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Kenneth J. Gergen

Relational Being Beyond Self and Community

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vii

Prologue: Toward a New Enlightenment xiii

Part I From Bounded to Relational Being !

! Bounded Being " Self as Abuse *

Fundamental Isolation + Unrelenting Evaluation , The Search for Self-Esteem -"

Self and Other -. Distrust and Derogation -/ Relationships as Artifi ce -0

The Culture of Bounded Being !" The Costs of Calculation !" Public Morality as Nuisance !/

Transforming Tradition !0

" In the Beginning Is the Relationship #$ Co-Action and Creation .- The Co-Creation of Everything .+

Co-Action and Constraint /" Multiplicity and Malleability /! Relational Flow: Failing and Flourishing /+

From Causality to Confl uence /#

viii C O N T E N T S

# The Relational Self %& Being Unbound +- The Very Idea of Self-Knowledge +. Call in the Experts +* From Mind to Relationship +# Mind as Action in Relationship 0+

Reason as Relationship 0+ Agency: Intention as Action 0# Experience and Memory: Not Mine but Ours ,. Creativity as Relational Achievement #-

$ The Body as Relationship: Emotion, Pleasure, and Pain $% The Emotions in History and Culture #, The Dance of the Emotions -"! Relational Scenarios -"+ Disrupting Dangerous Dances --- Aren’t the Emotions Biological? --* Bodily Pleasure: The Gift of Co-Action -!- Pain: The Final Challenge -!*

Part II Relational Being in Everyday Life !"!

% Multi-Being and the Adventures of Everyday Life !"" Multi-Being -./

Early Precursors: Depth Psychology -., Contemporary Precursors: Living with Others -// Critique and Coherence -/0 Picturing Multi-Being -/#

Coordination: The Challenge of Flight -*" Meeting and Mutuality -*! Sustenance and Suppression -*+

Everyday Perils: Relations Among Relations -*, Counter-Logics and Relational Deterioration -+"

The Arts of Coordination -+. Understanding: Synchrony in Action -+/ Affi rmation: The Birth and Restoration of Collaboration -+0 Appreciative Exploration -+,

& Bonds, Barricades, and Beyond !'! The Thrust Toward Bonding -0! Cementing Bonds -0.

Negotiating the Real and the Good -0. Narrative: From Self to Relationship -0* The Enchanting of “We” -0#

C O N T E N T S ix

Bonding and Boundaries -,. Relational Severing -,/ Erosion of the Interior: United We Fall -,+ The Tyranny of Truth -,,

From Erosion to Annihilation -,# Beyond the Barricades -#- Hot Confl ict and Transformative Dialogue -#-

The Public Conversations Project -#. Narrative Mediation -#* Restorative Justice -#0

Part III Relational Being in Professional Practice !$$

' Knowledge as Co-Creation #&! Knowledge as Communal Construction !"! Disturbing Disciplines !"+

Pervasive Antagonism !"0 Discipline and Debilitation !", The Elegant Suffi ciency of Ignorance !-" Knowledge: For Whose Benefi t? !--

Toward Transcending Disciplines !-. Interweaving Disciplines !-/ The Emerging Hybrids !-+ The Return of the Public Intellectual !-#

Writing as Relationship !!- Writing in the Service of Relationship !!/

Writing as a Full Self !!* Scholarship as Performance !!#

Research as Relationship !.. Relational Alternatives in Human Research !.*

Narrative Inquiry: Entry into Otherness !.+ Action Research: Knowing With !.,

( Education in a Relational Key #(& Aims of Education Revisited !/- Circles of Participation !/* Relational Pedagogy in Action !/0 Circle -: Teacher and Student !/0 Circle !: Relations Among Students !**

Collaborative Classrooms !** Collaborative Writing !*#

Circle .: Classroom and Community !+! Community Collaboration !+. Cooperative Education !+/

x C O N T E N T S

Service Learning !+* Circle (: The Classroom and the World !+0 Circles Unceasing !+#

) Therapy as Relational Recovery #'& Therapy in Relational Context !0-

The Social Genesis of “the Problem” !0! The Origins of Therapeutic Solutions !0* Relational Consequences of Therapy !00 A Contemporary Case: Mind and Meds !0#

Therapy: The Power of Coordinated Action !,! Rejection and Affi rmation !,. Suspending Realities !,, Realities Replaced !#0

Expanding the Therapeutic Repertoire ."! From Fixed Reality to Relational Flow .". Beyond Language: The Challenge of Effective Action ."+

!* Organizing: The Precarious Balance "!& Organizing: Life Through Affi rmation .-! Beware the Organization .-+

Suppression of Voices .-0 The Organization Against Itself .-, Separation from Cultural Context .-#

Decision-Making as Relational Coordination .!" Polyphonic Process: Lifting Every Voice .!. Decision-Making Through Appreciative Inquiry .!,

From Leadership to Relational Leading ..- From Evaluation to Valuation .., The Organization-in-the-World ./.

Part IV From the Moral to the Sacred "($

!! Morality: From Relativism to Relational Responsibility ")! The Challenge of Moral Conduct .*/ Immorality Is Not the Problem .*+ Moralities Are the Problem .*, Toward Second-Order Morality .+" Relational Responsibility in Action .+* From Co-Existence to Community .++ Beyond the Beginning .0"

C O N T E N T S xi

!" Approaching the Sacred "'# Metaphors of the Relational .0/

The Procreative Act .0* Systems Theory .0+ Actor Networks .0, Distributed Cognition .0# Biological Interdependence .,- Process Philosophy .,/ The Buddha Dharma: Inter-Being .,*

The Sacred Potential of Relational Being .,, Toward Sacred Practice .#-

Epilogue: The Coming of Relational Consciousness "$%

Index (&)

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. The Relational Self

Moments from everyday conversation:

“I hope that...” “I am so angry...” “What do you think about it...” “I don’t remember his name...” “I didn’t intend to...” “I really want to go...” “Her attitude is so negative...”

Such phrases are unremarkable, but their consequences in social life are profound. Consider that whenever we talk we contribute to a relational process from which the sense of the real and the good are derived. In this light, consider the way these phrases construct the person. At least one thing stands out: They all assert the reality of the mind. Declarations of hope, anger, thought, memory, intention, want, and attitudes all “make real” mental events. With the help of a dictionary, we could assemble more than !,""" such terms...need, fear, doubt, happiness, attitudes, imagina- tion, creativity, ambivalence, and so on. If we consulted an encyclopedia of psychology, we might even be able to add another -,""" terms...depres- sion, split imago, fl ash bulb memory, schema, repression...How stunningly rich this world is behind our eyes!

•

The Relational Self !#

The issue here is not simply about words. Rather, our daily lives revolve around the discourse of the mind. People devote the greater part of their lives to what they consider their beliefs, their loves, their ideas, their religious faith, their career aspirations, and so on. In matters of life, death is a close companion:

A sense of wounded pride can be an invitation to murder.• Feelings of hopelessness can invite suicide. • In a court of law, estimates of intention may make the difference • between freedom and execution. A sense of superiority can invite genocide.•

It may be safely said that at least in Western culture, life is grounded in the reality of the mind.

•

Man must know who he is: He must be able to sense himself as both author and object of his actions. For the only true fulfi llment of his human needs is his development as a fully individuated person, which recognizes itself as the center of its own being.

—H.M. Ruitenbeek

Being Unbound

The reality of the mind is also the reality of bounded being. Mental states constitute the very ingredients of the individual interior. One’s ability to think, and feel, and choose are the very marks of being fully human. Would a child be normal without the ability to feel pleasure and pain, happiness or anger? Doesn’t normal development include expanding one’s capacities for abstract reasoning, conscience, and long-term planning? Could one function properly in society without having values, attitudes, and opinions? All such suppositions support and honor the tradition of the bounded self.

•

As I proposed in the initial chapter, the assumption of an internal or mental world invites alienation, loneliness, distrust, hierarchy, competition, and self-doubt; favored is a society in which people become commodities and relationships are devalued. Yet, as proposed in the preceding chapter, this concept of bounded being fi nds its origins not within the interior of indi- vidual minds, but within co-action. It is from relational process that the very idea of an “inner world” is created. Speaking of our thoughts, emo- tions, intentions, and the like is not required by the facts of nature. If we

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fail to speak in these terms, it is not that we fail to grasp reality. Rather, the language of the interior issues from a particular tradition of relationship. By the same token, we can also create together new ways of speaking and acting. We must not remain forever bound by history.

