The Paradox of the Rider and the Elephant.
(The following was written in the summer of 2017, as a final paper for the Psychology Bachelor’s Capstone course at Lesley University.)
One of the fundamental questions in the study of psychology is the relationship between mind and body, nurture and nature. How much of our experience is fated by our inherent biological physiology and how much can we affect through the exercise of conscious free will? The bridge between these two seemingly dichotomous worlds is, many argue, perception.
It is now widely recognized in many fields, from quantum physics to psychology, that perception affects reality. A quantic entity may act as either a particle or a wave depending on the perception of the observer. That is to say, if one expects to see a particle then one will see a particle, while if one expects to see a wave then the quantic entity will appear as a wave. Psychologically, this equates to mean that the intervening component between nurture and nature, or between one’s environment and one’s physiology, is perception.
In fact, this is the basis of evolution: an organism adapts its physiology in response to sensory signals (via perception) from its environment. Thus, it is posited that our capacity to adapt psychologically to our experiences of environmental stimuli is also mitigated by our perception of such experiences. As Haidt (2006) writes, “Events in the world affect us only through our interpretations of them, so if we can control our interpretations, we can control our world” (p. 23). A rather bold and audacious claim, to be sure, but one that is the very backbone and foundation of positive psychology theory which seeks to facilitate greater happiness and wellbeing by encouraging more positive and, presumably, healthful perceptions to bridge the gap between mind and body.
In his book The Happiness Hypothesis: Finding Modern Truth in Ancient Wisdom (2006), Haidt employs an analogy for this mind-body relationship as that of a rider on an elephant, wherein the rider represents the mind and free will while the elephant, obviously therefore, represents the body. With this analogy Haidt is attempting to ascribe the body its respective influence vis a vis the mind, i.e. that the rider may be the one “on top” who is holding the reigns, but their control is primarily illusory while the elephant, in reality, is simply going to go where it wants, bringing the rider along for the ride. The question thus posed by Haidt, and contemplated by psychologists the world over, is how to control the elephant? How can the mind affect the body so that it doesn’t get taken for the proverbial ride by its own biology?
In answer to this conundrum, Haidt (2006) suggests that meditation, cognitive behavioral therapy, and medication are effective means for “taming the elephant” (p. 35). Through daily meditation, he proposes, citing Buddhist philosophy, we can forego our “attachments” or desires and voila! The elephant no longer takes the rider where it wants to go because it no longer wants anything specific. Of course, this takes practice, a lot of practice, and practice takes time. His second recommendation, that of cognitive behavioral therapy, focuses on training the elephant, or perhaps more accurately the rider, in order to steer the elephant away from habitual patterns of behavior, but this also takes time. However, medication, which Haidt generically refers to as “Prozac,” offers a relatively “quick fix” by altering some of the biological hormones and neurochemicals that influence the body’s perception of and resultant responses to external stimuli. He thus disputes the oft cited concern that anti-depressant medications are, or indeed can be, overprescribed because “for those who . . . ended up on the negative half of the affective style spectrum, Prozac is a way to compensate for the unfairness of the cortical lottery” (p. 43). Comparing them to contact lenses, not dissimilar from the proverbial rose-colored glasses, Haidt argues that anti-depressants can be a “reasonable shortcut to proper functioning” for those who suffer the affliction of any level of melancholia.
Walker (2013) echoes this proposition, comparing what Haidt (2006) refers to as the “cortical lottery” to “‘slavery’ to the genetic endowment bestowed upon us by nature” (p. 187). He purports that the use of anti-depressant medications—what he calls “happy-people-pills”—therefore grants us greater autonomy—freedom from slavery, if you will, under the tyranny of our otherwise inescapable biology. He contends that, “happy-people-pills are autonomy enhancing because they allow us to take control of something deep and ubiquitous, our emotional states” (p. 190), i.e. the elephant.
But such control is an illusion. We never truly control the elephant and to believe so is hubris. If anything we may merely, and tragically, sedate the beast until it either reawakens in a rage at its mistreatment or withers away and dies, as all things eventually do. That is not control but postponement, deferring the inevitable in a state of suspended anesthesia. To attempt to sedate and control our emotional selves in this way is a form of violence, plain and simple. Wilson (2008) refers to this practice as “annihilating melancholia” (p. 4) and laments that “trying to forget sadness and its integral place in the great rhythm of the cosmos . . . insinuates in the end that the blues are an aberrant state that should be cursed as a weakness of will or removed with the help of a little pink pill” (p. 7).
