Here is a puzzle indeed! The very term, organism, is applied to a living body whose parts by definition make up a congruous whole; and in the instance of the human organism (so obviously designed as a machine whose parts should act in an harmonious cooperation) what explanation can there be for precisely the opposite phenomenon?
The manifest fact is that the organic behavior of the human being is not in accordance with his designed functioning, in other words: that is not functioning but, instead, is malfunctioning. By definition he is, in fact, abnormal. And the explanation is that there exists no control.
Even in so simple a machine as an electrical generator, designed to supply power to lighting and heating systems, it is necessary to include a governor so that, as the operating load to be drawn from the machine varies with the cutting-in and cutting-out of different appliances and lights, the motor will speed up or slow down to maintain a comparable output. In the case of the three-centred human organism it is necessary that a much more complicated governor should act in order to keep its triple functions balanced. It is not sufficient that the centres be merely connected with each other so that the possibility of interactions be present, it is required further that this interaction, inevitable because of the designed interconnection, be of an harmonious and mutually reinforcing sort, and for this a special kind of governor is needed. Now from the objective point of view such a governor is included in the organic human design and it is in fact present within the human organism. The difficulty resides exactly in the circumstance that it does not function, with the result that all the other functions it is designed to coordinate, manifest a jangling mal adjustment and disrupt the proper operation of the machine. It will be seen later that this nonfunctional regulator of governor is associated with that other predominantly nonfunctional division of the head-brain, the cerebellum.
On the subjective side of the discussion this brings us to the enigmatic word, “I”, and to a preliminary consideration of some of the levels or degrees of consciousness.
What do we mean when we say “I”? Do we really mean anything? Many persons assume this but the position cannot be maintained. Obviously it can happen that Mr. So and-so becomes Dr. So-and-son and continues to say “I” as before, not recognizing a distinction in identity any more than does the tax collector. And far more drastic alterations that that can occur, the address can change, and frequently, and the name itself can be transformed legally and practically out of any resemblance to its previous counterpart. Yet one still says “I”. Then surely the name-and-address fallacy may be dismissed.
Who, then, is the real subject of these various conversions? Do we in fact identify ourselves simply with specific (and essentially nameless) physical organisms, the bodies with which we assume ourselves to be dichotomously associated? Or are we in fact those bodies? But one can be aware of one’s body as something separate from oneself, as every person with a dental history knows. And between “something” and the organism there exists an experiential distinction, this “something” is what we call “I”.
But plainly enough “I” am always identifying myself with something else. When “I” do so simply with a name and address- in general with any combination of life circumstances- an error is involved, since even my wife may elope with the chauffer and my children fatally be stricken by the plague. Shall we say, then, that “I” may identify myself with an optimistic frame of mind or an affectionate mood? But these are precisely those attributes which are in constant flux and change, and the abilities (even were they as great as my own opinion of them) can be, and sometimes are lost without any interruption of that continuing assertion, “I”.
In general it would seem that what I customarily identify myself with what I ordinarily call “I” is not some separate aspect of my organism’s activity, but rather a general balance of closely interrelated activities, comprising an integration of mental, emotional and sensory components simultaneously. It is then but a short step to the error that such an integration may properly be considered as at least a semi-permanent unity. Unfortunately it is not so. We cannot sit down to think without all sorts of unnecessary muscular strains interfering with our thoughts, even more uselessly some mental segment arouses an incongruent emotion by automatic association, and our train of thought is destroyed. In the same way, let us set about some complex physical activity, perhaps a golf or tennis match, and not only do fears and hopes interfere with our required movements but irrelevant thoughts likewise intrude to upset our coordinations. So that such an imagined unity is not a unity at all; these integrated states with which we identify are a) not harmoniously integrated but instead are only temporarily existing imbalances and b) for that very reason must be impermanent and constantly altering to entirely different imbalances, temporarily integrated in turn. Such a succession of contrasting imbalances can hardly serve as the valid foundation for a supervading identification any less impermanent than are the integrations themselves.
The point to be brought out, is that the assumption of a permanent and steadfast “I” is in fact without current basis, and whatever may be said about it later on, in contemporary actuality “I” is a genuine delusion.
