Pejman Ranjbar's essay “Meeting the Captain: The Healing Power of Inner Dialogue”

All of us human beings have, as it were, a “speaking I” inside us that constantly talks to us, as if it were the avatar of a video game that devises plans, navigates, and describes for us all the situations we find ourselves in at every moment; this “speaking I” seems to be always talking. It is this “speaking I” that continually tells us what we are feeling, how we should react, where we should go from here, and what destination we have in mind. Right now, as I am writing and you are reading, there is, as it were, a “metaphorical I” situated in our heads that tells us, “Hey, you are now reading a piece of writing.”

It appears that this “metaphorical and speaking I” has access to the entire contents of our psyche and can, based on the repository at its disposal, interpret for us everything we perceive. According to Julian Jaynes, author of the famous book The Origin of Consciousness, this “speaking I” is in fact a mechanism that our nervous system has designed for its own survival. In an allegorical sense, one could say that the human instinct is not as complete as that of other animals, especially other mammals. By completeness here, I mean being a closed circle. Our instinct is not a closed circle like that of a whale; that is why, in the history of human life on earth, humans have continually passed through various states. Humans are always changing, and this change is fundamentally the result of the stratagems that the “speaking I” has placed before them for better guidance and management.

That is why, in Julian Jaynes’s view, it is as if someone in our head talks to us, and if this state leads to a “dysfunction,” it gives rise to schizophrenia, paranoia, or neuroses of this kind. The very fact that we all feel there is an image of ourselves in our head that can talk to us, give us advice, and interpret various situations for us means we have a kind of split mind; that is, one part of us commands and another part obeys. This characteristic can perhaps be considered the very feature that distinguishes us from other beings. This is how our nervous system functions, proceeding in this way to preserve its own survival. Since our brain constructs an image of us in the mind, places it in space and time, and gives it a propulsive power, we can accept that our brain works metaphorically; the central metaphor here is precisely the “speaking I” or the “metaphorical I.”

As stated at the beginning of this essay, the “speaking self” has access to the entire contents of our psyche and, drawing upon them, interprets every situation. Accordingly, it is by no means unlikely that if our psychic treasury contains abnormal memories, ideas, images, or cognitive beliefs, the “speaking self,” as the captain and helmsman within us, will interpret, justify, and advance our lives based on those same prior cognitive patterns. Time and again, we encounter situations in life that invariably yield the same outcome, as if the result were predetermined. For instance, if a person chooses a field of study based on a faulty cognitive pattern, selects one area of knowledge, then abandons it and pursues another, only to abandon that as well and move on to yet another, and ultimately this course of study drags on so long that all his opportunities are lost, his “speaking self” will interpret all these failures based on experiences of frustration and defeat—a common experience in anyone’s life—and consequently arrive at the conclusion: “You are a loser!” The question that can be raised here is whether there truly was something in this individual’s essence that caused him to consistently fail in his decisions and actions and experience frustration. If we recall that our cognitive patterns are the raw material for our “inner captain,” and that this captain advances our intellectual life, decisions, and will based on that very material, can we still believe in that individual’s inherent failure? It seems we cannot hold such a belief. After all, if the psychic material of the individual contains the element and concept of failure, our “inner captain” will have no choice but to extract and deduce failure. Evidence of this can be observed in our own lives and those around us; those who have not been able to gain awareness of their inner mechanisms, whether through education or lived experience, are always and in every circumstance defeated by and slavishly obedient to their inner voice, and if, by ill fortune, this inner voice does not have good material at its disposal, it will undoubtedly drag that individual into the abyss of frustration and failure.

If it has become clear that our “inner captain,” as a metaphor for ourselves, is imprinted in our nervous system and bears the responsibility of guiding our lives, and that it performs this task solely based on the material it has at hand, we must now ask how this material comes into being and endures, such that the aforementioned captain, whenever necessary, can dip into this treasury and take provisions for guiding the future. The sources that fill our inner treasury are: 1) genetics, 2) childhood upbringing, 3) the learned experience of life. These three sources will determine everything we will become in the future, for they are the very sources that give direction to our captain, so that he, in turn, directs us and advances our lives based on our decisions, will, and reactions. We all know that life does not always go as desired, meaning that everything does not always proceed as it should; we may well inherit a maladaptive gene from our ancestors, or our childhood may not be suitably conducive to raising a happy child and, ultimately, a healthy adult. In such a case, must we surrender, sit back, and watch the catastrophic consequences of this maladaptive inheritance unfold? Before examining possible solutions, it is worth giving another example. If, in your childhood, you were raised by a demanding or reproachful parent, what do you suppose will happen? Franz Kafka, the famous writer, has a book titled Letter to His Father. In this book, which is actually a letter he wrote to his father, he speaks of his feelings toward him. Kafka twice comes to the brink of marriage, and with someone he loves dearly, yet each time he breaks it off and shirks the commitment. Why, do you think?

