Interview: Jules Evans

Could a book change a life? Could a book give you self-awareness, clarity of thought and a focus that you never before knew of? We all hope so. The success of authors such as Paul McKenna in the UK and Tony Robbins in the US is testament to our societal soul-searching. But we are so often given answers without questions: “Seven Easy Steps”… “How To Be”… “How To Talk to Anyone.” Do we actually want to be told what to be or how to talk? Or are we actually afraid of being asked questions instead of being given answers?

We live in an age of determinism. A chemical solution for a chemical problem, right? Science can be arrogant in the face of doubt and our faith in a bottle of anti-depressants has been our silent attempt to numb the chorus of our souls that sadly remain impervious to our attempts to ‘cure’ ‘fix’ and ‘solve’ ourselves. We once knew this; only ancient wisdom was replaced by the conviction that ancient thought was stale and inapplicable. But if ancient wisdom knew that happiness was more than a quick fix, who knew this, and is it still applicable?

Jules Evans, boyhood drug taker, alumnus of Eton and Oxford and former financial journalist, believes that ancient philosophy has lived up to Socrates’ promise to “take care of our souls.” Nonetheless, Evans’ claim that ancient Greek philosophy held the secrets to the “good life” seems just as dogmatic as Paul McKenna’s promise to “make you thin.” But Evans’ other claim lends far greater weight to a band of philosophers long since eulogized. He is adamant that Ancient Greek philosophy saved his life.

An alumnus of Eton and Oxford who glided into a career of financial journalism, Jules Evans appears to be the prototype of the much loathed and envied elite. But before his critically acclaimed book was released, Philosophy For Life and Other Dangerous Situations, even his former headmaster did not recognise the “angst-ridden young man” who battled for years with social anxiety, depression and post-traumatic stress disorder, though he does take these titles with a pinch of salt (“I think my therapist thought he was being paid per diagnosis”). He eventually took a course in CBT, which he later discovered was a reappraisal of the works of great philosophers like Socrates and Aristotle.

Central to all these works is the belief that we can “know ourselves” and that once that journey begins there is no going back, a journey which Jules Evans wishes he had undertaken when he was at university. This culminated in a nervous breakdown upon graduation, but before then he remembers “careering” through his overdraft limit, excessive raving and “just doing way too much.” By this point panic attacks were a regular occurrence that first began after a bad LSD trip. He felt “suddenly much more introverted”, no longer felt like “being funny” and had a general feeling of being “somehow wounded”; detached from the person he thought he was.

A product of Britain’s simultaneously respected and hated institutions, Eton and Oxford, there was no place for emotions, only explanations and fruitless hours “over-intellectualising” his anguish. It was, he says, “humiliating” to discover that it was nothing more complicated than the belief that “everyone must like me” which caused him such distress. His environment was also a factor, and as we sat in The Old White Swan on Goodramgate, he reflects on the similarities between York and Oxford, where he found it often felt “claustrophobic” and like you were “always being watched.” He remembers the vibe of campus university and asking questions like “Are they a winner? Are they going places?”

And then something remarkable happened.

After leaving university and quitting his job as a financial journalist, he was granted the final interview with CBT founder Albert Ellis before his death, who told him of CBT’s roots in Ancient Greek Philosophy and one quote from Epictetus has provided him with an armoury of strength that has since remained with him: “Men are disturbed not by events, but by their opinion of events.” There are certain things we can control, and others we can’t. It is this simple mantra that has led to Philosophy For Life and Other Dangerous Situations being studied and discussed in institutions as intense as Saracens Rugby Club, where Evans told me of the difficulty in telling professional sportsmen that “it’s OK to lose”, alongside the tough realisation that some things are just out of our control.

These philosophies are just as relevant to students at York, but if you are not yet inclined to delve into the world of Greek philosophy, Evans offers some simple advice to students having a hard time.

“I made a mistake in ignoring my friends from home when I went to university. They were the people I should have asked, ‘could we have a drink and a chat?’” Equally, in what can be an intense environment at universities like York, there is great value in going home for a weekend to reflect in the comfort of your own home. The first step as always though, is to tell someone you trust.

He is candid in admitting that it is “easy for him” to talk about his past now that he is “better”, but that “it takes a certain kind of strength to say I feel bruised and vulnerable.”

I told him of student-to-student services like Nightline and he is impressed with the efforts that universities are beginning to make towards mental health, which he found wanting during his time. As always, though, it is “up to us to use them.”

It’s a brave step to tell someone you’re hurting, but you could do worse than opening the treasure trove of ancient philosophy as Evans did. You will find it amazingly relevant.