idea is processed, reflected on, and refined. What prevents this process is anxiety. Anxiety signals a problem you don't understand. Insecure people grab the first easy answer, preventing deeper thought.

Those able to deal with anxiety, exploring multiple alternatives before rushing to conclusions, make better choices. Creative people face anxiety with blank pages; the ability to transform this anxiety into something creative and productive leads to great things. The ability to manage anxiety and resist instant gratification is a marker of creativity and invention, allowing people to move beyond recycling old ideas. Anxiety makes children of us all.

In the positive sense of being childlike, it regresses us to a mode where we feel a complete lack of control. I completely agree that being able to manage anxiety and work with it—since we can't rid ourselves of it—is key. Perhaps we shouldn't, because it's a signal, as you point out, that we don't understand something; that there's something to get curious about—a process, something out there, or both. That really resonates, and I think a lot of people will benefit from hearing that.

We hear the word "flow," and imagine—I even catch myself imagining—that when Robert Greene sits down to write, it's like there's a blank sheet, and then he just kind of meditates, and then boom, out come these books. But, if I get realistic for a second, I'm sure there's a lot of inner turmoil and anxiety. Oh my God, you have no idea! My process is 95% pain and maybe 2.5% ecstasy. I don't know what the other 2.5% would be.

I write a story—in my new book, and most of my books, I always begin with a story from history, etc.—and it is so bad. I just can't believe how bad, how flat it is, how it sucks. I'm so embarrassed; I hate myself. Then I dig in, changing words, making it a little better. The second version is kind of palatable, but it still sucks. If I let it out into the world, it would be very embarrassing. It's an anxious process, and my wife can tell you I'm a miserable being when that happens. Everything looks black to me at that point. I push through it. If I gave in to my anxiety—and this happens with a lot of books and writers—I would just put out that second version, which isn't very good, isn't very strong, isn't thought through. My ideas, when I look at them the first time, I go, "That's not real; that's not the actual thing that's going on here. Robert, you've missed the mark." You want to hit what's actually real in that story, so you have to go deeper and harder. I don't just give up; I keep pushing until, after two months of struggling, it seems like it's gone to the place I wanted to be. I use that anxiety to keep improving and making it better. When the story is good enough and I can let my wife read it, then my editor, I feel great. I have that 2% moment of joy, but it came through all that anxiety. The feeling of fulfillment when I finish a chapter is pretty damn great; when I finish a book, it's better than any drug experience. It's such a wonderful feeling of accomplishment and pushing past all the barriers. That's why I'm talking about it; why I want to write a book about it.

I'm attempting to write a book and have been for several years. I feel a little bit better, but clearly I need to ratchet down harder. In other domains of life, I am familiar with tons of anxiety. I just say, "Okay, I'm going to get to this one milestone, and then I'll figure out the next milestone." Even that process of breaking it down into milestones is anxiety-provoking. But at some point, it generates enough inertia that you just stumble forward into the process and keep going. Try not to bloody oneself too much. I think a lot of people will benefit from hearing about that; in fact, I'm certain they will.

Speaking of anxiety, you have a clip on the internet (we will provide a link in the show notes captions) about how to find a romantic partner or get more out of an existing romantic partnership. I don't even remember what I said; you're going to have to remind me. Oh, it's so good. One point in particular that I remember is so true: there needs to be at least one, and probably several, points of real convergence in terms of one's interests or likes that go beyond what food someone likes or what type of house they want to live in. It traces back to these early forms of delight. You mentioned that for you—and therefore presumably your partner—a mutual love and respect for animals happens to be one of those things within the context of your relationship. A love for animals isn't required for me, but it sure as hell is for me! I could never go out with a woman who didn't love animals. My sister used to tease me that if a woman gave me a birthday card with a drawing of a particular animal I'm particularly fond of, she'd say, "Oh no, it's over; he's gone." Fortunately, it's not that simple, but there's some truth to what she was saying. It's certainly necessary, but not sufficient. Maybe you could elaborate on this notion of convergent interest and contrast it with what people tend to hear and say about what's important in partnership.

