[64] Putnam: Freud"s Psychoa.n.a.lytic Method and Its Evolution, p. 34.
The Highest Kind of Choice
There is no easier way to enliven any conversation than by dropping the remark that a human being always does what he wants to do. Simple as the statement seems, it is quite enough to quicken the dullest table-talk and loosen the most reticent tongue.
"I don"t do what I want to do," says the college student. "I want to play tennis every afternoon; but what I do is to sit in a stuffy room and study."
"I don"t do what I want to do," says the mother of a family. "At night I want to sit down and read the latest magazine, but what I do is to darn stockings by the hour."
Nevertheless we shall see that, even in cases like these, each of us is acting in accordance with his strongest desire. There may be-there often is-a bitter conflict, but in the end the desire that is really stronger always conquers and works itself out into action.
It is possible to imagine a situation in which a man would be physically unable to do what he wanted to do. Bound by physical cords, held by prison walls, or weakened by illness, he might be actually unable to carry out his desires. But apart from physical restraint, it is hard to imagine a situation in real life in which a person does not actually do what he wants to do; that is, what in the circ.u.mstances he wants to do. This is simply saying in another way that we act in accordance with the emotion which is at the moment strongest.
Will Is Choice. Just here we can imagine an earnest protest: "But why do you ignore the human will? Why do you try to make man the creature of feeling? A high-grade man does-not what he wants to do but what he thinks he ought to do. In any person worthy of the adjective "civilized" it is conscience, not desire, which is the motive power of his life."
It is true: in the better kind of man the will is of central importance; but what is "will"? Let us imagine a raw soldier in the trenches just before a charge into No-Man"s Land. He is afraid, but the word of command comes, and instantly he is a new creature. His fear drops away and, energized by the l.u.s.t of battle, he rushes forward, obviously driven by the stronger emotion. He goes ahead because he really wants to, and we say that he does not have to use his will.
Imagine another soldier in the same situation; with him fear seems uppermost. His knees shake and his legs want to carry him in the wrong direction, but he still goes forward. And he goes forward, not so much because there is no other possibility as because, in the circ.u.mstances, he really wants to. All his life, and especially during his military training, he has been filled with ideals of loyalty and courage. More than he fears the guns of the enemy or of his firing-squad does he fear the loss of his own self-respect and the respect of his comrades. Greater than his "will to live" is his desire to play the man. There is conflict, and the desire which seems at the moment weaker is given the victory because it is reinforced by that other permanent desire to be a worthy man, brave, and dependable in a crisis. He goes forward, because in the circ.u.mstances, he really wants to, but in this case we say that he had to use his will.
Is it not apparent that will itself is choice,-the selection by the whole personality of the emotion and the action which best fit into its ideals? Will is choice by the part of us which has ideals. McDougall points out that will is the reinforcement of the weaker desire by the master desire to be a certain kind of a character. [65]
[65] "The essential mark of volition is that the personality as a whole, or the central feature or nucleus of the personality, the man himself, is thrown upon the side of the weaker motive."-McDougall: Introduction to Social Psychology, p. 240.
Each human being as he goes through life acquires a number of moral ideals and sentiments which he adopts as his own. They become linked with the instinct of self-a.s.sertion, which henceforth acts as the motive power behind them, and attempts to drive from the field any emotion which happens to conflict.
Men, like the lower animals, are ruled by desire, but, as G.A. Coe says, "Men mold themselves. They form desires not merely to have this or that object, but to be this or that kind of a man." [66]
[66] Coe: Psychology of Religion.
If a man be worthy of the name, he is not swayed by the emotion which happens for the moment to be strongest. He has the power to reinforce and make dominant those impulses which fit into the ideal he has built for himself. In other words, he has the power to choose between his desires, and this power depends largely upon the ideals which he has incorporated into his life by the complexes and sentiments which compose his personality.
Ideas and Ideals. If emotion is the heart of humanity, ideas are its head. In our emphasis on emotion, we must not forget that as emotion controls action, so ideas control emotion. But ideas, of themselves, are not enough. Everybody has seen weaklings who were full of pious plat.i.tudes. Ideas do control life, but only when linked up with some strong emotion. No moral sentiment is strong enough to withstand an intense instinctive desire. If ideas are to be dynamic factors in a life, they must become ideals and be really desired. They must be backed up by the impulse of self-a.s.sertion, incorporated with the sentiment of self-regard, and so made a permanent part of the central personality.
Parents and teachers who try to "break a child"s will" and to punish every evidence of independence and self-a.s.sertion little know that they are undermining the foundations of morality itself, and doing their utmost to leave the child at the mercy of his chance whims and emotions. There can be no strength of character without self-regard, and self-regard is built on the instinctive desire of self-a.s.sertion.
Education and Religion. It is easy to see how important education is in this process of giving the right content to the self-regarding sentiment. The child trained to regard "temper" as a disgrace, self-pity as a vice, over-sensitiveness as a sign of selfishness, and all forms of exaggerated emotionalism as a token of weakness, has acquired a powerful weapon against temptation in later life. Indulgence in any of these forms of gratification he will regard as unworthy and out of keeping with his personality.
