Judgment

“Do not judge so that you will not be judged. For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you.” — (Matthew 7:1-2)

Balance.3040

Judgment: We have judged; we have been judged; we have been warned about judging; we have tried not to judge, yet we go on judging. We continue to judge, because we are unable not to judge. One fundamental aspect of all creatures is that they make evaluations, and this built-in feature is one that we cannot disable or uninstall. We constantly make judgments about the world we encounter, and our lives depend upon these judgments. Being asked to not judge would be akin to asking us not to feel, not to have emotions, not to think … not to feel alive.

Since judgment requires taking a measure, it is intimately related to value. When we judge, we are measuring and assessing value, worthiness, or usefulness. We must make choices to survive; to make choices we need to evaluate, and because these decisions must often be made quickly and efficiently, we depend upon shortcuts. Our feelings are the shortcuts. Feelings provide us with immediate feedback. Individuals, who have lost the connections between their emotional system and their executive functions due to an accident will experience decision paralysis, stress, and grow very agitated when they must make a choice, even a simple one.

If we must judge to live, then why the negative judgment about judgment? The above verse from the book of Matthew seems to hint that the prohibition has something to do with the way you judge. Do we judge others in the way that we want them to judge us? One of the most universal human biases is the attribution bias. This is the tendency when judging others for us to assume their behavior is the result of internal factors, such as their personality, yet assuming our own actions arise because of the necessity of external circumstances. We see others as having character defects and ourselves as victims of circumstance. We are biased, prejudiced, and far from rational beings — we do not judge fairly.

A person’s judgments reflect the essence of their personality and identity, which involves an ongoing dance between their inborn traits and their experiences in life. Because our judgments are so fundamental to us, we often assume that our particular judgments should be just as fundamental to others; but our judgments reflect our unique perspective, and therein lies the problem. Our judgments reflect our valuation, rather than a universal standard. Most of us rarely question the basis of our judgments, though we are quick to question the basis of others’ judgments — when they differ from ours or are directed at us.

When others’ evaluations are similar to our own, they are felt to be right, good, or okay and sometimes universal. However, when others’ evaluations differ from ours, they feel wrong or bad. We enjoy being with others who share our perspective, because the more consensus gathered around a judgment, the truthier it feels to us, and the more justified we feel. This is often the basis for the communities with which we choose to associate. Another person’s evaluation of us can either build us up or tear us down, unite us or divide us. Most of us prefer to be to be with people who build us up, yet in doing so, we often unite through tearing down those who differ from us.

Judgment is here to stay. The challenge will be to own our judgments as a subjective viewpoint. We need more education on how our minds deceive us along with more awareness of our personal biases, prejudices, and values. This will not happen without intentional effort, practice, and feedback from supportive guides. Humanity needs more dialogue, but if we do not understand the subjective nature of our consciousness, then wars, on both the personal and global levels, will continue indefinitely.

“All war is a symptom of man’s failure as a thinking animal.”   — John Steinbeck


John R. Lucy, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice at Decatur Psychology, LLC.

Impending Doom

RiverThe game begins when we are tossed into the river of life. Unable to swim on our own, we begin totally reliant on others. These guardians provide the raft, and help structure our experience. The rafts vary in their capability to match the demands of the river. Some can move to smoother waters, while others never stray far from peril. Every alternative shapes our experience, pleasure and pain directing our path as we seek more of one and less of the other. Pain echoes the roar of what inextricably draws the river’s current. Is it perilous or is it benign? That roar, which reminds us that life on the river is fragile, is an existential given in our lives, and in all the life that has gone before us — impending doom.

The word impending has its origin in the Latin word “impendēre” which means to hang over, to be imminent. Doom has several contemporary meanings, including unavoidable bad fortune, ruin or death, an unfavorable judgment, decision or sentence. AlfredTheGreatYet, the etymology of doom is from an Anglo-Saxon word, “dom,” that means judgment or law. As an aside, it turns out, my 35th great-grandfather, King Alfred The Great (848-901 C.E.), compiled a dom-boc (doom book or law code) which attempted to blend the Mosaic code with Christian principles and three pre-existing Saxon codes. Winston Churchill credited the Laws of Alfred, which were continually amplified by his successors, as the basis for what grew into that body of common law, which has guided and constrained much of the world.

