“So, do be good, show you can set the fashion./ Let fantasy be heard with all her chorus:/ Sense, Reason, Sentiment, and Passion;/ Yet mark you well! bring folly too before us!” — Goethe.
A new round of proposals before Congress to change the taxonomic designation of Homo Sapiens to Homo Contradictus has resulted in a fierce firestorm of controversy, once again finding our lawmakers deadlocked in indecision. The current review by the Super Committee tasked with resolving the issue has likewise reached a stalemate.
The next step in the process will be the selection of a Really Super Committee which will review the procedures reviewed by the Super Committee to ascertain the reasons for its failure to reach a decision. It will comprise eight members each from the respective parties as opposed to the six respective appointees comprising the Super Committee.
The proposal was first introduced by Democratic senator, Sheeza Throbak, and was originally intended as a response to legislation penned by her sister and Republican counterpart, I. Emma Throbak, which sought to change the erstwhile designation to Homo Digitalis. While the latter raised some eyebrows in their home state, most of the electorate assumed it referred to the new digital media age. When informed that Digitalis referred to the opposable digit, or thumb, as the main distinguishing characteristic separating humans from animals, it was tabled amid the confusion.
The former, however, soon went viral and swelled into a national call for action. A blistering barrage of on-line petitions sparked by such internet advocates as, Constant and Unremitting Causes and Please Don’t Delete This Urgent Message, prompted its consideration by the nation’s decision-makers, though it has since bogged down in partisan jousting.
I asked Stooges For Democracy spokesperson, Ella Fyno, of the effort to upgrade the scientific classification to be more reflective of real-life human behavior. “I’m undecided.” she stated flatly. “It seems a bit ambiguous, though I will say that I half considered signing the petition by the time I’d received the seventeenth e-mail.”
She scratched her head. It must be a cheap, generic shampoo she is using, I thought, as I watched the unsightly flakes of deceased epidermis fall onto the shoulders of her Italian wool, custom-tailored black sweater. It looked as if her hair had died as well. Nevertheless, I was intrigued by the general implications of her response and determined to comb her mind for a more precise amplification of her widely spaced views.
“Our political system has gone awry.” she observed solemnly, “The ideologies of the two parties have grown so disparate that each seems engaged only in gainsaying the other. What was designed to give dissent and argument a proper hearing in the spirit of compromise for the exercise of our constitutional freedom in the service of democracy seems to have been forfeited for bald partisanry.”
She considered further and then declared with certainty, “I don’t know whether we can maintain any sure direction in the face of such extremes.” I pictured a human head with two faces, and I knew intuitively what she was referring to.
“Where do you see our new cultural consciousness taking us?” I asked, trying desperately to make sense of the questions swirling in my mind. “It seems to be going in two directions at once…” she stated unequivocally, “almost as if there were two sides of every individual — each invested solely in trying to thwart the other’s intentions.”
I was even more determined to seek a solution to this baffling conundrum, as Ms. Fyno emptied out the last of the wisdom from her tightly crowded intellect, “Half of me thinks it knows, but, honestly, the other half has no idea whatever.” Her candor was refreshing but of little avail.
Doubly driven to add another piece to the human puzzle, I felt bidden to a higher authority. I researched the top ten psychology blogs and contacted the office of Dr. Abnorm Drowze, the eminent and respected psychiatrist, Magna-Cum-Loud from Whichisit State, hoping desperately for insight on the confusion and uncertainty of our modern predicament. What I learned startled me.
“Can I help you?” was the first response I received — from his secretary, Candy. There are channels, I knew that. Buoyed by enthusiasm, however, I informed her that I was seeking clarification on a few of the basic existential questions which burdened humanity, and I felt sure Dr. Drowse could shed urgently needed light on them.
“You’ll have to schedule an appointment.” she stated curtly. I told her with some confidence that I was not on the line for a consultation, but that I needed Dr. Drowze’s informed, scientific opinion on the state of our culture today.
“Dr. Drowze is a very busy man!” she popped off. “Do you think he can just drop everything this instant for your paltry concerns, even as he is fleecing a poor, confused neurotic out of his life savings just so said neurotic can find the strength to somehow keep living long enough to support him and his profession, in spite of the fact that neither offers even the slightest pretense of warranty or return for its alleged services — and also to maintain his lavish lifestyle?”
She had a point. I tried to be reasonable, sensing that she was overworked and under great stress from her duties holding the acclaimed doctor’s office together amid the constant, clamorous queries for his expertise.
“When do you think he might be available?” I asked politely, trying not to rattle her cage, though I felt a little hot from her dismissive manner. “Who’s your insurance provider?” she asked briskly. I felt belittled and powerless. “I’ve got your insurance provider right here!” I blurted out, despite any consciousness of my sudden reaction. Fortunately, she was unable to witness my acting-out of the physical accompaniment to that statement.
“What do you mean by that?” she snapped, as if trying to pick a fight with me. I tried to pull myself together, “What?” I asked innocently. “What you just said!” she shot back angrily, obviously on the point of losing her manifestly tenuous composure. I searched for a more reasonable approach to her unprovoked ire. “I didn’t say anything.” Her tone was that of a teacher reprimanding a child, “Sir,” she said coolly, “I’m going to have to ask that you not call here again.”
Well, la-de-da, I thought. I half-considered a clever retort designed to turn her rudeness back upon her and make her understand that I was not to be trifled with. “So what?!” I replied alternately, “Then don’t call me again, either!” The office phones must have had caller I.D., because I called again and again after Candy hung up, seething to give Dr. Drowze a piece of my mind. After several days with no resolution (and a ‘Cease and Desist Order’ from the sheriff’s department), I quit calling out of sheer frustration — but not before I’d given a quite convincing account of my argument to the doctor’s voicemail service.
(For a serious look at Jungian psychology and the mid-life transition, check out my book here.)