But prescriptions aren't the only wellsprings of action. Living beings are active even when they're not telling themselves what to do. A mosquito is unlikely to be wending its way through the world by means of prescriptions ("And now to suck his blood!"); yet it manages to sustain a fairly energetic lifestyle. And we humans too are always scratching, stretching, sniffing, and shifting about without telling ourselves to do so. The non-prescriptive sources of action, whatever they are, may simply be called impulse. impulse. Our activity, then, is either Our activity, then, is either impulsive impulsive or or prescriptive prescriptive, depending on which of the following patterns it adheres to: Impulsive: impulse- action ( action (- descriptive thought) descriptive thought) Prescriptive: (impulse- ) prescriptive thought ) prescriptive thought- action action The parenthetical terms in each case refer to optional events. Scratching on impulse, we may also note descriptively that we are scratching; but our activity doesn't require such a notation. And a prescribed movement may also be preceded by a redundant impulse to do the same thing, as when we happen to be hungry on our lunch hour.

These modes of action correspond to what an antiquated philosophical tradition once called our "lower" and our "higher" natures, respectively. Our two natures were conceived to be in a state of perpetual conflict, and mental health was defined as the absolute and permanent victory of prescription over impulse. Although antiquated, this view is by no means extinct.

Not surprisingly, some things are best done by prescription and some by impulse. Each mode of action has its own province. For example, projects that require the coordinated efforts of several people usually have to be approached prescriptively. If you and I are to carry a large sofa down the stairs, we must establish and adhere to certain ground rules. I can't let go of my end simply because I have an impulse to rest. On the other hand, when we're on vacation and free of any scheduled obligations, it would be foolish to continue to eat lunch precisely at noon regardless of whether we're hungry. Here the rule of impulse makes our life more pleasant without bringing any disadvantages in its wake. and I are to carry a large sofa down the stairs, we must establish and adhere to certain ground rules. I can't let go of my end simply because I have an impulse to rest. On the other hand, when we're on vacation and free of any scheduled obligations, it would be foolish to continue to eat lunch precisely at noon regardless of whether we're hungry. Here the rule of impulse makes our life more pleasant without bringing any disadvantages in its wake.

We fall into the trap of regulation when we prescribe our behavior in a situation where impulse would be a better guide. We regulate when we eat simply because it's lunchtime, go to bed because it's bedtime, or decide ahead of time how we will greet intimate friends who would no longer be surprised at anything we might blurt out. To be sure, we may also commit the opposite error of acting impulsively when we should be following a prescription. We don't want our surgeon or our airline pilot to be guided by the whim of the moment. We want these people to have a plan. plan. But overimpulsiveness is not a mental trap. By definition, mental traps are injurious habits of thought. Overimpulsiveness, however, is an insufficiency of thought. Like bankruptcy or breaking a leg, it's a misfortune of another order. But overimpulsiveness is not a mental trap. By definition, mental traps are injurious habits of thought. Overimpulsiveness, however, is an insufficiency of thought. Like bankruptcy or breaking a leg, it's a misfortune of another order.

Prescribing our behavior is a trap even when prescription is as good a guide as impulse. That is to say, impulse wins if it's a tie. There are two reasons for this. The first is that prescribing is a species of work work-it's something that happens only if we do do it. Impulse, however, arises by itself, without requiring any effort on our part. If both modes of functioning are equally effective, we might as well relax and let impulse do it. The same can be said of the far more frequent situation wherein we it. Impulse, however, arises by itself, without requiring any effort on our part. If both modes of functioning are equally effective, we might as well relax and let impulse do it. The same can be said of the far more frequent situation wherein we can't tell can't tell whether a prescriptive or an impulsive approach would be more desirable. whether a prescriptive or an impulsive approach would be more desirable.

The second reason that impulse wins ties is particularly important. In the course of discussing the previous nine traps, I've had several occasions to refer to the phenomenon of mental inertia. mental inertia. This is the tendency of agents to continue with what was begun, just because it was begun. It's clear that the inertial tendency is a major cause of falling into mental traps. It propels us into persistence by causing us to keep working after the value of the goal is lost; it makes us fixate by causing us to keep working when there's nothing to be done; it lands us in resistance by causing us to keep working toward an old goal when it's time to do something new; and so on. This is the tendency of agents to continue with what was begun, just because it was begun. It's clear that the inertial tendency is a major cause of falling into mental traps. It propels us into persistence by causing us to keep working after the value of the goal is lost; it makes us fixate by causing us to keep working when there's nothing to be done; it lands us in resistance by causing us to keep working toward an old goal when it's time to do something new; and so on. The inertia to complete project X is produced when we adopt the The inertia to complete project X is produced when we adopt the intention intention to do X-equivalently, when we to do X-equivalently, when we prescribe prescribe X for ourselves. X for ourselves. Impulse Impulse, on the other hand, is inertialess. If we adopt the project of whistling "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," we will experience at least a little bit of difficulty in stopping in midstream (as it were). But there's no difficulty in stopping if we start to whistle the same tune impulsively, without telling telling ourselves to do it. This is a reason to prefer impulsivity to prescription, all other things being equal. ourselves to do it. This is a reason to prefer impulsivity to prescription, all other things being equal. By acting on impulse, we avoid the inertia that can so easily precipitate us into mental traps. By acting on impulse, we avoid the inertia that can so easily precipitate us into mental traps.

Some ways of regulating our behavior are subtler than others. The most uncouth is simply to ignore the impulse ignore the impulse and follow a prescription when impulse is the better guide. Our previous examples of regulation, such as eating lunch simply because it's noon, all belong to this category. Some of us are so entirely ruled by prescription that we seem no longer to be aware that impulses exist. We shave every day (or refrain from shaving), wear a belt (or suspenders), drink coffee (or tea), and watch the news (or the soap operas) without even asking ourselves whether these and follow a prescription when impulse is the better guide. Our previous examples of regulation, such as eating lunch simply because it's noon, all belong to this category. Some of us are so entirely ruled by prescription that we seem no longer to be aware that impulses exist. We shave every day (or refrain from shaving), wear a belt (or suspenders), drink coffee (or tea), and watch the news (or the soap operas) without even asking ourselves whether these routines are in accord with our current impulses. We've decreed that we shall be shaven and belted, and no amount of discomfort, distaste, or inconvenience can change the law. routines are in accord with our current impulses. We've decreed that we shall be shaven and belted, and no amount of discomfort, distaste, or inconvenience can change the law.