Games are built around rules, and the game of life is no exception. Rules of all sorts hang over us in life. Human laws, natural laws, and a myriad of rules connected to our personal and commercial interactions in the world, foremost are those we feel from within. Like King Alfred, we each create a personal dom-boc. This “creation” is an implicit process, generally happening outside our awareness, and built upon a foundation developed in our earliest years of childhood. Emotional interaction with our dom-boc is a fundamental activity of our minds. We live in fear of breaking the rules, being found out, judged, sentenced…doomed, whether by God, nature, or our fellow human — no wonder fear, anxiety, and worry play such a central role in living. While commonalities abound, we each have a unique dom-boc. We each construe the rules of the game and feel something slightly different hanging over us. While we tend to judge others based on our personal rules, since no one plays the same game or has the same rule book, we should consider caution in these evaluations.

There are many ways to play this game, so each of us faces our own version of impending doom. Each mind, to one degree or another, scans for what is deemed a meaningful threat, danger, or judgment — our flavor of impending doom. Impending doom is an inner experience, its meaning and consequences are constructed by the mind, and this perception frames our experience and sets limits on our actions and even our thoughts. We cannot cheat the game, but not all the rules are as rigid as we might suppose. Sometimes it makes sense to question authority, especially when that authority commands from our subconscious. Paying attention to the rules that guide our lives can be very revealing. When we shift our rules, the game changes. We each have to play our own game, which involves determining our purpose, our set of rules, and managing our experience of impending doom. How that balance is achieved, is the essence of the game.

“I am willing to take life as a game of chess in which the first rules are not open to discussion. No one asks why the knight is allowed his eccentric hop, why the castle may only go straight and the bishop obliquely. These things are to be accepted, and with these rules the game must be played: it is foolish to complain of them.”

W. Somerset Maugham


John R. Lucy, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice at Decatur Psychology, LLC.

Special Collections

Special CollectionLike a museum, each one of us collects, preserves, studies, exhibits and tries to stimulate appreciation for our life experience “relics.” Many are approved for the general public, others only for specific audiences, however each of us has a “special collection.” This collection stays protected and deeply hidden; it is not placed on public display, except in acts of betrayal by another. A person makes themselves extremely vulnerable when they open this vault to another person which is why it is closely guarded. This is where we store our secrets, deep hurts, trauma and shame. When shared, this buried history must be handled delicately, and only by another person who is deeply trusted — mishandling can incite significant relational stress.

Ironically, in some aspects, our special collections are discernible. These experiences have shaped us in profound ways — not all of which are conscious to us. When accessed we are transported to the emotional encounter that led us to hide it away in the first place. This may take the form of a memory, a flashback or just the associated emotion stripped of any cognitive connection to our personal history. In their concealment, they can have a “sealed in,” preserved quality to them that covertly influence our lives and interactions with others. We see them but may not recognize them in our reactions to triggering stimuli, due to how integrated our protective schemes are in our personality structures.

Activating triggers often occur in our intimate relationships. These individuals with their increased security clearances, unbeknownst to our conscious mind, may accidentally find themselves in our vault behaving like the proverbial “bull in a china shop.” Our self-protective instincts are immediately initiated to either shut the vault or to attack the trespasser. The more frequently this occurs the more trust is damaged and subsequently the need to maintain heightened security is reinforced. The trespasser often does not realize their misstep until the moment they trip the alarm and find themselves under attack or shut off. This reaction will frequently mobilize their own security system, leading to counter-attack or their own escape tactics. This is a common negative feedback loop for a relationship.

