The Open-Ended Hierarchy
While the self-assertive emotions narrow the field of consciousness (passion is not 'blind', but blinkered), the self-transcending emotions expand it, until the self seems to dissolve in the 'oceanic feeling' of mystic contemplation or aesthetic entrancement. The self-assertive emotions tend to constrict freedom of choice, the self-transcending emotions tend towards freedom from choice in the peace that passeth all understanding.
This un-selfing of the self seems to be the opposite of the quest for total self-awareness. In the literature of mysticism, however, they appear to be closely related. The aim of Hatha Yoga, for instance, is to attain a higher level of self-awareness by getting viscera and individual muscles under voluntary control. But these practices are considered as only a means towards the end of attaining to a state of 'pure consciousness, without object or content other than consciousness itself'.* In this state, the transient individual self is thought to enter into a kind of spiritual osmosis with the Atman, the universal spirit -- and to merge into it. Other mystic schools attempt to reach the same end by different routes; but all seem to agree that the conquest of the self is a means towards transcending it.
* See The Lotus and the Robot, Part One.
I am aware that in this chapter I have indulged in some momentous question-begging. I did not attempt to define consciousness which, being the precondition of all mental activity, cannot be defined by that activity; and I agree with MacKay that 'my own consciousness is a primary datum, which it would be nonsense to doubt because it is the platform on which my doubting is built'. [28]
We cannot say what consciousness is, but we can say whether there is more or less of it, and also whether it is of a coarse or refined texture. It is an emergent quality which evolves towards higher levels of complexity, and is inseparably married to the activities of the brain. Classical dualism regarded mental and bodily activities as different categories, enlightened monists regard them as complementary aspects of the same process; but this still leaves us with the problem how the two are related. The hierarchic approach turns this absolute distinction into a relative one, it replaces the dualistic (or double-aspect) theory by a serialistic hypothesis, in which 'mental' and 'mechanical' are relative attributes, the dominance of one or the other deriving from a change of levels. This still leaves a host of problems unanswered, but at least it poses a few new questions. It could, for instance, provide a new approach to the phenomena of extra-sensory perception as an emergent level of supra-individual consciousness -- or, alternatively, as an earlier version of 'psycho-symbiotic' awareness, preceding self-awareness, which evolution has abandoned in favour of the latter. But this is a subject outside the scope of this book.
The related concepts of the 'open-ended hierarchy' and of 'infinite regress' have been a recurrent leitmotiv in these pages. Some scientists dislike the concept of infinite regress because it reminds them of the little man inside the little man inside the little man, and of the tiresome paradoxa of logic, like the Cretan liar. But there is another way of looking at it. Consciousness has been compared to a mirror in which the body contemplates its own activities. It would perhaps be a closer approximation to compare it to the kind of Hall of Mirrors where one mirror reflects one's reflection in another mirror, and so on. We cannot get away from the infinite. It stares us in the face whether we look at atoms or stars, or at the becauses behind the becauses, stretching back through eternity. Flat-earth science has no more use for it than the flat-earth theologians had in the Dark Ages; but a true science of life must let infinity in, and never lose sight of it. In two earlier books [29], I have tried to show that throughout the ages the great innovators in the history of science had always been aware of the transparency of phenomena towards a different order of reality, of the ubiquitous presence of the ghost in the machine -- even such a simple machine as a magnetic compass or a Leyden jar. Once a scientist loses this sense of mystery, he can be an excellent technician, but he ceases to be a savant. One of the greatest of all times, Louis Pasteur, has summed this up in one of my favourite quotations:
I see everywhere in the world the inevitable expression of the concept of infinity. . . . The idea of God is nothing more than one form of the idea of infinity. So long as the mystery of the infinite weighs on the human mind, so long will temples be raised to the cult of the infinite, whether it be called Brahmah, Allah, Jehovah or Jesus. . . . The Greeks understood the mysterious power of the hidden side of things. They bequeathed to us one of the most beautiful words in our language -- the word 'enthusiasm' -- en theos -- a god within. The grandeur of human actions is measured by the inspiration from which they spring. Happy is he who bears a god within, and who obeys it. The ideals of art, of science, are lighted by reflection from the infinite. [30]
It is a credo one is happy to share, and a fitting conclusion for this part of the book.
I have tried to explain in it the general principles of a theory of Open Hierarchic Systems (O.H.S.), as an alternative to current orthodox theories. It is essentially an attempt to bring together and shape into a unified framework three existing schools of thought -- none of them new. They can be represented by three symbols: the tree, the candle and the helmsman. The tree symbolises hierarchic order. The flame of a candle, which constantly exchanges its materials, and yet preserves its stable pattern, is the simplest example of an 'open system'. The helmsman represents cybernetic control. Add to these the two faces of Janus, representing the dichotomy of partness and wholeness, and the mathematical sign of the infinite (a horizontal figure of eight), and you have a picture-strip version of O.H.S. theory. Readers less given to the picturesque are again referred to the summary of principles in Appendix I.
We must now turn from order to disorder -- to the predicament of man, and attempt to diagnose its causes.
