readoldthings (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
readoldthings) wrote2023-09-19 08:03 am
readoldthings) wrote2023-09-19 08:03 am
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Life Without Games, Part I
The Victim
Everybody's had this experience.
Someone comes into your life. Perhaps they're a friend or a family member; often they're somebody new, met at work or school.
The first thing you learn about them is that they've suffered. She was fired from her last job for following the rules too closely. His last girlfriend cheated on him and stole all his money. Her father drank and ran off with another woman. His professor failed him even though she knew it wasn't his fault he didn't turn in his essay. It wasn't her fault her last roommate kicked her out of the house. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't make it into work that day. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't his fault.
The second thing you learn about them is that it wasn't their fault. They've suffered: And someone always did it too them. In fact, someone is doing it to them right now. Her last boyfriend went psycho and she had to move into a new place. But now the landlord is going to kick her out if she doesn't come up with six hundred dollars by Friday, and there's no way she can do that because she just had to spend all her money having the apartment repainted (no evidence that the apartment has been painted). He needs a place to stay, just for a few nights, so that he doesn't end up on the street (he shows no evidence of having looked for a place to live.) She needs to take the class for free because all her money has to go to take care of her daughter (then why is she always going out to bars?).
And so the third thing you learn is that they need something from you. (And you ignore the parenthesis. For now.)
The third thing you learn is also the fourth thing you learn. And the fifth thing you learn. And the sixth thing you learn. You give her the six hundred dollars so she won't lose her place. Next week she needs your help rearranging her bedroom. The week after that she needs a ride to a doctor's appointment on the other side of town. She'll pay you back once she can find a job, but it's just so hard. She never finds the job. The week after that she doesn't need your help, and someone mentions seeing her out with another guy. The next day you get a series of deranged text messages about how this guy is going to kill her. You stop what you're doing, jump in your car and drive over there. Of course there's another man there (no evidence he means her any harm or even knows about you). You become jealous; you lose your temper; you say things you'll regret later. She accuses you of stalking her and demands you leave.
Congratulations: In the next version of the story, you're the psycho ex-boyfriend. In fact, right now she's telling her new target all about how horrible you were to her. He can't even believe the way you just showed up like that, uninvited! And now he learns that thanks to you spending all her rent money, the landlord is evicting her, and she'll need to move into a new place next week. That is, unless there's some way she can come up with six hundred dollars by Friday...
Games People Play
Interactions like this are as common as they are destructive. In the 1960s, a psychologist named Eric Berne noticed that many of his patients acted out repeated patterns like this one, taking one or another role as the occasion demanded. Originally a Freudian, his close study of actual human behavior lead him to found a new school of psychology called Transactional Analysis. His book Games People Play is the foundational popular text of this school, and I strongly recommend it; I rank it as one of the two or three most helpful books I've ever read that were written by people who lived during the Twentieth Century. According to transactional analysis, if you've participated in any of the interactions I've described above, you've been a player in a very specific sort of social phenomenon called a game.
In the following series of posts, I'm going to discuss Berne's theory of games and similar, simpler social transactions out of which they emerge. I'm going to suggest that a particularly destructive game dominates our political life in America. And I'm also going to suggest that the way that we do religion and spirituality, and above all the sorts of alternative religion and spirituality that are familiar to the readers of this blog, are also highly dominated by games of this sort. Finally, I'm going to suggest a way forward, to a spirituality without games.
The Structure of Transactions
The basic theory of Transactional Analysis is that human beings require social recognition from one another, which Berne called "strokes." In a small child, "strokes" are basically literal. An infant needs to be physically handled, or it can literally die from emotional deprivation. In an adult, a "stroke" may amount to nothing more than a nod of recognition from a neighbor-- but it serves the same purpose. As Berne points out, the use of solitary confinement as a method of torture is proof that adults too may be killed or badly harmed by emotional deprivation.
Most of our interactions, meanwhile-- and especially those which seem to be spontaneous-- are in fact highly structured methods of exchanging strokes. These exchanges are called transactions. In every society transactions are highly structured and repeated, but people often remain entirely unconscious of them.
A simple transaction can be described as follows:
A: Good morning. (1 Stroke.)
B: Good morning. (1 Stroke.)
The End
B: Good morning. (1 Stroke.)