This gets to the crux of the problem with positive psychology and positive psychologists like Haidt and Walker, which is that they ascribe value judgments to people’s differing emotional and psychological experiences, dividing them between “positive” and “negative.” This inherently paints those in the latter group as wrong, broken, needing to be fixed, in effect negating any possible value that such an experience might actually purvey to the individual or to the world. If Van Gogh had “tamed the elephant” would we have gotten Starry Night? Would Herman Melville have written the great American novel Moby Dick? Would we have gotten the music of Mozart? Would Abraham Lincoln have dedicated himself to the fight against slavery and led America to its abolition?
This is not to glorify suffering, or to suggest that those individuals should have suffered for the benefit of the rest of us; each person deserves well-being, whatever that may look like and however that may manifest for them. But to suggest that every person who experiences some amount of melancholy in their lives should be medically altered for their own good is not only deeply disrespectful, condescending, and paternalistic, it is downright dangerous. The wholesale denigration, denial, and desecration of such experiences of suffering not only discounts, disparages, and delegitimizes the lived reality of those individuals who carry them, but it threatens to exacerbate such suffering by merely suppressing and further relegating it to the shadows of our collective existence. As Wilson (2008) says, “I for one am afraid that our American culture’s overemphasis on happiness at the expense of sadness might be dangerous, a wanton forgetting of an essential part of a full life” (p. 6).
What happens when we forget that “essential part of a full life,” when we sedate the elephant? The effect is not less but greater dis-ease, greater suffering, because so long as we treat people as broken and wrong, rather than validating, accepting, and honoring the truth of their feelings and experiences, then we perpetuate their so-called “brokenness,” their woundedness, their trauma, rather than their healing.
By means of example, inflammation is the body’s healing response to sustaining a wound. A traumatizing impact or infection causes inflammation in the affected tissue, the purpose of which is to bring blood flow with its oxygen and antibodies to the site in order to facilitate healing. Taking anti-inflammatory medications “helps” to relieve the swelling and its resultant pain, but it also hinders the body’s natural and necessary healing process. I, as a former roller derby athlete, have sustained many a sore and pulled muscle, bruises, twisted ankles, and even concussions. But I’ve learned that simply popping a couple of Advil and getting back out on the track doesn’t necessarily help, and sometimes it actually hurts. That doesn’t mean I never take painkillers—when I broke my finger and was in excruciating pain you better believe I took the meds they gave me—but emergency and extenuating circumstances notwithstanding, simply masking the wound with medication doesn’t allow it to heal and can even make it worse over time.
What if depression and melancholia are simply natural and necessary responses to psychic wounds? What if their function is to call attention to the “site” of the wound so that it can heal? When I or my teammates are injured on the track the best remedy is rest—sit the bench or take time off until healing is complete. Similarly, depression acts as a stop sign requiring a mental rest and recuperation. But just as with the Advil, Haidt’s (2006) and Walker’s (2013) suggestions that anyone with the slightest melancholia simply mask such feelings or experiences of sadness or trauma with anti-depressant medication doesn’t allow for or support the psyche’s natural signals that it needs healing.
Yes, perception affects how we relate and respond to our experiences, and our experiences, in turn, affect how we perceive reality. Changing perception can thus affect how we experience our reality, including the severity and depth of our past psychic wounds and our resilience in the face of new or future potentially wounding experiences. But simply “putting on rose-colored glasses” by taking “happy people pills” only changes our perceptions superficially.
That is to say, if the glasses can be put on they can also be taken off. And then what? If reality looked grim before seeing through artificially tinted lenses, how is it going to look after those lenses are lost? The true change in perception must come from within, must be forged and built into the internal structure of the individual’s psyche. Then it can never be lost or taken away. That is the true means of “controlling” the elephant, when the rider and the elephant realize that they are, and have always been, one in a symbiotic relationship that must be based on mutual respect, acceptance, and reciprocity.
There is no dichotomy between mind and body, nurture and nature, the rider and the elephant. This is the paradox of living. At the same time that we are fated by our inherent circumstances we also have the capacity to exercise free will and thus to change our perceptions, our reality, and yes, even, potentially, the world. But it is not the responsibility of the rider to tame and control the elephant; it is the responsibility of the rider to see the elephant as an extension of themselves, as themselves. Only then can they meet, move through, and respond to the jungle, by which is meant life, with dexterity, agility, and grace.
References:
Haidt, J. (2006). The happiness hypothesis: Finding modern truth in ancient wisdom. New York, NY: Basic Books Publishing.
Wilson, E.G. (2008). Against Happiness. New York: Sarah Crichton Books.
Walker, M. (2013). Happy-People Pills for All. Oxford, UK: Wiley Blackwell.