Although Bateson learned about cybernetic theory in the course of the
Macy Conferences, his understanding and elaboration of the theory
developed in the context of concrete human situations. Curiously
enough, Bateson chose to explicate the theory in an essay on alcoholism,
"The Cybernetics of 'Self'" (1971), for his research revealed that the
"theology" of Alcoholics Anonymous was virtually identical to cybernetic
epistemology. Before summarizing Batesonian holism in formal terms,
then, let us follow him through one more concrete investigation.4
It may at first seem strange that alcoholism could have anything whatever
to do with epistemology. Yet as I hope is by now clear, philosophy and
epistemology are not topics confined to academic circles. Wittingly or
not, we all have a world view, and the alcoholic is no exception. As
Bateson showed, our world view is, in effect, our "self," our
"character," because it is the result of our deutero-learning. In
the case of alcoholism, he discovered that in the oscillation between
sobriety and intoxication, the alcoholic is actually switching back
and forth between a Cartesian outlook and one that might be termed
"pseudo-holistic." Bateson's point of departure was the attempt to
uncover the dynamics of this oscillation.
With the exception of the efforts of Alcoholics Anonymous, all attempts
to cure a drinking problem are based on the model of conscious
self-control. The alcoholic is told to be strong, to resist temptation,
to be "the master of my fate . . . the captain of my soul" (as William
Ernest Henley wrote in "Invictus"). When sober, he agrees with these
exhortations from his wife, his friends, his employer and others who
supposedly seek to help him. The problem is that such advice represents
pure Cartesianism; it is based on the assumption of a mind/body split. The
mind (conscious awareness)is the "self" that is going to exert control
over a weak and wayward body. But cure by self-control throws the entire
situation into one of symmetrical schismogenesis: the conscious will
is pitted in an all-out war against the rest of the personality. As in
Freudian psychology, the unconscious (or body) is excluded from the self,
and then seen as a collection of (evil) "forces" that the conscious self
must struggle to resist. The alcoholics resolution, "I will fight the
bottle," "I will defeat demon rum," is a type of pride which derives
directly from Cartesian dualism.
Why doesn't this approach work? As Bateson notes, the context of
sobriety changes with achievement. There is a challenge involved in
symmetrical struggle, and after the alcoholic manages to steer clear of
liquor for a while, his motivation drops. Cartesian mind/body dualism,
being schismogenic in nature, requires continual opposition in order
to function, and that is the world view to which the alcoholic is
committed. Not-drinking is no longer a challenge. But how about some
"controlled drinking" (as AA mockingly calls it)? How about "just one
drink"? This is indeed a challenge! And of course, he "falls off the
wagon" and in short order is drunk once again.
What does the alcoholic perceive when drunk? At least in the initial
stages of intoxication, a different personality emerges, and hence a
different epistemology is ostensibly at work. In fact, the alcoholic
switches, temporarily, from Cartesian dualism to what appears to be a
holistic outlook. The mind abandons the attempt to control the body, and
the struggle between them collapses, the result being, Bateson argues,
a more correct state of mind. Getting drunk is a way of escaping from a
set of cultural premises about the mind/body relationship which are in
fact insane, but which society, in the form of husband, wife, friends,
and employers, constantly reinforces. In a state of intoxication,
however, the whole symmetrical contest drops to the ground, and the
feelings that emerge are complementary. As the alcoholic begins to get
drunk, he may feel close to his drinking buddies, to the world around
him, and to his own self, which is no longer treating him in a punitive
fashion. The abandonment of the struggle with himself and with the world
around him comes as a welcome relief. Cartesian dualism exhorted him to
be "above it all," to be above being weak and human. Now, he seems more
a part of the human scene. The psychology of contest ('agon,' in Greek,
from which we get our word "agony") gives way to what appears to be the
psychology of love.
The problem, however, is that this state of "love" is an illusion,
almost as illusory as Cartesian dualism. In reality, the new state of
mind is the pathology of submission. The alcoholic has but two strings
on his guitar: rigidity (the "Invictus" posture) and collapse, or total
vulnerability. He has no other behavior in his repertoire besides
"triumphant" egotism and total capitulation. It was the genius of
the founders of AA to recognize that these choices were two sides of
the same coin, that a third way might be possible.5 This third way
did capture the "truth" of the drunken state, the notion of surrender
which is involved in it; but it was a surrender that conferred on the
individual not maudlin impotence but power. In other words, it rendered
him active in the world; it was not an illusory state, or a short circuit,
but a circuit that was dynamic and continuous.
How did AA manage to do this? Consider the first two steps of its program:
(1) we admitted we were powerless over alcohol -- that our lives had
become unmanageable -- and (2) we came to believe that a Power greater
than ourselves could restore us to sanity. The first step undercuts
Cartesian dualism in a single stroke. That dualism pits "sober" mind
versus "alcoholic" body, implying that demon rum is somehow outside the
personality, outside the body. The "decent," "pure," "noble" conscious
will -- which is "in here" -- is trying to control the "weak," "dirty"
alcoholic body -- which is "out there." Once the alcoholic comes to
an AA meeting and says to the group, "My name is John Doe, and I am
an alcoholic," he places the alcoholism within his self. The total
personality has admitted to being alcoholic. It is no longer a case of
the alcoholism being "out there." Once you surrender, admit that you
are powerless over the bottle, abandon the sloganeering of "Invictus" --
which AA in fact uses as a point of ridicule -- the symmetrical battle
evaporates, without your getting drunk.