When we rediscover the realm of spontaneous, undictated impulse, we naturally begin to work at loosening the stranglehold of universal prescription. But early attempts to regain our spontaneity invariably miscarry in curious ways. Instead of simply permitting ourselves to be guided by impulse, we inst.i.tute prescriptions of an ever subtler order. Having ceased to ignore the impulse, we pa.s.s through a phase of regulating the impulse- regulating the impulse- that is, of finding laws that describe our impulsive behavior, and then turning these descriptive laws into new prescriptions. After years of eating dinner in an arbitrarily prescribed fashion, we discover that we enjoy the salad more when it comes that is, of finding laws that describe our impulsive behavior, and then turning these descriptive laws into new prescriptions. After years of eating dinner in an arbitrarily prescribed fashion, we discover that we enjoy the salad more when it comes after after the main course. So we change over to a new prescription that ostensibly takes our true impulses into account: "Salads after entrees!" the main course. So we change over to a new prescription that ostensibly takes our true impulses into account: "Salads after entrees!"

In this type of regulation, impulse is no longer totally ignored; but it still isn't permitted to govern actions belonging to its rightful sphere. Instead of directly following our inclinations, we consult a prescriptive rule that's supposedly "true" to these inclinations. But no function is served by making a rule out of what happens naturally. If it's true that we always enjoy salads more after the main course, impulse alone will cause us to eat them at the right time. Regulating the impulse is like vowing to continue to breathe. At the very least, it's a redundant procedure, a waste of effort. inclinations. But no function is served by making a rule out of what happens naturally. If it's true that we always enjoy salads more after the main course, impulse alone will cause us to eat them at the right time. Regulating the impulse is like vowing to continue to breathe. At the very least, it's a redundant procedure, a waste of effort.

At the worst, regulating the impulse may lead us as far astray as totally ignoring the impulse. For our inclinations aren't always so predictable as the desire to breathe. After preferring to eat our salad after the entree for a number of years, we may find our tastes have changed. But if we're in the habit of consulting the regulations instead of letting impulse rule, we may not notice the change for a long time. Yet because the regulations were originally based on observed patterns of impulsivity, we continue to believe that we're acting "on impulse." In this condition we're even more befuddled than when the impulse was ignored right from the start, for then at least we entertained no such illusions.

Many of us are unable to discriminate between the regulation of impulse and impulsive action itself. We think that we're doing what comes naturally when in fact we are first noting what comes naturally and then putting it in the form of a rule for better living. We decide that we like company more than solitude, city life more than country life, bright colors more than subdued colors-and then we rigidly adhere to these regulations in the name of pleasing ourselves. If we really did please ourselves, our behavior would change as soon as our inclinations changed. But the regulations based on our inclinations inevitably lag behind. We're still surrounding ourselves with bright colors and crowds of people in the city long after these things only give us a headache. This is how the regulation of impulse leads to the trap of persistence. form of a rule for better living. We decide that we like company more than solitude, city life more than country life, bright colors more than subdued colors-and then we rigidly adhere to these regulations in the name of pleasing ourselves. If we really did please ourselves, our behavior would change as soon as our inclinations changed. But the regulations based on our inclinations inevitably lag behind. We're still surrounding ourselves with bright colors and crowds of people in the city long after these things only give us a headache. This is how the regulation of impulse leads to the trap of persistence.

After we've seen through the trap of regulating our impulses, we may yet fall into any of three increasingly devious modes of regulation- reflecting the impulse, reading the impulse reflecting the impulse, reading the impulse, and null regulation. null regulation. Each of these is a type of prescription that masquerades as impulse. Each of these is a type of prescription that masquerades as impulse.

In reflecting the impulse reflecting the impulse, we give up trying to second-guess the twists and turns that will be taken by our impulsive life. We do not vow to eat our salad either after the main course or before. Instead, we vow that we will do it whenever we wish. We make it into a regulation that we will follow our impulses in this matter. We tell ourselves that we will eat when we are hungry, rest when we are tired, and so on. Now regulations of this type do keep our behavior more or less in line with our impulses. But they're still a waste of time. When impulse rules, there's no need for any conscious intervention whatsoever. Behavior follows impulse of its own accord. If only we remain inwardly silent, we follow our impulses in this matter. We tell ourselves that we will eat when we are hungry, rest when we are tired, and so on. Now regulations of this type do keep our behavior more or less in line with our impulses. But they're still a waste of time. When impulse rules, there's no need for any conscious intervention whatsoever. Behavior follows impulse of its own accord. If only we remain inwardly silent, we will will eat when we're hungry and rest when we're tired. By reflecting the impulse, we depart from the pattern for straightforwardly impulsive action: eat when we're hungry and rest when we're tired. By reflecting the impulse, we depart from the pattern for straightforwardly impulsive action: (impulse to do X)- (do X) (do X) and subst.i.tute for it a baroque variety of prescriptive activity: (impulse to do X)- (prescription: "when the impulse to do X is felt, do X") (prescription: "when the impulse to do X is felt, do X")- (do X) (do X) Instead of feeling hungry and then eating, we feel hungry, consult the prescription that we should eat when we are hungry, and conclude conclude that we should eat. Clearly, this is an entirely useless procedure. Its only effect is to disrupt that we should eat. Clearly, this is an entirely useless procedure. Its only effect is to disrupt the spontaneous flow of impulsivity. We still eat when we're hungry, but our actions are "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." Instead of acting like this: the spontaneous flow of impulsivity. We still eat when we're hungry, but our actions are "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." Instead of acting like this: our behavior looks and feels like this: Our actions are only approximations approximations of impulsivity. of impulsivity.

The trap of reading the impulse reading the impulse is another step closer to true spontaneity. Here we no longer interpolate a redundant universal rule between impulse and action. But neither are we yet content to be guided directly by impulse. We deem it necessary at least to translate the impulse into a single prescriptive thought. Instead of: is another step closer to true spontaneity. Here we no longer interpolate a redundant universal rule between impulse and action. But neither are we yet content to be guided directly by impulse. We deem it necessary at least to translate the impulse into a single prescriptive thought. Instead of: (impulse to do X)- (do X) (do X) we have: (impulse to do X)- (prescription: "do X!") (prescription: "do X!")- (do X) (do X) Instead of simply eating when we are hungry, we note our hunger and tell ourselves to eat.

