WHY CARE ABOUT THE
FUTURE?
By Ernest Partridge
University of California, Riverside
www.igc.org/gadfly
From Responsibilities to Future Generations
Ed. Partridge, (Prometheus Books, 1981)
Professors Heilbroner, Thompson, and Hardin(1)
variously pose a question that is central to any discussion of the
issues of the duty to posterity. The question is this: Are human
beings, for the most part, capable of caring for the remote
future? Thompson's answer to this question is starkly and
uncompromisingly negative, and thus his challenge is the most likely
to arouse intuitive discomfort and opposition. But his answer has the
merit of reaching to the heart of the problem of whether human beings
are the sort of creatures that are capable of caring for their remote
posterity.
Professor Thompson's challenge (as well as those of Heilbroner and
Hardin) draw their significance from a fundamental criterion of moral
responsibility: stability. This criterion (examined and
defended with considerable care by John Rawls in his monumental work,
A Theory of Justice), states that no moral principle can
claim our allegiance unless human beings are generally capable of
obeying the principle, unless, as Rawls puts it, the principle can
withstand "the strains of commitment."(2)
The criterion, in turn, follows from the metaethical rule that
"ought implies can."
In this paper I will accept Rawls's criterion of stability and
will argue, against Thompson, not only that it is possible
to care about the remote future, but, even more, that failure to do
so exacts a considerable cost in well-being to those individuals and
those societies that disavow any care for the future.(3)
There is, I believe, a persuasive empirical case against the claim
that human beings are disinclined to care for the future, much less
to act upon such cares. We need only consider the present existence
of national parks and forests, trust funds, donated public buildings,
educational and charitable foundations, and numerous other specific
examples of care and provision for "future others."(4)
But while empirical evidence is abundant, it is not my task to
cite such evidence. Instead, through a series of speculations in
moral psychology, I wish to suggest not only that humans commonly
display a concern for future others, but also that it is both morally
correct to do so and, even more, that such interest is grounded in
identifiable and rational features of human social, personal, and
moral life -- features that reflect and manifest fundamental aspects
of human nature and development. Accordingly, if one feels no concern
for the quality of life of his successors, he is not only lacking a
moral sense but is also seriously impoverishing his life. He is, that
is to say, not only to be blamed; his is also to be
pitied.
The alleged need of a well-functioning person to care for the
future beyond his own lifetime rests upon a more basic need that I
will call "self transcendence." In short, then, the purpose of this
paper is to demonstrate that we have sound personal and social, as
well as moral, reasons to care about our impact upon the living
conditions of both our contemporaries and of successor
generations.
The Concept of Self Transcendence. By claiming
that there is a basic human need for "self transcendence," I am
proposing that, as a result of the psychodevelopmental sources of the
self and the fundamental dynamics of social experience, well-
functioning human beings identify with, and seek to further, the
well-being, preservation, and endurance of communities, locations,
causes, artifacts, institutions, ideals, and so on, that are outside
themselves and that they hope will flourish beyond their own
lifetimes. If this is so, then John Donne spoke for all mankind when
he wrote: "No man is an island, entire of itself." Thus we cannot
regard our decisions and the values that we hold to be restricted to
and isolated within our lifetimes.
This claim has a reverse side to it, namely, that individuals who
lack a sense of self transcendence are acutely impoverished in that
they lack significant, fundamental, and widespread capacities and
features of human moral and social experience. Such individuals are
said to be alienated, both from themselves and from their
communities. If such individuals lack concern for self-transcending
projects and ideals because of a total absorption with themselves,
they are said to be narcissistic personalities.
"Self transcendence" describes a class of feelings that give rise
to a variety of activities. It is no small ingredient in the
production of great works of art and literature, in the choice of
careers in public service, education, scientific research, and so
forth. In all this variety, however, there is a central, generic
motive, namely, for the self to be part of, to favorably effect, and
to value for itself, the well-being and endurance of something that
is not itself.
An awareness of this need for self transcendence might be evoked
(among those who have and acknowledge this need) by a simple
thought-experiment. Suppose that astronomers were to determine, to
the degree of virtual certainty, that in two hundred years the sun
would become a nova and extinguish all life and traces of human
culture from the face of the earth. In the words of the poet Robinson
Jeffers:
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. . . These tall
Green Trees would become a moment's torches, the
oceans would explode into steam,
The ships and the great whales fall through them like
flaming
meteors into the emptied abysm, the six mile
Hollows of the Pacific sea bed might smoke for a
moment
the earth would be like a pale proud moon,
Nothing but vitrified sand and rock
would be left on the earth.
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Suppose, then, that this were known to be, in two hundred years,
the fate of our planet. Would not this knowledge and this awareness
profoundly affect the temperature and the moral activity of those
persons now living who need not fear, for themselves or for anyone
they might love or come to live, personal destruction in this
eventual final obliteration? How, in fact, is the reader affected by
the mere contemplation of this (literal) catastrophe?
For most, I believe, it would be dreadful to contemplate the total
annihilation of human life and culture even two hundred years hence.
But if, in fact, most persons would be saddened by this thought, we
might ask why this obliteration is so dreadful to
contemplate. We need not care personally, and yet we
do care. We are not indifferent to the fate of future
persons unknown and unknowable to us, or to the future career of
institutions, species, places, and objects that precede and survive
our brief acquaintance thereof. Furthermore, we seem to feel that, if
without exorbitant cost we can preserve and enhance natural areas or
human artifacts and institutions for the use and enjoyment of future
generations, we have a prima facie reason to do so.