There are different relationships you can have. Do you want a one-week, one-month relationship? Are you looking for something longer, more satisfying, that will entail years of being together? People can get very boring very quickly, particularly if you can't have a conversation with them about subjects that interest you. Animals are a very good example, because I'm not saying you both have to be Democrats or Republicans—that's too banal and superficial—but the love of animals reaches into your character, something deep inside you (or your dislike of animals, if that's the case). It signals something so primal, so connected to a child, that there's going to be a deep connection there. It's not that you both have to love cats (which is good if that happens to be the case), but just animals in general. You love their energy, their innocence, the fact that they're not playing games with you, the instant love you can get from them. Connecting on that level is a very positive sign because it goes beyond intellectual things into something emotional and visceral. Emotional connections and shared values are very important. Money is another extremely important one. If one of you is incredibly materialistic and it's all about money, power, success, and comfort, and the other isn't really into it, you'll have endless fights. There's no convergence. Money signals a deeper value about the person. I'm not saying there's anything wrong if money motivates you; I'm not moralizing about it, because that can signal a value—maybe you grew up without it, and feeling comfortable and not having to worry about something is very important to you. Not being interested in money reveals something about your character. You want to look at the person's character and see a kind of convergence there, something that can last.

I was reading about Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt. Franklin was this incredibly handsome, vibrant young man before he got polio—very active, very athletic, very handsome; all the women were after him. He was the perfect match; he was wealthy. Eleanor Roosevelt was like the ugly duckling; she wasn't very pretty; she was kind of socially awkward. But he saw into her character; he saw that intellectually she was a match for him; they had similar interests on that deeper level I'm talking about. He chose Eleanor, and everyone was shocked. Nobody was courting Eleanor. It was very shocking. He said he looked for someone he could last with, who had qualities that were much more important to him. It ended up being a very satisfying relationship (of course, later on he had his Dianes, so it wasn't perfect), but it was a very positive relationship.

Consider your values in life: money, career, comfort (or lack of comfort). Some people like not being comfortable; they like being on the edge; they want challenges; they want to move from city to city. If you partner with someone who just wants to live in the same house, you're going to have conflict after conflict. The sex might be great for a month or two, but it won't lead to a long-lasting relationship. Sports and athletics are another thing—someone who likes the outdoors versus someone like Zsa Zsa Gabor, who has to be in a penthouse in Times Square. Values that reach inside a person's character, that are deeply ingrained, that you can almost not change—that you can't control—and there's convergence there on several levels, is a sign that you can have a deep connection with that person. It's very important. If those connections are good, and there's physical attraction (because without it, it will fizzle out), you've got a recipe for incredible success, for something that can really last.

Having a lasting relationship is such an anchor in your life. For someone who works as hard as I do—and hopefully for her as well—it grounds me; it makes life so much simpler and easier. It's not just simple and easy; there's a lot of love and deeper emotions involved. But having a long-term relationship, if you can have it, pays off in so many dividends.

When I first met my wife, I had a cat. I'd always been a dog person, but I loved that cat. I brought her over to my apartment on the first date; I wanted to see her reaction to the cat. I generally can't get along with women who don't like cats. There's something feline in the feminine nature that I love. She loved my cat—that was the best sign of all! Things just blossomed; she loved me for loving a cat. There was a great convergence right there that we saw right away; there were other things, but that was the first one.

Everything you just said suggests that to find the right partner and build a hopefully satisfying partnership requires self-knowledge. Unless you know your own character, it's impossible to determine if someone else's character is going to mesh well with it. Self-awareness is the most important quality in life, for all aspects. If we go by social pressures, a man will choose a trophy wife who looks sexy and hot and will impress all his male friends. You go by what culture tells you are the right images, and there won't be any connection because you're choosing for purposes that don't connect to who you are. You have to know what you love and hate. I think most people know whether they love or don't love animals; whether they like stability or chaos. You don't have to go through deep introspection, but in a relationship, you have to think those things matter. That's the problem; you think sex, physical attraction, or money matters more, not this other aspect. If you value what I'm talking about, your self-awareness will kick in because you basically know these essential parts about your own character.

People get distracted by admirable qualities that don't mesh with their own character. Someone will list off the positive attributes of the person they're dating—he does this, she does that, he volunteers—and that's great. Volunteering is good, but they overlook whether that's a core value for them or just something they admire. I hear a lot of admiration in the early days of relationships that later fail. What you're talking about is something deeper, more aligned with one's sense of self. It's a merging of people's energies—it sounds very New Age, but I think it relates to something valid: how it feels to be around someone. Do we feel at ease, lightness, ability to express ourselves? Do we enjoy and admire them in their expression, as opposed to just admiring what they've accomplished? They manifest qualities I wish I had, which is very different from a meshing of energies.

