Believing & Belonging
There is a moment in time in each of our lives when our oneness is realized. For most, it arrives in our late teens or early twenties. It is that moment when you realize that no one knows where you are or what you are doing; not your parents, or teachers, or siblings, or anyone. You are not just alone; you are on your own—at least in that moment. We spend our young life being with, and trying to be like, others. Then, it is as if a new sun has risen that reveals something we have never seen before. It is our whole self, mind and body and spirit as one unique offering—as a fully differentiated being. A self that is just us.
For many, it is a moment of awe when freedom seems real and present rather than being an abstract idea that the adults in our lives revered in a manner we couldn’t grasp. For others, it can be uncomfortable, disturbing, maybe even terrifying. Our response to this realization—feeling liberation or fear—defines a fork in the road that sets the course for our lives. Our subsequent success/failure, fulfillment/discontent, stability/instability depend to a great extent on how we feel being alone: liberated or terrified. As the French intellectual, Blaise Pascal, argued, our ability to “sit in a room alone” is critical to the well-being of humanity writ large. In our youth, we seldom have this opportunity. As we age, being alone with a self we must love above all others is fundamental to our flourishing. This is not selfish, it is self-ful.
If our parents have instilled us with a sense of self-worth, we usually embrace this moment with quiet jubilation. We are ready to launch our lives as a whole human being—to paint the world with our choice of colors. To try, to fail, and to try again. Before this moment of realization, our ego has been only lightly crafted, but now it becomes our raison d’être that will occupy our efforts for years to come. While we may strive to be like others as we did in our youth, we only do so to augment our self with particular attractive or fashionable aspects of others. Our specialness, assured by nature, is as unique as the prints at the tips of our fingers. If we have not had our self-worth ticket punched in these early years, our destiny will be fraught with the pain of self-doubt resulting in a fragility of ego that becomes a trap of cyclic self-destruction and suffering; inevitably also visited upon those we purport to love.
This self, this ego, enables us to both belong to groups with whom we share traits as well as provide us with points of differentiation that make us special. It becomes our identity that shapes how we interact with the world. It offers others handholds to grasp when describing us and placing us in their own particular taxonomy of humanity. Beyond our bodies and appearance, the more interesting thing is how our mind develops as a tool to process the world before us. How we accumulate knowledge and subscribe to beliefs together creates a box of filters through which we consider the hundreds of decisions—both substantive and insignificant—we make each day. Through research I conducted on presidential decision making in foreign policy, I developed what I termed the “cognetic system” that explores this box of filters through the developmental channels of socialization, indoctrination, education, and experience; the first two illustrate the origins of beliefs, and the second two the origins of knowledge. The cognetic system attempts to illustrate how our curated identity affects our decision making.
Today, there is new and fascinating scholarship on how ideas as elements of our ideologies guide our lives. The brilliant young neuroscientist, Leor Zmigrod, of Cambridge, Stanford, and Harvard has placed her scope on the realm of belief systems—ideologies—in her study The Ideological Brain: the Radical Science of Flexible Thinking that brings “together neuroscience and politics and philosophy to challenge our understanding of what it means to exist as human beings” in a world that seems more rife than ever with conflicts based in trenchant beliefs that often defy any semblance of reality. She attempts to pick up where George Orwell left us when he observed that “political language … is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give the appearance of solidity to pure wind.”
Zmigrod’s quest is to observe belief structures as they permeate our bodies at the neurological level. A brain engaged in rigid, dogmatic, habitual thinking shows a “pattern of neurons firing … [that] is different from the pattern of neural activity when we are making a deliberate goal-oriented action” that considers multiple perspectives and options. And while her findings are at times disturbing, she shines a bright light on a new understanding of how apparently reasonable but rigid people can become so profoundly unreasonable, and how the appeal of simplicity and certainty are both comforting and dangerous. She makes the case for plasticity-of-mind that for centuries supported the liberalism and pluralism that made Western Civilization flourish, and is now in grave danger from the ideological zealots at both ends of the political spectrum. As Zmigrod found, the most cognitively flexible people are “nonpartisans who lean left” while the “extreme left and extreme right are ultimately similar in their intolerance and rigidity.”
