"Nothing can bring you peace but yourself."—Ralph Waldo Emerson.
When I think back on the year I've had, "peace" is the last word that comes to mind. Perhaps there were more than the usual number of full moons, but for most of the preceding 300 days or so, I've been at war with myself. While most other people have been trying to figure out how to appease warring factions in India, Bosnia, and the Middle East, I've been trying to appease the warring factions within myself. For me, this war is just as important as any other. This sounds profoundly narcissistic, doesn't it? In a way it is. In another way, it isn't. The immense concern for this war is well-founded, considering the way I behave when it rages on. I've noticed how poorly I treat other people, how I see (or even create) conflict in my relationships where there isn't any, and how I want to put on my boxing gloves every time life throws me a curve ball. The war within myself is probably the same war that goes on inside each individual who professes to be putting up arms in the name of his country or some other higher cause.
As I see it, when we are not at peace with ourselves, we can never be at peace with anyone else: whether it be with the person living down the street, or the people living in the country next door. The nature of the war inside ourselves may be different for each of us; indeed, my war may be about a conflict that others wouldn't really see as a conflict and vice versa. But the common denominator is that all these inner wars profoundly affect how we treat other people and can, therefore, eventually lead to bloodshed outside ourselves. John may be torn between two opposing sexualities; Mary may be torn between two ways of understanding her abusive past. But both John and Mary can come to express this conflict (or at least try to resolve it) by taking up arms—symbolic or otherwise—with those around them. Some attention to and honest exploration of our own inner conflicts can go a long way in avoiding this grim reality.
What has been my own self-war? Simply put, the struggle between thinking and feeling. The struggle has been going on my entire life, but this year it was particularly tumultuous because my schoolwork and my personal relationships took new turns. In school, I've been learning about basic listening skills and empathy—about how to "sink into" another person's experience. It has been terribly difficult, because each time I've tried to be in another's shoes, my thoughts, interpretations, and analyses have either distracted me from or distorted the emotional experience. In my personal life, I've experienced my first "love" (or what might look like it) but pretty well doomed it to failure: the object of my affections has been turned off by my background as a psychology student and my seeming inability to just sit down and enjoy life spontaneously without thinking about or reflecting on it.
If thinking and reflection has been causing me this many problems, then how come I haven't just turned off that part of myself and focussed on the emotional part which is so necessary for connecting with others? Surely if I did this, then there wouldn't really be this conflict between thought and emotion. Well, the problem is that my ability to feel (and this ability is quite strong because I'm a very sensitive—if not overly sensitive—person) is just as much a valuable part of me as the "gift" (curse?) I have to think and reflect. Each of these parts of myself has been responsible for making me the person I am today: a caring, empathetic person who wants to guide people in understanding themselves, and an intuitive, reflective, scholarly person who contributes to his field (and to society more broadly) by generating -psychological insights and theories to help people understand others. Both parts of myself have led to accomplishments of which I am very proud and which have affected people in some positive way—no matter how negligible. No wonder, then, that I can't abandon one part of myself in favour of the other. My feeling side is what helps me connect with others; but my thinking, reflective side is what makes me Eddy—the person that people want to connect with emotionally in the first place! Simply put, the war inside myself has been, in essence, a war with myself.
So where has all this left me, as we all approach the holidays and reflect on themes of peace and harmony? Well, the last few weeks have seen a "truce" of sorts inside myself. I've come to understand the purpose, value, and meaning of this conflict—which has helped me realise that it is not altogether a bad thing.
I was listening to Coast to Coast AM the other night and to my delight, George Noory was interviewing Deepak Chopra. I didn't listen to the entire program, but my curiosity was piqued when George asked Dr. Chopra whether he believes in evil. His response was that there are two opposing forces in life: the creative force and the destructive force. In the absence of either of these forces, life ceases to exist. The creative force gives birth to life, but if it is left unchecked, then there is uncontrolled growth (and, eventually death). Therefore, a destructive force is needed to temper the creative force. If, however, the destructive force is left unchecked, then again life will end. Thus, both the creative and destructive force must coexist if there is to be the kind of balance that fosters life. It struck me how this war between creation and destruction—which we see every day in war-torn parts of the world—can actually rage inside ourselves. What struck me more is how this war isn't really a "war" after all. It is, in many ways, a way of keeping people alive.
I considered for a moment. I'm often a very sensitive person. Indeed, some people say that I'm overly sensitive. Sounds strange, doesn't it, considering how I've just spent several paragraphs talking about my intransigent need to think and reflect. But it's true: my entire life I've been deeply attuned to people's every fleeting emotion, to their every heartache, to their every pain. In fact, I've been so attuned to it that I've experienced my own unbearable pain. In "being" with others, I've often experienced a never-ending flood of emotions; it's as if my feelings around another's experience could go on and on, turning into a snowball rolling uncontrollably down a ski hill. In many ways, this kind of sensitivity is a virtue: helping others get in touch with their deepest, darkest feelings and sharing the burden of their pain. In many other ways, however, this kind of sensitivity is destructive: it has exhausted me and detracted from the enjoyment of my own life. Thoughts, reflections, insights, and "theories" have helped to avert this destructive potential. To use Deepak Chopra's words, they've helped curb uncontrollable growth (in this case, growth in my empathy for others). The purpose of my penchant for intellectual reflection has been to keep my emotional resources in check—to keep them manageable. In fact, by keeping them manageable, my intellectual reflections have kept my emotional resources from becoming a burden to others; indeed, nobody feels comfortable sharing their feelings with someone who seems to be experiencing more pain than they themselves!