You have to understand their character as well. People can be deceptive and wear masks. One telling sign I've noticed is that a woman would be a certain way with me that I liked, and then, with other people, she acted in a very irritating way—like a different character. I fell out of love with her when I saw her in social interactions; she was wearing a mask, playing a game. In different circumstances, I saw other aspects of her character. Be attentive to their character; are these values genuine, or are they trying to win you over? Another important thing is a sense of mystery. A partner can become boring very quickly. After a year, you know everything about them; the conversations go in circles; there are no surprises, no mystery. You want someone who has corners you don't see at first, who surprises you. People who are too obvious, too familiar, who show everything instantly, will bore you. People who intrigue you, that you don't fully understand, that make you want to know more—if they can be like that after two, three, or five years—wow, that's fantastic. Knowing everything about someone and never being surprised is what breaks the enchantment and leads to the end of the relationship.

The idea of more to learn about someone suggests they are continuing to evolve, that they're not fully baked. In our four-episode series on mental health, Paul, a psychiatrist, said a matching of generative drives—the desire to create something of one's own expression—is critical in relationships. It matters less whether one person likes classical music and the other rock and roll, provided their relationship to music is similar. It's about a drive to engage in the world. One person could love music; the other isn't into it, but their approach to life is one of mutual curiosity. This exists on a continuum. It seems to jive with what you're saying. The only thing I'd add is that if you love classical music and they love heavy metal, you're going to be driven crazy. It's not going to mesh. I know I'd have that problem; you'll both be in headphones a lot. Music is like animals; I agree completely with what you're saying, but music isn't the best example, because it says something very deep about a person. I'm not saying one is superior to the other, but it reveals something nonverbal that gives you a window into who they are. If they like punk rock, there's a rebellious, anti-authoritarian quality. If they like Mozart, there's someone who values softness and tranquility. You don't have to both love The Clash, but you both have that rebellious streak. That convergence is positive.

I'm curious about nonverbal communication in all types of relationships, but let's stay in the landscape of romantic relationships for the moment. Maybe include professional relationships too, because what you just described is about resonance around the nonverbal stuff. It can be articulated with words—"I love animals," "I love this music,"—but language is just an attempt to place words on a feeling. It can be classified as nonverbal. You've written extensively about how people communicate with their bodies and facial expressions. I'm familiar with the eerie sensation of someone smiling a toothy smile, and then, as they pivot away, that smile just dissolving very quickly. You don't have to be a neuroscientist to realize that there was something false about that experience, or that this person experiences emotions like step functions—on, off, on, off—which is not how most of us experience emotions. Most of us experience emotions with some pervasiveness.

Let's talk about the mouth, eyes, face, body in the context of communication. One thing I wanted to go back to, regarding convergence, is a sense of humor. It's extremely important. It's not that you both like the same comedians, but if one person likes raunchy humor and the other doesn't, that's a problem. Also, if the person doesn't have a sense of humor or doesn't make you laugh, it's a very bad sign. I'm so glad you did. Someone who can make me laugh is necessary but not sufficient, but boy, it's approaching sufficient.

The art of seduction is a nonverbal language you must master. It's a language of gifts, of how you smell, of how you communicate through the eyes, etc. We evolved for much longer without words than the 35,000 years we've had symbolic language. During that vast period, we communicated nonverbally; we were picking up signals, watching every detail of behavior. It's wired into our brains to have amazing sensitivity to people's nonverbal communication; we can almost be telepathic if we learn that language. The problem is we don't develop it because we're so word-oriented. We're just hearing words, thinking they mean something, that they're sincere (which they often aren't). At the same time you're listening to words, people are shuffling in their chair, looking away, looking at other women or men; their voice is trembling; their eyes are dead; the smile is fake. You're not watching any of it.

The most important thing in nonverbal communication, law number one, is to pay attention to it. Continually develop the practice of shutting off the words and watching people as if you muted the television. It's not easy or natural, because it's the words, words, words we want to focus on. But your ability to turn that television off will open up so many things about people. They reveal so much. Sigmund Freud said people continually ooze out all their secrets through their nonverbal behavior. You can read them like an open book if you master this language. In *Laws of Human Nature*, I described the story of Milton Erickson, perhaps the greatest modern master of nonverbal communication. He was an amazing psychologist; the inspiration behind NLP (it's a bastardization of his ideas). He created hypnotherapy.