Apparently, our pride of community, of culture, and of self is
enhanced by the assurance that, having accepted the gift of
civilization, we have, through our involvement with self-
transcending projects, increases its value to our successors. We
wish, that is, to perceive ourselves in the stream of history not
only as recipients of a culture and a tradition, but also as builders
of the future, as determiners of the condition of future lives. "To
the extent that men are purposive," writes Delattre:
The destruction of the future is suicidal by virtue of
its radical alteration of the significance and possibilities of
the present. The meaning of the present depends upon the vision of
the future as well as the remembrance of the past. This is so in
part because all projects require the future, and to foreclose
projects is effectively to reduce the present to
emptiness.(6)
Thus it is likely that we would feel a most profound malaise were
we to be confronted with the certain knowledge that, beyond our
lifetimes but early in the future of our civilization, an exploding
sun would cause an abrupt, final and complete end to the career of
humanity and to all traces thereof. Fortunately, the available
scientific evidence indicates that the sun will burn safely and
constantly for several more billions of years. But whatever the solar
contingencies, the physics of the sun is quite beyond our present or
projected control. On the other hand, current social policies and
technological developments are within our control, and many now being
contemplated and enacted may bear portentous implications for the
conditions of life for generations yet unborn. Among these
developments are nuclear power and genetic engineering (examined by
Hardy Jones and the Routleys later in this anthology). In addition,
our generation might significantly affect the future through the
continuing use of chloro-fluorocarbons (e.g., aerosol propellants),
which could deplete the stratospheric ozone, or through the use of
chlorinated hydrocarbons (e.g., DDT), which could permanently damage
the integrity of the world ecosystem. Each of these practices, and
many others both current and projected, pose enduring threats to the
earth's biosphere and thus to the security and abundance of life for
future generations. Surely we of this generation wield and
unprecedented power to enhance or to diminish the life prospects of
our posterity. With this power comes dreadful responsibility; we may
choose to ignore it, but we cannot evade it. To paraphrase Lincoln,
we of this generation will be held accountable in spite of ourselves.
Who cares? Most of us, I dare say, do care. We care about the remote
effects of our voluntary and informed choices and policies -- even
effects so remote in time that they will take place beyond the span
of our own lives and the lives or our children and grandchildren.
Furthermore, those who feel and manifest this concern display
psychological health and well-being, while those who lack such
concern are personally impoverished and genuinely deserving of
pity.
The Self and Society. It is time, now, to attempt
to justify these bold claims. First, is "self transcendence," as I
contend, essential to the very nature of a well-functioning human
personality? A strong case for this position is to be found in the
writings of George Herbert Mead and John Dewey.(7)
(I will focus most of my attention on Mead, mindful that Dewey's
position is, in most significant respects, quite similar.) Mead
suggests, in effect, that the notion of a totally isolated self is a
virtual contradiction. The self, he argues, has its origin,
nurture, and sustenance in social acts. Furthermore, says Mead, the
mind emerges through the acquisition, in social acts, of
communication skills and the consequent absorption of the medium of
"significant symbols" known as language. Accordingly, the
self is defined and identified (i.e., "self conscious") only in terms
of social experience and the consequent perception of a "generalized
other" (or, roughly speaking, internalized norms or "conscience").
Moreover, even in moments of solitary reflection, the mind employs,
in silent soliloquy, the fund of meanings (i.e., the language) of the
community.
The upshot of the position of Mead and Dewey would seem to be that
the self, by its very origin and nature, transcends the
physical locus (of body, of sense impressions, and of behavior) that
identifies the individual. "Self transcendence" becomes, then, not a
moral desideratum but a basic fact of the human condition. To be
sure, some persons may withdraw from human society and claim to be
unconcerned with their effects upon others and with the future fate
of mankind. However, Mead and Dewey would argue, those who claim
total psychic and moral autonomy are deceived. For, despite this
manifest autonomy, their personality and selfhood have their origin
in social acts and contexts, and their denial of this nature is a
symptom of personality disorder. In brief, to be a healthy,
well-functioning person is to have "significant others" in one's life
and to wish to be significant to others and to affect consequences
for others. Furthermore, this desire to extend one's self to others
(either directly or through institutions and words) does not require
that the significant persons, things, and events be physically
proximate or contemporary with one's lifetime. The self, then, from
the earliest origins in infancy, is essentially
"transcendent." To be human is to "relate out," to identify with
others, and to show concern for the well-being and endurance of (at
least some) communal values, artifacts, and institutions.
If this admittedly impressionistic account is roughly accurate
(both of Mead's and Dewey's position, and of human motivation), its
significance is clear: "self transcendence" is not a more-or-less
occasional and accidental characteristic of individuals and cultures.
It is a consequence of universal conditions and circumstances of
individual human development. A sense and expression of
self-transcendence is thus as necessary for mental health as is
exercise for physical health.
The Law of Import Transference. A second approach
to self transcendence is suggested by George Santayana's account of
"beauty" as "pleasure objectified."(8)
By this Santayana means that, when an object is perceived as
beautiful, the pleasure of the aesthetic experience is projected into
the object and interpreted as a quality thereof. While I do not wish
either to defend or criticize this controversial theory, I find it
quite illustrative of a psychological phenomenon that is widespread,
familiar, and most significant to our account an defense of the
motive of self transcendence. This psychological phenomenon may be
summarized by what I will call "the law of import transference." The
law states that if a person P feels that X (e.g., an institution,
place, organization, principle, etc.) matters to him, P will
also feel that X matters objectively and intrinsically. In
other words, the significance and importance of an object to the
agent is interpreted by the agent as a quality of the object itself.