These encounters are inevitable; as much as we try to prevent them, they may be the only way to get to know our own special collections. The challenge is to shift out of subconscious self-protection and into conscious self-exploration. Having a compassionate and curious partner willing to co-investigate is important to this process. When we have such a partner, it is possible to carefully unpack and unseal these “artifacts” and expose them to the light of the present day.


John R. Lucy, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice at Decatur Psychology, LLC.

Trial By Combat

A trial by combat, deciding a man’s guilt or innocence in the eyes of the gods by having two other men hack each other to pieces. Tells you something about the gods. ― Tyrion Lannister

TrialbyCombat

In the popular book and HBO television series, Game of Thrones, the character Tyrion Lannister, who has been accused of a capital offense, elects to have his fate decided by means of a trial by combat rather than by a council of lords.  Being a dwarf, who has little chance to overpower a much larger and more accomplished opponent, he chooses to be represented by a champion who will fight in his stead. Tyrion is in a vulnerable position and is desperate for a protector who is willing to fight to the death on his behalf.

I have discussed in recent posts the concept of executive operating systems (EOSs) that “drive” our body and brain in different directions, depending on the subconscious perception of the situation we are facing. When any particular EOS is active, our emotions, thoughts and motivations align in service of its evolved function (e.g., protection, nurturing). Since we are wired to survive our systems rapidly respond to any perceived threat. The same systems that orient us towards withdrawal or attack in response to mortal danger are likewise invoked in the face of relatively benign modern-day threats such as being cut off in traffic, being given poor service in a restaurant or in the midst of a family argument over household chores.

Couples counselors regularly witness trial by combat in their offices when romantic partners, who at times have loving feelings towards one another, suddenly bring forth their champions to defend their positions. Feeling emotionally vulnerable or wounded can elicit all manner of protectors to emerge. The defensive strategies employed by individuals in a relationship may vary, but when the partners interact under stress it is inevitably their preferred guardian EOS that is interacting. While not always a fight to the death, these encounters can leave both parties bruised, broken and even more sensitized to the next perceived slight, which triggers another cycle. The renowned relationship researcher, John Gottman, refers to this cycle as “negative affect reciprocity.” The ability to minimize these battles, escape from them once they have begun and repair the resultant damage is often the key to the relationship surviving.

Our instinct to survive is exactly what is triggered by our loved ones. Unfortunately, that instinct leads to an inhibition of empathy and sets us on a self-protective path rather than on a relationship-protective path. Orienting towards the relationship is counter-intuitive to our selected champion, as it involves exposing our vulnerability rather than shielding it. Healing a relationship caught up in negative affect reciprocity requires an environment that reduces the stress and reactivity so that the alternatives beyond fight or flight can emerge.

Relational battles are often heated (or chilled) debates between two individuals who desperately want to be seen, validated and cared for by the other. Feeling diminished, unappreciated or unloved can feel so threatening that any damage being inflicted in one’s own defense is deemed justifiable. One can be deeply wounded from active or passive defensive strategies. The interplay of fight or flight is inextricably tied together. This dance, which we so often find ourselves attending, cannot be won — it is a dance after all, and dancing is difficult when you are suited in armor.


John R. Lucy, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice at Decatur Psychology, LLC.

 

 

Horse and Rider

Most of us would like our feelings to line up with our will. We want to “feel” like doing, what we “think” we want; short of that, we want more willpower to overcome the strong pull feeling exerts away from our goals. Experiencing inner wrangling and a lack of control over ourselves, we regularly see ourselves succumb to instant gratification — sabotaging our long-term intentions. This daily internal struggle blocks our efforts to direct our behavior in constructive ways. Our perceived “failures” can lead to a negative self-regard and a sense that we are powerless to change.

Internal strife suggests that we are not of one mind. We know this to be true, yet our inner executive resists the idea that his or her influence is not absolute. A true examination of our experience suggests that we are informed by many influences within us, which may or may not be moving in the same direction. They seem to glide in and out of the executive’s chair, and we often sense a fight in the board room as they scuffle for takeover. The mind is complicated, as is the brain, and whatever relationship these two have to one another, both have many components. To keep it simple, we have conscious aspects and subconscious aspects of mind. Our consciousness has the will, but our subconsciousness possesses the power.