Reading the impulse is an advance over reflecting the impulse, in that a certain amount of useless mental work has been thinned out. We no longer pretend to be following a general law. But we still insist on telling ourselves what to do when we would do the same thing spontaneously. We are like an inept corporate executive who, fearful of losing his grip, insists that all directives be funneled through his office, if only for a rubber stamping. Impulse speaks to us in the language of feelings, and we echo it inanely on the level of prescriptive thought: "Eat ... drink ... go to sleep ... relax ... have fun ... have an o.r.g.a.s.m ... smile ..."

The last refinement of regulation is the trap of null regulation. null regulation. Having perceived the useless-ness of even reading the impulse, we vow henceforth to let impulse rule in its proper domain without imposing any intermediate prescriptions whatever. And then when impulse makes itself felt, we invoke the prescription that permits it to rule. We feel hungry or tired, tell ourselves not to prescribe in such a situation, and then eat or rest. We tell ourselves to be spontaneous. We resolve Having perceived the useless-ness of even reading the impulse, we vow henceforth to let impulse rule in its proper domain without imposing any intermediate prescriptions whatever. And then when impulse makes itself felt, we invoke the prescription that permits it to rule. We feel hungry or tired, tell ourselves not to prescribe in such a situation, and then eat or rest. We tell ourselves to be spontaneous. We resolve to go with the flow. In effect, we prescribe that we shall not be prescriptive. Of course this directive can never be fulfilled, because it's self-contradictory. We can no more command spontaneity of ourselves than slaves can be set free by an act of their masters. Slaves must free themselves, and spontaneity can be allowed to emerge only by itself. Instead of achieving genuine impulsivity of this form: to go with the flow. In effect, we prescribe that we shall not be prescriptive. Of course this directive can never be fulfilled, because it's self-contradictory. We can no more command spontaneity of ourselves than slaves can be set free by an act of their masters. Slaves must free themselves, and spontaneity can be allowed to emerge only by itself. Instead of achieving genuine impulsivity of this form: (impulse to do X)- (do X) (do X) we fall prey to yet another redundant prescription: (impulse to do X)(prescription: "let impulse rule!")- (do X) (do X) Null regulation is prescriptive action in its most exquisite disguise. At no point do we actually tell ourselves what to do, as in the previous varieties of regulation. We simply tell ourselves to follow our impulses. But if we must tell tell ourselves to follow them, the final authority for what we do is still prescriptive. We've likened the trap of ourselves to follow them, the final authority for what we do is still prescriptive. We've likened the trap of reading reading the impulse to an executive's having to approve every decision made by his subordinates. the impulse to an executive's having to approve every decision made by his subordinates. In null regulation, the executive only pretends to give his subordinates a greater measure of independence. He no longer explicitly approves or disapproves of their decisions. Instead, he looks at each decision in turn and indicates whether they shall have the freedom to decide in this particular case. The net result is the same as before. Granting freedom of choice on a case-by-case basis In null regulation, the executive only pretends to give his subordinates a greater measure of independence. He no longer explicitly approves or disapproves of their decisions. Instead, he looks at each decision in turn and indicates whether they shall have the freedom to decide in this particular case. The net result is the same as before. Granting freedom of choice on a case-by-case basis after after the decision has been made is equivalent to approving or disapproving. It's only a trick. the decision has been made is equivalent to approving or disapproving. It's only a trick.

At this stage in our struggle against regulation, we're apt to say things like "The only rule is that there are no rules." Like the skeptic who is certain that nothing can be known for sure, we're oblivious to the untenability of our position.

What causes us to resort to c.u.mbersome prescriptions when effortless impulsivity would suffice? There can be only one motive. We have lost all confidence in impulsivity as a guide for action. Some of us are no longer aware that impulses are even capable capable of guiding action, whether for good or ill. We think that as soon as we cease to tell ourselves what to do, we will stop dead in our tracks, having no basis upon which to choose one action over another. We make our way through of guiding action, whether for good or ill. We think that as soon as we cease to tell ourselves what to do, we will stop dead in our tracks, having no basis upon which to choose one action over another. We make our way through the world by perpetually kicking our own behinds, first to the left and then to the right. the world by perpetually kicking our own behinds, first to the left and then to the right.

And after we recognize both the existence and the legitimacy of certain cla.s.ses of impulse, we still insist on pa.s.sing each individual case to our prescriptive apparatus for final approval. We're afraid that raw impulse, unchecked by prescription, will make our actions chaotic, absurd, or downright dangerous. If we don't tell ourselves what to do at every moment, we may wander away from home, forget to urinate, or stick a thumb in our eye. This view is utterly refuted by the ordered existence of the non-prescribing "lower" animals, not to mention trees and plants. To be sure, rabbits and daffodils can't build rockets to the moon or hold committee meetings. But we're not always busy with rockets and committees ourselves.

Formulation

-ormulation is the trap of indiscriminately saying or thinking something just because it seems to be true. We're not content to marvel at a spectacular sunset. We also have to is the trap of indiscriminately saying or thinking something just because it seems to be true. We're not content to marvel at a spectacular sunset. We also have to note note that it's a Marvelous Sunset, if only to ourselves. We say "Oooh" and "Aaah" and "Isn't it a Marvelous Sunset"? and "Aren't we Having a Good Time?" If a news reporter or a myopic friend had asked us to comment on the quality of the sunset, a brief description would be nothing more than benevolence. But what, exactly, is the point of describing these things to that it's a Marvelous Sunset, if only to ourselves. We say "Oooh" and "Aaah" and "Isn't it a Marvelous Sunset"? and "Aren't we Having a Good Time?" If a news reporter or a myopic friend had asked us to comment on the quality of the sunset, a brief description would be nothing more than benevolence. But what, exactly, is the point of describing these things to ourselves? ourselves?

Concept-making and describing are powerful tools. Without them, we would derive very little benefit from the experience of others. One after another, we would nibble at the same deadly fungus and fall into the same ravine. We would have no help in discovering the orderliness of the seasons, the movements of the sun and the moon, and the stages of human life. In sum, we would be indistinguishable from any other large land mammal. Nevertheless, there are also disadvantages to saying what a thing is. We fall into the trap of formulation when we bring these disadvantages upon ourselves without compensation. saying what a thing is. We fall into the trap of formulation when we bring these disadvantages upon ourselves without compensation.