AA's second principle provides the basis for an alternative epistemology
that is genuinely holistic. By definition, you can only be in a dependent
relationship to a Higher Power. This admission seems like a surrender,
says Bateson, but in fact it is really a change in epistemology, and
therefore in character orpersonality. This Higher Power -- "God as you
understand Him to be," as AA says -- is of course the unconscious mind,
but is more than this as well. It is also your social reality, the other
members of AA, and the struggle that their lives represent. The individual
ego (conscious will) leaves the field in favor of a more mature form
of self; one that is both intra- and inter-personal. Such a surrender
is not a collapse, but a renewal. For the alcoholic who has finally
"hit bottom," as AA calls it, the first two steps of the AA program in
effect constitute Learning III, and the alcoholic frequently experiences
them as a religious conversion.
What does this analysis have to do with cybernetic theory? The metaphysics
of Western science deals with atoms, with single individuals, and with
causes that are direct, conscious, and empirical. The Cartesian paradigm
would, for example, isolate the alcoholic and attempt to ascertain the
"cause" producing the undesirable "effect." The theory is one of direct
linear influence, based on the model of seventeenth-century impact
physics in which mind is viewed as explicitly conscious and external to
matter. In Descartes' view of things, God is outside it all; He merely
set the whole arrangement in motion. Similarly, the balls on a billiard
table have no inherent mind; mind comes to them in the form of a person
with a cue stick.
In cybernetic theory, on the other hand, the unit to be considered is
the whole system, not this or that individual component. Consider the
ensemble of a steam engine plus its control unit, commonly known as a
"governor." As in the case of a thermostat controlling the temperature
of a house, the governor is set in terms of an ideal -- in this case
the optimal running speed of the engine. Should the actual speed fall
much below the ideal, the armature slows down until the fuel supply is
triggered, bringing the speed up to "normal." Conversely, if the engine
starts moving too fast, the swinging armature triggers the brake, and the
system is once again brought into line. But what influences the governor,
or self-corrective feedback mechanism, is not some Cartesian impact,
some billlard ball or concrete entity, but only information. And a
"bit" of information, also known as an "idea," Bateson defines as
"a difference which makes a difference." In other words, the engine,
governor, fuel supply, brake, locomotive, and other components form a
complex causal circuit. A change, or difference, in the operation of any
single component is felt throughout the system, and the system reacts
with something that might be termed awareness, if not consciousness. In
this sense, it is alive. It possesses mental characteristics, and can be
regarded as a mind (Mind) of some sort. We assert, writes Bateson, "that
any
ongoing ensemble of events and objects which has the appropriate
complexity of causal circuits and the appropriate energy relations
will surely show mental characteristics." In other words, it will make
comparisons (be responsive to differences), process information, be
self-corrective towards certain optima, and so on. Furthermore, adds
Bateson, "no part of such an internally interactive system can have
unilateral control over the remainder or over any other part. The mental
characteristics are inherent or immanent in the ensemble as a
whole
."
Now a mental system, a Mind, can exhibit one of three possible types
of behavior: self-correction (also called steady state), oscillation,
or runaway. Here is the link between schismogenesis and cybernetic
theory.
A schismogenic situation is one without a governor; the system
is constantly slipping into runaway.
In a self-corrective system, the
results of past actions are fed back into the system, and this new bit
of information then travels around the circuit, enabling the system to
maintain something near to its ideal, or optimal state. A runaway system,
on the other hand, becomes increasingly distorted over time, because the
feedback is positive, rather than negative or self-corrective. Addiction
is the perfect example of a runaway system. The heroin addict needs an
increasingly larger fix; the sugar addict finds that the more pastry
he eats, the more pastry he wants; the imperialist power starts out
seeking particular foreign markets, and eventually winds up trying to
police the globe.
Although the ethical implications of these alternatives will be discussed
later, it might be appropriate to point out an obvious corollary of this
cybernelic analysis. Given the fact that schismogenesis is so pervasive
a phenomenon in Western culture, we are forced to conclude that the
institutions and individuals of that culture are in various degrees of
runaway. Addiction, in one form or another, characterizes every aspect of
industrial society, down to the lives of individual members. Dependence
on alcohol (food, drugs, tobacco . . .) is not formally different from
dependence on prestige, career achievement, world influence, wealth, the
need to build more ingenious bombs, or the need to exercise conscious
control over everything. Any system that maximizes certain variables,
violating the natural steady-state conditions that would
optimize
these variables, is by definition in runaway, and ultimately, it has
no more chance of survival than an alcoholic or a steam engine without
a governor. Unless such a system abandons its epistemology, it will
hit bottom or burn out -- a realization that is now dawning on many
individuals in Western society. There is no escaping self-corrective
feedback, even if it takes the form of the total disintegration of the
entire culture. A mental system cannot remain in permanent runaway, cannot
maximize variables and also retain the characteristics of Mind. It
loses
its Mind; it dies. On the individual level, we experience
cirrhosis,
heart attack, cancer, schizophrenia, and what has to be called living
death. The ethics of the system are implicit in its epistemology.
The example of alcoholism enables us to understand the status of the
"self," or conventional "mind" (Cartesian ego), in cybernetic theory. As
we have noted, Bateson claims that the mental characteristics of a
cybernetic system are immanent not in some particular part, but in
the system as a whole.
The conscious mind, or "self," is an arc in a
larger circuit
, and the behavior of any organism will not have the
same limits as the self. Alcoholic "pride," or determined sobriety,
is the attempt to maximize the variable called conscious mind, to have
this little arc somehow get control over the entire circuit. Such pride
is the foolishness of "Invictus," at least as applied to addiction,
for there is more to a steam engine than its governor. Being drunk,
or in a state of collapse, is a shortcut to complementarity, and a
short-term solution. The wisdom of AA is to switch the system from
runaway to self-correction by introducing complementary elements into
a symmetrical situation, and introducing them in such a way that the
resulting recognition of circuitry becomes self-sustaining.