Thus the well-being and endurance of the significant object apart
from, and beyond the lifetime of, the agent may become a concern of
and a value to the agent -- a part of his inventory of personal
interests or goods. John Passmore expresses the point quite
eloquently:
When men act for the sake of a future they will not live
to see, it is for the most part out of love for persons, places,
and forms of activity, a cherishing of them, nothing more
grandiose. It is indeed self-contradictory to say: "I love him or
her or that place or that institution or that activity, but I
don't care what happens to it after my death." To love is, amongst
other things, to care about the future of what we love.... This is
most obvious when we love our wife, our children, our
grandchildren. But it is also true in the case of our more
impersonal loves: our love for places, institutions and forms of
activity.
The application of this point to posterity, then, is quite
clear:
There is ... no novelty in a concern for posterity, when
posterity is thought of not abstractly -- as "the future of
mankind" -- but as a world inhabited by individuals we love or
feel a special interest in, a world containing institutions,
social movements, forms of life to which we are devoted -- or
even, a world made up of persons some of whom might admire
us.(9)
The "law of import transference," I suggest, describes a universal
phenomenon familiar to all of us. It is manifested in acts and
observances of patriotism, and in the donation of time, talent, and
substance to various causes, places, and institutions. It is also
seen in posthumous trusts and bequests. Most dramatically, import
transference is found in the willingness of a hero or a saint to die
for the sake of other persons, his country, his religious beliefs, or
his ideals.
"Unfortunately," the critic may reply, "there are still
other cases of import transference that may not
manifest a motive for 'self transcendence,' or at least not the kind
of 'transcendence' that would encourage just provision for future
persons." For example, the miser "transfers import" to money to the
degree that this normally instrumentally good medium of exchange
becomes, to him, an intrinsic good. He desires to own and to
hoard money (something other than himself) for the sake of ownership
alone and not for whatever might be purchased therewith. More
generally, the selfish and acquisitive person (e.g., the landowner
who "locks up" his holdings, or the art collector who keeps his
collection in a vault, not for investment but for mere possession
itself) does not fail to value things for themselves. Surely he does
value them, but, in addition, he desires to own them.
The difference, I suggest, is that in the case of the selfish
individual, the "transfer of import" is partial, while, for the
artist, scholar, or philanthropist enjoying self transcendence in his
work or in his benefactions, the transference is more complete. How
is this so? Because the selfish person desires the well-being of
other-than-self (e.g., his money, his land, or his art objects) for
his sake. The "transcending" individual desires the
well-being of the other-than-self (e.g., institution, artifact,
place, ideal, etc.) for its sake, or perhaps for the sake of
other persons who might benefit thereby. Thus we may suppose that the
miser cares or thinks little of the fate of his hoard after his death
(except, perchance, to wish that he could "take it with him"), while
to the artist the anticipated fate of his creations after his death
is of great interest and concern. In short, we may say that one is
"fully self- transcendent" when (a) he regards something other than
himself as good in itself, and (b) when he desires the
well-being and endurance of this "something else" for its own sake,
apart form its future contingent effects upon him. Though the selfish
person may fulfill the first condition, he fails the second.
We are left with an unsettled problem of no small significance.
Even if we assume the truth of the law of import transference, we
find that this law gives rise either to selfish behavior or to "fully
self transcendent" concern and involvement. (The possibility of still
other results has not been excluded.) It follows, then, that of
itself this "law" can supply no proof of a basic "need" for self
transcendence. In other words, "import transference" is apparently
not a sufficient cause of a motive for self transcendence.
It may, however, be a necessary condition, in which case self
transcendence may be said to be "grounded in," or supported by, this
alleged behavioral law. We thus find ourselves at the threshold of a
difficult ethical challenge; we must show that rational, informed
persons would prefer a mode of life with self-transcendent concerns
(in the "full" sense) to a life that is wholly selfish. Later in this
paper, I will attempt to show that it is, paradoxically, in our own
best present interest to anticipate, care about, and prepare for a
remote future that we will never see or enjoy.
Significance and Mortality. Another, somewhat
existential account of the motive of self-transcendence is based upon
the universal human awareness of physical mortality -- a price that
each person must pay for his rationally and self-consciousness.
Despite an abundance of religious and metaphysical doctrines of
spiritual immortality and of physical resurrection, the time of
personal presence and efficacy in the affairs of familiar and
significant persons, places, and institutions is universally
acknowledged to be coterminous with one's physical life-span.
Surely I need not argue that the finitude of human life is a
source of much preoccupation and regret. A myriad of religious
doctrines and philosophical systems have been devised to offer hope,
consolation, or at least perspective in the face of this common fate.
All this is obvious and commonplace and thus can be set aside.
However, there is one response to the awareness of mortality that is
of considerable importance to our analysis, namely, the investment
and devotion of time, talent, concern, loyalty, and financial
substance in behalf of enduring and permanent causes, ideals, and
institutions.
While there are, of course, many possible motives for these kinds
of activities, I would like to focus upon one motive in particular,
namely,+the desire to extend the term of one's influence and
significance well beyond the term of one's lifetime -- a desire
evident in arrangements for posthumous publications, in bequests and
wills, in perpetual trusts (such as the Nobel Prize), and so forth.
In such acts and provisions, we find clear manifestations of a will
to transcend the limits of personal mortality by extending one's self
and influence into things, associations, and ideals that endure.
Nicolai Hartmannn offers an eloquent expression of this need to
transcend the limits of one's immediate life and circumstances:
In such a [self-transcending] life is fulfilled
something of man's destiny, which is to become a participant in
the creation of the world. . . . But what will that signify, if
[a person's] life-work dies with him, or soon after? It is
just such work that requires permanence, continuation, a living
energy of its own. It inheres in the nature of all effort that
looks to an objective value, to go on beyond the life and
enterprise of the individual, into a future which he can no longer
enjoy. It is not only the fate but also the pride of a creative
mind and is inseparable from this task, that his work survives
him, and therefore passes from him to others, in whose life he has
no part.