•

How could we, then, transform the language by which we live; how can we recognize the primacy of relationship in all that we do? This is the major challenge of this chapter and the next. My hope is to recast the discourse of mind in such a way that human connection replaces separation as the fun- damental reality. Our understanding of the mental world will be recon- structed in such a way that the wall between inside and outside is removed; the mental will cease to exist separate from relationship. Then, with this reformulation in place, Parts II and III of this work will be devoted to

Here we confront two independent beings, spatially and mentally separated. Our present challenge is to reverse the fi eld of understanding. Rather than focusing on the independent beings, consider instead the reality of the “between,” that urn-like form emerging from the co-existence.

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linking concepts to practice. If a conception of relational being is to make any difference, it must be realized in our lives together.

In this chapter I will fi rst prepare the way by removing the idea of a distinctly mental world behind the eyes. I will propose that neither I nor anyone else could know such a world. Our words for mental life are not maps or mirrors of some interior space. At the same time, such words have enormous social consequences. Our future may depend on how and when we use them. Thus, I will propose, what we call thinking, experience, memory, and creativity are actions in relationship. Even in our private rev- eries, we are in relationship. In the following chapter I shall take up the question of the body and emotion.

The Very Idea of Self-Knowledge

In children’s magazines we often fi nd puzzles of the following sort: A number of words appear in one column, and in an adjoining column we fi nd an equal number of pictured objects. The child is asked to match the word with the proper object, “tree” with a picture of a tree, “eagle” with a picture of an eagle, and so on. Each word refers to a particular kind of object. Now, as an adult, consider this possibility: Place a dozen words for mental states in a column, words like “love,” “hope,” “attitude,” and “inten- tion.” In an adjoining column sketch a picture of these various states. When you have assembled the puzzle…“Hold on....” you say, “you want ‘pictures’ of mental states. What do you mean?” Yes, what could I possibly mean?

What is the color of love, the shape of hope, the size of an attitude, the contour of an intention? The questions seem nonsensical; they leave us speechless. But why are they nonsensical? For one, because whatever we mean by “an inner world,” it is not like the “outer world.” There is nothing in the “inner world” that allows us to make a picture of it, nothing equiva- lent to saying, “that is an apple and it is red.” If you close your eyes, and focus all your attention within, what precisely are you looking at? And if your eyes are closed, what are you using to do the looking?

•

We often view consciousness as a mirror of the external world. But if consciousness were to function as a mirror, how could it mirror its own conditions? Two thousand years of philosophy have yielded no compelling answers to such questions. Experimental psychologists have long attempted to disclose the character of the mental world. However, in the -#."s, many abandoned the idea of “introspective knowledge,” that is, knowledge of the mind resulting from inner observation. One of the major objections at the

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time was that the very act of trying to observe one’s experience would alter the experience.

In his Discourse on Method, René Descartes set out to locate a founda- tional reality, a solid ground from which he could proceed to understand the nature of existence.- Descartes found good reason to doubt the opinion of authorities, the claims of his peers, and even the evidence conveyed to him by his senses. Yet, he could not doubt the existence of his own doubting... the fact that he was thinking. Yet, we must ask, how did Descartes know that he was thinking? What precisely is “a thought,” that he could be sure he had one? What is the color, the shape, the size, the diameter, or the weight of a thought? What if Descartes was simply speaking silently to himself? Could he have mistaken his use of public speech for private thought? Could Descartes know he was doubting before he had acquired the public discourse of doubt?

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Few ideas are both as weighty and as slippery as the notion of the self. —Jerrold Seigel

•

Sigmund Freud proposed that the most signifi cant content of the mind— our fundamental desires, deepest fears, and most unsettling memories—are hidden from consciousness. This was a momentous proposal, not only launching the profession of psychiatry, but laying the groundwork for much therapeutic practice since that time. Most important, Freud informed Western culture that we cannot know our own minds. What we want most to know is hidden beneath layers of repression.

Beneath a rational thought lies an unconscious desire. Beneath professed love we may fi nd hatred. Beneath a wish to improve the world may lie the desire to destroy it.

Could Freud be right? On what grounds can he be refuted? And yet, how did Freud know these things? How could he peer into himself, and recognize what lies beyond consciousness? How did he go about distin- guishing between a repression, a desire or a wish? What are the characteris- tics of these states that he could single them out? And, curiously, how did Freud manage to remove the barrier of repression to reveal the true nature of his own desires?

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-Descartes, R. (!""-). Discourse on the method of rightly conducting the reason, and seeking truth in the sciences. (Original work published in -+.0). New York: Bartleby.

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A great many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices.

—William James

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Let me propose that when you… share your thoughts with me,

tell me you love me, reveal to me your hopes,

tell me what excites you, share your fears of the future,

declare that this is your opinion, tell me that you understand,

report on what you remember,

you are not reporting on the state of a private world. Our words do not appear to name anything about which we can be certain. As we shall see, this is not their function.

•

I have pondered these matters for many years, and not without problems. Early in my marriage, Mary asked that we exchange words of devotion before winding into sleep at night. To hear “I love you” would be the reassurance necessary for tranquility. Such a simple request...and yet I was tormented. How could I be certain of my mental state...how could I peer inward to know precisely the nature of my emotions...did emotions exist in the mind or in the body or somewhere else? I labored nightly for an answer that would allow a clear declaration. Finally, one night, exhausted by my interminable philosophizing, Mary intoned, “Just say the words...!” This I was all too happy to do, and we have slept soundly ever since...

Call in the Experts

If self-knowledge is beyond our grasp as individuals, then how are we to account for the vast vocabulary of the mind? Why do we have so many ways of talking about what’s on our mind? Here the critic steps in: “OK, there are problems with individuals trying to look inside. But is this our only path to knowledge about psychological states? We have authori- ties to inform us about such things.” To be sure, religious authorities long advised us on the nature of our spiritual lives, our desires and fears. In the

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!-st century such authorities have largely been replaced by mental health professionals. Our !"th century experts of the interior are typically skilled in interviewing, and may be armed as well with batteries of mental tests. Can’t we then rely on such experts to inform us about our inner lives?

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Place yourself for a moment in the chair of the psychiatrist. You listen to your client, Fred, who says:

“Ever since the death of my father I haven’t felt right. I haven’t been able to do anything. I just can’t seem to get started. I don’t feel motivated. Work doesn’t interest me. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

Fred’s words are clear enough. But what are these expressions telling you about his mental life? Essentially you confront the diffi cult challenge of using:

words the exterior the surface the observable

to draw conclusions about:

the mind the interior depth the unobservable.

Now the fun begins. Obviously you have no direct access to what exists beneath the client’s words (“in his mind”). You can never peer behind the veil of his eyes. So, how are you to draw conclusions about his inner world, what truly drives him, what he actually feels, or is trying to say?

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If you are hesitant in answering how it is you can discern what’s on Fred’s mind, you are in good company. In fact, the problem of discerning other minds has challenged some of the West’s most learned scholars for several centuries.! It is no less profound than the challenge of trying to understand

!In philosophy the challenge here is often characterized as the “problem of other minds.” See, for example, Avramides, A. (!""-). Other minds. London: Routledge. For more on the problems of presuming minds within bodies, see Ryle, G. (-#/#). The concept of mind. London: Hutchinson; and Malcolm, N. (-#0-). The myth of cognitive processes and structures. In T. Mischel (Ed.) Cognitive development and espistemology. New York: Academic Press.

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God’s intentions from the words of the Bible, knowing what the authors of the Bill of Rights intended by their pronouncements, deciphering the underlying meaning of a poem, or trying to understand what a complex philosophical writing is trying to say. Much may hang on our reaching the “correct interpretation.” (Indeed, individuals have hung from the gallows on the basis of others’ interpretations of their words.) For some ."" years the discipline of hermeneutic studies has been devoted to working out a plausible rationale for justifying interpretations. Importantly, there is no commonly accepted solution..

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“Yes...but,” the critic responds, “the situation is scarcely hopeless. I do have history on which I can rely. The thousands of psychiatrists before me have left a legacy of understanding to guide me; they know what I should be looking for. In the present case, for example, they might advise me to explore the client’s feelings of self-esteem, the possibility of repressed anger, or perhaps a dysfunctional cognitive system.” To be sure, these assumptions are congenial to the psychiatric community. But, how did this community come to know about these things? Do we have concepts of “self-esteem,” “repression,” or “cognitive systems” because the experts of previous genera- tions somehow solved the hermeneutic problem? How did they accomplish such a feat?

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A recent headline in the Science and Health section of the Philadelphia Inquirer:

Sometimes, Bitterness and Irritability are Really Depression.

Is this objective knowledge, divine inspiration, or something else?