It is easy, too, to see how central a place a vital religious faith has in enriching and enn.o.bling the ego- ideal, and in giving it driving-power. A force which makes a high ideal seem both imperative and possible of achievement could hardly fail to be a deciding factor. Every student of human nature knows in how many countless lives the Christian religion has made all the difference between mere good intentions and the power to realize those intentions; how many times it has furnished the motive power which nothing else seemed able to supply. Moral sentiments which have been merely sentiments become, through the magic of a new faith, incorporated into conscience and endowed with new power.
Just here lies the value of any great love, or any intense devotion to a cause. As Royce says: "To have a conscience, then, is to have a cause; to unify your life by means of an ideal determined by this cause, and to compare this ideal and the life." [67]
[67] Royce: Philosophy of Loyalty, p. 175.
Avoiding the Strain. It seems that a human being is to a large extent controlled by will, and that will is in itself the highest kind of choice. But too often will is crippled because it does not speak for the whole personality. Knowledge helps a person to relate conscience with hitherto hidden parts of himself, to a.s.sert his will, and to choose only those emotions and outlets which the connected-up, the unified personality wants. Sometimes, indeed, a little knowledge makes the exercise of the will power unnecessary. Using will power is, after all, likely to be a strenuous business. It implies the presence of conflict, and the strain of defeating the desire which has to be denied. [68] Why struggle to subdue emotional bad habits when a little insight dispels the desire back of them, and makes them melt away as if by magic? For example, why use our will to keep down fear or anger when a little understanding dissipates these emotions without effort?
[68] Freud: Introduction to Psychoa.n.a.lysis, p. 42.
Whatever we do with difficulty we are not doing well. When it requires effort to do our duty this means that a great part of us does not want to do it. When we get rid of our hidden resistances we work with ease. As a strong wind, applied in the right way, drives the ship without effort, just so the forces in our lives, if they are adjusted to one another, will without strain or stress easily and naturally work together to carry us in the direction we have chosen. When we get rid of blind conflicts, even the business of ruling our spirits becomes feasible.
Summary
Various "Sprees." The human animal has a const.i.tutional dislike for dullness and will seize upon almost any device which promises to lift him out of what he considers the monotony of daily grind. An elaborate essay might be written on the means which human beings have taken to create the sense of aliveness which they so much crave. Some of them-we call them savages-have found satisfactory certain wild orgies in primitive war-dances; others-we shall soon call them "out of date"-have found simpler a bottle of whisky or a gla.s.s of champagne; still others find a cold shower more invigorating, or a brisk walk or a good stiff job which sets them aglow with the sense of accomplishment. But there are always those who, for one reason or another, find most satisfactory of all a chronic emotional tippling, or a good old-fashioned emotional spree. Persons who would be shocked at the idea of whisky or champagne allow themselves this other kind of indulgence without in the least knowing why.
Nor is the connection between alcoholism and emotionalism so far-fetched as it seems. Psycho-a.n.a.lytic investigations have repeatedly revealed the fact that both are indulged in because they remove inhibitions, give vent to repressed desires, and bring a sense of life and power which has somehow been lost in the normal living. Both kinds of spree are followed by the inevitable "morning after" with its proverbial headache, remorse, and vows of repentance but despite all this, both are clung to because the satisfaction they bring is too deep to be easily relinquished.
Whenever an emotion quite out of keeping with conscious desire is allowed to become habitual, we may know that it is being chosen by a part of the personality which needs to be uncovered and squarely faced. Nervous symptoms and exaggerated emotionalism are alike evidence of the fact that the wrong part of us is doing the choosing and that the will needs to be enlightened on what is taking place in the outer edge of its domain. In the choice between emotionalism and equanimity, the selection of the former can only be in response to unrecognized desire.
A nervous person is invariably an emotional person, and as a rule lays the blame for his condition upon past experiences. But experience is what happens to us plus the way we take it. We cannot always ward off the blow, but we can decide upon our reaction. "Even if the conduct of others has been the cause of our emotion, it is really we ourselves who have created it by the way in which we have reacted." [69]
[69] DuBois: Psychic Treatment of Nervous Disorders, p. 155.
One ship drives east, another drives west, While the self-same breezes blow; "Tis the set of the sail, and not the gale That bids them where to go.
Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate, As we journey along through life; "Tis the set of the soul that decides the goal, And not the calm or the strife.
REBECCA R. WILLIAMS.
CHAPTER XVI
In which we find new use for our steam
FINDING VENT IN SUBLIMATION
The Re-direction of Energy
A child pent up on a rainy day is a troublesome child. His energy keeps piling up, but there is no opportunity for him to expend it. The nervous person is just such a pent-up child. A portion of his personality is developing steam which goes astray in its search for vent; this portion is found to be the psychic side of his s.e.x-life. Something has blocked the satisfactory achievement of instinctive ends and turned his interest in on himself.
Perhaps he does not come into complete psychic satisfaction of his love-life because his wife is out of sympathy or is held back by her own childish repressions. Perhaps his love-instinct is baffled by finding itself thwarted in its purpose of creating children, restrained by the social ban and the desire for a luxurious standard of living. Perhaps he is jealous of his chief, or of an older relative whose business stride he cannot equal.