. . . The content of a fruitful ideal necessarily lies beyond
the momentary actual. And because it reaches beyond the limits of
an individual life, it naturally reduces the individual to a link
in the chain of life, which connects the past with the future. Man
sees himself caught up into a larger providence, which looks
beyond him and yet is his own.(10)
With the awareness of mortality comes existential anguish and
dread -- the heavy price we pay for self-awareness, time-perception,
and abstract knowledge of the external world and our place in it. But
a consciousness of mortality also evokes some of our finer moral
qualities. For instance, mindful of our finitude, we make provision
for a future beyond our own lifetimes, and, conversely, we feel
morally obligated to honor the wills and reputations of the deceased.
But both the preparing and the honoring or wills would make no sense
if we egoistically confined all import and values to our own
experiences and satisfactions. Yet provision for a posthumous future
and respect for the previously recorded wishes of those now dead is
commonplace and universally sanctioned. Such behavior is possible
only in a community of individuals who share and exercise capacities
for self-consciousness, hypothetical reflection, self-transcending
interests, and abstract moral reasoning. Given these capacities, and
through them an operative and effective provision for the posthumous
future, the personal, moral, social, and material well-being of the
community is significantly enhanced form generation to generation.
For, just as our lives are enriched by the knowledge that we might
make provision for our children and grandchildren (not to mention
unrelated members of future generations), so too has each of us
benefited from the private and public bequests that have followed
from our predecessors' desires to benefit those who would live after
them.(11)
Alienation: The Self Alone. I have, to this
point, attempted to indicate that self-transcendence is a basic and
virtually universal human need. In defense of this assertion, I have
cited what seem to be necessary and general conditions of human
development, evaluation, and awareness. I would like now to examine
the issue of self-transcendence from a different perspective.
Specifically, I would like to examine the results of even a partial
deprivation of the alleged "need" for self- transcendence. If, as I
have suggested, this need is basic to human nature, a denial thereof
should produce clear and dramatic results.
In much contemporary sociological and psychological literature,
this denial of self-transcendence has been described as "alienation,"
In the Introduction to their anthology Man Alone, Eric and
Mary Josephson present a vivid account of the broad range of sources
and manifestations of alienation in contemporary life:
Confused as to his place in the scheme of a world growing
each day closer yet more impersonal, more densely populated yet in
face-to-face relations more dehumanizing; a world appealing ever
more widely for his concern and sympathy with unknown masses of
men, yet fundamentally alienating him even from his next neighbor,
today Western man has become mechanized, routinized, made
comfortable as an object; but in the profound sense displaced and
thrown off balance as the subjective creator and power. This theme
of the alienation of modern man runs through the literature and
drama of two continents; it can be traced in the content as well
as the form of modern art; it preoccupies theologians and
philosophers and to many psychologists and sociologists, it is the
central problem of our time. In various ways they tell us that
ties have snapped that formerly bound Western man to himself and
to the world about him. In diverse language they say that man in
his modern industrial societies is rapidly becoming detached from
nature, from his old gods, from the technology that has
transformed his environment and now threatens to destroy it; from
his work and its products and from his leisure; from the complex
social institutions that presumably serve but are more likely to
manipulate him; from the community in which he lives; and above
all from himself -- from his body and his sex, from his feelings
of love and tenderness, and from his art -- his creative and
productive potential.(12)
Clearly, the Josephsons have described here a sizable array of
social and personal disorders. I should not, and will not, attempt to
respond to more than a few of them. Most of the symptoms that I will
discuss fall under the category of personal or psychological
alienation.
Erich Fromm eloquently describes personal alienation as "a mode of
experience in which the person experiences himself as an alien. He
has become, one might say, estranged from himself. He does not
experience himself as the center of the world, as the creator of his
own acts -- but his acts and their consequences have become his
masters, whom he obeys, or whom he may even worship." In other words,
says Fromm, an alienated person "does not experience himself as the
active bearer of his own powers and richness, but as an impoverished
'thing,' dependent on powers outside of himself, unto whom he has
projected his living substance."(13)
It is all too easy to find examples of alienation in contemporary
life. For example, the worker finds that he, or she, is a replaceable
part in the assembly line or ship. His job activity is governed by
machines (most ubiquitously, the clock). The product of his labor
shows no evidence of his distinct personality or skills. Even if he
wears a white collar and brings an inventory or acquired professional
skills to his work, me may perform as a faceless functionary, with
little personal style evident or required in his task. The management
of his household, his shopping habits, travel arrangements, even his
leisure activities, are mechanized and impersonal. The utilities and
services that sustain his life and creature comforts are themselves
maintained by an unfathomable network or electronic, mechanical, and
cybernetic devices that at any moment could collapse from the weight
of their own complexity. Economic and political forces that may
radically disrupt his life are unresponsive to his needs and beyond
his control; indeed, they may even be beyond the conscious and
deliberate control of any persons, either in public or in
private offices.
In brief, the alienated person shrinks into himself. He loses
control over the social, economic, and political forces that
determine his destiny. With loss of control comes indifference and
apathy. Because, in his social contacts, he is responded to ever more
in terms of his functions, and ever less in terms of his
personality and autonomy, he becomes estranged from the wellsprings
of his own unique personal being. He becomes, that is, alienated from
himself. He is left aimless, vulnerable, insignificant,
solitary, and finite. In such a condition not only does he
lose his self-respect; even worse, he is hard-pressed to recognize
and define the identity of his own self.
In alienation we find the very antithesis of self transcendence.
