In and out of control

The other day, while watching an episode of "Monk" (an obsessive-compulsive detective), I started thinking about how important control is to us all. Monk (and presumably, many obsessive compulsive people) tries to compensate for the gap between what he would like to control (just about everything) and what he actually controls (very little) by imposing control where-ever possible, in the form of useless but comforting routines (touching all the lampposts along his way, etc.). Obviously, he is very aware of the gap, and he does not really accept the fact that very little can be done about it.

The three most important elements in the above description are the size of the gap between what we want to control and what we can control (which depends more on our own expectations and assumptions than anything else), our awareness of that gap (some people hardly seem to notice that there is one, while for others, it is crucial), and our acceptance of it.

As far as the real (as opposed to the perceived) size of the gap is concerned, we can only control a very little bit: we grow up to learn a certain degree muscle control, and we try to control our own emotions and our own thoughts, but most of us are only partially successful at that. Of the outside world, we can perhaps control small physical objects, and we can exert an influence over (but do not really control) the thoughts and feelings of others in our direct environment (friends, family members, colleagues), but very few of us are in a position to influence (much less control) larger groups of people, except in certain situations.

Awareness: I think fear has an important role to play in this. It is of course perfectly possible to be aware of the gap without being unduly concerned about it, but fear will definitely increase the awareness. Unfortunately, fear also tends to make matters worse, because it can make it very difficult to accept the gap, which is the first step towards any kind of control.

And as far as acceptance is concerned, knowing what is realistic helps a lot. Notwithstanding - or perhaps thanks to - many infantile attempts to fly, most adults find it relatively easy to accept that humans cannot fly without help from some kind of machine. In fact, a large part of growing up consists of exactly that: learning about your own limitations and in some cases finding ways to get around them.


And they say t.v. teaches us nothing!
Now if only it would teach me to accept my own limitations ...

The chimera of control

Control is like El Dorado: the more you talk or think about it, the more realistic it seems to be. But - like the Spaniards in South America who found gold, but not enough – expectations outstrip reality. The amount of control you actually have over your life is usually not even close to what you hoped for, or dreamed of. All over the world (and probably more in the Western World than elsewhere) we overestimate our own ability to control the world around us.

It is possible that this overestimation (which could also be seen as overconfidence, pride, or even vanity) is due at least in part to the success we have had individually, and on a small scale, in controlling the physical world around us. We can plow the earth, move and break rocks, forge metal, make tools and pottery, build houses, make plants grow where we want them to. And when we pool our resources, we can build bridges and waterworks, move mountains and rivers, drain swamps, and redistribute the available energy to suit our needs. But we are finding that all those individual efforts have a huge collective impact that we do not yet know how to control. (In that sense, we are a bit like the stromatolites (colonial reef-building organisms), who, when life was just beginning, kick-started all further life on this planet by producing oxygen. Their impact was enormous, but they had no control over what was happening. In fact, they themselves went into steep decline, because the oxygen they produced – however useful for us - was actually poisonous to them. )

The problem, of course, is that although we are relatively good at controlling certain parts of the physical world, we are not much good at predicting the long-term results of our collective actions, and even worse at controlling complex systems involving other living organisms. A few examples.

• Some 70% or more of business projects fail, because of systemic problems that are almost impossible to control (see the theories of Demming for more on this).
• For years, hunting foxes was justified by claiming that it was necessary to keep the population of predators in certain areas low. In fact, it has now been shown that hunting has no noticeable impact on the total number of foxes, because the survivors simply have larger litters.
• Ever since the invention of antibiotics, people hoped that it would be possible to completely eradicate certain (or maybe even all) infectious diseases. So far … (need I spell it out?).
• President Obama, possibly the most powerful president of any democratic country, had perfectly reasonable plans for the future of his country, but is finding it almost impossible to turn them into reality.
• The Unites States foreign policy of the past 40-50 years seems based on the belief that it is possible to exact real change in other countries by the use of force, in spite of a long list of examples to the contrary.
• The Western World is only slowly beginning to realize that a lot of “well-intentioned aid” to the third world is not having the effect they hoped (I put well-intentioned in brackets, because often, the cost of “progress” – in terms of loss of cultural values etc. - may be more than the beneficiaries want to pay).
• Governments have been trying to control the economy ever since money was invented, but recent events have made it very clear how elusive and fickle economies are. (Which is not to say that I advocate a totally "free" marketplace - that is probably worse).  

I have in fact arrived at the conclusion that the only things that I personally have any control over (and this only if I am willing to dedicate a lot of time and energy to them) is my garden, what I write (not even what I say!), and (again to a very limited degree, and only as regards certain aspects) the behavior of my children. Which is a good description of how I see retirement: me and my wife in our garden, writing, and hopefully visited by our children from time to time.

Classifying fear

The other day I was talking with some colleagues about holiday plans, and how there is never enough time to do everything you want, and how some people try to solve this by planning everything down to the minute. Everybody at the table (myself included) groaned and laughed about this, because we all agree that over-planning takes the fun out of a holiday, but it set me thinking about the relationship between control and fun, and about the link between each of them and fear. Too much fear, and you may end up with an obsessive need for control; too little, and you can get recklessness, as if none of your actions have any consequences, and everything is just a game.

