“We approach the id with analogies: we call it chaos, a
cauldron full of seething excitations… It is filled with energy reaching from
the instincts, but it has no organization... but only a striving to bring about
the satisfaction of the instinctual needs of the subject to the observance of
the pleasure principle.” –Sigmund Freud
###
If you knew something was wrong and yet could bring
satisfaction and happiness, would you do it? Would you take into consideration
all of the people your actions would affect—either by benefiting or hurting
them, for in any instance, whenever a choice is made, the numerous variables at
play have the ability to affect those involved differently—or would you focus
on self-satisfaction? What would enter into your mind as you weighed your
options: your past failures and the times you were hurt? Would you try to
convince yourself that your actions were for the best, even if another was
hurt, someone you didn’t even really know? Would you give in to the id—that
instinctual drive toward pleasure—or would you allow your superego, that
moralizing voice that begins development around the age of five or six and is
formed by the norms and mores of society, the lessons and ideas of parents and
associates, to talk you out of your actions? I suppose the answer given is dependent on the person being
asked. For me, I’ve tended to rely on my superego to dictate the choices I’ve
made in my life, silencing that preternatural urge for pleasure and
self-satisfaction and self-gratification, that animalistic urge to do what I
want.
###
I was accused recently of being a good guy, for I found
myself in a situation in which it would have been very easy for me to not be a
“good guy,” instead taking advantage of opportunities that presented
themselves, opportunities that are quite enticing. And I have to laugh, because
as I think about it, I keep hearing all the pastors of my youth talking about
the attractiveness of sin, how glamorous it promises to be and yet isn’t, but
I’m not really focusing on sin here. Okay, so maybe I am, but after a while,
everything becomes a sin: stealing a pen from your coworker at work, not
cleaning your room when your mother tells you to do so, speeding, wearing
clothing of mixed fibers (just seeing if you’re paying attention—I know that’s
Old Testament.) Not helping those in need when you can, ignoring the hungry and
afflicted. Not tithing.
But what I’m talking about here is more about a moralistic
sense of what we do in our everyday lives, aside from religious affiliation and
doctrine, those choices that define us. For our choices do define us, maybe not
wholly, maybe not as though each decision was emblematic of you as a person, as our character is defined by the culmination of numerous choices made throughout the course of a life, yet they do determine our character and how others perceive us, how we
perceive ourselves. And oftentimes we do care how others perceive us, whether
we admit it or not. We may claim that we don’t care what others think about us
and what we do—and maybe to an extent there is some truth to that—but I would
contend that sometimes our actions are dictated by how we think others will
perceive us based on them, whether we intend to let their voices guide us or not, and we find ourselves thinking, if I do that, then I become a… and you can insert your word or
phrase of choice into the preceding thought. If I’m caught having a drink, I’m
a drinker. How will my church respond to that? If I tell one little lie to try
to save myself, I’m a liar. How will the person to whom I lied ever trust me
again? Will they? Is this line of thinking unique? Of course not, but I’ve been
reminded of this lately in certain areas in my life. If I do this, I become a… and someone gets hurt in the process…
###
Knowing that this is the case doesn’t make it any easier to
ignore that instinct for desire that tells me to do something I know I
shouldn’t. Sure, I can claim a moral victory, stand tall and say that I fought
the demons of temptation and won, and some days that’s a good feeling. One
would think that it should always be a good feeling—and perhaps it should—but
sometimes claiming a moral victory doesn’t give you the immediate satisfaction
that giving in to temptation would. But then you have to live with the guilt of
having given in to temptation, possibly hurting someone in the process. Is the
immediate satisfaction, likely short-lived, worth the internal struggle of
guilt? Likely not. But that’s a decision made only by those in the moment,
those faced with the decisions before them.
One would like to think that a lifetime of moral victories
would amount to something. And sure, it does—it makes you a good person, at
least in the eyes of those around you. And when presented with my recent
decision, when accused of being a good guy, I jokingly said it was either one
of my greatest faults or greatest attributes.
###
Obviously, I’ve refrained by detailing my situation here,
unusual for me, I know. I’m usually brutally honest on here. One reader said of my
writing: you’re so honest on your blog,
not really sparing anyone’s feelings. Ironic, it seems, given my lack of expression during the conversation at hand. This time, however, I chose generalities,
morality without specificity. Though I’m sure some of you can read between the
lines.
Am I a purist? Not by any stretch of the imagination. Yet I find myself watching my id and superego fight for dominance, however slight, in certain situations, something to which we can all at times relate. So is there a moral message here? No, not really. Just something to think about.
###
So the Id and the Superego walk into a bar. And let’s hope
they get hammered, cause they already put up one helluva fight.
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