There is no feeling, within a state of alienation of a personal
contribution to grand projects, no sense of involvement in
significant events, no investment and expansion of one's self and
substance into enduring causes and institutions. Surrounded by
institutions, machines, individuals, social trends, for which he has
no significance and to which he can thus "transfer" no "import," one
truly lives in an alien world. Surely alienation is a dreadful
condition, made no less so by its widespread and growing
manifestations in contemporary society. It is a condition that no
rational person would happily wish upon himself.
And what is the alternative, even more the remedy, for
this dismal condition? Clearly it would appear to be a life committed
to self-transcending concerns and interests. Such a life, writes
Kenneth Kenniston, displays "human wholeness," by which he means "a
capacity for commitment, dedication, passionate concern, and care --
a capacity for wholeheartedness, and single-mindedness, for abandon
without fear of self-annihilation and loss of identity."(14)
For Erich Fromm, the commonplace word "love" describes the
transcending reach from self to another self, or to an ideal.
There is only one passion which satisfies man's need to
unite himself with the world, and to acquire at the same time a
sense of integrity and individuality, and this is love. Love
is union with somebody, or something, outside oneself,
under the condition of retaining the separateness and
integrity of one's own self. It is an experience of sharing,
of communion, which permits the full unfolding of one's own inner
activity. The experience of love does away with the necessity of
illusions. . . [T]he reality of active sharing and loving
permits me to transcend my individualized existence, and at the
same time to experience myself as the bearer of the active powers
which constitute the act of loving.(15)
Furthermore, writes Fromm, the self-transcending lover, as "the
bearer of active powers," is a creator, for "in the act of creation
man transcends himself beyond the passivity and accidentalness of his
existence into the realm of purposefulness and freedom. In man's need
for transcendence lies one of the roots for love, as well as for art,
religion, and material production."(16)
Narcissism: The Self Contained. A lack of
self-transcending concern is also a feature of narcissism, a
personality disorder that is currently attracting widespread
attention and interest in the social and behavioral
sciences.(17) In his
popular and provocative book The Culture of Narcissism,
Christopher Lasch describes the narcissist as one who experiences
intense feelings of emptiness and inauthenticity.
Although the narcissist can function in the everyday world and
often charms other people . . . , his devaluation of others,
together with his lack of curiosity about them, impoverishes his
personal life and reinforces the "subjective experience of
emptiness." Lacking any real intellectual engagement with the
world -- notwithstanding a frequently inflated estimate of his own
intellectual abilities -- he has little capacity for sublimation.
He therefore depends on others for constant infusions of approval
and admiration. He "must attach [himself] to someone,
living an almost parasitic" existence. At the same time, his fear
of emotional dependence, together with his manipulative,
exploitative approach to personal relations, makes these relations
bland, superficial, and deeply unsatisfying.(18)
The essence of narcissism, writes Fromm, is "a failure of
relatedness." In fact, "one understands fully man's need to be
related only if one considers the outcome of the failure of any kind
of relatedness, if one appreciates the meaning of
narcissism. Narcissism is the essence of all severe psychic
pathology. For the narcissistically involved person, there is only
one reality, that of his own thought processes, feelings and needs.
The world outside in not experienced or perceived objectively, i.e.,
as existing in its own terms. . . . Narcissism is the opposite pole
to objectivity, reason and love . . . The fact that utter
failure to relate oneself to the world is insanity, points to the
other fact: that some form of relatedness is the condition for any
kind of sane living."(19)
Of particular interest to our analysis is the effect of the
narcissistic orientation of our culture upon "the sense of historical
time." We live these days for ourselves, writes Lasch, and "not for
[our] predecessors or posterity." We are, he claims, "fast
losing the sense of historical continuity, the sense of belonging to
a succession of generations originating in the past and stretching
into the future."(20)
This loss of historical consciousness, couple with a general lack
of self- transcending concern, exacts a heavy penalty as one
approaches the second half of his life. For at mid-life, writes
Lasch, "the usual defenses against the ravages of age --
identification with ethical or artistic values beyond one's immediate
interests [!], intellectual curiosity, the consoling
emotional warmth derived from happy relationships in the past -- can
do nothing for the narcissist." And he is "unable to derive whatever
comfort comes from identification with historical
continuity."(21)
Lash quotes Kernberg, who observes that "to be able to enjoy life
in a process involving in a growing identification with other
people's happiness and achievements is tragically beyond the capacity
for narcissistic personalities."(22)
And so, "the fear of death takes on a new intensity in a society
that has deprived itself of religion and shows little interest in
posterity."(23)
In contrast, the "traditional consolations of old age" are
available to those with an authentic and active sense of self-
transcendent concern. Of these consolations, "the most important . .
. is the belief that future generations will in some sense carry on
[one's] life work. Love and work unite in a concern for
posterity, and specifically in an attempt to equip the younger
generation to carry on the tasks of the older. The thought that we
live on vicariously in our children (more broadly, in the future
generations) reconciles us to our own supercession."(24)
Is self-transcendent concern an appropriate "prescription" for the
narcissist? Perhaps. But that simple answer, and even worse that
simple question, may be wholly inadequate and inappropriate in the
face of the complexity of the issue of narcissism.(25)
Some narcissists may be beyond relief. At best, narcissism appears
to be one of the more difficult personality disorders to treat (due,
in part, to the narcissist's virtuoso skills at manipulation,
evasion, and self-deceit).(26)
But these considerations are of psychiatric interest. Our question
is more fundamental: Is "self-transcendent concern" essential to a
healthy and fulfilling human life? And, conversely, is a life without
such concern a basically impoverished life -- a life that a rational
disinterested person would not choose for himself? This brief sketch
of the psychopathology of narcissism suggests that an examination of
this personality disorder gives us further reason to suppose that to
be a healthy, happy, fulfilled person, on needs
self-transcending interests and concerns. Beyond that, human
sympathy and concern should lead us to support efforts to
prevent narcissistic disorders (e.g., through social reform,
moral education, etc.) and to support efforts to treat those who,
nonetheless, suffer from this disorder. But, while these are worthy
objectives, a discussion thereof would lead us away from the topic of
this paper.