The most obvious disadvantage of formulation is that it leads to division. division. Every time we describe or evaluate an experience before it's over, we are doing two things at once. On the one hand, we're watching a sunset; on the other hand, we're talking or thinking about it. We've already seen how division destroys pleasure. We can't really watch a sunset and evaluate it at the same time, for the activity of evaluating takes our attention away from the sensual experience. The moment we say "Isn't it Marvelous?" we're no longer marveling. Every time we describe or evaluate an experience before it's over, we are doing two things at once. On the one hand, we're watching a sunset; on the other hand, we're talking or thinking about it. We've already seen how division destroys pleasure. We can't really watch a sunset and evaluate it at the same time, for the activity of evaluating takes our attention away from the sensual experience. The moment we say "Isn't it Marvelous?" we're no longer marveling.

Our experience is even more drastically curtailed if we fall prey to public formulation public formulation, wherein we strive to write it all down or tell it to a friend before we forget. In this trap, we act as though experiences counted for nothing until they entered the public domain. A beautiful sunset or an entertaining thought becomes a burden to be unloaded as quickly as possible. We rush away from pleasure immediately upon perceiving it, so that we may communicate it to the world. Good news oppresses us until we lay hold of pen and paper or a receptive ear. We "can't wait" to tell.

Photography introduces a new dimension to the art of public formulation. There are people who curse their fate for coming upon an interesting sight when they've left their camera at home. They would rather have nothing. nothing. With the advent of home video equipment, we will soon be recording every moment of the day in three dimensions and stereophonic sound. And we'll spend the next day watching the playback, and the day after that watching ourselves watch the playback ... With the advent of home video equipment, we will soon be recording every moment of the day in three dimensions and stereophonic sound. And we'll spend the next day watching the playback, and the day after that watching ourselves watch the playback ...

The public formulator supposes that experiences don't count unless they make an impression beyond the confines of his own mind. Those of us who are free of this delusion may yet labor under the equally groundless a.s.sumption that experiences don't count unless we formulate them inwardly. inwardly. We remember Socrates' advice: the unexamined life is not worth living. We think that if we don't We remember Socrates' advice: the unexamined life is not worth living. We think that if we don't note to ourselves note to ourselves that we're having a valuable experience, we might as well not have it at all. This causes us to engage in that we're having a valuable experience, we might as well not have it at all. This causes us to engage in private formulation. private formulation.

But Socrates was the princ.i.p.al architect of a disastrous confusion between thinking thinking and and consciousness consciousness that has ever since bedeviled Western culture. As we demonstrated in the first chapter, thinking and consciousness are entirely that has ever since bedeviled Western culture. As we demonstrated in the first chapter, thinking and consciousness are entirely different mental processes. We often think unconsciously, and we may be fully conscious without entertaining a single idea. Now it's true that we have to be different mental processes. We often think unconsciously, and we may be fully conscious without entertaining a single idea. Now it's true that we have to be conscious conscious of our experience in order to enjoy it. We can't marvel at a sunset that pa.s.ses unnoticed. But it isn't necessary to of our experience in order to enjoy it. We can't marvel at a sunset that pa.s.ses unnoticed. But it isn't necessary to think think about the experience, or to speak its name. On the contrary, the never-ending litany of formulas that usually accompany experiencing-"Good food! Yum-yum! This is terrific!"-serve only to diminish pleasure by dividing our attention. about the experience, or to speak its name. On the contrary, the never-ending litany of formulas that usually accompany experiencing-"Good food! Yum-yum! This is terrific!"-serve only to diminish pleasure by dividing our attention.

Certain of life's experiences are not merely diminished by formulation. Their very existence depends on our refraining from speaking their name, even in the privacy of our own mind. They are regions of the Universe that remain forever closed to the formulator. For example, the enjoyment of humor requires us to suspend our formulative tendencies. We can't simultaneously experience experience funniness and describe what makes it funny. The explanation of a joke doesn't get laughs. If we insist on saying what everything is, we will always be grim. funniness and describe what makes it funny. The explanation of a joke doesn't get laughs. If we insist on saying what everything is, we will always be grim.

A textbook-perfect example of an experience killed by the slightest brush with formulation is the aesthetic appreciation of mystery. Connoisseurs of this experience are rare nowadays. We move so quickly to fit every situation into our conceptual scheme that we no longer know the pleasures of bafflement and speechless wonder. We see mystery only as a problem to be alleviated by "further research." We await the day when science takes the mystery "out of" acupuncture, hypnosis, or flying saucers, supposing this to be an unalloyed good. But the tailoring of conceptual schemes to fit phenomena (or vice versa) is only one of the games in town. To be sure, it's a game that has enjoyed a great deal of prestige in the last few hundred years. The pursuit of intellectual knowledge has the lofty status that was once reserved for the service of G.o.d. But knowledge, like every other commodity, has its costs, and it's an unwise shopper who pays more than a thing is worth. We wouldn't willingly lose our eyesight for the knowledge of what our neighbors ate for breakfast this morning. And laundering the Universe clean of mystery is very much like going blind. For mystery isn't just an absence of knowledge-it's an experience in its own right, palpable as an itch. of this experience are rare nowadays. We move so quickly to fit every situation into our conceptual scheme that we no longer know the pleasures of bafflement and speechless wonder. We see mystery only as a problem to be alleviated by "further research." We await the day when science takes the mystery "out of" acupuncture, hypnosis, or flying saucers, supposing this to be an unalloyed good. But the tailoring of conceptual schemes to fit phenomena (or vice versa) is only one of the games in town. To be sure, it's a game that has enjoyed a great deal of prestige in the last few hundred years. The pursuit of intellectual knowledge has the lofty status that was once reserved for the service of G.o.d. But knowledge, like every other commodity, has its costs, and it's an unwise shopper who pays more than a thing is worth. We wouldn't willingly lose our eyesight for the knowledge of what our neighbors ate for breakfast this morning. And laundering the Universe clean of mystery is very much like going blind. For mystery isn't just an absence of knowledge-it's an experience in its own right, palpable as an itch.

The key to the arcane realm is a mind free of useless opinions.

