Early in
Selfie
, Will Storr observes that the rise of social media, with its attendant “social perfectionism” (whereby we regularly compare ourselves to others via their meticulously curated online profiles), appears to have made Westerners increasingly dissatisfied with themselves. We live in an age of “heightened individualism”, Storr says, one in which success—being slim, rich, happy, extroverted, and popular—is a personal responsibility. The Western “self” appears to be growing more fragile, possibly even more suicidal. Suicide rates in the U.S., he notes, have recently hit a 30-year high.
Professor Rory O’Connor of the University of Glasgow, president of the International Academy of Suicide Research, says it’s not mental illness per se that’s behind suicide. (In fact, less than five percent of people with depression kill themselves.) There are a number of factors at play. What has caught O’Connor’s attention, however, is a more pervasive psychological phenomenon, a “style of thinking” seen across all strata of society—from the most disadvantaged to the most affluent. O’Connor’s research has shown that those plagued with this type of thinking have extremely high expectations of themselves. Though their standards for success are often unrealistic and unsustainable, these social perfectionists nevertheless pressure themselves to meet the standards and believe that family and friends have the same expectations of them. The media-saturated modern world compounds the problem, providing people with more chances to compare themselves (often unfavourably) with others and giving them more opportunities to feel like failures. O’Connor’s observations clearly resonate for Storr, who is nakedly honest about his own problematic relationship with himself: “I seem to be caught in a lifelong rhythm of expecting more from myself than my talent and character can supply.” This thought pattern coupled with a chronic, low-grade self-loathing (which he feels he is breaking taboo to even admit to) appear to have fuelled his current nonfiction offering.
Storr’s goals for his book are ambitious. He seeks to track how we (Western society) got to this place, noting from the start that the culture people are immersed in influences their personal identity, the stories they tell themselves about who they are. Culture, he says, “can be seen as a web of instructions, like computer code, that surrounds and saturates us.”
Selfie
is a rich and allusive work that draws on interviews with and books by psychologists, historians, neuroscientists, sociologists, and others. The author travels, not just to speak in person with experts and individuals who might offer unique perspectives, but also to undergo experiences (for instance at a Scottish monastery and a Californian human-potential retreat) that help him better understand aspects of the self.
Storr’s book is loosely chronological. He begins by exploring the tribal self, speaking with an ex-felon and considering the social organization and behaviour of chimpanzees, our closest primate cousins. (Their groups, he postulates, provide a window on the earliest human cultures of 200,000 years ago). Parts of us, notes Storr, are very old, and, in some ways humans don’t differ much from chimps, who spend much of their daily lives attempting to control fate by manipulating those around them. Preoccupied with hierarchy like humans, chimps hold grudges, have a sense of fair play (i.e., punish selfishness) and negotiate. These (social) tendencies underpin the modern human self whose “core activity” continues to be “maintaining a deep interest in and trying to control what others think of us.”
Before exploring the concept of the self through history, Storr considers the declaration by a number of contemporary psychologists and neuroscientists that the self is simply a story we build to tell ourselves who we are—a story that is, in fact, a lie. Storr references Michael Gazzaniga’s work with split-brain patients: epileptics whose cerebral hemispheres were disconnected from each other to decrease seizures. One side of the brains of these patients literally did not know what the other side had done or seen, but the patients’ “interpreter” selves (their inner voices) readily and confidently created “makes-sense narrative[s]” about actions they were told they had performed (but didn’t actually recall). Gazzaniga explains that “when we set out to explain our own actions, they are all post-hoc explanations, using post-hoc observations with no access to non-conscious processing.” Later, Storr cites the work of Bruce Hood, who says that there is no consistent, unified self. The self is an illusion. We are multiple and our self/selves is/are context-dependent. We can be quite different people depending on the situations we find ourselves in.
Storr continues his exploration of the evolution of the self (the intersection of culture and personal identity) with a consideration of Ancient Greece, a collection of independent city states whose home economies depended largely on an entrepreneurial agricultural and merchant class. According to Richard Nisbet, the very geography of Ancient Greece—the many islands and city states—led to a “concomitant view of reality as a collection of individual objects”. Men were encouraged to rely on themselves in order to survive, and they possessed “a remarkable sense of personal agency”. The culture of Ancient Greece gave rise to the idea of “the perfectible self”. Beauty (think: sculpture) and individual athleticism (think: Olympics) were prized, and there were abundant stories and myths about the adventures and exploits of individual gods and men (think: Heracles and Odysseus). Individualism, we are led to believe, first materialized on Mediterranean shores.
From Ancient Greece, Storr moves on to consider the Christian concept of the self that solidified during the European Middle Ages. Storr relates that he stayed briefly at a priory in Scotland where medieval rituals and routines are preserved and the vision of the essentially evil, sinning self continues to rule. For the Christian, the author writes, man only becomes more perfect by engaging in warfare against himself, by wrestling with his conscience, mind, and thoughts. The self-hatred, fetishization of low self-esteem, and respect for compliance, hard work, and humility that so characterized the medieval Christian mindset still linger in the Western psyche. Even Freud’s ideas about humanity, Storr writes, are not as far removed from the Christian concept of the self as one might think. The Viennese founder of psychoanalysis still believed that humans were bad, made miserable by monstrous urges that could only be fixed by engaging in a war with the inner self.
The greater part of Storr’s book is spent examining a number of American movements in the mid to late twentieth century. These include the rise of the cult around the writer Ayn Rand and her lover and acolyte Nathaniel Branden, who together proclaimed a doctrine of virtuous selfishness. Interestingly, future Federal Reserve Chair Alan Greenspan was a member of this set. His ideas about small government, financial deregulation, and the “morality” (!) of free markets—the foundations of “neoliberalism”—were learned at the feet of his cultish mother, Rand. Through Branden, Rand’s ideas were promulgated in California. Storr traces in some detail (more than I needed or wanted) the ways in which politicians and new age figures (the founders of Esalen) were influenced (or perhaps infected) by them. Self esteem actually made its way into public policy in California, but the idea of improving the self-concept of citizens in order to cure any number of social ills spread quickly and widely to educational and other social institutions across North America. (I can attest to its influence in education, having sat through staff meetings in which teachers were chided about refraining from using red pens and failing students who had done no work all term. The self esteem of these young people was already low, and red ink and grades below 50% could be the fatal blow.)
Storr’s is a stimulating, wide-ranging, and detailed book. In many ways, I feel my summary hardly does it justice. I was interested in some sections more than others. I’ll admit to loathing Ayn Rand (whom I first encountered in high school when one of my friends enthused about her “novels”—if you can call them that). Reading page after page about her in Storr’s book, followed by still more pages about the California self-esteem and tech scenes that were, to some extent, fuelled by her ideas left me rather cranky. Storr does manage to achieve what he set out to do: trace the evolution of the (Western) self over time. In the end, he doesn’t offer up much in the way of solutions for how we should deal with the problem of social perfectionism (maybe that isn’t the point, anyway), but he does help us see some of the ways in which we got to where we are.