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Again the critic rebuts, “But I can check on my intuitions. I can ask my client questions bearing on my interpretations, and his answers will suggest whether I am on the right track or not. I can even share my conclusions

.Hermeneutic studies originated, in large measure, in the attempt to clarify the meaning of Biblical texts. Hermeneutics is derived from the Greek term for interpreter, and draws from the image of Hermes in Greek mythology. Hermes conveyed the messages of the gods to mortals, but was also known for playing tricks. Thus, special skills were essential in determining the true mean- ing of the messages. The most prominent work in recent hermeneutic study is that of Hans-Georg Gadamer (-#0*). Truth and method (eds. C. Barden and J. Cummming). New York: Seabury. (Original German publication in -#+".) However, Gadamer cannot account for the possibility of compelling interpretation outside one’s participation in a cultural tradition.

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with the patient and see if he agrees.” So you suggest to the client that he may be depressed...and he nods assent. Ah, now you feel you are on the right track.

But what precisely has taken place here? Has the client considered your suggestion by turning back into himself and trying to match the term “depression” against his inner state to see if you might be correct? “Ah, yes, now I spot a depression running about in here...how could I have missed that...you are quite correct.” Scarcely!

“Well...” the critic replies, “perhaps the client’s self-knowledge is a bit shaky. But after all, I don’t have to trust his words alone. I can observe his conduct—how much he eats or sleeps, how many days he misses work, and how he spends his leisure hours. His behavior will give me some clues as to whether he is depressed, or something else. And if I cannot observe these actions directly, I can rely on carefully developed psychological tests of depression. On these tests the client can rate how often he “feels tired,” “has trouble sleeping,” or “has little energy.”/

Fair enough. Don’t we all draw conclusions about people’s inner life on the basis of their actions? Perhaps we do, but the question we must now ask is whether we stand on solid ground in such matters? Are people’s actions truly windows to the mind? Consider: Are bodily actions any dif- ferent in principle than words in drawing conclusions about what’s on someone’s mind? In both cases we are using external observables to draw conclusions about an unseen interior. If I smile, how can you know that it is an outward expression of happiness, as opposed to satisfaction, ecstasy, surprise, or bemusement? Could it even be an expression of anger, love, or giddiness? On what grounds could any of these interpretations be dis- missed? Because I tell you so? How would I know? And if I report on a battery of tests that I often feel tired, or have trouble sleeping and eating, how could you know these were obvious symptoms of an underlying depression? After all, where did we come up with the idea that depression exists in the human mind, by observing it? In effect, our actions—whether observed or reported on a psychological test—do not speak any more fl u- ently or transparently about mental states than our words.

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/Tests such as these are now offered by professional services on myriad websites, so that individuals may learn whether or not they are mentally ill. From the present standpoint, they learn nothing more than the ungrounded interpretation of a particular group of people. If they had asked a clergyman, and imam, or a Buddhist for a major interpretation of the same behavior, “depression” would not be an option.

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Try to determine how long an impression lasts by means of a stop-watch.

—Ludwig Wittgenstein

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We confront the conclusion, then, that we have no means of knowing what’s on someone’s mind, or indeed, whether they possess a “mind” at all. No matter how many ways in which an individual tells you he is depressed, and no matter how many relevant actions you take into account, you have nothing to go on outside a tradition of co-action. You may heap one inter- pretation upon another to draw a conclusion, but in the end you never move beyond the web of our own spinning.*

From Mind to Relationship

We now reach a turning point. We have at our disposal thousands of terms referring to our states of mind; many of our prized institutions are based on a belief in these mental states; life as we know it would cease to function if such terms were expunged from our vocabulary. And yet, we fi nd that there is no way we could have discovered these states by looking inward; nor do experts have any basis for their claims to know what’s on our minds. In effect, we have an enormous vocabulary for which there is no obvious basis. More radically, one might say that mental states are wholly fi ctional.

Yet, such a conclusion is not at all a prelude to despair. To presume the reality of mental states lends itself to all the ills of bounded being described in Chapter -. If we believe that human action originates in a mental inte- rior, then the institutions of bounded being are fortifi ed. The individualist tradition continues unfalteringly. However, if we can suspend the assump- tion of minds within heads, we enter a clearing in which we can signifi - cantly expand the vision of relational being. How are we to proceed? At the outset I do not believe we should abandon the vocabulary of mental states. This vocabulary is all too central to the way we live our lives. What would cultural life be like if we could no longer say things like, “I intend”… “I think”… “I hope”…“I want”…“I need”…“I love”…and so on? However, we can refi gure our understanding of this vast vocabulary so its

*For further study in the fl uidity of interpretation, see Gergen, K. J., Hepburn, A., and Comer, D. (-#,+). Hermeneutics of personality description. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, %, -!+-–-!0".

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relational basis becomes apparent. We can begin to see that our mental vocabulary is essentially a vocabulary of relationship. If we can succeed in such an adventure, we will fi nd that we are not selves apart, but even in our solitude, profoundly inter-knit.

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To prepare the way, I wish to put forth four major proposals. If these logics prove clear and compelling, the way is open to understanding the entire mental vocabulary as relational in origins and functions. In the remainder of the chapter we can then take up a range of specifi c cases, including reason, intention, experience, memory, and creativity. Thus, the fi rst proposal:

-. Mental discourse originates in human relationships. What is the origin of words like thinking, feeling, and wanting? As outlined in the preceding chapter, the answer lies within the process of co-action. All words gain their intelligibility—their capacity to communicate—within coordinated action. Without co-action the noises emitted from the mouth are little more than sounds; these sounds come into meaning as people coordinate their actions around them. In this sense, all our terms for mental life are created within relationships.

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Children do not fi rst recognize that they think, or feel, or intend, and then locate a label for these states. Rather, within relationships they acquire a vocabulary of the mental world that implies the existence of such states. Parents say, “Oh, I see you are sad,” “you must be very angry,” “can you remember the time...,” or “You didn’t mean to do it...” without any access to “what’s in the head” of the child. It is only within their relationships that sadness, anger, and the like become realities for the child.

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The critic seeks a word: “As we travel about the world we are scarcely struck dumb by the actions of people in other cultures. They seem reasonable enough. And when we interact it seems very clear that people everywhere are capable of rational thought, possess attitudes, motives, desires, emo- tions, and the like. There seems to be something equivalent to love every- where. Isn’t it reasonable to suppose that there are mental universals?” Yes, superfi cially this does seem reasonable. But why are we so confi dent that there are universals? For example, if:

a Hindu asks, “What is the state of your Atman? a Japanese asks, “Do you often feel amae?”

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a Chewaong asks “Are you really chan?” an Ifalukian asks, “Did you feel liget?”

...how are you to reply? After all, would they not believe that people every- where have these states? There are extraordinary variations across cultures in what people attribute to the “inner world.” And in some cultures, there is virtually nothing to be said about mental life.+

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The critic resists: “Well, people in different cultures may be using different words, but they may be referring to the same internal states.” This is an attractive possibility. But what is “the same internal state,” and how would we ever know whether it is the same? Here we return to the problem of how we can ever identify states of mind. The translator of words like amae and chan can never know to what, if anything, in the mind they refer.0 Let us turn to the second proposal:

!. Mental discourse functions in the service of relationship. If mental language is not a refl ection of inner states, why do we use it at all? We are guided to an answer by the preceding discussion on origins. That is, if mental language emerges from social relationships, then we can trace its utility to the same sphere. Let us not ask what it refers to in the head, but how it functions within our relationships. Consider:

When we say, “please come for a visit,” “look at that sunset!” or “Is that the number # bus?” there are social consequences. The result of saying such things is that people board planes, cast their gaze into the distance, or give us information. In short, the words have a pragmatic function. Does mental language not function in just this way? When someone says, “You make me so angry,” or “You make me so happy,” something is expected of you. Bursts of anger are typically used to correct your behavior or bring you in line; expressions of happiness will invite you to repeat what you have done.

The Phrase: Invites: “I am so sad” Comforting “I am disappointed in you” Questioning

+For more on cultural variations in the construction of the mind, see Lutz, C. A. (-#,,). Unnatural emotions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press; Rosaldo, M. (-#,"). Knowledge and passion: Illongot notions of self and social life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; Russel, J. A. et al. (-##*). Everyday conceptions of emotion: An introduction to the psychology, anthropology and linguistics of emotion. Dordrecht: Kluwer.

0I will take up the question of how successful translations are achieved in the next chapter.

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“These are my beliefs.” Respect “I need your attention.” Curiosity “I feel bad about what happened.” Forgiveness “This is depressing.” Commiseration

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There is something which is at the moment of uttering being done by the person uttering.