Two Contrary Cases: The Recluse and the Playboy.
Earlier it was suggested that alienation is "the very antithesis of
self- transcendence." But isn't this an overstatement? Might we not
find cases of individuals who appear to be both "self- transcendent"
and alienated, and still other cases of individuals (e.g.,
narcissists) who appear to be neither
self-transcendent nor alienated.(27)
In the first case, consider such solitary persons as Henry David
Thoreau and John Muir. Though these individuals voluntarily withdrew
from their communities, surely their lives cannot be said to have
been unproductive and without purpose. Indeed, in their own views and
that of others, Thoreau and Muir pursued lives of transcending
significance. However, they were not alienated. To be sure,
while Thoreau was alienated from the commonplace, commercial, and
civic routines of Concord, he nevertheless perceived himself as a
member of a community of ideas and, of course, a community of nature.
He shunned the way of life of his neighbors not because he felt his
life had no significance but because he sought a variant and, he
believed, a deeper significance. He chose, that is, to
"march to the sound of a different drummer." He did not
refuse to "march" at all. His writing is directed to causes, issues,
and times that extend far beyond his immediate circumstances.
Thoreau's life supplies eloquent evidence that solitude need
not imply alienation.
But can a life display neither self transcendence nor
alienation? Consider the "playboy," the self-indulgent, narcissistic
hedonist who "takes no care for the morrow," much less posterity. If
such a person is healthy, wealthy, personable, and attractive can he
be said to be "alienated"? It would seem, quite to the contrary, that
he is living not in an "alien" world but in a world quite friendly to
his tastes and whims. And if the playboy is not alienated, then isn't
he, necessarily, the opposite, that is, self-transcendent? But how
could this be so? Or might he not, in fact, be neither alienated nor
self- transcendent, and yet, for all that, lead an enviable life?
These questions lead us to an important point, namely, that a life
not filled during every waking moment with self- transcendent causes
and projects is not necessarily an alienated life. Neither is a
person who is occasionally self-absorbed a narcissist. While
there are appropriate times in any life for simple, trivial,
egoistic, self-sufficient activities and pleasures, a life
totally devoid of any awareness of, concern for, involvement
with, or valuing of things, persons, institutions, and ideals,
for the sake thereof, would in fact be an alienated life,
and a person totally absorbed in his self- interested concerns would
be properly described as a narcissist. Consider, then, that
paradigmatic hedonist, Hugh Hefner, the publisher of Playboy
magazine. Is he "alienated?" Apparently not, for despite all his
mansions, jets, hi-fis, and bunnies, Hefner has also established "The
Playboy Foundation" (which is involved in such public issues as civil
liberties), he has published a "playboy philosophy" (a philosophical
position, of sorts), and he has contributed generously to various
social and political causes. All of these enterprises and
benefactions would seem to manifest a desire for self
transcendence.
If not even Hugh Hefner presents a refuting case, let us then
concoct an extreme paradigm. Imagine a person with health, wealth,
sophistication, social grace, and so on, who cares for nothing in
life but his own personal satisfaction, and values nothing except as
it immediately contributes to this satisfaction -- in other words, a
textbook example of a narcissist. Assume, further, that, with his
generous endowments, his selfish interests are routinely satisfied.
Would such a person, having no concern for the well-being of anything
else (for its own sake), lead an enviable life -- the sort
of life that a rationally self-interested individual would desire for
himself?
Despite all his good fortune and opportunity, such a person might,
I suspect, be inclined to feel that his life was confined and
confining. By hypothesis, nothing would matter to him, unless it had
impact upon the course of his personal life plan. He would have no
interest in persons he would never meet, places he would never see,
and events and circumstances outside the span of his lifetime. In
other words, those persons, places, and events with which he was not
directly involved would be "alien" to him. With all significant
events confined to the span of his lifetime, the consciousness of his
own mortality would be especially burdensome.(28)
While this is a life-style that we might be tempted to try for a
while (given the chance), I wonder if we could bear it for a
lifetime. ("A great place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live
there.") If, as I suspect, such a life does not "wear well," this
might explain why it seems that those new to wealth are more inclined
to indulge themselves with gadgetry, diversion, and opulence, while
those born to wealth generally involve themselves with such
self-transcendent concerns as philanthropy, the arts, social work,
and political issues.
I have said that I "suspect" that an opulent, self-centered,
narcissistic life would be confining and, concerning all things
outside the small egocentric confinement, alienating.
Unfortunately, we shall have to close with nothing more substantial
than this "suspicion." Surely much literary and psychological
evidence might be brought to bear upon the question of the
relationship between self-indulgence and alienation. Furthermore, one
might conceive of some sort of direct empirical study of the issue,
albeit the execution of such study might be a trifle awkward (e.g.,
"tell me, Donald Trump, are you really happy?"). All this,
however, is beyond the scope of this inquiry. What remains is the
tentative conclusion that, while an enlightened egoist might prefer
the life of the alienated, narcissistic millionaire to that of some
other possible choices, given the additional happy option he would, I
believe, much prefer to utilize the millionaire's resources and
circumstances in a life containing self-transcending projects and
concerns.