The End
In this scenario A and B are neighbors but have little else in common. In Berne's terms, each receives 1 stroke from the interaction. It isn't that either has calculated what they need from the other person, or what they're going to give that person. It's that each simply "knows," on a level prior to consciousness, that the level of their relationship demands that each provide the other with a single stroke and receive his stroke in turn. The number of required strokes, the method of providing them, and the obligation to provide strokes at all vary from one culture to another, and are one of the ways of analyzing and understanding that word, "culture." Within the United States, there are some areas in which the obligation to a neighbor consists entirely of a nodded head. To respond with a smile and a "good morning!" is to elicit a sense of confusion and "What does he want?" In other areas, a "Good morning" may easily lead to a (scripted) conversation about weather, grass, and the like. Other factors may influence the sort of transaction to which one is permitted/obligated. Where I live in rural Maryland, for example, men and women very rarely speak to one another. Even husbands and wives don't seem to like each other very much-- at least, I rarely see them demonstrate the slightest interest in being in one another presence-- and to speak with an unaccompanied person of the opposite sex is something of a faux pas.
In any case, the scenario described above is a very simple form of transaction, called a ritual. Rituals, in Berne's words, are stereotyped, simple transactions programmed by external forces. Greeting, leavetaking, and exchanging pleasantries at a checkout line are simple, informal rituals. ("Hi, how are you?"). Formal rituals are more complex and far less subject to individual or regional variability; the apex of these are highly structured rituals like the Catholic mass or the coronation of a king. From Berne's perspective, informal rituals are actually more interesting. Among other things, the informal ritual's lack of an overt script means that you can analyze how well socialized a person is by how effectively they perform them. Consider the man who responds to a stranger's "Hi, how are you?" with, "Oh, I'm terrible. I just got off the phone with my mother-in-law, and it looks like her brother has cancer. Cancer, can you believe it? The doctors are saying they're going to have to remove his lymph nodes. Just imagine. I had a cousin who had lymph nodes removed and his arm swelled up with lymphedema and got all fat and purple, you shoulda seen it. I was worried they were going to have to amputate-- Hey, where are you going!?" Well, such a person has just revealed a great deal about himself, utterly unrelated to his mother in law, her brother, or his cousin.
Now, it's quite possible to have interactions with other people that are not scripted. Such interactions, governed by reason and directed toward specific ends, Berne calls procedures and operations. These are simpler than rituals, in that there are no scripts or lines to remember; one can honestly say something like "I'm heading to Richmond today, do you happen to know if it's better to take 15 than 495?" receive an answer, and move on. Of course they can also be more complex, as in a large group project or a serious planning session. In the case of procedures, the primary form of interaction is transparent and rational-- and as such, there is little to say about them, and so we'll move on.
Pastimes
More complex than informal rituals are pasttimes. Pastimes are defined by Berne as a series of complementary semi-ritual exchanges, organized around a single field of material, whose ultimate purpose is to structure time. In the book, it is in the section on pastimes that Berne's sense of humor begins to emerge; I have a feeling he was a fun guy to spend time around, games or no games.
A large cocktail party otften functions as a kind of gallery for the exhibition of pastimes. In one corner of the room a few people are playing "PTA," another corner is the form for "Psychiatry," a third is the theater for "Ever Been" or "What Became," the fourth is engaged for "General Motors," and the buffet is reserved for women who want to play "Kitchen" or "Wardrobe."
Each of these follows a very strict pattern, and you probably know many of them well. PTA: "The kids these days can't function in the workplace." "It's the overprotective parents; when we were kids they let us play outside until the streetlights came on." Sports Talk: "Did you see the Steelers game last night?" "Sure did, Pickett's finally coming into his own as a quarterback." General Motors: "How do you like the 2018?" "It's great, I really like the automatic doors and the backing camera." And so on. The purpose of a pastime is to structure time, but it serves several other purposes as well. First, it stabilizes each individual in his or her social role. This role, which is what Jung called the persona, consists essentially of the part the individual plays in the games of his or her choice. I like playing PTA and my favorite role is "grumpy old man"; you like playing General Motors and telling me about your Ford F-150; she likes playing "Ever Been?" and going on about how Europeans have the metric system. According to Berne, an individual's role, and the larger position of which it is a manifestation, stabilizes very early on in life, and we spend most of the rest of our lives justifying that role and that position.