Milton Erickson had polio at 19 and was paralyzed; he couldn't even move his eyeballs. He sat in bed and had a very active mind; he was going to die from sheer boredom. During two years of being paralyzed, he watched people's nonverbal communication and made notes in his brain. He learned the 20 different forms of "yes," the 100 different forms of "no," every intonation, how someone entered and left a room, how they looked at him with pity or empathy. He mastered it. When he became a psychiatrist, people thought he was psychic because he could see into them. For two years, that's all he could do—observe. You have that same power, but you don't have polio. You have to pay attention to it. It's amazing; it's a lot of fun. I tell people to go to a cafe and just watch people. You can't hear them, but watch their nonverbal behavior as they interact and see if you pick up cues.

An exercise: go up to someone from an angle where they can't see you coming, and surprise them. For that second, their expression reveals how they really think about you. You'll detect microexpressions—they're only 1/150th of a second, but they're there. They smile, but you see disdain in their eyes; then the mask comes on. Or, you're talking to them, they're looking at you, but their feet are facing the opposite direction—they're dying to get away. These are signals you don't pay attention to. Their posture will tell you everything about their confidence levels. The fake smile—mastering the ability to detect it will do wonders for you because you'll be able to see what's really going on.

You want to see a genuine smile, particularly in romantic relationships. A real smile lights up your whole face; it doesn't just light up your mouth; parts of your face go up; your eyes get alive; there's a neuro thing going on. It means someone genuinely likes you, is genuinely interested in you, is genuinely laughing or connecting to you. If you can see that, it'll help you so much in the romantic realm; it'll help you get away from toxic people who fake interest. A narcissist thrives by deceiving you with a charming front; then they can hurt you; they have you in their trap. Being able to see that they're not genuinely interested will help you avoid toxic relationships. Deep narcissists have dead eyes; they can fake the smile, but not the eyes. You'll know it when you see it; there's no life in them; they're looking through you, not at you; what can I get out of you? You're a self-object, an object to use.

The concept of dead eyes and alive eyes is fascinating. The eyes are the only two pieces of your brain that are outside the cranial vault; they're literally two pieces of brain lining the back of your eyes. The dynamics of the pupils reflect how bright or dim it is, but also levels of arousal on the millisecond time scale. As one expresses glee, the pupils dilate; vice versa, as one feels less excited, the pupils get smaller. We pick up on these things unconsciously, but we don't give them value; we trust our words and rationality as opposed to our intuitions. Sometimes, when you meet someone, signals go up in your brain—"Something's wrong"—and then you forget it because you don't trust those initial unconscious signals. You have to trust that these intuitions are valuable.

Pay deep attention to the tone of voice. Actors will tell you it's the hardest thing to fake. It's very hard to fake excitement; your voice either has it or it doesn't. It's hard to fake confidence. A person will reveal so much of their emotions, particularly levels of confidence—a trembling voice or a booming confident voice. On the level of seduction, men are very attuned to a woman's voice, but we're not aware of it. Our mother's voice had an incredible impact on us in early childhood; her singing, the tone of her voice—that was probably the first seduction. A woman's voice has tremendous power over us. Hearing a voice that grates or irritates you is a bad sign; it goes deeper than the characteristics we were talking about. A woman's voice that reminds you of your mother—that sing-song feeling—that's someone who can easily seduce you.

There's a place for naming this—subcortical courtship—below the cortex. We express with words; we sense the world using our cortex, but we're talking about getting into the subcortical stuff—the stuff of our history, our hardwiring, our uniqueness. Earlier, we were talking about the vast number of choices, but now, with micro-inflections and subtleties of voice and bodily communication, whether it's emojis or filtered images or text message communication, we have more choices, more input, but the qualitative differences between the inputs have been binned into a couple of simple bins, as if we've regressed to primary colors only. The canvas is huge. Ultimately, to develop good choices about profession, romantic relationships, friendships, you need a lot of examples and information to glean subtlety. But with emojis and filtered pictures, there's increased opportunity for deception—not just people misleading others, but us misleading ourselves—"How could I be so disappointed again?" You're fooled because the inputs were deficient—not good data.

