12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos

This chapter opens with another personal anecdote. Peterson recounts a story from his early clinical psychology training in which a young schizophrenic patient asked Peterson and his classmates if she could join them in a meeting. Faced with the awkward possibilities of this social “no-man’s-land,” Peterson decided not to tell a white lie that would spare her feelings and instead tell her truthfully that they were students in training “and that she couldn’t join [them] for that reason” (204). He acknowledges that in the immediate circumstances, the truth was not particularly kind, but he cautions against “unintended consequences” of “a well-crafted white lie” (204). He even says that lying is outright dangerous.

Peterson explains that most people lie in big and small ways constantly, born of desires to “manipulate the world into delivering what you want” (209). He calls the worst of these “life-lies,” a term coined by Austrian psychologist Alfred Adler (209). These are life-framing lies and naïve visions that a person tries to force into existence (he says, for example. “I have seen people define their utopia and then bend their lives into knots trying to make it reality” (210)).

Dishonesty harms a person’s self as well as others. He says people “weaken [their] character” when they lie, and this leads to poor coping skills and trouble. He also brings up denial, as with a loved one’s demise. In his observations, those who accepted reality and help fared better through difficult times than people who deceived themselves or tried to ignore the full tragedy of their circumstances.

Peterson draws on English poet John Milton’s famous work, Paradise Lost—particularly Milton’s depiction of Satan—to illustrate the link between deceit and Hell. Peterson says, “The idea that hell exists in some metaphysical manner is not only ancient, and pervasive; it’s true. Hell is eternal” (220). He then likens it to chaos.

It is hard to tell the truth because it is impossible to know exactly what is right or what will happen, but Peterson argues that people can start by doing “what other people have always done, unless we have a very good reason not to” (221). From there, we can adapt alertly and honestly to situations as they take shape. He again advocates to pay attention to yourself and to circumstances. He says that unclouded and open eyes and minds will find opportunities rather than shrinking into lies and limitations, and adds, “See the truth. Tell the truth” (230). Living this mantra will improve a person’s life and the larger world. 

This chapter is about conversation. Peterson first distinguishes between “advice” (“what you get when the person you’re talking with about something horrible and complicated wishes you would just shut up and go away”) and “genuine conversation,” which involves “exploration, articulation and strategizing” as well as careful listening (233).

Peterson begins discussing memory, particularly as it relates to sexual assault. Of memory, the general rule is that it is neither fixed nor perfectly accurate. “The present can change the past,” he says, “and the future can change the present” (237). He discusses a former patient that expressed a thought—a suspicion—that she had been raped five times. When conversing with her, Peterson realized he could give her completely alternative evaluations—one in which “her suspicions of rape were fully justified,” and the other in which “she wander[s] into a car like a courtesan in a coma […] a danger to herself and others” (239). He said both “would have been true” (239). He identifies the first version of events as “left-wing, social justice ideology” and the second as conservative (239).

Instead of giving either response, he says he just listened. He stresses that people need to talk and think through talking. He defines thinking not as the frequent self-criticism that runs through people’s minds, but as truly “listening to yourself,” which he admits is hard (241). At the heart of a good relationship is honesty, and if two people are communicating with honesty to themselves and each other, it’s valuable conversation.

Peterson cautions, however, “Not all talking is thinking. Nor does all listening foster transformation. There are other motives for both, some of which produce much less valuable, counterproductive, and even dangerous outcomes” (248). He gives the examples of a person merely trying to establish dominance or trying to win an argument (248-49).

In the last subsection of the chapter, Peterson defines and discusses “mutual exploration” as a type of conversation that involves “true reciprocity” (253). All parties involved talk, listen, and learn. This type of conversation, he says, is “the best preparation for proper living” (253).