The ordinary man or woman, you or I, is not a permanently integrated individual but a clear case of multiple personality. Do we not often go to bed with the firm intention of rising earlier than usual the next day, perhaps in order to accomplish some extra chore that seems to us to be desirable? Yet in the morning the matter presents an entirely different aspect, and what so little previously had seemed called for, and even necessary, now takes on the appearance of a rather foolish triviality and we are easily able to assure ourselves that the really reasonable things to do is to stay in bed a bit longer and thus the better fortify ourselves against the coming day. But surely these are two separate personalities that view the very same question in such contrary ways. Both of them speak of themselves as “I” without hesitation but they are much too far apart both in their opinions and their behaviors for us to assume that they are merely somewhat different aspects of the same “I”; indeed they present between them all the stigmata commonly associated with multiple personality, even to a lesser degree than do the more sensational cases.
Hence arises the suspicion that the evening “I” and the morning “I” constitute two separate entities, since in the first case the identification is with a certain set of feelings, thoughts and intentions and in the second with an entirely different and opposite set. Moreover, throughout the whole day these varying and frequently contradictory misidentifications take place, one following another without interruption as external situations alter and also the internal conditions wax and wane. Instead of the delusionally permanent and unchanging “I” a whole troupe or multiplicity of “I’s” holds the stage in turn. It’s often happening that one of these “I’s” undertakes obligations on behalf of the organism only later demanding discharge painfully and embarrassingly by quite another “I”.
And provided the reader will consent to examine his own experience without a priori assumption, he will perhaps find something still more disquieting, viz., that some of these personalities of his approximate to being unconscious of certain others. Here we approach the classic instance of multiple personality wherein one “I” is totally unconscious of another and the subject assumes an altogether different character alternately without any intercognition as between them. That is the alleged mark of the various “schizoid” types. That in ordinary life most people come close to it, is evident from a consideration of behaviors while in the transports of romantic love; these are often unbelievable to the victim following recovery. Occasional states of rage, in which opinions and intentions are held which afterwards seem unrecognizable to the subject, are another case in point. “But I couldn’t have said such a thing, no matter how angry I was!”
One fears that in one’s own case, as well as in those of others, he can observe quite clearly this astonishing procession of discordant “I’s”. It must be confessed that this causes small concern, for among everyone else whom he knows, one can easily recognize very different personalities manifesting themselves, for instance in discussions with the banker, when relaxing among intimates, at some formal affair, when exercising some talent in which the person is unusually proficient, or simply on different days even under generally similar circumstances.
To call these differing manifestations “automatic roles” (as presently we shall) cannot alter the question at all. If we grant that in each of us such multiplicities of “I’s” are continually elbowing one another aside to hold power briefly until in turn they are shown the exit, then certainly the situation is not normal in any proper sense. It is quite impossible to assume that such an incongruous parade of the honest, the unscrupulous, the clownish, the sober, the inept and the competent constitutes the properly functioning design of the human being. Assuredly his organic design is not constructed upon so haphazard and indiscriminant a principle.
And that is just the point. The organic apparatus contains everything required in order to obviate all this injurious jangling and conflict; and the trouble lies not in the organic factor but in the factor of consciousness. Let us return for a moment to the threefold analysis of the nature of the human being, in which the three basic elements appeared as content of experience, end-products of neural functioning and the third-force factor of consciousness per se or the mediating factor irrespective of what neural end product it might be mediating. In this analysis, as in any other, it is all too easy to make the erroneous assumption that the independent factors are existing separately from each other. Theoretically, of course, they may but in that case no human being is given; whenever a human being is found, the independence of the three contributory factors consists in the incommensurability of their respective contributions to the whole but not at all in any supposed mutual disassociation as among them. Thus the factor of consciousness may be considered by itself in an abstract way but, so far as concerns a human being, it is a factor or aspect of his total being and not some separate entity which may or may not be present in the presence of the other two factors. It is necessary to emphasize this because, although analysis is a valuable intellectual tool, it usually brings with it the fallacy that what is analyzed out can therefore be dropped from the totality of the phenomenon and either itself be considered as separate or the residue be considered as separate. This is not so and in the case of the human being neither consciousness nor any other of the three basic factors can be dropped without destroying the human being as such. Without organic end-products or without experiential content or without consciousness there can be no human being; it is precisely the amalgamation of all these three independent elements which comprises and defines him. Thus “I” cannot be identified simply with consciousness alone but only with the totality of which consciousness is an independent but necessarily associated factor. Although there must be a later distinction, for the moment we can consider that the proper employment of the term, “I”, refers to that totality.