If you're immersed in the virtual realm, it's very hard to master nonverbal communication. If you're dating from an app, you've missed out on the greatest experience of life—actually having to go out and encounter another person, looking at their behavior and assessing who they are. It's a muscle you have to develop. If you're retreating and don't want to be around people, and then you go out, you feel awkward; it takes a couple of days to get used to being around other people. You say stupid things; your body language is awkward. But if you're constantly interacting with people, that skill starts developing. You have to be out there in the world; you have to be looking at people's emotions; you have to be gauging them in real time. We're not built for virtual encounters; we're creatures of flesh and blood; we need to be looking at each other in the eye and paying attention to these details, these nuances you can only get in person.

What are your thoughts about AI and how it's going to shape our sense of self, sense of others, and relationships? I'm going to piss a lot of people off, but I'm concerned about it. I mentioned anxiety's role in thinking. You come upon an idea, and you go, "Yeah, that's all good," then you go to the next level, and it becomes better, then you go, "Maybe that's not so good," then you go to the next level, and it gets better and better. Another aspect of intelligence is self-awareness—to look at yourself and go, "I have biases; I have confirmation bias; I have conviction bias; I have recency bias; I have to counteract these things. I also have a dark side; I have aggression; I have to be aware of how they color my thinking and emotions." The third quality that goes into intelligence—not artificial intelligence—is the ability to look inside of yourself and see your own biases, and the ability to see a holistic picture—the "aha" moment scientists have where you accumulate data points, and then an image comes to your mind—"There's the answer; I see the whole thing." Simone Weil compared it to a square cube—you can only see a cube from one side; you can never see a square cube.

You only see one side of a rotating object; you're still only seeing sides of it. Only in your mind can you picture the whole thing. The mind must go through a process to achieve holistic thinking.

If they can invent a machine that deals with anxiety—and has anxiety—and can reach level three… if they can make a machine that’s self-aware… the people who programmed me have biases; therefore, I have biases. I also have a dark side because people who have a dark side programmed me. If this machine can also think holistically, beyond all data points and the mass of information it combines, it can have that "aha!" moment: "All right, I can see human consciousness; I can see creativity there."

The other thing I'd say is, way back when I was a 19-year-old student at Berkeley, one summer was a big paradigm shift for me. I decided to take this ancient Greek class—a year's worth of ancient Greek in six weeks! That meant a daily exam, a final exam every Friday, eight hours a day of a dead language. I thought this would be the best discipline for me, after… well, after doing too many drugs, to be honest.

Finally, they gave us a paragraph by the hardest ancient Greek writer to read. Near the end, through cities or through kitties, as they say, I stared. I had the whole night to translate one paragraph. I couldn't figure it out. You have to understand the weirdness of ancient Greek: all the endings, the weird ways of thinking… the whole picture. That "aha!" moment eluded me. At one point, I thought I got it, translated it, and gave it to the teacher. I remember he was a classic Berkeley professor—a hippie. The fact that I knew his first name, Dennis, is very telling. He said, "Robert, I can see your thinking, but you need to go to another level. You missed it; you didn't have that 'aha!' moment. You were close, but you didn't put the whole thing together. You have to try harder." That stuck in my mind forever. Whenever I have a problem, I have to think harder; I have to go to that next level.

Now, what would have happened if I'd pulled out my translation and just copied it? Or what if I’d put it through ChatGPT and it gave me the translation? That muscle in my brain, developed over 40 years, allowing me to write books, would never have developed. I don't know the answer; I have to go to another level. I have to try harder; I have to think. I have to have that engine working. But if I just grab for ChatGPT, it’s deadened. We’re going to have a whole generation of people who stop thinking, who don't go through that process. You've heard of Douglas Hofstadter? I think he said people train to climb Mount Everest—months of physical exertion, it's painful—then they climb Everest and see the top: "Whoa! What a great moment!" He said ChatGPT is the equivalent of taking a helicopter to the top of Everest without any of that training, having the same moment. It's not the same. You need to go through that process, that pain. And the thing is, ChatGPT—we think we're so modern, so sophisticated—but we're seduced by magic. You put it in, see the script going, "Whoa!" It's like magic, like a magician, but it's empty. It's not your brain functioning; it's the pagan part of us. We like that kind of magic as opposed to actually having to go through the thought process.

