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An ongoing emphasis of this blog is the importance of determining–and committing to–the next best choice of action. Managing our time and effort and energy as a way of managing our lives and our selves. And on what authority do we know, exactly, what is that next best thing?
As I often do, I found today's New York Times op-ed piece by David Brooks compelling and timely. He summarizes a research program which examined the moral reasoning of emerging adults, directed by Notre Dame's Christian Smith. In their book Lost in Transition: The Dark Side of Emerging Adulthood, Kari Christoffersen, Hilary Davidson, and Patricia Snell Herzog–along with Smith–go beyond the group's research to offer what they describe as "sociological imagination."
Theirs is a sensitive, cautionary but not altogether bleak reading of what the group has learned from years of research with emerging adults (in these studies, 18-23 years olds). Namely, that the subjects in their investigations had difficulty framing–and responding to–moral questions and complexities.
One observation in particular which catches my interest was the authors' dim view of the frequency with which the respondents in these interviews made use of intuition–for example indicating that they often made important decisions based on what makes him or her "happy." (The title of David Brooks' article today is, in fact, "If It Feels Right...").
I'm interested in all of this for several reasons. For one thing, I'm profoundly interested, and invested, in the deep happiness of myself and others. Secondly, I'm delighted and stymied by the ways in which humans make moral choices, and how we talk about that process in an open and multicultural and tolerant society.
But there's a more proximal factor in my interest in these authors' take on individual happiness as a potential source of moral decision making. It has to do with how it is that I actually had time today to–by the miracle of Amazon's Kindle app for Android–get my virtual hands on Lost in Transition and read it for myself. I had this bit of freedom because I'd blocked out some buffer time after having returned just yesterday from a trip to London where, incidentally, I facilitated a workshop called "Deep Happiness by Design."
Now, one of the principles of my clinical work is that, in fact, our bodies and our neurology offer important information about what is right. There are multiple sources of credibility and authority, of course, and not uncommonly these sources are in conflict over what's the next best right thing for me or for you. Frequently those authorities speak loudly against the messages of the body. "You can't possibly be hungry now, it's 2:30 pm. Your body is wrong." "You don't want to cry, because you're a boy and boys don't cry. Your body is wrong."
I'd like to be an advocate for the wisdom of the body, especially for my clients who are not "neurotypical"–folks whose sensory systems and styles of information processing are different. Some examples of "different" include sensory integration challenges, ADHD, and autistic spectrum disorder. When we're trying to organize our schedule and commitments and relationships and values around the preferences of our zip code or our siblings–or in any way that goes essentially against our body's messages–we're going to run into frustration and all sorts of problems.
Frequently when I'm involved in a serious conversation about this role of happiness in our decision making and the value of body-based feeling as a source of information and wisdom, the question comes: "What if the thing that makes me happy is unsafe or hurtful to others around me?" One view of human nature is that we're all just about to spin crazily out of control and the only thing holding us together is law and rules. And there's plenty of anecdotal evidence to back up that vision of ourselves.
But another view of men and women is that we are in fact wired, in our body and neurology, towards helpful and prosocial and altruistic behavior. Martin Seligman has recently been quoted as describing some regret about the association of his name with pop culture references to "happiness," and notes that–even more than a superficial happiness–we are motivated towards a robust flourishing. "If we just wanted positive emotions, our species would have died out a long time ago," he says. "We have children to pursue other elements of well-being. We want meaning in life. We want relationships."
Mathematical biologist (what?) Martin Nowak makes a case that in addition to our obvious propensity for violence and selfishness, humans are also given to remarkable altruism. And he suggests that the capacity for altruism gives humans survival advantage. It works. And in the way that giraffes demonstrate an extreme example of longer necks offering survival advantage, Psychologist Jonathon Haidt has suggested that we are, in fact, the giraffes of altruism–while other animals can cooperate and "play well" together, humans have adapted exceptional capacity for others-directed and group-directed efforts.
But, still, the question lingers...what if we're wrong? What if the things we think or feel are good are, in fact, not? I've long suspected that this is where the value of community comes into play. And this is one of the suggestions offered by authors Smith et al. in the final sections of Lost in Transition. The tension between independence and community support is summed up in one of several Wendell Berry quotes in the book:
"There is, in practice, no such thing as autonomy. Practically, there is only a distinction between responsible and irresponsible dependence."
Emerging adults need ongoing relationships with parents and with other older adults. And families can choose to be more intentional regarding values: how money and time are spent, for example, or how adults model charitable giving and volunteerism. And when religious community has been a support in chilldhood and teenage years, the authors suggest that those communities need not "passively accept that their ties to youth will be lost after the high school years."
So here's the challenge–the conversation I want to continue with readers of this blog, and with people I meet at workshops or in the clinical setting: Is there a way to take the body and its wisdom seriously, alongside the other sources of authority which guide our most important decisions about managing time and commitments and relationships? I look forward to that dialogue!
photo: Wikimedia Commons