Horse in ControlI think the metaphor of a horse and rider aptly symbolizes the subconscious and conscious mind. The rider has the will, but the horse provides the power. When a horse and rider are in sync with one another, they can accomplish amazing tasks. BuckingBroncoWhen not in sync, it gets ugly fast. What they are capable of achieving depends entirely upon the relationship that is forged between the two. This is a lifelong relationship, but the horse has the jump start.

The horse’s training begins immediately, but it is not the rider who early on wields the reins. The rider is slow to develop and is initially just along for the ride like a child on a pony ride. Training and support is dependent upon external sources, such as parents and other guardians. The horse has had significant training by the time it is even possible for the rider to exert any influence. Each horse and rider are unique: Some are bold, and some are timid; some have constructive training, and some do not. Along the way, they encounter circumstances that will interact with their training. The combinations are infinite and will shape their path through the terrain of life.

Yet, training and relationship building are ongoing — horses and riders can change. Improved relationships can be forged. We all need to become better horse whisperers, especially when there has been trauma or difficult circumstances. Our horse does not forget and will remember events unknown to its rider. Experiences can trigger a fight, flight or freeze reaction which the rider may not understand. Horses are powerful and cannot be forced. They need patience and compassion to build the trust and consistency, which will make them more responsive to their rider’s will.

It’s a lot like nuts and bolts – if the rider’s nuts, the horse bolts!  — Nicholas Evans


John R. Lucy, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice at Decatur Psychology, LLC.

Growing Around

treethroughcoasterThe shape of a tree tells its developmental story. Trees grow around objects blocking their “lightward” trajectory. In some cases, these objects are permanent, making the tree’s story easily discernible. Yet in others, the original obstacle (e.g., another tree) may have been displaced or rotted away leaving only mystery and speculation.

Our personal developmental story reveals itself, not only in our physical presentation, but through our thoughts, feelings and behavior. Like trees, we too “grow around” the circumstances and people we encounter in our “lifeward” trajectory. We may remember some of the stories and circumstances behind these shaping experiences, but more likely they were never explicitly recorded. Regardless, these experiences have directed our growth. Conditioning and emotional learning write much of our implicit guidebook, which is revealed in our immediate experience and subjectively felt as we encounter life.

Conditioning refers to types of paired learning experiences, which are often involuntary. Classical conditioning, which we associate with “Pavlov’s dog,” refers to experiences that are paired together to the point where the paired stimulus reflexively induces the response normally associated with the other stimulus. Operant conditioning, which we associate with B. F. Skinner’s pigeons, is a form of instrumental learning that is based on whether behavior is reinforced or punished. Another significant way we are shaped is through social learning, which is based on direct instruction, modeling or observing the consequences of other people’s behavior. Social learning can be convoluted due to the subjective nature of our perception. Our interpretations are personal and do not always reflect what the “teacher” intended. Much of our learning is both implicit and emotional, bypassing our conscious awareness. Making it more complicated, the learning we receive is pre-filtered and colored by past emotional learning.

When we are confused by our own behavior or when it feels out of sync with our conscious intentions this often reflects that our subconscious mind is at odds with our conscious mind. Our subconscious mind follows the “rules” laid down in our implicit guidebook, rules originally drafted to keep us physically and emotionally safe, rules learned through past emotional experience — rules that might have passed their expiration date. Just as the earth can be equally shaped by intense events such as volcanoes or by slow and steady changes such as erosion, our emotional lives are shaped by the traumatic and the relentless. These experiences live on in the eternal present of our subconscious mind; rule enforcement is always on the ready. These rules are reinforced in their enactment. For example, when the guidebook’s rules prevent us from leaving our comfort zone, we are also prevented from possibly disconfirming our rules. As a result, our anxiety lives on to rule another day. It is in this way, the odd bend in our “trunk” remains a daily part of our lives, even though its origin may be a mystery.

