Jordan Peterson vs. Jordan Belfort: Between Stoicism and Hedonism

*This article is a preview of a forthcoming book of the same name.*

“Work hard, play hard!”

Tons of folks live by this maxim.

If you can’t reap the rewards, then why roll up your sleeves? The logic is simple enough.

Of course, just as many folks find this aphorism lacking. They can’t justify it, can’t fit it into their value system.

But, regardless of one’s specific taste on the matter, there’s a pretty simple dichotomy.

Some simply change things to, “Work hard, play… uhm… not quite as hard.”

While others, they go with a hearty — “Work hard, play even harder!”

Of course, some eschew the “Work” part entirely. But that’s another story altogether.

With what seems like a gross disparity between the lifestyles the sayings above embody, it would be easy to assume or insert some irreducible difference between the “not-quite-as-harders” and the “even harders.”

These people should essentially inhabit different worlds altogether, no?

But — beyond certain obvious and superficial differences — there is no such deep-seated difference. In actuality, it just may be that these two value systems are far closer to each other than we would ever guess.

Look at it this way… Take the infamous “Wolf of Wall Street,” Mr. Penny Stock Fraudster, Jordan Belfort. If you’ve never seen the 2013 eponymous movie, this should be enough of a primer:

“I will not die sober! Get those f**kin’ ‘ludes!”

Contrast this with the Stoic (if not self-avowedly so) and regimented author of the bestseller, “12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos”: Jordan Peterson. If you’ve never seen Dr. Peterson stab icy daggers into a YouTube screen, this too should do the trick:

“Life is suffering … Love is the desire to see unnecessary suffering ameliorated.”

Although these two men are ostensibly leagues apart, one glaring similarity jumps out almost immediately — intensity.

No doubt, there are myriad ways to be “intense.” Intensity might even serve as an apt descriptor for just about any trait under the sun. One can be intensely quiet, intensely exuberant, intensely fearful, intensely curious…

But there is actually a deeper connection between “Jordan 1” and “Jordan 2's” mental makeups. These two gentlemen exhibit what might best be called intensity of character.

“Character…? Um, do you mean to say that Dr. Peterson has no better morals than a young Jordan Belfort? Oh… you’re gonna mention Peterson’s addiction struggle aren’t you?”

Not exactly.

“Oh… So then you’re about to make the point that Peterson has intensely good character, whereas ‘The Wolf’ has intensely poor character?”

Eh… you’re getting closer there! But it’s not that reductive.

No, what I mean by “character” is neither moral mettle nor strength of conviction. I have something rather specific in mind. I mean to say that the respective personas that our two Jordans have constructed for themselves stand on similar foundations.

Assuredly, the personas themselves are startlingly different. But the psychological bedrock upon which they sit is of the same composition.

This is fairly abstract, so let’s call on a specific psychological phenomenon — something known as character planning. While you won’t find the term “character planning” in your trusty DSM-5, it does have a fascinatingly rich background.

The notion was actually coined by a Norwegian philosopher and social theorist, Jon Elster. The origins of the term sit sturdily embedded in the emblematic Stoic concern — the balance between one’s desires and one’s access to their fulfilment. Elster, in elucidating this age-old dilemma, calls on the ancient fable (attributed to Aesop) of “The Fox and the Grapes.”

Driven by hunger, a fox tried to reach some grapes hanging high on the vine but was unable to, although he leaped with all his strength. As he went away, the fox remarked ‘Oh, you aren’t even ripe yet! I don’t need any sour grapes.’ People who speak disparagingly of things that they cannot attain would do well to apply this story to themselves.

Our poor fox exhibits a classic case of irrational thinking, rationalizing his way out of a less-than-pleasant internal dilemma.

But it wouldn’t be so simple for us to diagnose Peterson and Belfort as mere irrational or rationalizing intense personalities. We could certainly make a strong case that The Wolf was highly irrational and reckless in his early life, but this would be to gloss over the core similarity I have in mind between him and Peterson. The latter is anything but wild and reckless.