Our needless descriptions descriptions of the world have an uncanny knack of turning into arbitrary of the world have an uncanny knack of turning into arbitrary prescriptions prescriptions, catapulting us from formulation formulation into into regulation. regulation. We pointlessly tell ourselves that we're Cleaning the House, intending only to describe our present condition. But immediately we feel as though we're under an obligation to ensure the continuing veracity of our words. We ruefully turn down invitations to other activities on the grounds that we are, after all, Cleaning the House. We can't stop to chat with a friend because we're Going Somewhere. We won't take the smelly garbage out of the kitchen because we've already begun to Rest. From the fact that something We pointlessly tell ourselves that we're Cleaning the House, intending only to describe our present condition. But immediately we feel as though we're under an obligation to ensure the continuing veracity of our words. We ruefully turn down invitations to other activities on the grounds that we are, after all, Cleaning the House. We can't stop to chat with a friend because we're Going Somewhere. We won't take the smelly garbage out of the kitchen because we've already begun to Rest. From the fact that something is is, we jump to the conclusion that it must must be. be.

Sometimes we formulate enduring traits for ourselves such as Social Inept.i.tude, Excitability, or an abiding Aversion to Vegetables. These descriptions too are quickly transformed into their prescriptive counterparts. But in this case the obligations incurred are lifelong. Having committed ourselves to the view that we're "the sort of person who" hates vegetables, we're called upon again and again to sustain the truth of our self-description. We can't make ourselves const.i.tutionally Averse to Vegetables or Socially Inept in one fell swoop. The feat requires a disciplined adherence to the formula-turned-regulation we have adopted. We must perpetually resist the stream of impulses from within and invitations from without to act in new ways. Self-definition is self-mutilation on a heroic scale. one fell swoop. The feat requires a disciplined adherence to the formula-turned-regulation we have adopted. We must perpetually resist the stream of impulses from within and invitations from without to act in new ways. Self-definition is self-mutilation on a heroic scale.

This isn't to say that we lack all consistency of personality. Even if we cease to formulate our character, an external observer will be able to detect recurring patterns in our choices and reactions. But we can't formulate the results of such observations for ourselves ourselves without producing certain drastic effects. The opinion that one is excitable or socially inept is itself a major cause of excitability or social inept.i.tude. Beliefs about the self are self-fulfilling prophecies, and the fulfillment of the prophecy in turn welds us ever more strongly to the belief that engendered it. Our formulas for ourselves are at once true and profoundly misleading. The Man Who Never Eats Vegetables is quite correct-he never eats vegetables. But if he didn't hold this view of himself, he might actually indulge in an occasional carrot. without producing certain drastic effects. The opinion that one is excitable or socially inept is itself a major cause of excitability or social inept.i.tude. Beliefs about the self are self-fulfilling prophecies, and the fulfillment of the prophecy in turn welds us ever more strongly to the belief that engendered it. Our formulas for ourselves are at once true and profoundly misleading. The Man Who Never Eats Vegetables is quite correct-he never eats vegetables. But if he didn't hold this view of himself, he might actually indulge in an occasional carrot.

It's impossible for us to give an objective account of ourselves. The situation is reminiscent of the uncertainties of observation encountered in contemporary physics. We can never determine the exact location and speed of a subatomic particle because these quant.i.ties are altered by the very act of trying to observe them. And we can never describe ourselves as we really are because we are changed by the very act of description. We can only in contemporary physics. We can never determine the exact location and speed of a subatomic particle because these quant.i.ties are altered by the very act of trying to observe them. And we can never describe ourselves as we really are because we are changed by the very act of description. We can only be be who we are. This is very difficult for some people to accept. who we are. This is very difficult for some people to accept.

Why do mere descriptions turn so quickly into prescriptions without good cause? Once again, our unhappy relationship with impulse is to blame. The impulse to leave the peas and carrots on our plate fully accounts for our not eating them. There's no problem here. But unless we're able to deduce our behavior from a rule, we feel that we're acting "unreasonably." We are intimidated by demands for rational explanations: why why didn't we eat our vegetables? Our difficulty is that most of what we do in the course of a day can be neither justified nor condemned by an appeal to general principles. There's nothing in the Bible or in secular law that dictates an att.i.tude toward vegetables. Then where will the pertinent prescription come from? Living a purely prescriptive life is like lifting oneself by one's bootstraps. The didn't we eat our vegetables? Our difficulty is that most of what we do in the course of a day can be neither justified nor condemned by an appeal to general principles. There's nothing in the Bible or in secular law that dictates an att.i.tude toward vegetables. Then where will the pertinent prescription come from? Living a purely prescriptive life is like lifting oneself by one's bootstraps. The description description of what we're doing provides a convenient handle or, more of what we're doing provides a convenient handle or, more aptly, a life jacket to a drowning man. If we're the "sort of person" who doesn't eat vegetables, then we can explain everything! aptly, a life jacket to a drowning man. If we're the "sort of person" who doesn't eat vegetables, then we can explain everything!

Premise 1: I'm the sort of person who doesn't eat vegetables. I'm the sort of person who doesn't eat vegetables.

Premise 2 2: These peas and carrots are vegetables. These peas and carrots are vegetables.

Conclusion: Therefore, I do not eat them. Therefore, I do not eat them.

Now our reason is satisfied: we haven't acted haphazardly. But there is a price. When an unexpected attraction to zucchini stirs faintly in our breast, we will deny it in the name of consistency and we'll miss a tasty dish.

We can avoid most mental traps simply by fixing our attention on the present task. While we're washing the dishes or walking to the store, there's no need to think about what will happen next or what has happened before. There's only this dirty spoon, this street scene before us. Every departure from the here and now is a trap. If our thoughts fly away to the future, we are fixating or antic.i.p.ating. If we go back to the past, we revert or resist. But there's also an avenue of departure from the present-from from the present-from this this-that strays neither into the future nor into the past. It leads vertically from this to "This"-from washing the dishes to telling telling ourselves that we are Washing the Dishes. These thoughts are just as useless and disruptive as antic.i.p.ations of twenty years hence or reversions to twenty-year-old grievances. ourselves that we are Washing the Dishes. These thoughts are just as useless and disruptive as antic.i.p.ations of twenty years hence or reversions to twenty-year-old grievances.

