Catastrophe, Collective Trauma, and the Origin of Civilization
(Part II)
Richard Heinberg
In
most cases of individual neurosis, psychoanaysts look for an early trauma,
or emotional shock, in the life of the patient--usually a forgotten incident
and often one from the preverbal period of life. Accordingly, it seems
reasonable for the ethnoanalyst to attempt the same thing, difficult though
it obviously is for anyone to find evidence for collective prehistoric
emotional experiences.
--Roger
W. Wescott, The Divine Animal
Our society is made up of vast numbers
of traumatized individuals, and our culture has come into being through
a universally traumatizing process. The outcome--today's technological
civilization with its massive psychopathologies and unending ecological
disasters--is a collective reflection of the traumatized personality.
--Chellis
Glendinning,
"My
Name Is Chellis & I'm in Recovery from Western Civilization"
In last
month's MuseLetter we began exploring the idea that civilized human beings
exhibit stress responses (aggressive, controlling, and addictive behaviors;
blunted affect; and generalized anxiety) because civilization systematically
traumatizes them from birth as part of the process of domestication. Perhaps
civilization detaches human beings from nature--through agriculture, urbanization,
and technology--in order to impart a sense of security against unpredictable
natural disasters; and perhaps civilization wounds people and nature because
it is wounded--i.e., because it began as a response to environmental trauma.
We have as yet left some important questions unanswered. The principal
one is simply, What was the catastrophe that lit civilization's fuse?
Of course, every sane person would wish to avert another disaster; everyone
hopes that civilization can somehow quickly reform itself so that we don't
have to face massive starvation and ecological devastation in the coming
century. But it would be foolish to ignore the implications of current
trends. The likelihood is that those of us who will be around in the early
decades of the next century will experience a catastrophe of one sort
or another first-hand--either one that is humanly caused or an "act of
God" whose effects are experienced far more severely as a result of population
density and the interconnectedness and vulnerability of civilization's
systems of transportation, communication, food delivery, and political
control.
How will people respond? According to Lewis Aptekar, victims of human-induced
disasters often show more stress than victims of natural disasters
because of the perceived need to find parties to blame. Whatever the eventual
circumstances, it seems certain that groups in differing geographic areas,
and in differing economic conditions, will react in dissimilar ways. In
the case of a breakdown of communication and control, those who are more
dependent on high tech will likely suffer much more than those who are
still somewhat accustomed to locally filling their own basic needs. Over
the short term, we are likely to see acts of extraordinary heroism alongside
extreme examples of opportunism and stupidity. But what about the long-range
prognosis?
If human beings are re-traumatized, will they develop even stranger and
more virulent cultural neuroses than the ones they already exhibit? Or
will at least some of us learn from the experience? The fact that we are
now coming to understand how the human psyche typically deals with trauma
is cause for hope: perhaps a significant number of people will experience
civilization's crisis as a catharsis that will reach all the way
to the roots of our ancient, irrational fear of nature, and help us learn
to live in peace with the world, with one another, and with ourselves.