I'm not against having tools; I use tools. I use the internet, Google. I search for some factoid for my book, find it, use it. I like it. But I've also learned to develop my brain, to think, to get that engine constantly moving. I'm deeply concerned about people who can't learn a foreign language, who can't master anything, who just grab the first answer generated… etc., etc. I have concerns.

I was thinking that some people might hear what you said and say, "Oh, well, the same thing was probably said about the automobile." How many amazing experiences of walking are lost when people start driving? But a key difference is that it’s not just arriving at the same destination; the destination itself is different when one exerts effort and experiences anxiety to get there. It's not the same as automobile versus horse versus walking versus airplane; it's fundamentally different because the journey transforms the outcome.

I agree with you about many aspects of AI; I'm also excited about it in certain contexts. It could be a tool, but are we operating the tool, or is the tool operating us? That's what I'm talking about. I'm concerned, especially in the context of avatars replacing our online personas. The avatar of ourselves is already taking place through filters, reduction of emotional expression to emojis, reduction of language to fewer words. A prior guest, Lisa Feldman Barrett, an expert in emotions, talked about how the moment a culture has a word for a particular subset of anxious feelings… for instance, in Japanese, there's a word for the sadness one experiences when they get a bad haircut. That normalizes the feeling and leads to less despair, as opposed to what many kids grow up learning: "I'm anxious, I'm sad, I'm depressed." In science, there are lumpers and splitters, arguing over brain structures. If I name two things differently, I can name one after myself. With too many lumpers or splitters, things are overly simple or overly complex. The best use of naming things is somewhere in the middle; that's how a field progresses. If you lump things together too much, a field can't progress; you give yourself the illusion it's progressing, but it's not. If you split things into a million subcategories… even "adrenaline" is also called "epinephrine," because of arguments over credit. It's confused people for decades. There's another story there, a love triangle about the naming of parts of the nervous system… people sleeping with other people's partners. Love triangles have created more drama in science nomenclature. I could do a whole hour on this.

What I'm hearing is that we cannot afford to lose our sense of nuance, because that sense of nuance taps into what we're really experiencing, and AI threatens that. We can become avatars of ourselves. We worship technology; it's our new religion. We worship ChatGPT as if it's a god; seriously, there are religious elements going on here. What we should worship is the human brain, the greatest creation in the known universe. It's the most complex piece of matter; the number of neurons, synapses, possible connections between neurons is practically infinite. It's a wondrous instrument, so powerful; we've barely scratched the surface. Let us worship that brain in your head. You only have so many years to use it, develop it. It's so wonderful and powerful, it can bring you such pleasure and power in life. Tools are fine; we need hammers, nails, saws, etc. But the real thing is the hand that uses it, the brain that connects the hand to the hammer, that knows how to hit things. I think of Renoir. In his last years, he couldn't move his right arm, but he put the brush in his mouth and painted beautiful paintings. His brain had mastered the art of painting, not his hand. The brain's plasticity is a miracle. Professor Schwarz at UCLA was studying OCD and how he cured people through plasticity exercises, making them aware of their brain lock. That plasticity goes on into your 60s, 70s, and onward. Let's all get down on our hands and knees and worship the brain! If we did, it would create a complete shift in our values. We wouldn't be so instantly seduced and enamored with technology; we'd worship the brains that create the technology.

My scientific great-grandparents are David Hubel and Torsten Wiesel. David's dead; Torsten's still alive, 96. They won the Nobel Prize for discovering the critical window early in development where plasticity is especially robust. They should have won two Nobels, frankly. One thing they missed, though, is that the brain maintains immense plasticity throughout the entire lifespan. The conditions change, but your situation highlights that. You mentioned you experienced a stroke. Your shirt, while nicely designed, includes unique stitching. For those listening, there's a jagged line of stitching from Robert's left short sleeve to his midline, and from his right short sleeve to the midline, offset from one another. It looks like someone at a sewing machine put it back together. Why are those stitches in your shirt? Tell us about the stroke, and let's talk about neuroplasticity.