Nevertheless, when we discover something seriously wrong about the situation, our analysis proves valuable in pointing to the seat of the trouble, in showing for instance that it resides primarily not in the organic factor and is related to the mechanical automatism of human beings previously discussed.
We have already seen that, as the human economy actually operates, its neural end products determine the content of experience likewise. If one admits the undeniable fact that neurological phenomena along the calcarene fissure of the occipital lobe determine visual experience, then it is quite impossible to deny that frontal lobe phenomena determine intellectual experience and basal gangliar (or other apposite) phenomena determine emotional experience. In the absence of such phenomena there can be no experience at all; and since the experience originates at these locations; the corollary that it is determined there, is inescapable. Phantasies and delusions about Free Will are comfortable phantasies and delusions but they are also irrational and abnormal; that is why they are termed phantasies and delusions. If one’s aim is delusional comfort, well and good; but if one aspires to some degree of human normality, these facts must be faced. As regards the actual situation they establish an important formulation: in the case of the ordinary human being consciousness is a purely passive factor; it suffices for the transformation of neurological phenomena into experiential phenomena, and it suffices for no more. What is transformed is determined by neurological laws acting through neurological structures and the delusion of voluntarism arises from the erroneous assumption that the conscious factor interferes in such processes in some inexplicable way, when in fact the actual role of consciousness is simply and solely the translation of neurology into the terns of subjective experience.
It is necessary only to state that real situation clearly and definitely in order to be assailed from all sides by the Pauper’s Denial. “Of course we have Free Will,” cry these voices, some shrill and angry, others merely astonished that so obvious a matter can be called into question. And so it is, until they look at it; indeed they are the very protagonists of the Pauper’s Parable. . . .Once there lived a man so disreputably clad and starving that others came to him saying, “Alas, that thou art bereft of all wealth to this extent! For thy bones stick through thy skin and thy cloak is more holes and patches than good wool. Behold now, bestir thyself, for coin is to be had through the efforts thou canst make and with that coin thy dire needs may be remedied.” To which the pauper answered: “Begone, ye fools! Are ye so dull of wit ye cannot see one of great possessions before ye, who needeth not to make an undignified scrambling after thy petty coins? Begone, for here small patience shall reward sophistries and thy twistings of words!” So then those others left him; and not long later his emaciated body was found beside the roadway, a testimony to the starvation he had denied. . . . By this story it is intended to be shown that no poor man can become wealthy, if, in advance of his efforts to do so, he is deluded by the notion that he is already a millionaire. It is the same with Will. Arguments regarding its possible attainment are bootless in the cases of those who confuse it with the delusion of voluntarism; and since they imagine that they already possess it, ipso facto they are prevented from taking the first step toward it. A recognition of importance is the obligatory first step toward strength.
Such a recognition, however, is by no means enough, for invariably it is followed by the fallacy of reform. And from the above description of the mechanical automatism in which we live, it can be seen how empty and hopeless are all projects of reform. What is reform? It is the increase of activity of one subdivision of the organism and its predominantly effective interference in the functioning of other subdivisions. Let us suppose a well-reasoned decision to overcome some emotional unpleasantness, say an habitual behavior of deception. Of course it can be done, but it is always done by force; a “determined intention” is brought into play, the lying behavior is carefully noted and, whenever it is noticed, it is suppressed. Unquestionably a change is produced. Yes, but what change? Just the desired one and no more? Substitution is thus achieved but never only destruction. Centre #2 is not abolished because certain of its manifestations have been repressed. Perhaps the man now lies to himself instead of, as formerly, to others; perhaps the lying has been suppressed entirely and the emotional energy, hitherto thus used, now expends itself in some other direction, the man suddenly finding himself the victim of unaccustomed timidity and fears; or perhaps the action has been still more drastic and digestive disorders ensue, superficially quite unrelated to anything that has occurred but actually the result of it. This is the characteristic pattern of all reform, in which some end is attained but always at an unknown expense. Expense there always is, for nothing is accomplished at no expense; and when the expense is unknown, it may be very harmful indeed. In social reform a false façade of virtue is presented to the public at large; in private reform it is presented to the man himself. And underneath it in both instances the former vices seethe with their bottled-up energies now channeled in unsuspected ways. Reform always results in something worse than it cures.