Formulation is the last mental trap to go. We may clearly see how life is possible without keeping the future or the past constantly in mind. But at least, we think, the present present must be kept in mind. We can forgo knowing what comes next, but at least we have to know what's happening must be kept in mind. We can forgo knowing what comes next, but at least we have to know what's happening now. now. But a.s.suming that circ.u.mstances don't change, once a decision has been made to do something, it serves no purpose to keep what we are doing in mind. When we're cleaning the house, it's enough to dust the table and make the bed. Perpetually reminding ourselves that we are Cleaning the House drains us of energy, divides our attention, and causes us to resist new alternatives. But a.s.suming that circ.u.mstances don't change, once a decision has been made to do something, it serves no purpose to keep what we are doing in mind. When we're cleaning the house, it's enough to dust the table and make the bed. Perpetually reminding ourselves that we are Cleaning the House drains us of energy, divides our attention, and causes us to resist new alternatives.

When we're occupied with this this, there's nothing that needs to be kept in mind. Even "This" is saying too much.

Keeping Out of Mental Traps

-ow that we've developed some skill in detecting traps, how do we manage to get out of them? Let's look in on a moment when we are are out of them. All but the most blighted lives are blessed now and then with brief intervals of freedom from mental traps. We may be walking to the mailbox as we have countless times before when we suddenly realize that we are out of them. All but the most blighted lives are blessed now and then with brief intervals of freedom from mental traps. We may be walking to the mailbox as we have countless times before when we suddenly realize that we are just just walking to the mailbox. For a moment, there's nothing else in the world but the spring of our step and the sun on our face. The present moment fills our consciousness entirely, banishing yesterday and tomorrow, hope and regret, plans, schemes, should-have-beens, what-ifs, and let-me-justs. We experience a delightful sense of lightness. The customary forced march through a field of mola.s.ses comes to a halt, and we glide. We haven't a care in the world. There's nothing to keep track of, nothing to remember, nowhere to get to, nothing to get over with. This moment exists all by itself. Why don't we simply continue to live like this for the rest of time? walking to the mailbox. For a moment, there's nothing else in the world but the spring of our step and the sun on our face. The present moment fills our consciousness entirely, banishing yesterday and tomorrow, hope and regret, plans, schemes, should-have-beens, what-ifs, and let-me-justs. We experience a delightful sense of lightness. The customary forced march through a field of mola.s.ses comes to a halt, and we glide. We haven't a care in the world. There's nothing to keep track of, nothing to remember, nowhere to get to, nothing to get over with. This moment exists all by itself. Why don't we simply continue to live like this for the rest of time?

The answer is obvious. We don't believe that life can be so simple. While we glide, who's minding the store? It seems to us that our countless outstanding problems and projects must suffer from this sort of neglect. The good things we wish to secure must immediately begin to recede from us unless we keep them in their place by perpetually renewing our commitment to them. And the dire circ.u.mstances we want to avert must come closer unless we keep them at bay by our eternal vigilance. Living entirely in the present seems to us like holding our breath-perhaps we can do it for a minute or two on a dare, but it can't be a way of life. After a few untrapped steps, we become frightened and plunge back into the sea of familiar troubles. There's work to be done.

Is life simple or complex? Do we need elaborate calculations and prescriptions to get through, or will things work out as well in the end if we let impulse rule and just run free? As with all issues of ultimate importance, there's something to be said for both sides. On the one hand, it isn't true that we must always always be vigilant, be vigilant, always always calculating. Our situation doesn't calculating. Our situation doesn't automatically automatically deteriorate as soon as we turn our head. At least sometimes, we may deteriorate as soon as we turn our head. At least sometimes, we may allow ourselves the luxury of perfect spontaneity. We won't automatically wander off the edge of a cliff as soon as we cease to push our lives from behind along a predetermined track. allow ourselves the luxury of perfect spontaneity. We won't automatically wander off the edge of a cliff as soon as we cease to push our lives from behind along a predetermined track.

On the other hand, there are cliffs; and when we skirt close to one, we must begin to calculate our steps. There are times when we can afford to be spontaneous, free, and impulsive; and there are times we have to be vigilant, calculating, and prescriptive. The question is how to key into one mode of operation and out of the other. This switching problem switching problem is the most fundamental problem of human life. is the most fundamental problem of human life.

From one perspective-let's call it the perspective of modern consciousness modern consciousness-this problem poses a formidable dilemma. At time X, while we're functioning in the prescriptive mode, we may judge that current conditions make it safe for us to switch to the impulsive mode. But of course, even though it's safe to be impulsive now, at X, there will come a time Y when we will need to revert to prescription. And if we permit the impulsive mode to take over, how will we recognize when moment Y arrives? Wandering aimless and free through the desert, we will not notice when we cross the point which takes us too far from home base, and we will die. The answer, says modern consciousness, is always to keep our distance from home base in mind, never to run totally free. Modern consciousness solves the problem of how to key in and out of prescription by from home base, and we will die. The answer, says modern consciousness, is always to keep our distance from home base in mind, never to run totally free. Modern consciousness solves the problem of how to key in and out of prescription by leaving the prescriptive mode running all the time-even when it isn't needed. leaving the prescriptive mode running all the time-even when it isn't needed. Prescription may not be needed now; but if the reins are handed over to impulse, the prescriptive mode may not be keyed back in when it Prescription may not be needed now; but if the reins are handed over to impulse, the prescriptive mode may not be keyed back in when it is is needed. needed.

It's inevitable that such a strategy should lead to mental traps. To be trapped, by definition, is to perform mental work that isn't needed. And the strategy of modern consciousness is to be working all the time. We feel we must always stay "on top" of the situation, just in case. The various traps are no more than different ways of trying to stay on top.

There are other solutions to the problem of keying in and out of the prescriptive mode. For one, we may hand over the keying function to an external agency that, we trust, will be vigilant for us and turn our prescriptive apparatus on and off as necessary. Those who accept the absolute authority of another person (mother, guru), an organization (the church, the government), or a system of ideas (psychoa.n.a.lysis, Marxism) have much less of a problem with mental traps. When the authority tells them to do mental work, they work. And when the authority declares a holiday, they can really and truly rest, secure in the knowledge that someone else is minding the store. system of ideas (psychoa.n.a.lysis, Marxism) have much less of a problem with mental traps. When the authority tells them to do mental work, they work. And when the authority declares a holiday, they can really and truly rest, secure in the knowledge that someone else is minding the store.

This is the great consolation of belonging to a religion, whether spiritual or secular: it permits us to lay down our burden. Biblical fundamentalists and doctrinaire Marxists are better able than we are to sustain and enjoy the giddy sense of life's simplicity and freedom from agendas. They can accept whatever the future will bring. They have no need to shape it according to their will, because they're certain that Marx or the Bible will prove to be an adequate guide in any eventuality. True believers don't need to study mental traps.