 


John R. Lucy, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice at Decatur Psychology, LLC.

Unconscious Leakage

water_leak

Making sense of the unconscious has been an intriguing and challenging endeavor for centuries. As I discussed in The New Arrival, the capacities for self-consciousness and self-management seem to be facilitated by the “latest and greatest” of the many modules that constitute our brains. These newer modules are found in a number of species at varying levels, including some birds and mammals. They seem to be the most sophisticated in the more complex social species due to the need for social creatures to navigate a challenging interpersonal environment involving both competition and cooperation. The human version allows for reflection on personal mental states, as well as the ability to infer the meaning of other’s mental states.

The television show Lie To Me was inspired by the work of psychologist Paul Ekman, who served as a scientific adviser to the series. Paul Ekman studied non-verbal expressions of emotions and along with Wallace Friesen, E. A. Haggard and K.S. Isaacs discovered what came to be known as “microexpressions.” By filming subjects and slowing things down, they could see these momentary involuntary expressions of emotion (as fast as 1/15th to 1/30th of a second), often highlighted by the subject’s conscious effort to conceal emotion or to present a more “acceptable” emotion. These microexpressions can reveal any of the seven emotions universally expressed by the face, including disgust, anger, fear, happiness, sadness, surprise and contempt.

Microexpressions are part of our nonverbal communication repertoire and are an excellent example of how our unconscious “leaks.” This leakage spoils our ability to fully control our communication and self-presentation. Nonverbal communication has been the only form of communication through most of evolutionary history and is our unconscious mind’s mother tongue. Verbal communication and language, which is facilitated by the newest modules, should actually be considered our second language. All of our communication incorporates nonverbal expression and interpretation, most of which is outside of our conscious control; as a result, our conscious “executive suite” has a very limited ability to fully manage the process. Ekman’s research required technology to see these extremely fast microexpressions, but our built in unconscious technology does it automatically. As you attend to these two languages in your own life, you will likely notice that whenever they seem to be in conflict you will “feel” the truth of what is communicated nonverbally and doubt the verbal content. Our conscious self makes a valiant effort to control these unconscious leaks, but it has limited access to the plumbing.

 


John R. Lucy, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice at Decatur Psychology, LLC.

Implicit Guidebook

Children implicitly absorb language from those around them, but they also absorb culture, beliefs and what it takes to make it in the world. They soak up what helps them get their needs met and prevents them from experiencing pain. They observe others’ experiences and learn vicariously. All of this flows in unconsciously and uncritically. These implicit learnings form the basis of our personality and our subjective perspective, and they write the initial chapters of our “implicit guidebook.” The implicit guidebook is a term I use for our underlying sense of what is right and wrong, how we are to live and our basic construction of how things are. It is our working hypotheses for ourselves and the world. While this sounds cognitive it is really at the essence of our emotional experiences. Because this “book” is implicit, we can’t sit down and read it, show it to others or fully know what has been written on its pages. This guidebook acts as a lens or filter that is as invisible to us as contact lenses can be to the wearer. It both shapes our perception and proves itself true in that shaping.

lens

Yet … the implicit can partially be made explicit. Ironically, understanding that our experience is subjective allows that subjectivity to become an object of our awareness. As we start to notice our inner dialogue, beliefs, rules, assumptions, expectations, etc., we are noticing our guidebook. The challenge is to get just enough space to notice it so we can make it an object of inspection. This happens with dialogue, with meditation, with writing, with contrasting our reality from those close to us and at a distance and in many other unexpected ways. As we engage in this process we may want to pull out our editing tools. We will see much that we want to strike through, many parts to rewrite and some which we will want to highlight or underline.

If only editing was this easy. It is not. This is the mind’s effort to reprogram itself. This is using the minuscule programer that is our conscious self to edit the code within the massive super-computer that is our unconscious. The programer is always vulnerable to being swallowed up by the program before the changes can be saved.

And yet … it can be done.

 


John R. Lucy, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice at Decatur Psychology, LLC.