It is therefore of no value to admit that we are deplorably automatic and mechanical in our functions and then to assert that we shall change all this, develop our “wills” and become what we obscurely but essentially realize that we ought to be. At bottom such a reform is no different from all the rest; all of them reflect only the meddling and tyranny of one centre over the others and the result is always discord, conflict and interior disruption, jostling our organic equipment into further maladjustments. One centre does not understand another, its sustenance and operation are different, it is not entitled on any grounds to prescribe its own remedies for another’s faults, because it is unable successfully to do so by the very nature of the case.
The problem we confront here, the problem of our mechanical automatism, is profound and fundamental. It is also an extremely subtle problem. Scores of fallacious solutions have been offered for it, some merely absurd but some of so cleverly plausible a kind as to have deceived all except the extraordinarily competent. It is one of the objects of the present Version to solve this question correctly, but as yet we have not proceeded far enough for a direct attack upon it. At present we are concerned with formulating Actuality, we are engaged upon describing man as he is.
There is a simile employed in the body of the Gurdjieffian ideas to furnish an image of the nature of man. This simile is called the Equipage; and it consists of a horse, a carriage, a driver or coachman, and a passenger. The driver is Centre #3, or mind; the horse is Centre #2, or the emotions; the carriage is Centre #1, or what is usually called the body; the passenger within is “I.” Between these various parts of the Equipage there are to be found the necessary connections: the horse is attached to the carriage by means of shafts, enabling him to pull it about, and the driver is related to the horse by means of the reins, thus being in a position to guide the latter. The passenger communicates with the driver through the agency of speech, telling him where to proceed. In proper conditions this is a workable contrivance, for the passenger informs the driver of the destination, the driver starts off the horse and thereafter guides him by reason of his coachmanlike acquaintance with the locality and the horse then pulls the adequately greased carriage along to the goal. All this, of course, in proper conditions.
The actual picture is somewhat different. Here we find the passenger unconscious within his vehicle, the coachman drunk upon the box, the horse rampaging about in terror stricken ysteria or vicious rage and the carriage, equipped with a cleverly designed self greasing mechanism which only rough roads will activate, creaking with burned-out axles along the artificially smooth streets of the city’s amusement centre. This picture is asserted to be a true one; the rational thing to do, is not to deny it but to investigate it.
Another simile of the Oragean Version likens the empty word, 'I', to an exiled Prince instead of to the unconscious passenger. Deprived of his birthright he spends his existence outlawed from his land (the organism) while a succession of usurpers arrogates his duties to itself. Now Centre #3 seizes control, now Centre #1 and now Centre #2; and even their subordinates ape them in usurpation, for the members of that whole train of multiple personalities play out their automatic roles in a degraded succession upon the ravished throne. When shall that Prince awake? When and how will he gather his forces, eject his miserable counterfeits and regain his rightful place as the legitimate ruler of his own domains? Indeed he needs a Merlin, and sorely. His Merlin is the A-type knowledge possessed only by the Schools.
Do these similes apply to us in person? It is said here that they do, to all of us. Let the reader gather the last ounce of sincerity he possesses, and then let him ask himself. Let him catch a glimpse, if only a short one, of himself as others actually see him; let him achieve even a partially objective answer to this question, and he shall no longer doubt.
Assuredly a change is demanded, a very drastic change, but not any change nor the first one suggested by desperation or despair, either. Mere change in itself will not avail; reform and “improvement” will effect the opposite of the intended purpose and he will be more closely beset than before. His problem is to be solved neither quickly nor easily, for let him know, too, that this dilemma is his alone. The Universe, or any of it, is not interested in his quandary; just as he is: mechanical, disrupted, impotent, automatic, he is serving his allotted function in the Universe well enough right now.
"Vind mensen, die in zichzelf zowel de motivatie als de aangeboren drijfveer hebben om aan hun Innerlijke Zelf te werken, en we zullen hen gidsen."
- DIMschool vzw, de énige gespecialiseerd in Zelfkennis, zijnde: het kennen van het Zelf -
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