First Person Plural
An evolving approach to the science of pleasure suggests that each of us contains multiple selves—all with different desires, and all fighting for control. If this is right, the pursuit of happiness becomes even trickier. Can one self “bind” another self if the two want different things? Are you always better off when a Good Self wins? And should outsiders, such as employers and policy makers, get into the fray?
We humans have radically different personalities that persist over time, and it’s not always a sign of mental illness. We enjoy the thought of vacation or spending time with the kids, while data show that we’re happier when we do chores; we surf the internet when we should be working; some of us can do horrible acts and then switch off that personality and be remarkably kind in another context; children have imaginary friends they know don’t exist, that have personalities different from their own. The GTD idea of plugging out the internet to get to work (or more extreme: mailing yourself the cables, so you can’t possibly plug it in for the next day) is an example of what Paul Bloom calls self-binding: one personality, or major aspect of your personality, taking measures to prevent a personality it knows might get dominant in the future. But all selves aren’t equal: some are more mature than others. So which one gets to decide?
Fighting your Bad Self is serious business; whole sections of bookstores are devoted to it. We bribe and threaten and cajole, just as if we were dealing with an addicted friend. Vague commitments like “I promise to drink only on special occasions” often fail, because the Bad Self can weasel out of them, rationalizing that it’s always a special occasion. Bright-line rules like “I will never play video games again” are also vulnerable, because the Bad Self can argue that these are unreasonable—and, worse, once you slip, it can argue that the plan is unworkable. For every argument made by the dieting self—“This diet is really working” or “I really need to lose weight”—the cake eater can respond with another—“This will never work” or “I’m too vain” or “You only live once.” Your long-term self reads voraciously about the benefits of regular exercise and healthy eating; the cake eater prefers articles showing that obesity isn’t really such a problem. It’s not that the flesh is weak; sometimes the flesh is pretty damn smart. (…)
As I write this article, I’m using a program that disables my network connections for a selected amount of time and does not allow me to switch them back on, thereby forcing me to actually write instead of checking my e-mail or reading blogs. A harsher (and more expensive) method, advised by the author of a self-help book, is to remove your Internet cable and FedEx it to yourself—guaranteeing a day without online distractions. One can also chemically boost the long-term self through drugs such as Adderall, which improves concentration and focus. The journalist Joshua Foer describes how it enabled him to write for hour-long chunks, far longer than he was usually capable of: “The part of my brain that makes me curious about whether I have new e-mails in my inbox apparently shut down.” It’s more controversial, of course, when someone else does the binding.
Needless to say, this multiple-selves perspective has its limitations. We aren’t all victims of dissociative personality disorder. But maybe it can tell us something.