The Paradox of Morality. Throughout these
explorations of the proposed "need for self-transcendence," we have
found manifestation of evidence of what is often called "the paradox
of morality." Briefly, the paradox is found in the common
circumstances that one appears to live best for oneself when one
lives for the sake of others. While the rule may seem pious and
banal, it points to a profound and recurring theme in religion and
moral philosophy, a theme that is especially prominent in the
writings of contract theorists from Thomas Hobbes to John
Rawls.(29)
Statements of the moral paradox are abundant in the writings of
contemporary philosophers. For instance Kai Nielsen writes: "There
are good Hobbesian reasons for rational and self-interested people to
accept the moral point of view. A rational egoist will naturally
desire the most extensive liberty compatible with his own
self-interest, but he will also see that this is the most fully
achievable in a context of community life where the moral point of
view prevails."(30)
Consider also Michael Scriven's position:
Each citizen's chances of a satisfying life for himself
are increased by a process of conditioning all citizens
not to treat their own satisfaction as the most important
goal. Specifically, a system which inculcates genuine concern for
the welfare of the others, it will be argued, the most effective
system for increasing the welfare of each individual. Put
paradoxically, there are circumstances in which one can give a
selfish justification for unselfishness.(31)
"The paradox of morality," then, supplies still another argument
for self-transcendence. But it is an argument with a difference. In
our earlier discussion of the motive of self transcendence we adopted
a psychological approach; that is, we considered the need for
self-transcendence from the perspective of its origin and sustenance
in human experience and behavior. Thus a life "transcended" is
perceived to be a healthy life, while an alienated or narcissistic
life is perceived to be impoverished. In contrast, the argument form
the moral paradox directly recommends self-transcendence (in
the form of "the moral point of view") as a more prudent policy for
achieving self- enrichment and personal satisfaction.
At the outset of this discussion of "the paradox of morality," I
admitted that, on first encounter, this principle seemed "pious and
banal." I hope I have, in the intervening paragraphs, added some
substance to the notion. Perhaps the paradox seems less "pious and
banal," and is given a more severe testing, when it is applied to the
question of the duty to posterity. In such a case, those who defend
such a duty and urge thoughtful and responsible provision for the
future might wish to affirm that life is immediately enriched by the
collective agreement of the living to provide for the well-being of
the unborn. This is the position of economist Kenneth Boulding:
Why should we not maximize the welfare of this generation
at the cost of posterity? Apres nous le deluge has been
the motto of not insignificant numbers of human societies. The
only answer to this as far as I can see, is to point out that the
welfare of the individual depends on the extent to which he can
identify himself with others, and that the most satisfactory
individual identity is that which identifies not only with a
community in space but also with a community extending over time
from the past into the future. . . . This whole problem is linked
up with the much larger one of the determinants of the moral,
legitimacy, and "nerve" of a society, and there is a great deal of
historical evidence to suggest that a society which loses its
identity with posterity and which loses its positive image of the
future loses also its capacity to deal with the present problems
and soon falls apart.(32)
If I interpret Boulding correctly, he is saying, in essence, that
we need the future, now.
"Self-transcendence": A Summary.
In this paper I
have tried to defend the position that healthy, well-functioning
human beings have a basic and pervasive need to transcend themselves;
that is, to identify themselves as a part of larger, ongoing, and
enduring processes, projects, institutions, and ideals. Furthermore,
I have contended that, if persons are deceived into believing that
they can live in and for themselves alone, they will suffer for it
both individually and communally. If my presentation of the concept
of "self-transcendence" has been even moderately successful, we may
be prepared to answer the cynic's taunt, "Why should we care about
posterity; what has posterity ever done for us?" Our duty to make
just provision for the future, I contend, is not of the form of an
obligation -- not, that is, a contractual agreement to
exchange favors or services. To be sure, posterity does not actually
exist now. Even so, in a strangely abstract and metaphorical
sense, posterity may extend profound favors for the living. For
posterity exists as an idea, a potentiality, and a valid
object of transpersonal devotion, concern, purpose, and commitment.
Without this idea and potentiality, our lives would be confining,
empty, bleak, pointless, and morally impoverished. In acting for
posterity's good we act for our own as well. Paradoxically, we owe it
to ourselves to be duty-bound to posterity, in a manner that
genuinely focuses upon future needs rather than our own. By
fulfilling our just duties to posterity, we may now earn and enjoy,
in our self-fulfillment, the favors of posterity.(33)
Copyright 1980 by Ernest Partridge
___________________________________________
NOTES
1. The papers referred to here appeared in the
anthology, Responsibilities to Future Generations (ed.
Partridge, Prometheus, 1981), from which this essay is taken.
2. 2. John Rawls, A Theory of Justice
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971), pp. 145, 176.
3. It is, I think, a bit unsporting for an
editor to invite a paper, only to prop it up as a target for his own
polemic. It is especially so when the author of the target has no
opportunity for rebuttal. And so, rather than abuse my advantage, I
shall simply point out my differences with Professor Thompson in
these opening paragraphs and then make no further mention of his
paper during the remainder of this piece.
4. Apparently this is not a rare or trivial
statement, for, as Peter Laslett points out, "no little portion of
political life rests upon" the premise that we have moral duties
toward the yet- unborn. He continues:
The speeches of ministers, the propaganda of parties, the
actions of planners, the demands of administrators, unhesitatingly
assume that men ordinarily recognize the right of generations to
come. The additional and significant paradox here is that this
assumption is well founded in behavior. We do in fact respond
quite spontaneously to an appeal on behalf of the future. (Peter
Laslett, "The Conversation Between the Generations," in The
Proper Study, Royal Institute of Philosophy Lectures, vol 4
(New York: Macmillan, 1971), p. 78.