Jung has pointed out how frequently introversion or turning in of the life-force is brought about by the painfulness of present reality and by the lack of the power of adaptation to things as they are. But this lack always has its roots in childhood. The woman who is shocked at the thought of s.e.x is the little girl who reacted too strongly to early impressions. The man of forty who is disgruntled because he is not made manager of a business created by others is the little boy who was jealous of his father and wanted to usurp his place of power. The man who suffers from a sense of inferiority because his friend has a handsomer or more intellectual wife is the same little boy who strove with his father for possession of the mother, the most desired object in his childish environment. The measure of escape from these childish att.i.tudes means the measure of success in life.
Fortunately for society, the average person achieves this success. The normal person in his childhood learned how to switch the energy of his primitive desires into channels approved by society. Stored away in his subconscious, this acquired faculty carries him without conscious effort through all the necessary adjustments in maturity. The nervous person, less well equipped in childhood, may fortunately acquire the faculty in all its completeness, although at the cost of genuine effort and patient self-study.
Sublimation the Key Word. In the prevention and in the cure of nervous disorders there is one factor of central importance, and that factor is sublimation-or the freeing of s.e.x-energy for socially useful, non-s.e.xual ends. To sublimate is to find vent for oneself and to serve society as well; for sublimation opens up new channels for pent-up energy, utilizing all the surplus of the s.e.x-instinct in subst.i.tute activities. When the dynamic of this impulse is turned outward, not inward, it proves to be one of man"s greatest possessions, a valuable contribution of energy to creative activities and personal relationships of every kind.
The Failure to Sublimate. A neurosis is nonconstructive use of one"s surplus steam. The trouble with a nervous person is that his love-force is turned in on himself instead of out into the world of reality. This is what his friends mean when they say that he is self-absorbed; and this is what the psychologists mean when they say that a neurotic is introverted. A person, in so far as he is nervous, does not see other people at all-that is, he does not see them as real persons, but only as auditors who may be made to listen to the tale of his woes. His own problems loom so large that he becomes especially afflicted with what Cabot calls "the sin of impersonality"; or to use President King"s words, he lacks that "reverence for personality" which enables one to see people vividly as real persons and not as street-car conductors or servants or merely as members of one"s family. To be sure, many a so-called normal individual is afflicted with this same kind of blindness; here as elsewhere the neurotic simply exaggerates. Engrossed in his own mental conflicts and physical symptoms, he is likely to find his interest withdrawing more and more from other people and centering upon himself.
Sublimation and Religion. We do not need psychology to tell us that engrossment in self is a disastrous condition. When the psycho-a.n.a.lyst says that the life-force must be turned out, not in, he is approaching from a new angle the truth as it is found in the gospel,-"Thou shalt love the Lord thy G.o.d with all thy heart," and "thy neighbor as thyself." Religion provides the love-object in the Creator; altruism provides it in the "neighbor." Christianity and psychology agree that as soon as love ceases to be an outgoing force, just so soon does the individual become an incomplete and disrupted personality. [70]
[70] For emphasis on religion as a means to sublimation, see Freud, Putnam, Pfister, James, and DuBois.
Carlyle"s Doctrine of Work. "Produce! produce! produce!" Life for a social being involves not only rich personal relationships, but absorbing, creative work. No nervous person is cured until he is willing to take and to keep a "man-size job." A good piece of work is not only the sign of a cure; it is the final step without which no cure is complete.
Along Nature"s Lines. If the psychologist is asked what kind of task this is to be, he answers that each person must decide for himself his own life-work. An individual may not know why, but he does know that there are certain things which he most likes to do. Sublimation is more readily accomplished if his energy is directed toward self-chosen interests. Parents or teachers or physicians who try to force another person into any definite plan of action are making a grievous blunder. Help may be given toward self-knowledge and the understanding of general principles, but advice should never be specific.
Taken in the large, it is found that men and women choose different ways of sublimation. Man and woman differ in the psychic components of the s.e.x-life even as they differ in the physical. Sublimation to be successful must follow the lines laid down by nature. The urge of the average man is toward construction, domination, mastery. The urge of the average woman is toward mothering, protection, nurture. The masculine characteristics find ready sublimation in a career; the man builds bridges, digs ca.n.a.ls, harnesses mountain streams, conquers pests, overcomes gravity, brings the ends of the earth together by "wireless" or by rail; he provides for the weak and the helpless-his own progeny-or, incarnated in the body of a Hoover, he gives life to the children of the world.
In woman, the dominant force is the nurturing instinct. Child and man of her own come first, but when these are lacking, to paraphrase Kipling, in default of closer ties, she is wedded to convictions; Heaven help him who denies! Only as a career opens up full vent for this nurturing instinct, will it provide satisfactory subst.i.tute in sublimation. Its natural trend can be seen in the recent tidal wave of social legislation-for prohibition, child-labor laws, sanitation, recognition and control of venereal disease, acknowledgment of paternity to the illegitimate child.