Multiplicity
Our minds are finely tuned to detect patterns of cause and effect. It’s a skill our ancestors evolved over eons of survival lessons.
“If me poke bear, bear eat me.”
“If me climb mango tree, me eat mango.”
“If me fall off cliff, me smush on rocks. Like mango.”
In fact, we’re so good at seeing cause and effect that we see it where none exists. We routinely look at random, complex or unpredictable events, and attribute them to unseen actors with simple, clear intent.
For instance, we routinely say things like: “General Motors sought to maximize its profits.” This implies that General Motors has some kind of collective, controlling consciousness that weighs all the available evidence, then makes rational decisions. In reality, the decisions made by General Motors emerge from an amorphous collection of executives, board members, share holders, market conditions, policies and social dynamics. No one person decides or acts. It’s a system, not a singular being.
Less obviously, individual humans aren’t really singular beings either. We are our own amorphous collection of emotions, memories, physical states, situational circumstances, social pressures, instincts and learned responses. Every decision we make emerges from a battle of all those forces. And even the forces that are completely contained within us have many facets. Different parts of our personalities emerge at different times, depending on the stresses, dangers, obstacles and rewards of the moment.
The idea that we “make” decisions is misleading. We too, like General Motors, are complex systems. No decision we make reflects all of us.
This may seem like playing with semantics, but all of this has practical implications. For example, imagine that you say something hurtful someone else. If you think of yourself as a singular being making rational decisions, you only have two ways of framing the situation. Either you are destructive, callous and insensitive, or the other person misunderstood you and is being overly sensitive. Given that choice, most of us choose to invalidate the other person’s feelings.
Or imagine, instead, that you are on the receiving end of those hurtful words. If you see the person who said them as a singular, rational entity, how should you interpret their actions? Clearly they either dislike you or don’t care about you. Or maybe they’re just mean.
But what happens if we admit that all of us have multiple parts that influence us to varying degrees at various times? Suddenly our mistakes and moments of weakness aren’t proof of evil intent or unredeemable character. They’re just a momentary misfire from one of our imperfect parts.
Walt Whitman famously wrote: “Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.” We all contain multitudes. That’s what makes us interesting. That’s what makes us human.
