metonymy4u

The tendency to engage in what therapists today call “cognitive fusion” has been around for at least 2500 years and likely is some part of the enduring experience of human suffering. In short, cognitive fusion means taking your thoughts more seriously than other events. Today, we also call this “reification” which refers to the notion that our ideas name something real out there in the world. Plato called this the theory of ideas, and it cropped up over and over again throughout centuries of western history: Christianity’s notion that “in the beginning was the word and the word was with God,” Descartes’ notion that “I think, therefore I am,” Leibnitz’s description of eternal, indestructible substances called “monads,” Kant’s description of hypostatization, Hegel’s description of the workings of “world spirit,” Nietzsche’s ever present “will to power,” or Freud’s model of “the unconsious.” Richard Rorty calls this the “Plato-Kant Tradition” and describes it as the tendency to believe that “nothing is closer to the mind than itself,” and that “the most knowable is the most real.” Wittgenstein famously tried to convince us otherwise through his famous statement “wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muss man schweigen“ (“What we cannot speak of, we must pass over in silence”).

What factors tend to reinforce these habits and what can we do about them? I believe that western culture’s fascination with securing freedom in a world of scientific determinism is one answer to the former, and the answer to the latter starts with simple awareness. Awareness of a geneaology of values which has placed freedom upon a pedestal from which we refuse to allow it to be threatened, not realizing the extreme irony of our enslavement to an ideal of freedom. It was such a concern which led Kant to search tirelessly for a deductive proof of the right to possess and use such concepts – a project which no doubt led to many useful insights, but which also led to what Kierkegaard later termed the “ventriloquism of an age.” This was the notion, ironically also expressed earlier by Kant himself, that modern humans remain in a state of intellectual infancy in which we perpetually look to others for our moral, intellectual and spiritual guidance, becomming nothing but inert mouthpieces, players in a scripted stage act. Kierkegaard promoted the courage and audacity that Kant had adumbrated but somehow not fully realized because of his apparent commitment to resurrecting the ontological proof of God’s existence (“I must destroy knowledge in order to make room for faith”). What the great Dane realized was that this effort, when not redescribed by each individual person for themselves and by themselves with courage, fear and trembling, had such a corrupting influence in the reinforcement of our tendency towards cognitive fusion as to be something indeed “more honored in the breech than the observance.”

The problem is that as soon as we start to write things down (on paper or in our minds), we long for that which we do not have and we begin to believe that it is the object of longing that is the key to life, thus forgetting the nature of the process itself. It reminds me of a slogan I saw running around the internet recently: “Please do not leave your longings unattended.”

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One of the cultural inventions of the so called modern era is the experience of isolation. Descartes’ famous cogito, ergo sum is a formula for expressing the isolation of the individual and a cry into the darkness for comfort, and solidarity with an unknown other. But in this creation we realize a thus far insoluble problem: how can a highly gregarious creature survive a lifetime of solitary incarceration? What Kierkegaard understood was that the task of a single life was the task of reconciliation with our grief, a riddle now forgotten by modern humans in our world of technology and systems. We seem to believe that our systematizing of the world redeems it automatically, that redemption is simply a by product of manipulation. But, when the whole world becomes nothing but standing reserve for the urge driven impulses of an eternally lonely creature, what ceremony of words can truly mend the havoc?

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As the years of suffering add up and whisk on by, I have learned to welcome sadness as a part of me, something that in fact the best part of me creates through its sacred and noble effort. For if we didn’t desire anything in our heart of hearts, would anything affect us in any way? Instead of pushing away grief, can we yet learn to speak to it in a different voice? The voice that addresses all living creatures as members of one extended family? I will call that tree my brother and that flower my sister, the elephants and the crows my mothers and fathers, the tree sloth, the crab and the koala–my cousins and my grandchildren. For they all suffer just like me. They are all sad, happy, angry, alarmed, despondent and hopeful every day of their lives. The emotion that cannot be part of me is no emotion that could ever be borne by the heart of any living creature. So welcome sadness and come hither, you are part of me and belong with me and henceforth I will not refuse to speak to you in any far flung corner of the living universe.

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Is Kant’s categorical imperative really no more than a recitation in praise of solidarity? Or, to express it poetically, a divine eulogy and prelude–to a philosophy of the future–a love song for some land beyond all good and evil?

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If we re-trace Heidegger’s footsteps for a moment and ask ourselves what is the nature of human-being (Dasein) in the west since the beginning of recorded time, one possible metaphor involves the secularization of culture. Secularization in the west appears to involve the journey from the many to the one, both in the human and the divine spheres. Consider our relation to the divine: the classical world did not exactly have the concept of “religion” in the same way that we do. Instead, they spoke of piety. And the divine was created in the image of human society – a pantheon of characters each with their own faults and foibles, none of them even remotely approaching the celestial perfection of a singular Abrahamic deity. Likewise in human affairs, as concern shifted from this singular god to the earthly affairs of humanity, we became increasingly aware of our own singularity and isolation. Descartes’ famous mantra, “I think, therefore I am,” is an expression of this trend. Was he not quite prescient in expressing what Heidegger later called our “facticity” and Sartre termed “abandonment?” Nietzsche declared that god was dead both as a descriptive and a prescriptive metaphor: letting us know that we had moved irreconcilably beyond the point of being able to seek solace in the divine singularity, now trapped in our weak human sphere and reliant on nothing but our own devices. The sweat on Descartes’ brow as he vainly tried to re-discover a lone God through the singularity of the human soul –that being all he could bring himself to know with any clear and unshakable certainty—no longer serves a creature that has unlocked the atom, looked beyond the stars, revalued all valuation and, so proud of its modern sophistication, daily spurns to partake in an old love of magic nights, and day break.