Pastimes also form the basis for ongoing acquaintance and friendship. Two women who meet at a party and play a rousing game of "Ain't it Awful!" are likely to meet up later that week for more of the same. Moreover, the pastimes that one participates in are reflections of social class, and finding a new set of pastimes is a major part of upward mobility. Working class people don't play "Ever Been?" Many upper middle class ("PMC") subcultures frown on "General Motors," and consider "Sports Talk" a major faux pas.
Games
Finally we come to games. Games are akin to Pastimes, but they are distinguished by three key traits. First, they are more complex than pastimes, often involve a series of tightly scripted moves. Beyond that and far more important, games are distinguished by their dishonesty. Two men engaging in "Sports Talk" know that they are talking about the football game and enjoying doing so, even if their specific words and phrases are more or less scripted. But two men playing a game of "I've Got You Now, You Son of a Bitch!" are likely to be totally unaware of their motives, even as each chooses his next move exactly in order to ensure the desired outcome. That outcome, finally, is the third distinguishing feature of games. Every game ends in a carefully pre-determined outcome, even as its players claim totally ignorance, and innocence.
Procedures may be succesful, rituals effective, and pastimes profitable, but all of them are by definition candid; they may involve contest, but not conflict, and the ending may be sensational, but it is not dramatic. Every game, on the other hand, is basically dishonest, and the outcome has a dramatic, as distinct from a merely exciting, quality.
I want to now look at a few specific games detailed by Berne, and then at another model of gamesmanship produced by one of Berne's more recent followers. This will illustrate the scenarios discussed at the beginning of this post. And it will also, we will find, have profound implications for spiritual practice in a world of covert games.
If It Weren't For You
Berne opens his discussion of games by illustrating a marital game he calls "If It Weren't For You." It should be familiar from its very name alone. Berne claims it is the most common of games played by married people, and you can probably guess the moves before I even write them.
Mrs. White complained that her husband severely restrictd her social activities, so that she had never learned to dance. Due to changes in her attitude brought about by psychiatrict treatment, her husband became less sure of himself and more indulgent. Mrs. White was then free to enlarge the scope of her activities. She signed up for dancing classes, and then discovered to her despair that she had a morbid fear of dance floors and had to abandon this project.
Now, we can imagine the same scenario taking place in any number of different forms. Mr. Black had always wanted to live in California, but his whole family was in Massachussetts, where it's always cold and gloomy and everyone is so up tight. If it weren't for them, he'd be living his dream in the warm California Sun. Finally, decided to throw caution to the wind and by a one way ticket to L.A. Within six months he found himself totally out of his comfort zone and moved back to the snow and the cold and the miserable people of the Northeast. Miss Gray had always wanted to find a man and get married, but someone had to take care of her ailing mother and none of her other siblings were willing to help. At last her mother died. Miss Gray had several suitors and went on a number of dates, but soon discovered that she was terrified of sex and so broke off contact with the men once things started moving in too intimate a direction. For a time she lived alone, but then-- never doubt the working of Providence!-- her elder sister came down with M.S. and needed a live in caretaker.
In each of these cases, we see that the person who is "It" in the game, while appearing to suffer, in fact gets exactrly what tehy want. In Berne's example, Mrs. White has carefully chosen a domineering man for a husband, which keeps her from having to face her fears and also allows her to confirm her own belief that all men are tyrants. Mr. White, meanwhile, lives in terror of being alone and has chosen someone who will never leave it. As Berne puts it, their surface-level interaction looks something like, "You can't go out dancing tonight, I need someone to make my dinner!" "You never let me do anything!" But their covert interaction is something more like, "You must never leave, I'm terrified of being alone." "I will stay, as long as you keep me from facing my fears."
Other Games
The Games that Berne describes are as familiar as his pastimes. In "I've Got You Now, You Son of a Bitch!" Mr. A arranges for a plumber, Mr. B, to install a new set of fixtures at a set price. When Mr. B submits his bill, it turns out he's gone several dollars over the agreed upon price, due to unexpected expenses arising. Mr. A calls up Mr. B, they have a good shouting match, and Mr. B agrees to reduce the bill. Mr. A is satisfied that he doesn't have to spend as much money-- but the truth is, he doesn't realy care about the money. He loves shouting at people, and he loves confirming hsi belief that everyone is always trying to screw him over. And the truth is, Mr. B had fun too, because he was playing his own game. When he sits down at the dinner table that night, he'll regale his wife with the story of the awful Mr. A, and she'll get to join him for yet another round of Why Does This Always Happen To Me?