5. Robinson Jeffers, "Nova,"
The Selected
Poetry of Robinson Jeffers (New York: Random House, 1927), p.
597.
6. Edwin Delattre, "Responsibilities and Future
Persons," Ethics, 82 (April 1972), p. 256.
7. John Dewey, Experience and Nature
(LaSalle, Ill.: Open Court, 1958), Chapter 6. George Herbert Mead,
Mind, Self and Society (Chicago: Phoenix, 1956). The
social-psychological theories of Mead and Dewey are exceedingly
complex (a circumstance aggravated but he obscurity of their writing
styles), and I haven't the space even to attempt an adequate summary
thereof.
8. George Santayana,
The Sense of
Beauty (New York: Random House Modern Library, 1955).
9. John Passmore, Man's Responsibility for
Nature (New York: Scribners, 1974), pp. 88-9.
10. Nicolai Hartmann,
Ethics, vol. 2: Moral Values
(New York: Macmillan, 1932), pp. 313,
324 [in this anthology, pp. 305-8]
11. The critical reader will justifiably
object that I have presented in this paragraph a statement of
position without much of a supporting argument. I should therefore
point out that support for these conclusions, as well as an
elaboration of this position, may be found in Parts 4-6 of my paper,
"Posthumous Interests and Posthumous Respect," Ethics, 91
(January 1981).
12. Eric and Mary Josephson, Introduction to
Man Alone: Alienation in Modern Society (New York: Dell,
1962), pp 10-11.
13. Erich Fromm, The Sane Society
(New York: Fawcett, 1955), pp 111, 114.
14. Kenneth Kenniston,
The
Uncommitted (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1960), p.
441.
15. Fromm, pp. 36-7.
16.
Ibid.
17. How is narcissism related to
alienation? Is narcissism a type of alienation? A
cause of alienation? Are they otherwise related? These are
complicated and interesting questions whose resolutions rest upon
differing definitions of these terms, different theories of their
etiology, and different accounts of their symptomatology. We cannot,
and fortunately need not, devote much space to these question. It
suffices for our purposes to note that both alienation and narcissism
are unenviable conditions and are characterized by a lack of
self-transcending concern.
18. Christopher Lasch,
The Culture of
Narcissism (New York: Norton, 1978), pp. 39-40. The quotations
within are from Otto Kernberg. Kernberg's primary work on this topic
is Borderline Conditions and Pathological Narcissism (New
York: Jason Aronson, 1975).
19. Erich Fromm, pp. 39-41. It should be noted
that Lasch is quite impatient with Fromm's habit of expanding the
scope of the concept of "narcissism," thus "drain[ing] the
idea of its clinical meaning" (Lasch, p. 31). Even so, I believe that
the passage from Fromm, quoted above, serves my purpose well without
seriously compromising Lasch's sense of the term "narcissism."
20. Lasch, p. 5.
21. Lasch, p. 41.
22. Otto Kernberg, quoted in Lasch, p. 41.
23. Lasch, p. 208.
24. Lasch, p. 210.
25. Even so, "transcendence" seems to be a
favored treatment strategy of some psychotherapists. For instance,
Lasch cites Heinz Kohut in this regard: "Useful, creative work, which
confronts the individual with unsolved intellectual and aesthetic
problems' and thereby mobilizes narcissism on behalf of activities
outside the self provides the narcissist with the beset hope of
transcending his predicament" (, p. 17n). the source from Kohut is The Analysis of the Self...
(New York: International
Universities Press, 1971), p. 315.
26. Lasch p. 40-1.
27. Even if we conclude that alienation and
self-transcendence are antitheses," there is no contradiction in
stating that a person is transcendent with regard to some X, while at
the same time alienated from a distinct Y. The life of Thoreau seems
to be a case in point.
28. As we have seen, this seems to be
precisely the fate of the narcissistic personality.
29. Thus Jesus said: "Whosoever will save his
life shall lose it, and whosoever will lose his life for my sake
shall find it" (Matthew 16:25). In a contemporary paraphrase of this
scripture, William Frankena writes:
If we believe psychologists like Erich Fromm and others,
... for one's life to be the best possible, even in the non- moral
sense of best, the activities and experiences which form one side
of life must (1) be largely concerned with objects or causes other
than one's own welfare and (2) must be such as to give one sense
of achievement and excellence. Otherwise its goodness will remain
truncated and incomplete. He that loses his life in sense (1)
shall find it in sense (2). [Ethics, 1st ed. (Englewood
Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice- Hall, 1963), pp. 76-7.]
For a suggestive and influential application of "the moral
paradox" to ecological issues, see Garrett Hardin's justly celebrated
essay, "The Tragedy of the Commons," Science, 162 (1968),
1243-8.
30. Kai Nielsen, "Problems of Ethics,"
The
Encyclopedia of Philosophy, vol. 2 (New York: Macmillan &
Free Press, 1967), p. 132.
31. Michael Scriven,
Primary
Philosophy (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1966), p. 240.
32. Kenneth Boulding, "The Economics of the
Coming Spaceship Earth," in The Environmental Handbook, ed.
Garrett de Bell (New York: Ballantine, 1970), pp. 99-100.
33. Over half of this paper appeared
originally in Section 42 of my doctoral dissertation, Rawls and
the Duty to Posterity (University of Utah, 1976). This version
was prepared especially for this anthology. I am grateful to Dr. R.
Jan Stout for advising me of the appropriateness of my use of
psychiatric terms and concepts in this version. Much of the final
work on this paper was accomplished during the term of a Fellowship
in environmental Affairs from the Rockefeller Foundation. I am
grateful to the Foundation for this support.