This is how most people lived in simpler ages. They learned the values and traditions of their society in one piece, and these values governed their actions forever after. It never occurred to them to choose choose a way of life, since there were no examples of alternatives around them. And because they had no choice, they felt entirely free. This archaic mode of being, still enjoyed by the contemporary true believer, is qualitatively a way of life, since there were no examples of alternatives around them. And because they had no choice, they felt entirely free. This archaic mode of being, still enjoyed by the contemporary true believer, is qualitatively different from the life of modern consciousness. Let's call it different from the life of modern consciousness. Let's call it traditional consciousness. traditional consciousness.

Traditional consciousness disappears when external authority ceases to be monolithic. As soon as there are two bibles, we can no longer be perfect fundamentalists. For whether we wish it or not, we must choose, on the basis of our own lights, which bible we're going to follow. And contemporary society presents us with innumerable candidates for biblehood. This makes it exceedingly difficult to become a true believer nowadays. Even if we definitely opt for one bible or another and follow its dictates to perfection, the fact that we've chosen distinguishes us still from a bona fide true believer. For we must have chosen on the basis of some criterion criterion-rationality, intuition, it doesn't matter which-and so, whether we desire it or not, it's this inner criterion that remains the foundation of our action. We can persuade ourselves to accept a bible as a perfectly correct and perfectly complete guide to living, but we can't make it authoritative. Whether it pleases us or not, what's accepted can also be rejected. In contrast, there's never a moment when traditional consciousness accepts or chooses its traditions-the traditions are the starting point starting point of thought, beyond the realm of choice. The transformation of consciousness from the traditional to the modern variety is therefore irreversible. Whether we like it or not, we can't go home again. of thought, beyond the realm of choice. The transformation of consciousness from the traditional to the modern variety is therefore irreversible. Whether we like it or not, we can't go home again.

Whether the trap-free life of traditional consciousness is happy or productive depends entirely upon the luck of the draw. If the external authority is benevolent and wise, its decisions will be good. But the authority may also be Hitler or the Reverend Jim Jones. The problem with traditional consciousness is that it leaves us no protection against Jim Joneses or-a far more frequent danger-those who would make our lives narrow and dull. For traditional consciousness is given up to authority without reservation. If we retain the option to reconsider our commitment in case things don't work out well, then we're only playing games with ourselves-the putative authority isn't an authority at all, however punctiliously we follow its dictates. In this case, ultimate authority remains in whatever self-generated criterion the external quasi-authority is to be judged by. Modern consciousness is only pretending to be traditional here. Except in rare circ.u.mstances, traditional consciousness is unalterable, for the advisability of any possible change is judged on the basis of the traditions themselves. If we could persuade biblical fundamentalists to entertain the question of the validity of the Bible, they would only seek the answer by looking it up in the Bible. We never get more than one chance to live traditionally. If the draw is unlucky-if the authority is self-serving, foolish, or mad-there is no turning back. We must follow it over the edge of the cliff. unalterable, for the advisability of any possible change is judged on the basis of the traditions themselves. If we could persuade biblical fundamentalists to entertain the question of the validity of the Bible, they would only seek the answer by looking it up in the Bible. We never get more than one chance to live traditionally. If the draw is unlucky-if the authority is self-serving, foolish, or mad-there is no turning back. We must follow it over the edge of the cliff.

In any case, for the modern mentality to which this book is addressed, traditional consciousness is no longer a live option. Absolute authority is finished for us. There's no one to push our b.u.t.tons, keying planning, calculation, and prescription in and out as the occasion requires. And so we return to our dilemma: if we shut the prescriptive mode down even for a moment, allowing ourselves to run free, how will we get it switched on again when it's needed?

The intractability of this dilemma depends on an unconscious a.s.sumption. We've come upon unconscious a.s.sumptions before in our a.n.a.lysis of mental traps. But this one is the Primal a.s.sumption upon which the entire structure of trapped modern consciousness is based. We suppose that impulse-the non-rational and non-prescriptive wellspring of action-is incapable of returning the reins to prescription on its own initiative; and that even if it could, it wouldn't know when it was appropriate to do so. That is, we a.s.sume that suppose that impulse-the non-rational and non-prescriptive wellspring of action-is incapable of returning the reins to prescription on its own initiative; and that even if it could, it wouldn't know when it was appropriate to do so. That is, we a.s.sume that only rational calculation can tell us when rational calculation is needed. only rational calculation can tell us when rational calculation is needed. If this Primal a.s.sumption is true, then we must indeed always keep the prescriptive apparatus running, always strive to stay on top of the situation, always be minding the store. If this Primal a.s.sumption is true, then we must indeed always keep the prescriptive apparatus running, always strive to stay on top of the situation, always be minding the store.

What would life be like if the Primal a.s.sumption were false? It would mean that the urge to plan, calculate, and prescribe arises impulsively arises impulsively, like hunger and thirst, when the situation calls for it. It would also mean that we can stop planning, calculating, and prescribing when the need for these activities is over, for we would know that we'll spontaneously begin them again when it's useful to do so. Prescription would take its place alongside alongside the other activities of life rather than being their the other activities of life rather than being their foundation. foundation. We eat, we make love, we walk, we sleep-and sometimes we plan, calculate, and prescribe. In sum, we would cease to have mental traps. Modern consciousness would then have given way to We eat, we make love, we walk, we sleep-and sometimes we plan, calculate, and prescribe. In sum, we would cease to have mental traps. Modern consciousness would then have given way to liberated consciousness. liberated consciousness.

Is impulse capable of shouldering such a load of responsibility? Let's divide this question into two parts. First, once impulse rules, is it capable of returning the reins of action to prescription on its own initiative? Second, can it do so appropriately-is it capable of discerning when prescription is needed?

The first question is the easy one. Essentially we're asking whether we can impulsively begin to calculate and prescribe, or whether calculation and prescription must always come from prior calculation and prescription. The fact that almost all of us have at least some moments of impulsivity gives us our answer. If we are impulsive one moment and prescriptive the next, it can only be that prescription has arisen out of impulsivity. Our starting starting to make reasoned decisions can't be the result of a reasoned decision! to make reasoned decisions can't be the result of a reasoned decision!