Some games are much more serious, and can have far more serious consequences. Berne points out that the prototypical childhood game for most criminals is not "Cops and Robbers" but "Hide and Seek." When a child plays Hide and Seek, the emotional climax comes when he is discovered-- especially if this comes after a good long chase. Many criminals carry this same behavior into adulthood, seeing how much they can get away with and then secretly delighting in finally getting caught. "Alcoholic" is a four-player game, with roles for the Alcoholic, the Persecutor (often his or her badgering spouse), the Rescuer (sometimes a therapist, sometimes his AA sponsor), and the Enabler (who may also play the Persecutor or the Rescuer, dependingon the number of available players).
If you think about it, I'm sure you can come up with similar games in your own life. I have several family members with whom I hate going out to dinner. Somehow it always happens that no matter what sort of restaurant we pick, no matter the day, no matter the time or the city or the style of food, we always get terrible service. The food is late, it's cold, the order is wrong, the waitress ignores us, she spills our drinks, they charge us for an extra hamburger and refuse to take it off the bill. It happens without fail. For many years I simply put up with this, but then I noticed that these ladies-- they're all ladies-- absolutely love sharing the stories of their awful service, after the fact. In fact, even before I read Berne's work, it became quite clear that the story was the point. These gals love going out to dinner, but by and large they aren't interested in food. They're interested in playing a round of "Aint It Awful!"
But I'm afraid I play my own games, and, if you think about it, I'm sure that-- unless you've done some serious work on yourself-- and I hope you have-- but in most cases, I'm sure you do too.
Tomorrow we're going to continue the discussion, drawing on another thinker in the same tradition, and applying these concepts to the spiritual traditions that inform this blog. In the meantime, I leave you with the thought--
What's your favorite game?
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When I get in a rut, I of course find all the reasons why it's everybody else's fault that the house is a mess. But I know perfectly well that what it comes down to is *I haven't trained the kids to pick up after themselves* and that's my job as their mother. It doesn't just happen. They have to be taught, and it has to be enforced, relentlessly, consistently, until they internalize it. And I always wimp out before we get to "internalized". Which is a disservice to everyone involved. The worst is that my kids see me launching into "I didn't make this mess, why do I have to clean it up?" and *that's* what they internalize: "Oh, well then, I shouldn't have to be responsible for any iota of household maintenance I didn't cause directly-- I'm only 20% of the people in this house, so I should never have to wash more than 20% of the spoons..."
And down spiral we all into the well of destruction.
I can sometimes recognize when I'm doing it-- like the saying goes "the one thing all your problems have in common is you". When the same thing keeps happening... it's time to play detective and figure out what I'm doing, or not doing, that's allowing it.
It is nearly impossible to see when other people are doing it, which has led to a lot of very puzzling and frustrating interpersonal conflicts-- where I can tell that there's some hidden-motive thing going on, but can't quite work out what it is. On the other hand... the end result has been that the people involved in these conflicts-- people who like drama, people who have issues they need to blame on someone, etc-- they detach themselves from me. Perhaps, being autistic, I don't respond in the appropriate/expected way. This is a bear in many ways-- it's difficult to make and maintain friendships, and even people of good will are often frustrated with/embarrassed by me because of my bluntness and lack of social graces. But perhaps there's a silver lining in there.
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On the house-cleaning side of things, I've mentioned this book in some Ecosophia threads before, so forgive me if this is old news, but there's a book called The House that Cleans Itself by Mindy Starns Clark that might be of some use. It's two core insights are 1) there is likely some reason for the way you do things now, even if you're not happy with it, and 2) make doing the "right thing" easier (even if that means accepting "good enough" instead of "perfect").
An example for kids: if their toys are piling up in the den instead of getting put away in their room, 1) might be something like "they do most of their playing out here with the family, not in their rooms", and 2) might be "get some baskets for toys to keep in the den. Yeah, we have obvious kid storage in the family space, but it's better than toys all over the floor!"
For what it's worth, the same advice is also really useful for almost all things self-improvement/productivity/habit-building related.
Good luck in your ongoing mission of civilization!