—J.L. Austin •

While this much seems clear, there are dangers lurking. Consider for a moment two lovers. Each uses special expressions of love, and the conse- quences of using them are mutually congenial. However, let us not con- clude that they use these words in order to bring about the consequences. To say that mental language has social consequences is not to say that we are always using language strategically to gain our ends. To draw this con- clusion would collapse the relational view unfolding here into “social life as manipulation.” This view of persons as dramatic actors, perennially popu- lar in the social sciences, has just such implications., Words of love, from this perspective, are necessarily inauthentic, used for purposes of stroking one’s ego or “getting laid.” This is not what is being proposed here. One could only draw such a conclusion if it were possible to identify people’s intentions—their “inner reasons” for acting. How could one act on his or her intentions if they couldn’t be recognized? Yet, it is this very problem of knowing one’s interior that we found insoluble. Thus, is a man who seems bent on seducing every woman in sight, trying to compensate for a deep insecurity, share the joys of sensuality, retaliate against bourgeois conven- tionality, or something else? And how could he know? How could he look inward to identify which impulse was indeed in motion? As we have seen, there is little means of doing so. If we cannot identify our motives, then we cannot consciously treat others as means to our own ends. Let us abandon this dismal view of social life. We turn to the third proposition:

.. Mental discourse is action within relationships. Consider again the social uses of mental discourse. In doing so, we also realize that mental discourse is itself a form of action within a relationship.# Return to

,Erving Goffman’s dramaturgic view of social life is often held to exemplify this view. See Goffman, E. (-#*+). The presentation of self in everyday life. New York: Doubleday.

#This view is foreshadowed in Roy Schafer’s -#0+ volume, A new language for psychoanalysis (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press), in which he advocates replacing all mental terms from

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our lovers. They each have their special words of endearment. But these words are not simply hovering overhead in a comic strip balloon. Their words are actions within a relationship, and in this sense, equivalent to the remainder of the body in motion—lips, eye movements, gestures, posture, and so on. The spoken language is but one component of a full social performance. Our words are notes within orchestrated patterns of action. Without the full coordination of words and action, relational life turns strange.

•

Consider the consequences if one of our erstwhile lovers, utters words of endearment while:

pressing his thumb to his nose. thrusting his little fi ngers in his mouth. leaning over to peer through his legs. adopting the posture of a javelin thrower. raising the middle fi nger of his hand and thrusting it forward.

The words of endearment now become components of farce, insult, or nonsense.

•

We may speak of these full coordinations as relational performances, that is, actions with or for others. The performances in this case include the dis- course of the mind.-" In calling them performances attention is directed to their socially crafted character. For example, when you tell someone “I was thinking that…” you are not likely to be screaming or writhing on the ground. Rather, your tone of voice will probably be measured and your gestures minimal. When you say, “I am angry,” you are not likely to be grinning or hopping on one foot. You are far more likely to speak with lips tightened and possibly with clenched fi sts. In effect, “thought” and “anger” are not inside, searching for release in expression. They are fully coordi- nated bodily performances in which the words, “thinking” and “anger” often (but not necessarily) fi gure. We perform thinking and anger in the

nouns to verbs. Thus we would not be inclined to view memory, for example, as a thing or a place, but as an action (as in remembering).

-"I am indebted here to James Averill’s account of emotions as cultural performances. See Averill, J. R. (-#,!). Anger and aggression: An essay on emotion. New York: Springer Verlag; Averill, J. R., and Sundarajan, L. (!""/). Hope as rhetoric: Cultural narratives of wishing and coping. In J. Eliott (Ed.) Interdisciplinary perspectives on hope. New York: Nova Science; and Edwards, D., and Potter, J. (-##!). Discursive psychology. London: Sage.

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same sense that we might kick a ball or drive a car. “Thinking,” “feeling anger,” “kicking,” and “driving” are all intelligible actions; it is simply that the fi rst two carry with them words drawn from a vocabulary of mind.--

•

Perceptions, thoughts and feelings…are parts of practical activity. —Michael Westerman

/. Discursive action is embedded in traditions of co-action. Thus far we have focused solely on the performer. However, it is essential that we draw attention once again to the process of co-action. In this context it is clear that the meaning of the performance is not the possession of the actor alone. Its meaning is born in the coordination. To illustrate, Ron has professed his love for Cindy in a beautifully coordinated way: words, gestures, tone of voice, gaze…an incandescent expression of devotion. Or is it? From the standpoint of co-action, another’s supplement will ratify it as meaning one thing as opposed to another. Thus, in spite of Ron’s creditable performance, its fate now lies in Cindy’s hands. She may respond, “Oh Ron, I think I am in love with you too,” thus identifying Ron’s actions as expressions of love.

However, consider some alternative possibilities:

Oh Ron, you are like a dependent child. – You haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.– Yea…but you said that last week to Sue.–

It is also important to consider here that Cindy doesn’t have complete freedom in responding to Ron. While each of these replies is sensible in Western culture, it would not be intelligible for Cindy to crow like a rooster, or respond by asking Ron if he has any popcorn. We are immersed in conventions of coordination, and to remove oneself from such conven- tions altogether is to cease making sense.-! Ultimately we must consider these traditions of co-action within the broader contexts of which they are part. As Kenneth Burke reasoned, actions gain their intelligibility from the

--The metaphor of the performance is useful in calling attention to the fully embodied and social character of action. However, for some it may carry connotations of dissemblance or mask- ing, or entertainment. For present purposes these are unfortunate and irrelevant traces.

-!As Jan Smedslund proposes, in the same way that grammatical conventions govern most intelligible speech, so are there conventions that govern virtually all that we can intelligibly say about the mental events. See Smedslund, J. (-#,,). Psycho-logic. New York: Springer-Verlag; and Smedslund, J. (!""/). Dialogues about a new psychology. Chagrin Falls, OH: Taos Institute Publications.

The Relational Self ('

scene in which they occur.-. The scene will include, for example, the physi- cal location of the action. An expression of love shouted to one’s compan- ion at a rock concert would not generally carry the same weight as if uttered in bed after intercourse. The former could be written off as “mere exuber- ance;” in the latter case the moment of exuberance has passed. The rela- tional performance occurs within a confl uence that gives it legitimacy.

Here we have four proposals, fi rst, that mental discourse originates in relationships; second, that the function of such discourse is social in nature; third, that its expression is a culturally prescribed performance; and fi nally, that such performances are embedded within traditions of co-action. To have a mental life is to participate in a relational life. With these proposals in place we are positioned for a full reconstruction of the psychological world.

-.Burke, K. (-#*!). A grammar of motives. New York: Prentice Hall.

Courtesy: The New Yorker Collection !""! and Leo Cullum from the cartoonbank. com All Rights Reserved.

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Mind as Action in Relationship

The proposals for mind as relational performance are as questionable as they are challenging. It is essential now to fi ll out the emerging picture, to explore the potentials and possible shortcomings as we take up more spe- cifi c cases. Let us shift the focus, then, to the specifi c processes of reason, intention, experience, memory, and creativity. In what sense are these rela- tional actions? I begin with these specifi c cases not only because talk about such processes plays such an important role in everyday life, but because they also seem so obviously “in the head.” How can they be relocated in the region of the “between?” In the following chapter we can then take up mental states that are often viewed as biological, specifi cally the emotions, along with states of pleasure and pain.

Reason as Relationship

If I asked you about your thoughts on current politics, the national debt, or abortion rights, almost invariably you would answer with words. You would not likely fl ap your arms, jump up and down, or fl ex your muscles. When someone asks about thoughts, they typically anticipate words in reply. One reason we anticipate words, is because of the longstanding assumption in Western culture that words are the carriers of thought. As we often say today, “these words don’t adequately express my ideas,” or “can you express your thoughts more clearly?”-/ It is this view I have attempted to discredit in preceding sections. Let us consider reason, then, as a social performance.

•

If good reasoning is a performance within a social tradition, we may then ask about the character of a well-formed performance. In the same way we can ask about whether a given actor performed Hamlet in a convincing way, we can ask about the qualities of effectively performing reason. As a fi rst approximation, all of the following phrases could be candidates for a good performance of reason:

It is my studied opinion that… The superior strategy would be… I have considered both sides of the issue…

-/This conception of language has a long history, traced at least to Aristotle. Today it gener- ates lively debate among scholars on the relationship between language and thought. Does lan- guage affect our thinking, it is often asked. Such debate is largely premised on the dualistic view of mind that the present account throws in question.

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Yet, what if we completed the sentences in the following way: It is my studied opinion that we are descendents of frogs. The superior strategy would be to visit Hell. I have considered both sides of the issue, and am utterly confused.

As we fi nd, sentences that begin to approximate good reasoning at the outset, turn strange as words are added to the sentence. Never do we have access to a “reasoning process within,” but only to the shifting arrange- ments of words. It is the arrangement of words that we are judging, and not a mind off stage. We are not compelled or convinced by good thinking, but good words. Good reasoning and good rhetoric walk hand in hand?-*

•

Although we may have the feeling that we do our cognitive work in isolation, we do our most important intellectual work as connected members of cultural networks.