It was May 2018, my birthday. My wife gave me this shirt; I love plaids. Can I interrupt? Do you know there’s a fundamental circuit in your visual cortex designed to detect plaid patterns? We can talk about why that is later. Okay, back to my birthday. She gave me this plaid shirt, and two or three months later, August 17, 2018, I was driving. She was with me. I started driving, and suddenly she said, "Pull over, Robert! Pull over!" Why? I can drive; I'm fine. Then everything started getting strange; everything looked strange. My voice didn't sound the same. She was freaking out, but actually fairly calm. I was undergoing a stroke. A blood clot was blocking blood flow to my brain. At one point, I got out of the car—I don't know what I was thinking—then she pulled me back in. The rest goes blank. I had weird sensations that remain. I was on the verge of dying. Blood not flowing to your brain is basically the end, unless something happens quickly. She called 911; my face looked funny. They got there; I was unconscious. They cut my shirt and took it off. They intubated me, I believe in my hip area. The blood clot was in my neck; they freed it up and rushed me to the hospital. I was unconscious, then I woke up in a gurney. For a moment, I thought I was dead; I almost felt like I was in a coffin. I had weird sensations. We're so curious about death; we think about it a lot. Dying is actually much more interesting than death. People who have near-death experiences have gone through that process of dying and come back to life. Strange things happen to the brain. With a stroke, blood stops flowing, oxygen stops flowing, and you have visions that might seem like hallucinations, but later seem like glimpses of reality. I've written about this in my new book. My idea of the brain is that it creates endless illusions: a seamless version of reality, the sense of self, a continuous self through time, a linear sense of time, colors, a visually familiar world… but it's all illusion, all construction. Images come into your brain unorganized; the brain organizes them. When you're dying, it all scrambles up, and you're seeing something else. I saw, for instance, that I really don't have a self; it doesn't really exist. The image that came to mind was like taking an image of something real and scrambling it up; it was all wavy. That was the image I had of the self. There are 50 different selves inside you competing; you think there's just one, consistent self, but there's not. It's an illusion. The self is literally an illusion your brain constructs. When you're dying, you see these things; you see that time is weird. When I got out of the car, I thought 10 seconds had passed; my wife said it was 10 minutes. I had no sense of time; everything was scrambled. It taught me so much. My brain was damaged; I can't communicate with my hand, fingers, leg. You think walking, writing, handling things is just your body operating; it's your brain telling you how to move. When the brain stops functioning, you realize how much it determines everything. It all starts there. When there's damage, your whole thinking alters. It was a terrible experience; it ruined so many things, but it gave me a lot in return. I could go on for hours. It was the most powerful experience of my life.

When you were regaining consciousness, did you feel as if you were observing multiple versions of yourself? Did you feel you were behind the circuit board of your brain, observing how you normally function, seeing multiple selves? Or was it something else, outside of your body and brain?

I think it was more outside my body and brain. I also had this: sometimes your memory plays tricks on you. I have to realize I'm not remembering exactly what happened, or that I've since translated it differently. That's a caveat. I had a vision that I was dead, up in the sky, looking down. My mother and wife were talking, over my grave, I suppose. I felt, "Huh, everything's okay. I'm gone, but life goes on. They're doing fine. It's okay." I don't know about that sense of self; I have a feeling it was something from the outside. I don't know the answer; it's very confused. The other feeling was life draining out of me, my bones getting softer and softer. I can't explain the feeling of bones dissolving, but for weeks afterward, I could access that feeling. It was a feeling of all your energy draining. Reading books about near-death experiences—a big part of my next book—is fascinating. It teaches us so much. I'm so glad you survived. You seem extremely sharp. One of the most common fears is losing one's mind or memory; people aren't aware of it. You mentioned that while you've lost abilities, new appreciations and abilities have surfaced.

I had to confront my demons, the sense that I expected things out of life, and now they're taken away. I'm ungrateful for being alive, pissed off that it takes me 10 minutes to tie my shoes. I had to learn what really matters, to have patience. I used to love hiking; I was very physically active. Now I'm sitting at my window, seeing people running, bicycling, walking their dogs… I'm so envious. But then I think, "They're not aware of how wonderful it is just to walk a dog, but I am." When I'm in my backyard and can't walk, I see butterflies and think, "Wow, that's incredible!" Things I couldn't appreciate before because I took them for granted. Now, when I sit at my desk to write, those four hours are bliss. It means so much to just be alive. I have a chapter in my new book, "Awaken to the Strangeness of Being Alive." It's about how unlikely it is that we even exist. All the bottlenecks in evolution, including the dinosaurs' disappearance and the emergence of mammals… twenty huge bottlenecks. We nearly went extinct 80,000 years ago from a virus; only 8,000 humans were left. Here we are with Zoom meetings! It's beyond science fiction, but nobody thinks about it. Nobody sits down and goes, "God, I'm alive!" If you went back to the chain of people leading up to your parents, the unlikeliness of you being born is astronomical. Nobody thinks about it. Well, I certainly do now, because I almost died. I have nothing else to think about. It's taken a lot away from me. I can't swim; I'm riding my recumbent bike, and 80-year-old grandmothers are zipping by me. My insecurities well up, but I realize, "Hey, I'm on a boat; I'm sailing; it's wonderful." I have to go through these processes, but I think it's developed me in a positive way.