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The desire to understand ourselves as thinking creatures has enchanted and plagued humanity at least since the dawn of writing. As expressed by Richard Rorty, it manifests as the classically liberal question of how to balance the individual’s need for self-creation (private irony) against our needs for solidarity as a social species (public hope). One way to resdescribe and apparently resolve this tension is to create some sort of story concerning the “state of nature” which inevitably informs and shapes humanity’s experiences. Whether one subscribes to a notion of a will to power (Hobbes, Nietzsche), will to authority (Descartes, Kant, Sartre, Bloom), will to freedom (Hegel), or will to pleasure (Freud), the basic paradigm is the same: the devolution of the private-public tension upon the primacy of our “truer” natures. Franz de Waal calls this the “thin veneer theory” of human existence: the notion that civilized behaviors represent but a thin layer over coating our more primitive, driven and primal nature. The classical liberal tension is thus characterized as something merely epiphenomenal: an illusion to be dispelled when we re-encounter our true natures sublimated into their socially acceptable forms, concealed and, as it were, sicklied o’er by the pale cast of nurture. Though the history of the west has indeed been the tale of our struggles with our aggressive habits, there is in fact another story to be told about these struggles. The alternative thread, which one could perhaps nickname the existentialist thread, traces itself from Plato and the Buddha, through Kierkegaard, Wittgenstein, Skinner, Hesse, Kundera, Dewey, Rorty and de Waal to modern iconoclasts like Carol Gilligan, Beverly Tatum, Martin Luther King, Eduardo Duran and the erstwhile “Seattle Crew” (Linehan, Tsai, Kohlenberg, Jacobson, Martell, et. Al). From the existentialist perspective the duality of self and other is like the duality of life and non-life: a forever perplexing knot that need not be undone. It is this group who I believe have revived the sense of humanity in context, a model which was present at the beginning, but which was drowned out by centuries of reification and essence searching in a Europe plagued by the sense that life is elsewhere. Sitting with contrariety, living in perplexity, admiring the tensions of irony and hope is all that becoming need be and, finally, simply, the ladder that we throw away from under us.

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it seems to me that any discourse quickly finds its way to the inexpressible of language. various metaphors for these a priori “operators” have been proposed throughout modern times. plato called them “forms,” kant “noumena,” kierkegaard “inwardness,” hegel “weltgeist,” lacan “the chain of signification,” buddha “buddha mind,” linehan “wise mind,” wittgenstein “the ladder that is thrown away once climbed,” searle “the background of consciousness,” rorty “final vocabulary,” freud “das es,” nietzsche and schopenhauer “will.” contact with the unsayable. isn’t that what therapy is all about?

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in a world without absolute certainty (“god is dead”) and with an authority structure that appears inevitably to fall into coercion and cruelty in order to maintain group cohesion (“power tends to corrupt”), what is left for humans to hold onto? how do we maintain solidarity and cohesion of purpose in a world with no anchor and little compassion in the halls of power? when even the wisest among us are overwhelmed by this dialectic, how do we move forward without blowing ourselves to bits in the process? i think this is what Rilke meant when he wrote, “who is there we can make use of?… Don’t you know yet?—Fling the emptiness out of your arms into the spaces we breathe—maybe that the birds will feel the extended air in more intimate flight.”

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when i am faced with emotional suffering the emotion is often accompanied by a thought about something i think i don’t have. i naturally come to the conclusion that to alleviate the suffering, i need to acquire the thing that i’m thinking i don’t have. the object of problem solving then becomes this fantasized absent item (or event or relationship or whatever…). acquiring behavior is then reinforced through a negative reinforcement schedule, and suffering never really ends. the entire process is based on a misunderstanding of the nature of the problem. the nature of the problem, actually, is that suffering has arisen and needs some attention. the moment of suffering itself is the problem and the solution to the suffering problem is in the moment, not in the acquiring of the fantasized item. the problem isn’t so much that i want this fantasized item, but that i fail to understand that its possession or loss has nothing whatever to do with suffering. it is truly irrelevant. this would not be such a big deal except for the fact that it distracts me from actually solving the problem at hand: what to do about suffering. the suffering is real. it demands our attention. if we allow ourselves to constantly be distracted from understanding it, how can we be surprised that we never actually figure out how to respond to it?

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consider for a moment how we think about “certainty.” on the one hand we could view certainty as following from intellectual proof. following the rules of logic, we deduce that the sum of the angles of a triangle always add up to 180 degrees, or that 2 plus 2 always equals 4 or that all bachelors are unmarried. on the other hand, following the experiences of our senses we might deny all that, saying that clever explanation of concepts does not amount to any sort of proof at all and that the only thing anyone can “know” is that a particular sensation is passing through your mind at any given time. what kant, kierkegaard and nietzsche perceived in this seemingly endless debate over “mind” and “body,” is that both sides of the dialectic presuppose some sort of hidden authority of human understanding, just waiting out there somewhere to be discovered. for rationalists it was the authority of mind, empiricists the authority of body. addiction to authority has kept us bewitched by its endless possibility like some holy grail shimmering always beyond our reach. yet how anyone can truly become the “author” of their lives has never been satisfactorily demonstrated, despite centuries of effort. will this search continue ad infinitum? will we exhaust ourselves in this sisyphean task? or blow each other to bits arguing over whose eternal truth is more true? these are the lessons of kant’s antinomies, kierkegaard’s leap to faith and nietzsche’s eulogy for god. if we continually insist on chasing an illusion, despite centuries upon centuries of ignominious failure, how on earth can we be truly surprised at our never ending frustration?

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