—Merlin Donald •

Yet, we must not make the mistake of attributing to the words alone the properties of “good” and “bad reasoning.” We must again consider the tradition of relationship in which the performance is embedded. Another’s words do not become “good thinking” until there is co-action, until we as listeners credit them as such. What we consider good reasoning…

in economic circles is to speak in terms of maximizing economic – gain and minimizing losses. in romanticist enclaves is to rebel against the logic of economic gain.– in materialist camps is to honor decisions that contribute to physical – well-being. in spiritualist groups is to invite the transcending of bodily pleasure.–

•

This is to say that all utterances can be rationale within some relationship. Here I am drawn to Jerzy Kosinski’s novel and award winning fi lm, Being There. The major protagonist, Chauncey, is a simple-minded gardener whose scant utterances are limited to phrases he has acquired from garden- ing and television. Yet, within these phrases others fi nd enormous wisdom, enough that they consider Chauncey a viable candidate for President.

-*Also see, Billig, M. (-##+). Arguing and thinking. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; and Myerson, G. (-##/). Rhetoric, reason and society. London: Sage.

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Of course, this is the stuff of fi ction. Or is it? Consider the number of social movements that have spawned totally convincing reasons for suicide, torture, and genocide.

•

I have as many sound thoughts as there are communities in which I participate.

•

The critic remains unsatisfi ed, “OK, whether I am considered rational or not may depend on social convention, but even then, when I am writing or speaking it is I who produce the words. And, when it is very important to me, I silently deliberate. I take time to consider what I am writing to a grieving friend, or what I will say to my son who thinks he might be gay. This is not a public performance; it is taking place inside of me. And the word ‘thinking’ is a good way of referring to it. Otherwise, what sense would there be in the advice to ‘think before you speak?’”

Indeed, this is a fruitful line of argument, and helps to fl esh out the view of social performance. There are two important issues. First, it is important to recognize that what the critic is calling private thinking is not cut away from social life. For example, to privately formulate or solve a mathematical problem is to participate in a social tradition. In psychology this line of argument was introduced by Lev Vygotsky,-+ and is represented today in a substantial line of scholarship on the cultural basis of thought.-0

In Vygotsky’s famous lines, “There is nothing in mind that is not fi rst of all in society.”-, Thus, for example, what we call thinking is a private rendition of public conversation. How else could it be? If I asked you to think about the political situation, the national debt, or abortion rights, and you had never heard any of these words, what would thinking consist of ?-#

There is a second signifi cant issue. Why must we conclude that quiet deliberation is “inside” the person? This would reinstate the dualist premise of a mind behind the words. Rather, let us consider this “something” we do

-+Vygotsky, L.S. (-#0,). Mind in society. (M. Cole, Trans.) Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

-0See, for example, Cole, M. (-##,). Cultural psychology: A once and future discipline. Cambridge: Belknap Press; Wertsch, J. J.V. (-##-). Voices of the mind: A sociocultural approach to mediated action. Cambridge: Harvard University Press; Bruner, J. (-##"). Acts of meaning: Four lectures on mind and culture. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

-,Vygotsky, op cit. p. -/!. -#It is largely this argument—that one cannot engage in private thinking without participation

in a community—that has led communitarians to reject liberal individualism. See, for example, Sandel, M. (-#,,). Liberalism and the limits of justice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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alone as itself a relational performance. It is neither “in here” nor “out there.” It is an embodied performance, but in this case, without an immediate audi- ence or full expression. Michael Billig points in this direction when he asks us to consider thinking as a “silent argument.”!" In effect, it is a social per- formance on a minimal scale. Instead of uttering the words out loud to another, one utters them to an implied audience and without sound. In the same way an actor may rehearse his lines silently, or one may hum to herself. What we do privately is not taking place in an “inner world”—called mind—but is to participate in social life without the audience present. Implicitly there is always an audience for our private reveries. Private delib- eration is, then, a partial performance, a topic to which we shall return.

•

In solitude we never stop communicating with our fellowmen. —Tzvetan Todorov

Agency: Intention as Action

Precious to Western culture is the vision of the individual as a free but ultimately responsible agent. We prize our capacity to choose, to direct our actions according to our decisions. And by holding people responsible for their actions, we feel the grounds are established for a moral society. The idea of an inner wellspring of action can be traced to Aristotle. As he saw it, there is an active force within the person responsible for bodily animation. To this force he assigned the concept of what can be translated as “soul.” The soul possesses the “power of producing both movement and rest.”!-

As the concept evolved over later centuries, it was incorporated into the Christian tradition. To commit a sin, within this tradition, is to act voluntarily, thus bringing the soul into a state of impurity. With the Enlightenment, this view became secularized. Instead of the soul, we came to speak of conscious intent, and what had been a sin became a crime. The State replaced the Church as the arbiter of intent. One can only engage in a criminal act intentionally, that is, as an exercise of voluntary or conscious agency. In large measure we can thus trace the contemporary value placed on “free will” to the Christian tradition and the signifi cance it placed on the soul as the center of being. Given the social origins of the concept, let us explore the discourse of agency as relational action:

•

!" Billig, op cit. p. * !-Aristotle (-#*-). Psychology (p. -!0) (P. Wheelwright, Trans.) New York: Odyssey Press.

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First it is clear that although the mind is opaque, the discourse of agency is both signifi cant and pervasive. We commonly say, for example:

I intend to be there. What is she trying to do? I choose this alternative. What are your intentions, sir? I meant no harm. My purpose in being here is… I aim to please.

It is also clear from earlier discussion that when we utter such phrases we are not giving a report on an inner state of mind. For example, what is the intention of a man who is simultaneously driving his car, going to Chicago, returning his mother-in-law to her home, enjoying the passing scenery, talking with his mother-in-law about family matters, and fulfi lling his image of a good husband? Does this man intend only one of these actions, all of them simultaneously, each of them for a quarter of a second, or some- thing else…? How would he go about answering such questions? What part of his mind would he examine?!!

•

There need not be a “doer behind the deed.” —Judith Butler

•

Abandoning the presumption of intentions as “in the head,” it is useful to consider the way the discourse of intentions functions in daily life. As we use this language, there are consequences:

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” reduces the likelihood of blame. “What I meant to say is…” is the prelude to a clarifi cation. “He has the best of intentions.” assigns credit to the individual. “He means well.” serves as a form of mild derision. “I mean what I say.” tells us to take this seriously.

The language of intentions is central to our forms of cultural life. This is indeed the same conclusion reached by many social scientists.

As reasoned here, we are often asked or required to explain our actions. Why did we act in some strange way; why did we draw such an unusual conclusion; why do we prefer this as opposed to that? We respond by giving

!!Here I am indebted to G. E. M. Anscombe’s -#*0 book, Intention. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

The Relational Self )#

what social scientists call accounts. We are primarily called into account when there are failures or undesirable deviations of some kind. “How could you possibly have decided to….?” Such accounts are crucial to how we are treated. Depending on the account, we may be forgiven, and possibly honored; on the other hand we may be imprisoned.!.

•

The critic grows impatient: “Surely you can’t be serious. If I rammed my car into a telephone pole, I would very well know whether I intended to or not. If I were to spill my hot coffee into your lap, I would be absolutely certain that I didn’t mean to. When a court of law tries to distinguish between murder and manslaughter (where the death was unintended), not just any account will do.” The critic does have a point. We do make these distinctions between intentional and accidental actions, and most of the time we are pretty certain about what our intentions are in a given situation. The question, then, is how can we reconcile the fact that we can, at times, readily identify our intentions, with the proposal for intention as relational performance?

To reply, consider again what we are doing when we “recognize our intentions.” As we have seen, it is nonsense to suppose that we can look inside our mind to locate the intention. But we can draw from traditions of co-action in recognizing our actions. When I am standing before a class I am engaged in a performance we traditionally call teaching. The students recognize this performance as teaching no less than I. How, then, do I know what I am trying (intending, attempting, endeavoring) to do in this situation? It is evident to me not from looking inward but from simply identifying the performance. Without hesitation I can tell you that I am trying to teach or intending to teach because I am engaged in the com- monly recognizable performance of teaching. I could scarcely tell you that what I am really trying to do is cook an egg or plant tulip bulbs. I recognize my intentions in the same way an actor recognizes he is playing the part of Hamlet and not Othello. To name my intentions is to name the performance in which I am engaged.