It's like I adjusted to a new frame rate on life. The old movie had a certain frame rate; this movie has a different frame rate. But within that frame rate are gifts I missed before. I totally took my life for granted. I was swimming, bicycling, traveling, but never sat back and thought, "Wow, this is wonderful." It could be taken away tomorrow. Don't do that to yourself. Appreciate those things.

A critical message is to inspire a sense of urgency. People hear "urgency" and think, "Oh God, I'm already under so much pressure," but we're not talking about taking on more; we're talking about finding one's purpose. Get out of apathy, laziness, languishing. Pay deeper attention. This is a concept I learned from you: how do you get yourself out of a rut? You start paying deeper attention to things around and inside you. You referred to that as "death ground." It's a strategy from my book, *33 Strategies of War*. The idea is like barometric pressure. When necessity is pressing in, your back is against the wall, you find energy you never believed you had. William James talks about getting a second wind. When your life's in danger, you can leap over things you never could before. Sun Tzu says, "Put an army on death ground, and it will fight until it wins." Put an army with its back to the ocean or a mountain; it's either win or die; they'll fight 10 times harder. You'll find the energy you normally lack. When that pressure loosens, you think you have all the time in the world; you get nothing done. "I'm 23; I have years ahead. I'll figure it out. I'm not going to die." No, you don't. That pressure is gone, and you're wasting time. You need to put yourself on death ground, to feel that barometric pressure. The reality is you could die tomorrow; you could have a stroke, be fired… everything could fall apart. You need that sense of urgency. When you feel that pressure, suddenly you can move mountains. You have energy, focus… neurologically, everything clicks in. People who've had that experience, where they felt like the ship was going under, talk about all these physical processes. I have a story in my new book about a mountain climber who fell, cut his leg open, broke bones, and was going to die. He was alone, it was getting dark, a storm was coming. Suddenly he got up, all this energy, adrenaline, flowed in him. He was like a mountain goat; he got down. For 20 years, he was haunted by how that happened; he wanted that feeling again. He tried everything to get it back, and finally figured out the formula. It was the feeling of your life being in danger. Adrenaline, dopamine… everything occurred in him, and he found that energy. That's the ultimate death ground. The human will to live is incredible. I'm so grateful your stroke didn't take you out. There's still so much in there.

It's astonishing to me. I started today expressing gratitude for what you've done for my life and so many others. You've been on a foraging exploration, organizing and communicating information, mainly in books, but also online. You have a terrific YouTube channel, and other venues where you share information. It's clear this stuff comes from the heart. We're all grateful for that seed that was planted. I could make a long list of the ways you've improved the journey through life and made it clearer. Life can be hard, but also confusing. The Robert Greene roadmap is an extremely valuable map to have. Thank you for sharing today, and for all you do.

I wish I could find the word for these emotions I'm feeling. Thank you.

We'll have you back when your next book comes out. Hopefully I'm still around.

Thank you for joining me for today's discussion with Robert Greene. If you're learning from and enjoying this podcast, please subscribe to our YouTube channel. Please subscribe to the podcast on Spotify and Apple; you can leave a review. Check out the sponsors. If you have questions or comments, put them in the YouTube comment section. On the Huberman Lab podcast, we discuss supplements. To see the supplements, go to livemomentus.com/huberman. If you're not already following me on social media, I'm Huberman Lab on all platforms. If you haven't subscribed to our monthly neural network newsletter, go to hubermanlab.com, go to the menu tab, scroll down to newsletter, and enter your email. Thank you once again for joining me for today's discussion with Robert Greene, and thank you for your interest in science. [Music]