Part Three
DISORDER
XV
THE PREDICAMENT OF MAN
All our Righteousness are as filthy rags. ISAIAH lxiv
The postulated polarity of integrative versus self-assertive potentials in biological and social systems is fundamental to the present theory. It follows logically from the concept of hierarchic order -- that venerable truism which seems so self-evident and turns out to be so fertile if we take the trouble to work out its implications.
The integrative potential ofa holon makes it tend to behave as a part of a larger, more complex unit; its self-assertive potential makes it tend to behave as if it were itself a self-contained, autonomous whole. In every type of hierarchy that we have discussed, and on every level of each hierarchy, we have found this polarity reflected in a coincidentia oppositorum. This sometimes manifests itself in apparently paradoxical phenomena which have caused bitter controversies among biologists, because it depended on the conditions of the experiment which of the opposite tendencies would be more in evidence. In embryonic development, for instance, a cell tissue may show 'regulative' and 'mosaic' properties at different stages. In social bodies, the dichotomy between co-operation and competition is all too obvious -- from ambivalent tensions in the family, to the agonised coexistence of the United Nations. We must now turn to its paradoxical and profoundly disturbing effects on the emotive behaviour of the individual.
The Three Dimensions of Emotion
Emotions are mental states accompanied by intense feeling and involving bodily changes of a widespread character. They have also been described as 'over-heated drives'. A conspicuous feature of all emotions is the feeling of pleasantness or unpleasantness attached to them, usually called their 'hedonic tone'. Freud thought that pleasure is derived from 'the diminution, lowering, or extinction, of psychic excitation' and 'un-pleasure [Unlust, discomfort, as distinct from physical pain] from an increase of it'. [1]
This is, of course, true in so far as the satisfaction or frustration of urgent biological needs is concerned. But it is patently untrue of the type of experience which we call pleasurable excitements or thrills. The preliminaries which
precede the sexual act certainly cause an 'increase in the quantity of excitation' and should therefore be unpleasurable, but the evidence indicates that they are not. There is no satisfactory answer anywhere in Freud's works to this embarrassingly banal objection.* In the Freudian system the sexual drive is essentially something to be disposed of -- by consummation or sublimation; pleasure is derived not from its pursuit, but from getting rid of it.
* For a detailed discussion of Freud's attitude to pleasure, see Schachtel. [2]
The Behaviourist school, from Thorndike to Hull, took a similar attitude; it recognised only one basic type of motivation, and that a negative one: 'drive-reduction' -- i.e. the diminution of tensions derived from biological needs. In fact, however, research on 'stimulus-deprivation' (undertaken to study the reaction of space-travellers to long hours in monotonous environments) has revealed that the organism needs a continuous flow of stimulation, that its hunger for experience and thirst for excitation are probably as basic as hunger and thirst themselves are. As Berlyne has summed it up: 'Human beings and higher animals spend most of their time in a state of relatively high arousal and . . . expose themselves to arousing stimulus situations with great eagerness.' [3] After bread, the circus games always came next on the list.
In fact, Unlust -- discomfort, frustration, etc. -- is not caused by an increase of excitation as such; it arises when a drive finds its outlets blocked; or when its intensity is so increased that the normal outlets are insufficient; or for both reasons. A moderate amount of over-heating may be experienced as pleasurable excitement while anticipating or imagining the act of consummation. The physical discomforts of strenuous sports are readily accepted in the pleasurable anticipation of the reward which may be nothing more substantial than a sense of achievement. Frustration changes into relief the moment it is realised that the target is within reach, that is, long before the actual process of satisfying the drive has started. Moreover, there are vicarious emotions, derived from partial identification with another person, or the heroine on the screen, which are satisfied by vicarious rewards; the consummatory act is lived out in fantasy, in internalised, instead of overt, behaviour. Thus the 'hedonic tone' depends on several factors, and could be described as a feedback report on the progress or otherwise of the drive towards its real, anticipated, or imaginary target.
Emotions can be classified according to their source, i.e., the nature of the drive which gives rise to them -- hunger, sex, curiosity, care of the offspring, and so on. A second factor to be taken into account is their pleasure-unpleasure rating. To use a coarse but helpful analogy, let us compare our emotional set-up with a tavern, in which there is a variety of taps, each serving a different kind of brew; these are turned on and off as the need arises. Then each tap would represent a different drive, and the pleasure-rating would be represented by the rate of flow -- which can be nice and smooth, or impeded by air-locks, or by too much or too little pressure behind it.
Now we come to a third factor: the degree of toxicity of each brew. The self-assertive, aggressive-defensive tendency which enters into a given emotion shall be symbolised by its toxic alcohol content; the self-transcending tendency by its content of soothing, neutral liquid. We thus arrive at a three-dimensional view of emotions. The first factor is the nature of its source, represented by a particular tap; the second its hedonic tone -- rate of flow; the third is its ratio of self-assertion to self-transcendence. It is with this third aspect that we shall be mainly concerned.
