How the fax, the phone, and the VCR aretaking us beyond
ourselves
We listen to George Bush's speech, but know it was produced by a
team of experts. We watch the presidential hopefuls, so earnest and well
poised, but we are aware of the hours of coaching necessary to produce
these images. We wonder about their private lives and how long it will
take before startling revelations hit the press. On the talk shows we
hear the stars "telling all" ; yet we are conscious that even their
sorriest secrets are calculated for career advancement. When we listen to
the executive officer address the annual meeting, we know that every
garment is geared for impact, every syllable designed to sell. As we
observe the professor give a lecture, we are aware that even the casual
dress and informal manner are carefully crafted.
Many of us believe that somewhere behind these masks lies the real
person, that all this role playing is so much sham. We may also believe
that for the sake of society and ourselves we should drop the roles and
be what we truly are. Yet if by chance you are beginning to doubt that
there is a factual self beneath the fake, and feel the mask may just be
the genuine article, that "image is everything," you are entering the new
world of postmodern consciousness.
Twenty years ago I was privileged enough to write a cover story for
Psychology Today, in which I described the multiple masks we must wear in
meeting the demands of everyday life. Rather than finding inconsistency
and incoherence in personality a cause for alarm-possibly a reason to
seek therapy-I championed its positive possibilities. Rather than
admonishing people to seek a firm and fixed identity, I saw such
identities as limiting and in many ways incapacitating. It seemed to me
that people who demonstrated a protean elasticity were healthier and more
fulfilled.
The article was provocative; it was reprinted numerous times both
in the United States and abroad, and was even the topic of a television
special. Clearly I was touching sensitive issues, questioning the
traditional value of a firm sense of identity, of knowing where one
stands and to whom one is committed. At the same time, many readers were
curious or relieved; many felt the limitations of the old virtues of
coherence and authenticity.
Because the implications of these issues for our ways of life are
broad and significant, I have continued to ponder them. on the one hand,
by favoring the fixed identity, one also opts for orderly and predictable
ways of life, trustworthiness, long-term commitments, and a sense of
security and tranquility. One shudders to think of their disappearance.
Yet we no longer live in the world that imparted such high value to these
ways of life, and, even if painful, we must continuously question the
adequacy of past traditions for the demands of the present. It is now,
with the benefit of hindsight, that I see my concerns of 20 years ago as
part of a broader cultural story-a single chapter of a tale in which we
all participate.
That tale is one of cultural change, now reaching staggering
proportions, and from which there is little chance of escape. It is also
a tale in which we are all losing our identities and the coherent and
committed lives that go with it. But just possibly, if we are wise and
fortunate, we can still create a story with a happy ending. In it, we
gain the security that comes from discovering our essential relatedness
with others.
To begin, let us consider the ingredients required for a centered
identity. What is it that holds the personality together, giving it
determined direction? It is difficult to understand such a question in a
vacuum cut away from a cultural language of selfunderstanding. Rather, we
have little choice but to rely for answers on the accumulated wisdom of
the past. Here, it seems to me, we stand today as the beneficiaries of
two primary traditions. Both are highly respected, both give us a sense
of strong and stable identity, and both are now in jeopardy.
The first is the romantic tradition, which reached its pinnacle in
the last century. It is largely from the romantic tradition that we
derive our beliefs in a profound and stable center of identity-a center
which harbored the vital spirit of life itself. Poets such as Shelley,
Keats, and Byron; composers such as Beethoven, Brahms, and Chopin; and a
host of philosophers, painters, architects, theologians, and the like,
all created a vivid portrait of the romantic self. It was a compelling
account of powerful forces buried beneath the surface of consciousness,
in the deep interior of one's being.
These forces once defined the individual, furnishing the essential
reason for being. For some, the forces were identified as the soul;
others saw them as fiery passions; and still others felt they were dark
and dangerous. Invariably, however, the forces were wondrous, and their
expression (in committed love, loyalty, and friendships) was fulfilling
if not heroic. Because of the power of these passions, one could
experience profound grief at the loss of a loved one, and a sense of
longing or remorse so intense that suicide could be an attractive option.
The deep interior was also held to be the source of inspiration,
creativity, genius, moral courage-even madness.
Tags:
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postmodernism,
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