Reading the text of the letter, one can realize that the feelings and images Kafka's father gave him throughout his childhood created this pattern in him: that he could never be entirely good, or that all his actions would lead to shame; this is precisely the negative effect that a demanding and reproachful parent can have on a child. For this reason, he is constantly engaged in an intellectual and emotional rupture[1] that prevents him from achieving inner unity. Kafka, fed up with this issue, ultimately finds a path to liberation as a writer through writing the letter. The writing of this letter certainly demonstrates this individual's genius, because with this letter he is not speaking to his father in the external world, the father of flesh and bone, but to the internalized voice of his parent. It is as if Kafka realized he had to speak to the "inner captain" and talk to him about the error that his father's upbringing and gaze caused to emerge within him. This very example essentially leads us to examine one of the strategies for liberation from the abnormality of the material used by the "inner captain." Within all of us, there are faulty maps that the captain may, at any moment, seek out, pick up, and steer the ship of our inner being, our existence, toward a direction where storms and raging waves are the best possible occurrences on that path. Abnormal cognitive patterns are those dangerous maps that we must seek out before the captain finds them, rewrite them, and if, by ill fortune, the captain finds them, we must immediately enter into a serious and persistent negotiation with him.

Now it is time to ask: how can one speak with the "inner captain"? Some people find it very difficult to concentrate and spend a few minutes, so to speak, in solitude, engaging in dialogue; consequently, the best way to start is writing, which is exactly what Kafka did. Before you start writing, you must first see what your frustrations are, and indeed what things in life you complain about; list them and then write in detail about what these frustrations have brought upon you. Then, try to search for their roots in your childhood, usually before adolescence. Find a secluded place and there, engage in searching and exploring your childhood. If you find something that corresponds with your detailed list, add it to your detailed list. Now it is time to begin letter-writing. Consider anything—parents, acquaintances, or anything else—that you think created the ground for you to register a faulty cognitive pattern in your mind, the very pattern that has been to your detriment, and write a letter to it. In this letter, you can raise any complaint you have, but a very important point must also be observed here: after the lament, complaint, and quarrel you stir up in the letter, and when you think you have been considerably unburdened, you must tell the recipient of your letter what they should have done or said better, and give them the advice that they would have done well to follow.

If you practice this technique enough and become skilled at it, you will soon be able, this time, to speak with your "inner captain," rein him in, and not let him use just any material to advance your life. Instead, tell him that it is better to do such and such—that is, tell him the same things you told your cognitive patterns in the letter, give the same advice to the captain, and astonish him. The captain will certainly be astonished at first, but gradually he will get used to not trusting just any material and to consulting you, as an inspiring and motivating notion, for everything. Over time, this very captain transforms into a conception that can not only always make decisions you like to be made, but also prevent abnormal and harmful decisions from being taken.

The method briefly discussed in this essay is an entirely economical one. Its economy lies in the fact that you always have the captain present and ready within you; you only need for him to listen to you now, and after a while, he will automatically move in the direction of your pleasure and desire. If you need a good example of letter-writing as the first step on this path—that is, managing inner dialogue—you can read Kafka's letter; perhaps he has already voiced the words of your heart!

Nietzsche was right that philosophy has no common denominator; sometimes it is science, and sometimes art. In the opinion of the author of these lines, one must first achieve a unity within, and then pose the great questions. Someone who is internally conflicted cannot direct their gaze toward the more transcendental aspects of their life, because they are still stuck at a fundamental stage. And again, in Nietzsche's view, here the philosopher must be a physician of culture, placing culture on a path where it gradually fills in its own pitfalls, stands upon them, and can then hold its head high and pose the great questions—questions that might perhaps clarify a little of the human being's predicament with its own riddle. The present writing was merely the advice of a cultural physician. It is hoped that we can cultivate good captains within ourselves to guide us safely and securely to the realm of questioning and exploring existence; that very existence which has long been calling to us, yet in the tumult of the raging inner sea, we lack the capacity to hear it.

[1] . RED= Rational-Emotional Dissociation

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PDF file of this article in Isfahan-e Ziba

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Source: Isfahan-e Ziba newspaper 30 Mehr 98

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Meeting the Captain: The Healing Power of Inner Dialogue

Author: Pejman Ranjbar

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