Linkedin is a veritable sea of recommendation and guruism, and therefore one of the least toxic social media empires in existence. However, like all social media platforms, socially normative discourses reign supreme—meaning, you’ll typically only see opinions and recommendations that resonate with the noosphere, or hive mind. Despite the obvious cultural programming at work as a byproduct of the algorithmic data we consume, Linkedin’s content creators tend to put out largely positive—if not extremely cliched—material.
Perhaps the most irksome of all tribal qualities among Linkedin’s network of 922+ million users is the rally cries heard far and wide around cult business books and authors, such as James Clear and his wildly popular Atomic Habits, Simon Sinek and his Start With Why, and Brené Brown and her Dare to Lead. I have read most or all of these books, and I’ll admit that I found lots of great information in all of them. There is plenty of self-transformative information and inspiring stories about success, failure, teamwork, culture, and empathy, empathy, empathy. These are positive principles that ought to be touted, no doubt.
The problem? It’s not so much in the literature as it is in the uprising that amasses around the literature. It’s almost shocking to me just how many Linkedin posts I’ve read by talented leaders and professionals that quote and name drop these and similar business gurus and receive hundreds (if not thousands) of comments from other leaders and professionals blindly affirming, restating, and agreeing in a nauseatingly peaceful feedback loop. There’s never any dissent, never a challenger, never an original thought beyond that which the guru originally wrote. Only on one occasion did I happen across a critical voice, buried deep in an ocean of pleasant yips and yaps: someone once called Clear’s overly-simplified thoughts on the tendency for human minds and bodies to change effortlessly and constantly “deterministic,” and I couldn’t hit the like button fast enough. Was I the only like on the comment? Of course.
I’m saying all of this as somewhat of an angsty precursor to my own original thought on this matter: we professionals might be reading too much of the wrong literature. But, you say, if we all agree that the aforementioned leadership gurus and their authorial offspring are inspiring and life-changing, what exactly is the problem? The problem might be best articulated in a 2022 keynote by Silicon Valley author and technocontrarian Jaron Lanier. While he argues the danger posed to creativity by the integration of AI bots like ChatGPT and Bard into our word processors and online tools, I see the same rise of redundant thought in the culture the digital age has bred. If we professionals are all reading the same material, chances are that we are all going to largely agree, and the circle jerk continues to grow interminably. It’s always baffled me: for the first time in all of history, professionals have a platform that connects us to anyone and everyone, everywhere, in real-time, and instead of using it to expound on our own unique human perspectives, we’re stroking the same singular stroke of someone else’s genius for the dopamine rush we receive from the assurance that other people agree? Why has it become so incredibly important to gain likes, followers, positive feedback at all costs?
What’s immensely beneficial about reading highly subjective, rich works of fiction—with a cast and plotline that intrigues and repulses us in turn—is that we learn new things about ourselves and how we interface with the world around us. This jumpstarts creative and unique thoughts on the subject matter—thoughts that might be equally shared or denounced by others who read it from their own unique point of view. This is what makes literary criticism and interpretation classes so incredibly interesting (and sometimes slightly heated): people become true experts in their own right when they espouse their own opinions and how they apply to the world we all inhabit together.
To put it bluntly: you’re just not as likely to form unique opinions that matter to you (first) and a select few others (second) when you’re reading someone else’s manifesto and primarily reiterating the thoughts they took the time and effort to form and write down. I suggest we all read "The Metamorphosis" and reflect on whether or not we’re any better off than Gregor Samsa in the end.
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