While I laud her contribution, I also fear her work and the work of so many other scientists, which we need now more than ever, will undoubtedly face the wrath of Trump’s vitriol for people smarter than he, or be the target of Elon Musk’s chainsaw of destruction. Sidelining and/or banishing our best and brightest is a dumb way to secure our future, but that is exactly what Trump and Musk are doing. As my good friend, Roger Cohen, and his colleague, Catherine Porter, reported recently from Paris in the New York Times, the European Union just announced more than half-a-billion dollars will be invested to “make Europe a magnet for researchers” from the United States due to what the European Commission’s president, Ursula von der Leyen, called a “gigantic miscalculation.”
We might find hope, however, in the one notable weakness in Trump’s MAGA world that suggests his tenure as America’s president and commander of chaos and cruelty may end sooner rather than later: Trump has no coherent ideology to affect a durable bond with his followers.
The value of ideologies to authoritarian leaders and regimes is to provide people a handhold on a set of beliefs that allow them a sense of belonging to an in-group that will (hopefully) fortify and sustain their welfare. The most successful totalitarian regimes throughout history, including Hitler’s Germany and Stalin’s Russia, possessed an organizing premise that justified their actions regardless of norms, laws, and even morality. As Zmigrod points out, “Nazi totalitarianism emerged from a fixation on life as a fight between races, and Stalinist totalitarianism was built on life as a fight between economic classes.” Our own wannabe fascist, Donald Trump, has, as his Achilles heel of vulnerability, no clear organizing principle to affect a secure attachment of people to his MAGA brigade. Red hats and a leader whose fundamental principle is serving himself is a malevolent cult, not a durable regime. Once the benefits of subscribing to his many promises and claims ring hollow to those who, like him, are loyal only to their expected rewards, his fall from political power may be sudden and swift. Cults always appear invincible until they suddenly collapse, with or without a final gulp of Kool-Aid.
Humans must be able to make decisions to conduct their lives and also to reconcile dissonance to keep themselves mentally and emotionally stable. Belief systems enable both. Whether my “cognetic system” or Zmigrod’s political neuroscience, or the many philosophers throughout human history who have wrestled with the role of ideas and beliefs on our lives, we must recognize this: we should take great care in what we allow to populate our systems of thought. They are, after all, the backbone of our personal operating systems that allow us the enjoyment of the oneness we discovered in our late teens and its inherent sense of freedom.
Regardless of the carefully curated egos and belief systems we serve and employ, above all else we should take care to express certainty judiciously, perhaps even infrequently. Certitude, especially when dispatched with righteousness, is a danger to both ourselves and others. Like simplicity, certainty shares the structural nature of narrowing rather than broadening the mind; both attractive, yet too often, limiting. As Zmigrod found, “Rituals performed in the service of an ideology are viewed as righteous regardless of how hurtful or ridiculous they may be.” Indeed, “the more passionately we repeat a ritual, the more radical we become.” Religion has understood this since the beginning of faith-based belief, and politics has adopted this practice in the contemporary era.
Curiosity—even doubt—should therefore be practiced with much greater energy than certitude. Curiosity opens us while certitude closes off alternatives that may prove much more effective and meaningful. As humans, we fail our way to success. We must widen the aperture of consciousness to serve the best interests of ourselves, our communities, and the many organizations and institutions upon which we rely to achieve our well-being.
We should subscribe to the credo that every person we meet knows something we do not know, and can do something better than we can do it. With deference to our founders, all men are not created equal, notwithstanding the aim of being treated as having equal rights under the law. Each of us has something someone else can benefit from; it is our inequality—our differences— that provides the strongest argument for both diversity and unity. Wisdom, therefore, finds its best host in those who find value, rather than disdain, in people unlike themselves. Wisdom thrives in love and dies in hatred.