•

!.Shotter, J. (-#,/). Social accountability and Selfhood. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Accounts may also be used to sustain communication fl ows (Buttny, R. (-##.). Social accountabil- ity in communication. London: Sage); modulate blame (Semin, G. R., and Manstead, A. S. (-#,/). The accountability of conduct. London: Academic Press), and reduce confl ict (Sitkin, S. B., and Bies, R. J. (-##.). Social accounts in confl ict situation: Using explanations to manage confl ict. Human Relations, (%, ./#–.0".)

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Let us consider the question of duplicity in this light. As the critic might say, “ If you cannot look inward to know your intentions, as argued, how could you lie about them? For example, how could you know if you intended to commit a crime or not?” The answer is because we recognize the performances in which we are engaged. Thus, if I recognize myself to be hunting wild boar, and the bullet strikes another hunter, I can genuinely say, “I didn’t mean to.” If I recognize my actions as spying for my country, and I tell my landlady that I am studying archeology, I can know that I am lying about my intentions. We are publicly labeling our actions in one way, while simultaneously suppressing an alternative defi nition.

•

My actions leap forward, carrying my reasons in tow.

•

The critic laments: “OK, but if you redefi ne agency as social performance, aren’t you playing into the hands of the determinists, those who would dispense with the idea of free will? The renowned psychologist, B.F Skinner, argued that the idea of voluntary agency was not only a myth, but a harm- ful one at that. Social psychologists even go so far as to say that claims to voluntary choice constitute a ‘fundamental attribution error.’ The result of such views is a dehumanization of the person, the removal of the central ingredient of human worth, and one that separates us from machines. People become objects, just like other objects, of no particular value. Nor can we hold anyone responsible for his or her actions. To give the world to the determinists would be an enormous cultural loss.”

I do appreciate the force of this argument, and share in strong reserva- tions about the determinist project in the social sciences. However, follow- ing the logic of co-action, we must fi rst recognize that both the concepts of free will and determinism are the outcome of people talking together. As I proposed in the preceding chapter, debates over free will and deter- minism are not about what is more justifi ably or “truly” the case, but between two traditions of talking and their related forms of life. The pri- mary question we must address is what happens to our lives when we embrace these forms of understanding? There are certain outcomes we might value in both cases. But as I have argued in the present work, both these concepts create a world of fundamental separation. The attempt in this case is to reconfi gure agency in such a way that we move beyond the voluntarism/determinism debate, and bring relationship into the center of our concerns. By viewing agency as an action within relationship, we move in exactly this direction.

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Experience and Memory: Not Mine but Ours

What is more fundamental than the fact that each of us lives in a world of our own experience? I live in my subjective world, and you in yours. And, from these daily experiences we develop a storehouse of memories. Memory, in the common tradition, is largely the accumulation of experi- ences. In what sense, then, can we understand experience and memory as relational phenomena, belonging not to each of us privately but to us col- lectively? Let us fi rst consider experience, and then turn to its offspring, memory.

•

I begin with a story related to me by a foreign aid worker. Tim was trying to help farmers in a poor region of Africa accept new and more productive methods of crop growth. To get the message across, he and his colleagues used a fi lm to demonstrate the optimal way of planting and harvesting. After the fi lm was shown to a group of poor farmers, the aid workers asked them to talk about what they had seen. A farmer quickly spoke out, “The chicken, the chicken…” The audience roared their affi rmation. The aid workers were dumbfounded. This was not a fi lm about a chicken, but methods of farming. There was no chicken in the fi lm. The audience insisted there was. So the aid workers replayed the fi lm, and to their great surprise, in a signifi cant segment of the fi lm, a chicken was wandering about in what for them was the background.

•

For experimental psychologists such differences in our experiences of the world are understood in terms of attention. The aid workers and the farmers were attending to different aspects of the fi lm. So central to human functioning is attention, that its study is one of the oldest traditions in psychology.!/ The most important fact about attention is the way in which it fashions what we take to be the world before us. Automobile drivers know this very well. With eyes on the road one scarcely appreciates the passing environment; and so commanding is the shift of attention to the cell phone that it is perilous. Perhaps the most vivid demonstrations in the experimental laboratory are secured by means of dichotic listening devices.

!/For example, James Sully’s -,#! volume, Outlines of psychology (New York: Appleton), des- ignates attention as an “elementary” dimension of the mind, and devotes almost !" pages to its functioning.

)& R E L A T I O N A L B E I N G

Participants experience different messages delivered by earphones to each ear. Such studies consistently demonstrate that the ability to understand what is presented in one ear is reduced by what is received in the other. If successful in comprehending the incoming information in one ear, people are virtually insensitive to what is heard in the opposing ear. Even if the language in the second ear is is an unknown language, participants are virtually unaware. One might say that seeing does not precede believing; believing is a prelude to seeing.

If our experience is largely dominated by the direction of our atten- tion, we must then ask, why does attention move in one direction as opposed to another? The most obvious answer to this question lies in the realm of relationship. It is through co-action that the realities of the world become signifi cant. Some value chickens and others methods of planting. The mother coordinates her actions with the infant’s so as to secure its gaze on the teddy bear as opposed to the fl oor; the teacher demands that stu- dents attend to her as opposed to their cell phones; extended gazing into each other’s eyes is reserved for lovers; and should we cease attending to our partners in conversation we are soon scorned. To whom, when, and where we direct our attention is no less constrained by social tradition than public speaking.

•

When peering into the microscope, the biologist doesn’t see the same world we do.

—Norwood Russell Hanson

•

I have long been fascinated by a classic research study in social psychology in which investigators were interested in students’ perceptions of a football game between Princeton and Dartmouth. The game was an especially rough one, with signifi cant injuries on both sides. Yet, when queried about the game, ,*% of the Princeton students said that Dartmouth had started the rough play, while only .+% of the Dartmouth students believed this was so. More dramatically, when shown a fi lm of the game a week later, the Princeton students observed the Dartmouth team made over twice as many rule infractions as were seen by Dartmouth students. As the authors conclude, “…there is no such ‘thing’ as a ‘game’ existing ‘out there’ in its own right which people merely ‘observe.’ The game ‘exists’ for a person and is experienced by him only insofar as certain happenings have signifi cance in terms of his

The Relational Self )'

purpose.”!* Of course, “his purpose” in this case was highly dependent on school affi liation.

The critic is puzzled: “Are you trying to say that we just see what we want to see? What if a truck has lost control and headed your way, and your desire is not to be crushed? Then, are you saying, you simply wouldn’t see the truck? This seems absurd.” Of course it’s absurd. But this is not quite what is being said here. As I pointed out in the preceding chapter,

!*Hastorf, A. H., and Cantrill, H. (-#*/). They saw a game: A case study. Journal of Abnormal Psychology, !, -!#–-./.

The stereogram demonstrates the way in which our visual experience depends on the relationships of which we are a part. In following instructions on how to gaze at a stereogram—replacing the tendency to focus on the target of vision with an open and non-directed gaze—one enters into new visual worlds. The reader is invited here to view Gary Priester’s stereogram, Walk In-Dance-Out, in such a way that the three fi gures are joined by friends.

Courtesy: Gary W. Priester

)! R E L A T I O N A L B E I N G

it is not that nothing exists before relationship. It’s that nothing exists for us. We live in a world where trucks out of control are very important events; we place a value on not being crushed. Thus, this event is fi lled with meaning for us. But let’s take a more subtle case. If a /-year-old sees an open bottle of Coca Cola sitting beside the road, his eyes may brighten, and he may very well pick it up and drink the contents. The experience is a positive one. As adults most of us would not only see the bottle as “litter,” but also respond negatively. And almost never would we consider drinking from the bottle. We have co-created a world in which unseen bacteria are highly signifi cant. Even that which is not present to the human eye has meaning for us. Outside of any form of convention, there would be little to capture our attention.

•

One must know before one can see. —Ludwig Fleck

•

If experience is a form of relational action, what then are we to make of memory? Traditionally we treat memory as a private event. My memories are distinctly mine, we say, they live within me alone. So, let me here recall a personally humiliating experience:

As +-year-olds, my friend Wilfred and I were allowed to take the bus to town. When we were crossing the street, however, Wilfred was struck by a car. A large crowd gathered; I was shoved aside. Soon an ambulance arrived, and whisked my friend away. I was stunned by the event; my head was swimming, and with the crush of the crowd, I was unable to reach the ambulance before it set off. When I arrived home an hour later, I blurted the story to my parents in a torrent of tears; and I could tell them nothing of Wilfred’s welfare and whereabouts. My parents ultimately found answers to these questions, locating Wilfred at a local hospital and learning that he had only fractured his leg. I was left, however, with a lifelong feeling of ineptitude.