This is where Elster’s “character planning” becomes of fine use. To best explain the concept, we can come back to the fox and the grape. But this time let us consider how things would go if, instead of rationalizing, our fox rationally altered his own preferences. It might go something like this:

The fox came back to the vine a bit wiser. He had remembered how uneasy he felt the previous day, as he told himself he never wanted the grapes to begin with. He decided he would no longer lie to himself. This time, he promised himself he would learn how to no longer desire the grape. He set his sights on a juicy bug, pittering across the lower edge of the vine, right in his reach. No, I never really needed the grape to begin with, he brought himself to believe. I now desire the bug even more!

This is getting closer to the fundamental similarity between Jordan 1 and Jordan 2.

We can now home in on something even more specific and concrete — the famous — if not, by now, cloyingly overused — “Stanford marshmallow experiment.”

In 1972 psychologist Walter Mischel conducted a study based around the ultimate Stoic obsession we mentioned earlier: the balance between one’s desires and one’s access to their fulfilment. The experiment was quite simple. The children in the study were offered a no-brainer choice — eat one marshmallow, or, eat two of them. The catch? The kids would only get two if they waited… Alone, in front of the marshmallows, for a quarter hour.

“Man this sucks… I should’ve joined the sleep study instead!”

The subjects who opted for two marshmallows (successfully, that is!) passed a basic test of character planning. In other words, they were able to alter their preferences. They were able to override their visceral desire to “eat one and run.”

Given this context of “character planning” it might be tempting to assume that it is thoroughly superior to its cousin, “sour grapes.”

But this isn’t so.

Although character planning can be a great tool for success when used in moderation, an excess of it can lock one into obsessive-like tendencies, snuffing out spontaneity and authenticity.

Quite simply, both of our Jordans serve as prime examples of character planning taken to the extreme. This is the root of their intensities. Nonetheless, it is no doubt much of the reason for their respective success.

Now, this is no universal “law of psychology,” but I’d venture to say that if one wishes to be highly successful but isn’t a skilled character planner, one should at the very least be pretty obsessive. But that’s an issue for another time.

So… our two Jordans are “character planners.” They’re adept at altering their preferences. But what does this actually entail?

To dig deeper into this, all we must do is revisit one simple word — persona. Although there have been many renditions and revisions of this term, what I have in mind might simply be called a “public personality.” Everybody’s got one… But some of us go to greater lengths to betray our private selves.

Before I get too deep and wind up speaking on matters I know nothing about, I should say that I don’t claim to know who the “real” Jordan Peterson or Jordan Belfort is. But the information available on their personal lives gives us a fair bit to work with.

The whole thing boils down to this… A persona is a long-term collection of preferences and choices. This is no “Marshmallow test,” no fox grasping for grapes. A persona is an aggregate. And by no means must it be a fully cohesive one.

Both Jordan Peterson and Jordan Belfort have meticulously and expertly crafted their public personalities over decades. Here’s what that means: even though they’ve established themselves as great masters of their own will, the insidious phenomenon of sour grapes still creeps in from time to time. It’s only human.

In Peterson’s case, as he’s boarding his fourth plane of the day en route to yet another conference, back aching and head pounding, he tells himself — “It’s ok… I don’t really want relaxation or comfort anyways.”

In the young Belfort’s case, after his fantasy of being waist deep in a mound full of prostitutes and filthy lucre fades from the screen, he too wakes up, back aching and head pounding. He tells himself — “It’s all good… I don’t f#%*ing want a more balanced life anyways.”

With Peterson, it’s the Stoic infatuation with pursuing discomfort for its own sake that knocks the grape higher up the vine.

For the great Wolf of Wall Street, it’s his obsession with extravagance and sensory experience that pushes the grape filled with a juicily idyllic balance further away from him.

Each of these gentleman, as they continue to character plan, must concoct increasingly involved narratives as to why they don’t really want that which will balance them.

As their public personalities intensify, so must their inner rationalizations.

The only way out is a loosening of the grip on one’s preferences. The only way out is a display of vulnerability and authenticity.