The trick, of course, is to find just the right balance between both extremes. On the whole, young people seem to be more on the reckless end of the scale, and the exasperated advice to "please grow up" often refers to their lack of responsibility. But the vast majority will “grow up” without any help or admonishments from others; for the most part, it happens all by itself. Going in the other direction (lightening up, when it feels like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders) seems harder, or at least it does to me. For many people, the fear curve is like the tension curve of most story plots: almost flat at the beginning, then steadily climbing towards a climax. For some people, this is where it all ends: like straws breaking the camel’s back, the fears (or more accurately, the negative effects thereof) accumulate until something gives. Anti-climaxes, when they happen, are often very recognizable: suddenly, many previous worries seem to disappear. People who experience this phase may cross the street without looking both ways first, or put on whatever they feel like, or speak their mind and are not worried about the consequences, or all three and more.

...


In his book "Class", Paul Fussell (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Fussell) claims that fear is mostly a problem of the middle classes, and that the people at the bottom and the top of the class scale are much less afflicted. Given the fact that working conditions for the lower classes were traditionally much more dangerous (think of mines collapsing, construction site accidents, dangerous chemicals in the factory, etc.) than for the middle classes - a correlation so consistent that Fussell even uses it as a quick-and-dirty way to distinguish between the two -, you would expect more fear in the lower classes, but I didn't make that connection until, in the course of reading up on something completely different, I was led - by the usual stream-of-consciousness type experience that I often have on the Internet - to a text of Freud's in which he discusses fear, fright and anxiety. Based on his text, I have come up with my own quick and ready way to distinguish between them, namely that fright is generally caused by a specific occurrence, that fear is linked to specific objects, and that anxiety is more of a general state, not specifically linked to either. And that in turn makes it easy - my usual de Bono lateral jump - to come up with the following rough and overly simplistic classification of fear: ordinary fear is for the lower class, anxiety is for the middle class, and fright is for the upper classes.

In and out of control

The other day, while watching an episode of "Monk" (an obsessive-compulsive detective), I started thinking about how important control is to us all. Monk (and presumably, many obsessive compulsive people) tries to compensate for the gap between what he would like to control (just about everything) and what he actually controls (very little) by imposing control where-ever possible, in the form of useless but comforting routines (touching all the lampposts along his way, etc. ). Obviously, he is very aware of the gap, and he does not really accept the fact that very little can be done about it.

The three most important elements in the above description are the size of the gap (which depends more on our own expectations and assumptions than anything else), our awareness of it (some people hardly seem to think about it, while for others, it is crucial), and our acceptance of it.

As far as the real (as opposed to the perceived) size of the gap is concerned, we can only control a very little bit: we grow up to learn a certain degree muscle control, and we try to control our own emotions and our own thoughts, but most of us are only partially successful at that. Of the outside world, we can perhaps control small physical objects, and we can exert an influence over the thoughts and feelings of others in our direct environment (friends, family members, colleagues), but very few of us are in a position to influence (much less control) larger groups of people, except perhaps in certain situations (and then usually for only a short period of time). Example: you can make huge numbers of people think of a lemon just by appearing on the t.v. for a few seconds, and telling them not to think of a lemon. Personally, I would never throw good money away on something like this, but who knows, maybe this is some control freak's idea of a fun thing to do.

Knowing what is realistic is a big step towards accepting the gap. Notwithstanding - or perhaps thanks to - many infantile attempts to fly (including some of my own, which mercifully ended without major accident), most adults find it relatively easy to accept that humans cannot fly on their own, without help from a machine or contraption. In fact, a large part of growing up consists of exactly that: learning about your own limitations and in some cases finding ways to get around them.

And they say t.v. teaches us nothing!
Now if only it would teach me to accept my own limitations ...

Controlling emotions

Something funny happened a while back. I got into an argument with someone about something that was not really very important, and it became quite heated. To me, it was so obvious that I was right, but he didn't seem to see my point of view. In the end, I spent several days after the argument fuming over it, and blaming the other person for my anger and frustration.

It took me quite a while to calm down and realise that - irrespective of who was right (me) or wrong (him) - the blame for my frustration and anger was all my own. And the funny thing was that - contrary to what I myself would have thought - accepting the blame made me feel better, not worse. But I couldn't figure out why, until a few days ago, when I realised that it is all about control. When I blame others for how I feel, I basically put them in control of my emotions, with of course very frustrating results. Accepting responsbility for my own emotions puts me back in control.

I am feeling so happy about this little discovery that I think I might go pick an argument with someone, just get some practice in controlling my own emotions. But it has to be relatively trivial. Ooooh, I know! I will try to convince the neighbour to stop practicing the piano at ten o'clock at night. And I will do so by practicing songs I do not know very well on my electric guitar, and aiming the amplifier towards the connecting wall, at the same time. That should get the discussion going quite well. If I can really control myself, we will soon be playing in four or five-part harmony: piano, guitar, doorbell, percussion (banging on the door when I don't answer the bell) and vocals (shouting).