Now, on the face of it, this memory is very much my own. No one else owns this story in the way I do. However, let us explore further. My attention in this instance fastened on the accident and ambulance; a turbulent drama was unfolding. But I could have directed it elsewhere. I could have examined the shoes of the assembled crowd, the racial mixture, the facial expressions, the age variations, the weather, and so on. Yet, none of these were interesting to me or to the bystanders. Our attention was communally riveted. This is

The Relational Self )(

because within our culture we have come to share practices of attending. And these practices are intimately connected to our shared values, in this case the injury or possible death of a boy. In effect, my experience was mine in only a limited way. The sense organs of my body were in action; my body was in a unique position compared to others. However, the character of my experience was fully saturated with my relationship to Wilfred and to the culture more generally.

•

Let us turn from the origins of memory to its ultimate expression in words. In the story of Wilfred, there were many witnesses, each standing in a different place and coming from a different background. However, if they got together and talked, they would typically try to reach consensus on “what happened.” Was it Wilfred’s fault; was the driver careless; who called the ambulance; was Wilfred badly hurt? From this process of co-action will likely emerge a commonly compelling version of “what happened.” For them, this account will seem “true” or “factual.” This social dimension of memory has indeed stimulated the interest of many scholars over the years. The early work of Frederick Bartlett in England and Maurice Halbwalchs in France opened the way to understanding memory as a social process.!+

As Bartlett characterized it, memory is not so much a recording of sense data in the brain, as “an effort after meaning.” Echoing this view, scholars from history, psychology, and sociology currently explore the process of what is variously labeled “communal,” “collective,” or “social memory.”!0 Much of this literature demonstrates the ways in which “what happened” as a matter of social negotiation. Through the process of co-action, we construct “how we fell in love,” “our vacation,” or “the last family reunion.” We also construct history—of “great men,” nations, and peoples.

•

Common memories not only stabilize our worlds, but our social bonds. I am often struck by the urgency of couples to “get their story straight.” I have seen couples ignite in irritation when they disagree on “what happened to us.” To disagree is to exit the world of “with.” Both my stability and my bonds were threatened by an incident with

!+See Bartlett, F. C. (-#.!). Remembering: A study in experimental social psychology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; Halbwachs, M. (-#!*). Les cadres sociaux de la memoire. Paris: Albin.

!0An excellent discussion of this work is contained in Middleton, D., and Brown, S. D. (!""*). The social psychology of experience. London: Sage. Also see Connorton, P. (-#,0). How societ- ies remember. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; Misztal, B. A. (!"".). Theories of social remembering. Buckingham: Open University Press; Wertsch, J. V. (!""!). Voices of collective remembering. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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my mother. I had lived my adult years telling my children a story from my childhood, when at the age of three I wandered off from home in Cambridge. My parents were in agony, and only later did the police fi nd me and restore me to their eager arms. I seemed far more concerned, however, with the fact that I had lost my shoe. Later, when my mother became a grandmother to my children, I listened as she began to tell them the same story. However, this time I reacted with disoriented dismay. The story being told was not about me, but my older brother, John! When a family member abandons the zone of common memory, he or she also removes the foundations from the house of being.

•

It is not simply that reports of memory are continuously created through co-action. There are also social conventions for what counts as a proper performance of memory, and when and where the performance is appro- priate. To appreciate the point, consider a court of law: Several months prior to a trial you witnessed certain events and must now testify before the jury. In response to the lawyer’s question about what you saw that evening, you reply black…window…light… crash… running… trees… The lawyer looks quizzically, and admonishes you, “No that won’t do. I need you to tell the jury what happened.” You reply, “I just did; that’s what happened!” The lawyer might well be dumbfounded, and ask you to step down; you might even be held in contempt of court. Why? Because you did not tell a well-formed story or narrative. You would be acknowledged as “remember- ing,” if you had replied: “The night was pitch black, but as I looked out my window I saw the lights of a speeding car; it careened off the side of the road and hit a parked van, at which point the driver quickly ran into the trees.” This latter account is structured as a traditional narrative. There is a beginning and ending, there is a signifi cant event (the crash); all the addi- tional elements of the story are related to this event; the elements are arranged in chronological order. Such rules for telling a good story long pre-dated your appearance in court. Regardless of what happened, it only becomes a ratifi ed memory if it conforms to the rules. And so it is with what we take to be the story of our lives, the history of our nation, or the evolution of the human species.!,

!,For autobiography as narrative, see MacIntyre, A. (-#,/). After virtue: A study in moral theory (!nd ed.). Danvers, MA: University of Notre Dame Press ; for history as narrative White, H. (-#0.). Metahistory: The historical imagination in nineteenth-century Europe. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press; for evolution as narrative, see Landau, M. (-#,/). Human evolution as narrative. American Scientist, '#, !+!–!+,.

The Relational Self )*

•

The critic murmurs, “Yes, but these are limitations of language. What about photographs; if they are not manipulated they constitute irrefutable pictures of the past?” Yes, photographs do freeze an event in time. However, every form of representing the past—whether words, photographs, or arti- facts—achieves its credibility (or not) by following social conventions. In this sense photography is a language, and like written language it must follow certain rules or it does not count as accurate. For example, the number of ways in which we can photograph a person is virtually unlim- ited. The photo can be taken from various distances, from different angles, with various fi lters, with different sharpness of focus, and so on. What we call “an accurate depiction” falls within a very narrow range of possibility.!#

!#Related is a study of Mary Gergen in which she took photographs every !" minutes of whatever was in front of her. When she later displayed the photos to research participants, the subject matter of most of the photos could not be identifi ed. Cut away from a narrative of her activities, and not representing “proper” subject matters for photographs, they were largely beyond recognition. See Gergen, K. J., and Gergen, M. M. ( -##-). Toward refl exive methodolo- gies. In F. Steier (Ed.) Research and refl exivity. London: Sage.

The world does not demand what we take to be our experience of it. Rather, as we emerge from relationships we come to view the world in specifi c ways. In effect, “direct experience” is socially fashioned. Consider the two photos here of the human face. For most viewers they will seem nonsensical or irrelevant. This is because we do not participate in a tradition that values this particular way of looking at the face.

Courtesy: Anne Marie Rijsman

*" R E L A T I O N A L B E I N G

The critic is piqued: “Are you saying, then, that there are no accurate mem- ories? Is it useless for jury trials to sift through evidence, to call eyewit- nesses, to establish the truth about what happened? Are historians just making up stories? And what about the Holocaust? Don’t your arguments play into the hands of those who try to deny it ever happened? How can you possibly take such a position?” This is a very serious criticism, and it is important to be clear in what I am proposing. As I have emphasized, through the process of co-action people create stabilized worlds of the real, the rational, and the good. Within these worlds there can be very rigorous standards for what counts as accurate. Mathematics is a good case in point. Here we have a communal achievement par excellence, and within this community there are defi nitive rules of accuracy. In this sense, courts of law can indeed sift the evidence in search for the truth, historians can dis- tinguish between fact and fi ction, and we can be certain about the atrocity of the Holocaust.

However, it is important to recognize that accuracy in these cases is defi ned within a particular tradition of relationship. This allows for very accurate records within a particular tradition. At the same time, we are invited to consider whose tradition is being honored in any given case. Whose values carry the day? What voices are absent? It is in this respect that many minority groups raise questions about standardized histories of the United States; they feel they are written out of the past. The Holocaust is an important case in point. It is not that the Holocaust is transcendentally true—that its evidence is accurate in all possible worlds of interpretation. However, the existence of this story in its present form is of enormous consequence to the future of civilization. It is a constant reminder of the horrifi c potentials of human beings locked within a reality of superiority and separation.." In effect, this story derives its importance largely from its moral imperatives, and we dare not lose it.

•

Our ways of talking about our experiences work, not primarily to represent the nature of those experiences in themselves, but to represent them in such a way as to constitute and sustain one or another kind of social order.

—John Shotter

•

."For an expansion of this argument, see Gergen, K. J. (!""*). Narrative, moral identity, and historical consciousness: A social constructionist account. In J. Straub (Ed.) Narrative, identity and historical consciousness. New York: Berghahn.

The Relational Self *#

Creativity as Relational Achievement

“The man of talent is like the marksman who hits a mark the others cannot hit; the man of genius is like the marksman who hits a mark they cannot even see.”.- Thus wrote the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer in -,,.. Such an accolade was not unusual for the late -#th century. This was the period of high romanticism in which the source of great works was located deep within the individual mind. One could speak of “inspired” work, or liter- ally, generated by the spirits within. As Frank Barron sees it, this view of genius carries with it the metaphor of Genesis, or God the creator. Thus, the praise we accord to creative genius, the sense of awe that we sometimes experience, is subtly equivalent to an act of worship. In/spiration carries traces of the Divine..! This romantic view also fi nds a home within the modernist context of the !"th century. More specifi cally, with its emphasis on continuous progress, modernist culture grants accolades to creative innovation. This emphasis is represented in !"th century arts with the con- cept of the avant-garde... The genius is one who breaks with tradition. Before the !"th century the demand for innovative art was largely unknown.