One of the difficulties besetting this subject is that we rarely experience a pure emotion. The bar-man tends to mix the contents of the taps: sex may be combined with curiosity, and with virtually any other drive. The hedonic tone also tends towards ambivalence; anticipation may make actual discomfort pleasurable, and the unconscious component of the drive may give rise to feelings which change a plus into a minus sign; the pain felt by the masochist on one level of awareness may be experienced as pleasure on another level. But we are concerned with a third type of ambiguity. Leaving aside the extremes of blind rage at one end, and mystic trance at the other end of the spectrum, most of our emotional states show paradoxical combinations of the two basic tendencies.
Take an instinct-drive like care for the offspring, shared by virtually all mammalians and birds. Whatever the emotions to which this instinct gives rise in animals (and some of their manifestations are rather paradoxical), in man they certainly take an often disastrously ambivalent form. The child is regarded by its parent as its own 'flesh and blood' -- a biological bond which transcends the frontiers of the self; at the same time, overprotective mothers and domineering fathers are classic examples of self-assertiveness.
If we turn from parental to sexual love, we again find both tendencies present -- on the one hand, impulses towards aggression, domination, subjugation; on the other, towards empathy and identification. The mixture varies from rape to platonic worship, according to its degree of toxicity.
Hunger is an apparently simple biological drive, which one would hardly expect to give rise to complex, ambivalent emotions. The teeth are symbols of aggression; biting, snapping, attacking and wolfing one's food are single-minded, crude manifestations of self-assertiveness. But there is another side to the act of feeding, related to magic and primitive religion. It could be called empathy by ingestion. By partaking of the flesh of the slain animal, man, or god, an act of transubstantiation takes place; the virtues and wisdom of the victim are ingested and a kind of mystic communion is established. The costumes and rituals varied; but the principle always involved the transfer of some kind of spiritual substance between god, animal and man, whether the people in question were primitive Australian savages, highly civilised Mexican Aztecs, or Greeks at the height of the Dionysian cult. In the most telling version of the legend, Dionysius is torn to pieces and eaten by the evil Titans, who in turn are slain by Zeus' thunderbolt; man is born out of their ashes, heir to their wickedness, but also to the divine flesh. Transmitted through the Orphic mystery cult, the tradition of partaking of the torn god's flesh and blood entered in a sublimated and symbolic form into the rites of Christianity. Even in the sixteenth century, men were excommunicated from the Lutheran church because they denied the doctrine of ubiquity -- the physical presence of the blood and body of Christ in the consecrated host. To the devout, Holy Communion is the supreme experience of self-transcendence; and no offence is meant by pointing to the unbroken tradition which connects ingestion with transubstantiation as a means of breaking down the ego's boundaries.
Echoes of this ancient communion survive in the various rites of commensality -- baptismal and funeral meals, the symbolic offering of bread and salt, the Indian taboo on sharing meals with people of different caste. Oral eroticism and quaint expressions like 'devouring love', which occur in most languages, are further reminders that even while eating, man does not live by bread alone; and that even the seemingly simplest act of self-preservation may contain a component of self-transcendence.
And vice versa, caring for the sick or the poor, protecting animals against cruelty, serving on committees, and devoting one's time to social work, are admirably altruistic pursuits -- and often wonderful outlets for bossiness and self-assertion, even if unconscious. The family likeness between hospital matrons and sergeant majors, surgeons and star performers, do-gooders and hockey-team captains, testifies to the endless variety of combinations into which the integrative and self-assertive tendencies may enter.
To avoid possible confusion, I should point out that according to the three-dimensional theory of emotions outlined above, self-assertion and self-transcendence are not specific emotions but tendencies which enter into all emotions and modify their character according to which of the two dominates. For the sake of brevity, however, it is sometimes convenient to talk loosely of 'self-transcending emotions' instead of 'emotions in which the self-transcending tendencies dominate'.
The Perils of Aggression
To recapitulate: the single
individual, considered as a whole, represents the apex of the organismic hierarchy; considered as a part, he is the lowest unit of the social hierarchy. On this boundary-line between physiological and social organisation, the two opposite potentials which we have encountered on every level manifest themselves in the form of emotive behaviour. So long as all goes well, the self-assertive and integrative tendencies of the individual are more or less evenly balanced in his emotional life; he lives in a kind of dynamic equilibrium with his family, tribe or society, and also with the universe of values and beliefs which constitutes his mental environment.
A certain amount of self-assertiveness, 'rugged individualism', ambition, competitiveness, is as indispensable in a dynamic society as the autonomy and self-reliance of its holons is indispensable to the organism. A well-meaning but woolly ideology, which has become fashionable on the rebound from the horrors of the last decades, would proclaim aggressiveness in all its forms as altogether damnable and evil. Yet without a moderate amount of aggressive individualism there could be no social or cultural progress. What John Donne has called man's 'holy discontent', is an essential motive force of the social reformer, the satirist, artist and thinker. We have seen that creative originality in science or art always has a constructive and a destructive side -- destructive, that is to say, to established conventions of technique, style, dogma or prejudice. And since science is made by scientists, the destructive aspect of scientific revolutions must reflect some element of destructiveness in the scientist's mind, a preparedness to go recklessly against accepted beliefs. The same, of course, is true of the artist -- even if he is not a 'fauve'. Thus aggression is like arsenic: in small doses a stimulant, in large doses a poison.