Can the spontaneous welling up of rationality be counted on to occur exactly when it's needed? Not infallibly. We can all remember circ.u.mstances in which we acted impulsively and things went worse for us than if we'd done a little figuring. We thoughtlessly encourage the attentions of a bore, and he importunes us for years afterward. Had we kept our prescriptive apparatus running, we might have foreseen this outcome and prescribed a more reserved demeanor for ourselves. But of course we make mistakes in the prescriptive mode as well. Our calculations are sometimes based on erroneous or incomplete information, and we sometimes misplace a decimal point or skip a step. We can't directly a.s.sess the relative efficacy of impulse and prescription by comparing the sum total of their outcomes-life is too complex. Nevertheless, it can be shown that there's no advantage to leaving the prescriptive mode running all the time. might have foreseen this outcome and prescribed a more reserved demeanor for ourselves. But of course we make mistakes in the prescriptive mode as well. Our calculations are sometimes based on erroneous or incomplete information, and we sometimes misplace a decimal point or skip a step. We can't directly a.s.sess the relative efficacy of impulse and prescription by comparing the sum total of their outcomes-life is too complex. Nevertheless, it can be shown that there's no advantage to leaving the prescriptive mode running all the time.

The crucial point is that planning, calculating, and prescribing can function only on the basis of certain premises. When we decide (prescriptively) whether to be reserved or warm toward someone we've just met, we consider the likely outcome of both courses of action and choose the one that, everything considered, seems best. But what makes one outcome better than another? Why do we deem not having a relationship with someone better than having a boring relationship with him-or vice versa? Perhaps such a decision can be made to follow from some general principle such as "Do what gives you the most pleasure" or "Do whatever serves others best." But where do best." But where do these these general principles come from, in their turns? Perhaps from even more basic principles. But eventually the chain of rational justification has to stop at a principle or value that, from the viewpoint of rationality, is simply general principles come from, in their turns? Perhaps from even more basic principles. But eventually the chain of rational justification has to stop at a principle or value that, from the viewpoint of rationality, is simply given. given. The deliberations of the prescriptive mode can't begin with a blank slate. The items it begins with-our most fundamental principles and values-must therefore come from impulse. We spontaneously, irrationally adopt them. There is no other way to start thinking. The deliberations of the prescriptive mode can't begin with a blank slate. The items it begins with-our most fundamental principles and values-must therefore come from impulse. We spontaneously, irrationally adopt them. There is no other way to start thinking.

It follows that the strategy of modern consciousness makes no sense. We leave prescription running all the time because of our lack of faith in impulse. Yet impulse lies at the very heart of our prescriptive activities. Every plan we make, every calculation, every reasoned decision begins with a.s.sumptions that were given to us by impulse. Thus our faith in rationality presupposes presupposes an even more fundamental faith in impulse. If the dictates of impulse are untrustworthy, then so are the products of rational deliberation. And if we trust rationality, then we are committed to trusting the impulse that gives birth to it. In either case, there's no advantage to be gained by the strategy of modern consciousness. Its only fruit is weariness. an even more fundamental faith in impulse. If the dictates of impulse are untrustworthy, then so are the products of rational deliberation. And if we trust rationality, then we are committed to trusting the impulse that gives birth to it. In either case, there's no advantage to be gained by the strategy of modern consciousness. Its only fruit is weariness.

This doesn't mean that it's always undesirable to deliberate or prescribe. The conclusion is rather that deliberation and prescription can be trusted to emerge on impulse when they're needed, just like breathing and blinking one's eyes. Therefore we can turn off the prescriptive apparatus without fear. We won't immediately dive over the edge of the nearest cliff. Of course, absolute security can't be guaranteed. It's always possible to break one's neck. But the habit of perpetually staying "on top" of every situation makes us work very hard for no return. In brief, it gets us into mental traps.

We are left with the question of what to do. We've already seen how every attempt to argue, command, insult, or otherwise persuade ourselves to desist from the useless mental work of one trap lands us immediately in another. The task of shutting down the prescriptive apparatus can't be accomplished by its continuing activity! The same dilemma confronts the insomniac striving mightily to fall asleep. The harder she works at it, the farther the goal recedes from her. For both sleep and liberated consciousness can be won only by the cessation of our prescriptive activity. Indeed, falling asleep is always a little liberation-a victory of impulse over prescriptive control. A close a.n.a.lysis of how this familiar transition may be effected will tell us what we still need to know. Indeed, falling asleep is always a little liberation-a victory of impulse over prescriptive control. A close a.n.a.lysis of how this familiar transition may be effected will tell us what we still need to know.

Sleep is unproblematic when we're certain that there is nothing at all we need to do about it. We simply go to bed, serene in the knowledge that sleep will come when our body requires it. If we try to cause it to come by our own efforts, we only keep it at bay by the noise of our mental activity. But if we have faith in our own organism, the goal is won without doing a thing. Our faith is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Similarly, in the liberated state of consciousness, the rational, prescriptive apparatus places its faith in the impulsive apparatus. Rationality performs whatever calculations it has been called upon to perform and then gracefully retires, serene in the knowledge that when its services are once again required, it will hear the summons.

This faith, of course, is more than an intellectual conviction. Indeed, we're a.s.suming here that we've already been convinced of the desirability of liberation. We want to let go of the reins; we try to prescribe prescribe a policy of letting go; but we find a policy of letting go; but we find that this maneuver is just a subtle way of hanging on. This condition also has its parallel in the realm of sleep. We're like an insomniac who has come to understand that she keeps herself awake by her own struggles. She knows that sleep will come as soon as she ceases to care about its coming. So she struggles to cease caring. What else is there to do? that this maneuver is just a subtle way of hanging on. This condition also has its parallel in the realm of sleep. We're like an insomniac who has come to understand that she keeps herself awake by her own struggles. She knows that sleep will come as soon as she ceases to care about its coming. So she struggles to cease caring. What else is there to do?

In the case of insomnia, sleep does eventually come even to the most faithless. But it comes in a surprising way. The insomniac struggles, entirely in vain, to grasp sleep until she gives up from sheer exhaustion and despair. And then, precisely because she's given up, she falls asleep. The same process may also lead us from modern to liberated consciousness. We may prosecute the voluntary struggle to free ourselves to the bitter end. This paradoxical grasping at the state of letting go is bound to fail. Yet it may not prove entirely useless in the end. If we struggle with all our might, exhausting every possible stratagem of the rational, prescriptive apparatus, we may eventually reach so profound a level of despair that we simply give up the enterprise of