So it hasn't been all for naught. The "war" has had a purpose. It hasn't just occurred to cause me pain and inconvenience. It has helped set me on the path towards fulfilling a meaningful life—and has, ironically, kept me from ending my existence in a fit of pain and frustration. In realising that the struggle is there to help me achieve a greater good—to create the kind of balance that allows me to care for others, to contribute to the knowledge of the world, and to better society—I have come to value this struggle. This war inside myself has also made me aware of the personal qualities that are going to help me achieve my purpose in life; in this sense, I've come to appreciate my conflicting qualities, not hate them. In many ways, all this echoes what psychologist Fritz Perls observes in clients who are successful in therapy. In the beginning, clients often present with seemingly incommensurable oppositions with themselves. They are often torn between opposing "voices" coming from each of their shoulders: "Yes, follow this path because it's good for you" and "No, don't follow this path because it will hurt or destroy you". As therapy progresses, clients come to realise that there really is no opposition to begin with. Both voices are in the service of the same goal: helping them achieve growth and fulfill their purpose in life. One voice encourages the person to take risks, move forward, and fulfill his/her purpose; the other tries to keep the person safe and alive so that s/he is able to grow and take risks, and, therefore, able to fulfill his/her life's purpose in the first place!
In Life Among the Giants, Leontine Young mentions the "peace of self-honesty". Without honestly looking at all my feelings—as conflicting as they are—I'd continue to see only one side of the story. I would continue deluding myself into thinking my war is bad, meaningless, or grounds for self destruction. In being completely honest with myself, I've been able to appreciate that my conflicting qualities are both virtuous and destructive. And in doing so, I've been able to come to the realisations I've described in this article—realisations without which I'd never have peace with myself. If I were to defensively argue that one or both of my seemingly conflicting qualities were only good or only bad—that my behaviours only benefited people, or only hurt them—I could never have arrived at a peaceful truce.
As I'm writing about the virtues of inner peace, I can't help but think of the sardonic observation that Fran Lebowitz makes in Metropolitan Life: "There is no so such thing as inner peace. There is only nervousness and death. Any attempt to prove otherwise constitutes unacceptable behavior." I think there can be inner peace, so long as you are completely honest with yourself and come to realise that the nervousness which occurs when you are seemingly conflicted—and the temptation to end that conflict through death—are not altogether horrible, pointless, meaningless realities.
Is there really a connection between personal peace and world peace? Is it ludicrous to make such a jump from something so seemingly minor—a conflict that is confined to one's own heart and mind—to conflict that can affect entire nations? Perhaps it is. But perhaps it isn't if we consider the chain of intervening events—a chain which Confucius describes quite eloquently:
When things are investigated, then true knowledge is achieved; when true knowledge is achieved, then the will becomes sincere; when the will is sincere, then the heart is set right (or then the mind sees right); when the heart is set right, then the personal life is cultivated; when the personal life is cultivated, then the family life is regulated; when the family life is regulated, then the national life is orderly; and when the national life is orderly, then there is peace in this world—Liki (Record of Rites).
When I see the chain of events the way Confucius describes them, I come to appreciate that concern for peace inside oneself isn't as selfish a preoccupation as others would have us believe. Cultivation of the personal life must occur before regulation of any other aspect of life. But how can such cultivation possibly occur if we have no inner peace—if we are so deeply frustrated with the conflicts within us that we cannot function or put aside the temptation to just give up and throw our lives away? Indeed, whenever I see one man kill another in the name of anything, I cannot help but wonder: How much peace does this man have within himself? Has he been able to cultivate his personal life? If the war within his own mind and soul were settled (at least partly), how tempted would he still be to raise arms in the name of his country or some higher ideal? Indeed, would he even see any conflict outside himself?
In the last few weeks, I've found that the more peace I have with myself, the less anger, suspiciousness, and jealousy I have towards others. At this point, I don't really know the exact connection between peace and these feelings, but I do know that I don't experience them when I'm feeling hopeless about the seeming "war" inside myself. This holiday season, I hope that people take time to make peace inside themselves—or at least take time to fully and honestly experience the warring factions within themselves. As far-fetched as it may sound, I don't think there's any easier way for each of us to foster world peace.
Copyright © 2003, by Eddy M. Elmer
Permanent URL: http://www.eddyelmer.com/articles/pecmean.htm