As we see, the very idea of a creative act, along with the esteem in which it is held, is a byproduct of a relational tradition../ We cannot reveal “the nature of the creative act” through careful research; indeed, most research on creativity sustains the very idea of its existence. In this light it is useful to consider Charles Hampden-Turner’s view that, “We suffer from stereotyping creativity with ludicrous labels of semi-divinity, mystery, loneliness, and chaos.”.* Why do we “suffer” from this stereotype? The answer is largely owing to the tradition of bounded being. Both the roman- tic and modernist views praise the isolated individual; they treat separation as essential to inspired work. Thus we emerge today with hierarchies in which there are the creative geniuses at the top, the weary toilers in the

.-Schopenhauer, A. (-,,+). The world as will and idea. Vol. III. (R. Haldane & J. Kemp, Trans.) London: Trubner and Ludgate. (Original work published in -,,.).

.!Barron, F. (-##*). No rootless fl ower: An ecology of creativity. In R. E. Purser and A. Montuori (Eds.) Social creativity. Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press.

..See, for example, Burger, P. (-#,/). Theory of the avant-garde. Minneapolis:University of Minnesota Press; Shattuck, R. (-#+,). The banquet years: The origins of the avant garde in France. New York: Vintage.

./A dramatic contrast is furnished by Kabuki theater. Here the demand on the actor is to replicate the tradition to the best of his ability. Deviations from tradition are scorned.

.*Hampden-Turner, C. M. (-###). Control, chaos, control: A cybernetic view of creativity. In R. E. Purser and A. Montuori, op cit.

*$ R E L A T I O N A L B E I N G

middle, and then the rabble. We are rendered insensitive to the relational roots of all that we value as creative.

•

Let us consider these relational roots in more detail. At the outset, there is the act of judging a work as creative. There is no means of discerning what goes on “within the mind” of the actor. As proposed, the very idea of a creative process inside the head is a child of co-action. However, we do make such judgments, and it is clear that they must fi nd their origins within a history of relationships. For most of us, if a person spat on his shoe, hopped over the lines in the pavement, or wore his hat on his shoulder—all quite original acts—we would scarcely call them creative. They would simply seem weird. Yet, if Jackson Pollock fl ings paint at a canvas or John Cage tears the strings from the piano, the word “creative” is at the tip of our tongue. This is largely because acts we understand as creative must be wedded to a tradition of human meaning and practice. Within the tradi- tion of modern painting, Pollock could be considered avant-garde; within the tradition of modern music, Cage was a genius. Outside these traditions they too would be simply strange. In effect, one comes into creativity through participation in a history of relationship.

•

To illustrate the force of tradition on judgments of creativity, Ilana Breger and I once carried out a study in which we exposed research participants to a series of abstract paintings..+ Our challenge to them was to assess the works in terms of their creativity. However, the participants also learned that some of the paintings took only six minutes to complete. Others required less than six hours; and still others, more than six months. As the results demonstrated, paintings requiring six hours were judged signifi cantly more creative than either of the others. Apparently, artistic creativity does not burst suddenly into being, nor require months of toil.

•

“Too many notes, my dear Mozart.” —Emperor Joseph II

•

.+Gergen, K. J., and Breger, I. (-#+*). Two forms of inference and problems in the assessment of creativity. Proceedings of the American Psychological Association, #&, !-*–!-+.

The Relational Self *%

Given that judgments of creativity take place within a social tradition, we may also conclude that the activity of people we call creative is a perfor- mance that gains its reality within a tradition. As recent literary theorists propose, for example, poets are not free spirits plumbing the depths of complex thoughts and emotions. Rather, by and large they are partici- pating in a tradition of poetry writing..0 In this tradition there are well- developed forms, and standards of what counts as good or bad poetry. Within the tradition of the avant-garde, poets often try to “break the mold.” However, whether the poetry is then recognized as creative depends on considerable negotiation. Poetic invention, then, is an intelligible act that cannot be removed from the dialogues about poetry in which it is immersed. In an important sense, poets write for other poets..,

•

Generative ideas emerge from joint thinking, from signifi cant conversations, and from sustained, shared struggles to achieve new insights by partners in thought.

—Vera John-Steiner

•

The critic requires a word, “It seems right to point out that creativity is only recognized within a tradition, but within any tradition there are certain people who stand out. They tower above their peers in terms of creative capacity. Just consider the creative talents of James Joyce, T.S. Eliot, or Pablo Picasso. Don’t they demonstrate the existence of a very special gift, one that permits the actor to go beyond anything that has yet been imagined by others?” I certainly share in the admiration for the works of these individuals. But, putting aside the way heroes in society are marketed (by art galleries and museums as well), the conclusion that such achieve- ments are beyond relationship is neither necessary nor productive. To view creativity as a personal inspiration, isolated from others, suggests little about possible means of fostering the kinds of actions that we might praise as creative. One is creatively inspired or not, full stop. However, if we see

.0See LeFevre, K. B. (-#,0). Invention as a social act. Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press; also Sawyer, R. K. (!"".). Group creativity, music, theater, collaboration. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.

.,In her work, Suzi Gablik argues that modern art has become so self-suffi cient, feeding upon itself, that it has become obscure, losing touch with issues of deeper meaning within the culture more broadly. See her !""/ work, Has modernism failed (!nd ed.). London: Thames and Hudson; along with her -##! volume, The reenchantment of art. London: Thames and Hudson.

*& R E L A T I O N A L B E I N G

that creative acts are actions within relationship, then we can ask about the relational conditions favoring such innovations.

In terms of fostering creativity, it is fi rst useful to consider the conditions favoring innovation, or “new ideas.” As proposed in Chapter !, participation in relationships typically brings about consensus on what is real, rational, and good. Once consensus is reached (and defended), it is diffi cult for partici- pants to evacuate. Once swimming in the waters of “the real,” one can scarcely step outside to view the bowl. Creative innovation is brought to a standstill. It is in the collision of traditions that innovation is born. Here unusual juxtapositions, new metaphors, and unsettling integrations are invited. Within common tradition, a telephone is simply a telephone. However, if one also participates in the high tech industry, a telephone begins morphing into a cell phone, a camera, a fashion item, a computer, an enter- tainment system, and… . As one participates in multiple traditions, creative acts take wing. It is for this reason that innovation so often occurs outside the mainstream—at the margins of acceptability.

•

In addition to asking about the conditions favoring creative activity, a rela- tional view also draws attention to the web of relations in which the actor is enmeshed. As Howard Becker concludes from his study of artists’ lives, “The artist…works in the center of a network of cooperating people whose work is essential to the fi nal outcome.”.# Illuminating here are volumes exploring the fi ne-tuned interdependence of creative couples. We fi nd genius is not a product of the individual mind but the relationship./" The creative individual often benefi ts from parents and teachers who, “recognize, encourage, and affi rm a talented young person’s interests and ability. Also, mentors serve as teachers, sponsors, friends, counselors, and role models.”/-

Further, in the arts, the individual often faces loneliness, poverty, and doubts about his or her ability. This is especially so when iconoclasm is the signal of creativity. If one is unrecognized, and is breaking the mold, the risks of rejection are high. The availability of supporting others may be essential. As Mockros and Csikszentmihalyi see it, “social support systems

.#Becker, H. S. (-#,!). Art worlds. Berkeley: University of California Press. Similar cases have been made in histories of the great discoveries in the sciences.

/"See, for example, John-Steiner, V. (!"""). Creative collaboration. New York: Oxford University Press; Pycior, H. M., Slack, N. G., and Abir-Am, P. G. (Eds.) (-##+). Creative couples in the sciences. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press; Chadwick, W., and de Courtivron, I. (Eds.) (-##+). Signifi cant others: Creativity and intimate partnerships. London: Thames and Hudson; and Sarnoff, I., and Sarnoff, S. (!""!). Intimate creativity: Partners in love and art. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

/-John-Steiner, op cit. p. !-..

The Relational Self *'

and interactions are critical throughout the life span for the emergence of creativity.”/!

•

As we fi nd, rational thought, intentions, experience, memory, and creativ- ity are not prior to relational life, but are born within relationships. They are not “in the mind,”—separated from the world and from others—but embodied actions that are fashioned and sustained within relationship.

/!Mockros, C. A., and Csikszentmihalyi, M. (-###). The social construction of creative lives. In A. Montuori and R. E. Purser (Eds.) Social creativity (p. !-!). Vol. I. Cresskil, NJ: Hampton Press.