Jeff
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On the other hand, some things turned out to be surprisingly simple. Middle child, 9, could not be prevailed upon to flush the toilet. Like, ever. Meanwhile, 4yo still expects us to come celebrate with him when he uses the potty (and we do... it's a good time to stealth check if there are any puddles on the floor that need addressing). We started praising middle child for using the potty whenever we'd find his leavings still there, too. Great job using the potty, guy! We knew you could do it! Felt slightly inhumane, since he'd blush all the way to his scalp, sigh deeply, and march back in to flush. But the problem was solved decisively in 48 hours. Record time. This probably makes me a bad person, but it was so much nicer than the months of ineffective nagging that preceded it. Strategic teasing FTW? I'm still trying to figure out if there's a more broadly-applicable concept in there other than nagging doesn't work: try something else.
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On the streaky dishes thing, one of the best pieces of parenting advice I ever got came from an NPR article a friend shared with me, of all places. The author traveled around the world and saw that in most cultures, kids cheerfully help out with all kinds of chores, whereas in America, they're mostly sullen and have to be forced into doing anything. When she looked at what was different, she saw that kids develop a natural desire to help do things as they start being able to walk and talk and such, but the trouble is, they're very bad at just about everything. So busy American parents say "no, let me do that" or "here, you're taking too long, gimme that." Well, if every time you offer to help you get shut down, eventually you stop offering to help. So, my wife and I have tried to cultivate (with mixed success, of course) a habit of always responding to "I want to help!" with something, just to reinforce that asking to help is good and welcome.
My heart also hurts for books turned into truck-roads. I suppose whether to move them or not might have something to do with how rough he is with them and how much he helps put them away after he gets them down - if he puts away most of what he got down, and he didn't really hurt any of the books in the process, then maybe no harm, no foul. On the other hand, if he's wrecking books or refusing to help put them away, maybe removing the temptation is the better way to go.
Hahah, I think occasional strategic teasing is likely an important part of getting older and learning that you are not, in fact, the center of the world. Also, the lesson that if you act like a small child, you get treated like a small child might be a valuable one too.
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I did honestly try, particularly when they were very young, to never repel offers and attempts at help. Praise, find little jobs, don't nitpick, etc. and was careful to stock the kitchen with thrift-store dishes so we did not have to lose our minds when things got broken, and we could get them gradually trained to be actually helpful. It has not worked. We are still having to slog through it the hard way with unwilling children. And that sucks.
I think a lot of the problem is simply that *I* hate housework, and I can't hide that from them, and they pick up the attitude. I was raised in a chaotic house where nobody cleaned except as an emergency measure (and then it was torture because mountains of stuff to move and the floors practically had to be sanded to get them clean). I could manage it, barely, when I was young and lived alone, by simply living like a monk-- I had hardly any stuff, and on more than one occasion was able to pick up and move 800 miles away with just a suitcase. That's how much stuff I can handle responsibly without cracking up. But now... I've got four other people to look after, and I can't force them to live like monks. Figuring this out is *hard*. Probably one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.
It's a work in progress. Very slow progress. Every little bit helps.
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I'm also sorry to hear the kids are still tough to get to help - my almost-5 year old is mostly cheerful to help still, and my almost-1 year old smiles while she throws things on the floor. What I'm saying is it might be too early for me to be expressing my confidence here. Oh, also, I don't have any boys, and I hear that's a whole other ballgame.
Yeah, that's rough, how much they pick up just from watching us be ourselves. I find that both the most reassuring and most terrifying part of parenting.
At any rate, if you'll have them, my best wishes for your ongoing success in the struggle!
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The overall weird conclusion to draw here as that we are all "NPCs" whenever we engage in these sorts of superficial and transactional social interactions. And whenever one goes off-script or acts really weird (or simply out of character) seems to throw a glitch in the matrix, so to speak.
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And, yeah-- we're all NPCs, and most of the time it's actually supposed to be that way! We all exist on multiple levels. We have our own immediate, inner lives, and we have our personal relationships with our close friends and our families. And we have our jobs, hobbies, and so on. But in terms of the very large aggregates of which we are part, we're cells, and if we stop acting like cells the whole system breaks down. Just as your body malfunctions if your blood cells stop acting like blood cells, and so on.
Of course, whether or not that's a good thing depends on which system you're talking about, and whether or not you want it to continue to function...
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Folks might also find this three-part series on what drives "NPC" behavior relevant (it has a definite political stance, but the core insight about adjusting to the difference between public/private spheres, or failing to, is pretty neutral, and is the part most relevant to this post):
https://eggreport.substack.com/p/beyond-breakfast-the-npc-question
https://eggreport.substack.com/p/the-npc-question-2
https://eggreport.substack.com/p/the-npc-question-3
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