is a journalist and philosopher of technology with degrees from France’s École Normale Supérieure in Lyon and HEC-Paris, where she specialised in innovation and media, before joining Philonomist’s editorial team.
Picture: © CP
Dear reader,
A colleague told me that his boss once criticised him for being “too enthusiastic”. Apparently his jovial nature was adding too much fun to his otherwise satisfying work: “you shouldn’t give the impression that you’re having fun,” she had told him. In the 1960s, such a comment wouldn’t be surprising. But nowadays, when the Holy Grail of recruitment seems to be employee engagement, how can someone be criticised for having too much fun at work?
For a long time, enthusiasm was scary. Etymologically, it refers to a state of inspiration and mystical fervour. In his 1741 essay Of Superstition and Enthusiasm, written in response to the religious troubles of his time, David Hume describes it as a form of devotion, nourished by the proud certainty of being in direct contact with “the Divinity”.
At work, a certain degree of enthusiasm is valued, as long as it’s carefully gaged. So yes, an entrepreneur can pitch his startup idea with a few tremolos in his voice; and a manager can give herself body and soul for a big contract, by all means. Because here, the inspiration has an identifiable purpose, legible by all. But not everyone can muster enthusiasm on command, as suggested by a recent judgement by one of France’s top courts, which deemed abusive the dismissal of an employee for “professional incompetence”, on the grounds that he didn’t share the company’s “fun and professional” values. Here, “fun” is quite the opposite of fanatical enthusiasm: it’s a contrived lightness of demeanour, a soft skill among others.
And conversely, what should we make of a colleague who smiles a little too much at the most boring client meetings and who is always up for anything? Well, that’s just weird. Because they’re acting without motive. Their incorrigible good humour is like a UFO in the business world. And so their bursts of positive energy have a subversive edge: they remind everyone of their own lukewarm energy. Which might push some to play a game of one-upmanship, by implementing strategies of calculated enthusiasm – like our entrepreneur, with his voice full of tremolos. Quiet in the morning, mystical during his pitch, he will probably start sulking again around 3 pm. This kind of staged enthusiasm falls under what Jean-Jacques Rousseau calls “self-esteem”, which is a “comparative passion”: we use it to acquire an advantage over others when faced with clients, partners, or other colleagues.
“It is very natural for someone who loves himself to seek to extend his being and his enjoyments, and to appropriate through attachment what he feels should be good for him”
—Jean-Jacques Rousseau
The sincere enthusiast, by contrast, risks standing out. Much like the mystics described by Hume, their breath of life can sweep away everyone in their path – introverts, sceptics, and even cynics caught off guard. In this sense, it’s imbued with a form of “self-love”, which Rousseau describes as a “primitive passion”. This is an instinct for joyful self-affirmation that is present in everyone – we see it in children – but is often nullified by social norms. “It is very natural that he who loves himself seeks to extend his being and his enjoyments, and to appropriate by attachment what he feels should be good for him,” he writes in Rousseau, Judge of Jean-Jacques (1782): “This is a pure affair of sentiment in which reflection plays no part.” Here we already see the limits of raw enthusiasm: thoughtless, it doesn’t leave much room for others.
We find the same warning in Hume’s essay, in which he says that enthusiasm implies a “presumptuous pride and confidence” which can isolate us from the world. Despising all human mediation (rituals, ornaments, dogmas), the religious enthusiast considers himself above social customs and moderation. “Human reason, and even morality are rejected as fallacious guides,” says Hume. “And the fanatic madman delivers himself over, blindly, and without reserve.” As a sceptical philosopher, Hume sharply condemns this kind of fanaticism.
In the workplace, there might be a third way, between the opportunist who puts on a show of joviality and the fanatic bursting with raw energy: we could embrace an enthusiasm which is both without motive and subversive, but which is also aware of being at odds. This is what my colleague finally chose, and it seems to be working for him!
Apolline Guillot
Picture © NeoLeo / iStockphoto
