The journeying self: From narcissism to solidarity and doxology

1.1 The growing self-awareness of the pre-school child: Neisser’s account

An inquiry about the journeying self might begin by asking about the kind of cognitive skills human beings must develop if they are to construct a coherent narrative of their overall experience. Neisser (1988) proposes a psychological model of growing self-awareness in pre-school children, in which the following five dimensions are thermalized.

1. The ecological self: the self as aware of being situated in this specific place, engaged in this particular activity. What Neisser calls the “optical flow” dominates this level of experience (36).

2. The interpersonal self: the self as engaged in social interaction with another person, exchanging signals of emotional rapport and communication. The bond between mother and child is the basic paradigm for this level of intersubjectivity (41).

3. The extended self: the self as informed by memory and anticipation outside this present moment. I am the person who has had certain specific experiences in the past, and the one who engages in familiar routines that will stretch on into the future (47).

4. The private self: this dimension of selfhood appears when children first notice that some of their experiences are not directly shared with other people. Descartes’ cogito ergo sum is situated at this level. I am, in principle, the only person who can feel this unique and particular emotion (50).

5. The conceptual self: This is the self as it is capable of reflecting on his or her own traits of character and as it is aware of taking on a social role in the midst of a family, a small group, or a larger gathering of people (56).

According to Stern (1989), for a person to be able construct a narrative about the self, these five elements will probably need be to be present in some combination. In Neisser’s model, it is normal for a child to have all five of these strands of self-awareness by the age of five, perhaps even as early as three years of age. We can expect these five strands to figure in the construction of identity by adults, too, as they continue to form and re-form narratives about themselves throughout the course of their lives.

1.2 How children construct and interpret autobiographical and family narratives

Autobiographical narratives are first constructed in dialogue with family members (Fivush and Haden 1997; Reese et al. 1993). Children learn that certain linguistic markers can help give temporal order to their accounts: first, next, then, before, after. If causes are involved, another set of markers may be used: so, since, because. Their narratives are evaluative, too. “We went swimming at the beach – it was the most fun ever!” “His dog can do a lot of tricks!” “The snow was really cold!” Judging from these sorts of narratives, it appears that young children are best able to construct stories that deal with a “landscape of action” (Bruner 1987: 20).

Family narratives about a shared past are a significant site for a preadolescent’s emerging sense of self both as an individual and as a member of a unified family. When it comes to the “performance” of family narratives, Bohanek et al. (2006) identify three broad styles. In the first, the telling of the family narrative is dominated by one family member who imposes his own meaning on events, with little input from others. In the second, a family narrative is created when each family member simply takes his turn telling his individual thoughts and feelings about an event, without significant integration among the various perspectives. In the third, conversations with a coordinated perspective try to weave together information contributed by all family members. Each of these three styles has its own implications for a child’s sense of belonging and agency as a co-creator of the family’s identity. The authoritarian style of the first type is less likely to help a child develop skill in constructing and interpreting narratives. The second type seems to foreshadow a self-centered or narcissistic approach to the family’s story. The coordinated approach, with its more complex interactions, holds greater promise for the construction of family cohesion and solidarity.

When asked about traumatic or violent events they have witnessed or suffered, children are likely to construct narratives with very strong visual imagery. If a child must go to the hospital emergency room after being injured in an accident, for example, “flashbulb” memories are common features of the accounts children give to interviewers. Hyper-vigilance as a way of coping with these events seems to be the major factor in the shaping of these stories. If a child can work these dangerous events into a narrative, they may feel they can hope to avoid repeating similar negative experiences (Fivush et al. 2003).

1.3 Adolescent identity: Formed through narratives

Erikson theorizes that one of the major tasks of adolescence is the construction of personal identity. As he sees it, the struggle in adolescence is one of identity versus role confusion. Identity is “achieved” through a process of reviewing old beliefs and views of oneself, and by exploring a variety of possible new roles (Erikson 1968). Included in this process are the development and regulation of sexuality, making (and sometimes breaking) commitments to significant others, the formation of educational and work-related goals, and decisions concerning which moral values to embrace or leave behind.

Creating a life story – borne of remembrance of the events of one’s past and reflection on their meaning for the future – is an important means by which this reviewing and exploring are accomplished. Over time, teenagers build up a repertoire of autobiographical stories, and they begin to order them hierarchically through a process of autobiographical reasoning (Habermas and Bluck 2000).

Habermas and Paha (2001) describe four types of coherence in the narratives created by adolescents: biographical, temporal, causal, and thematic. Biographical coherence has to do with birth, and with transitions involving family, institutions, and geographical locations. Temporal coherence includes chronological time: “Before I got my driver’s license, it was hard for me to find work...” Causal coherence is often signaled by “ever since” statements that relate an event to a subsequent change: “Since I met Sandra, I have become a more open person...” Thematic coherence comes from linking various episodes that seem to converge on a common point: “I’ve learned that I like outdoor activities best – hiking, white-water rafting, volleyball [...]”

So the past is not simply “there,” waiting to be retrieved. Rather, it must be constructed, interpreted, revised (Bruner 1991). A considerable part of this meaning-making process goes on internally, in the secrecy of the adolescent’s own heart, but there is a social dimension to identity-formation, as well (Pasupathi and Weeks 2011; Pasupathi and Hoyt 2009). In the early years of adolescence, the audience for any story that has a bearing on identity is likely to be the teenager’s parents. In subsequent stages of development, however, adolescents are more likely to narrate the meaning of their lives to a circle of friends outside the family (McLean 2005; Bauminger et al. 2008).

When adolescents are asked to tell about their relationships with friends, typically there are three themes that emerge in their narratives: obligations, school transitions, and the dynamics of friendship (Azmitia et al. 2005). The obligations of friendship includes such values as trust, loyalty, and emotional support: “I was kind of depressed for a couple of months, but Robert stuck by me and tried to cheer me up when others didn’t.” School transitions are sources of opportunities and strains for friendship: when adolescents change schools or go off to college, they construct narratives about maintaining old friendships or letting go of them (Healy 2015; Rose 1984). “Since we don’t go home that often, we really don’t see each other much anymore, but we try to keep in touch through Facebook [...]” (Pempek et al. 2009: 234). Developing new friendships in new contexts is also part of this process (Vaccaro et al. 2015).

With respect to the dynamics of friendship, their stories cover periods of increased or decreased intimacy and closeness between friends, similarities and differences between friends, inclusion versus exclusion, and how conflicts with friends might be managed. A passage from Book IV of St. Augustine’s Confessions touches on these themes:

And there were other things in our companionship that took strong hold of my mind: to discourse and jest with him; to indulge in courteous exchanges; to read pleasant books together; to trifle together; to be earnest together; to differ at times without ill-humor, as a man might do with himself, and even through these infrequent dissensions to find zest in our more frequent agreements; sometimes teaching, sometimes being taught; longing for someone absent with impatience and welcoming the homecomer with joy. These and similar tokens of friendship, which spring spontaneously from the hearts of those who love and are loved in return – in countenance, tongue, eyes, and a thousand ingratiating gestures – were all so much fuel to melt our souls together, and out of the many made us one. (Confessions IV.8.13)

If we take Augustine’s phrase “made us one” and press it just a little further, we arrive at the threshold of a wider solidarity between the journeying self and others. We have a narrative description of solidarity in the actions of the Good Samaritan, who stops to help the stranger who has been beaten and left for dead on the Jericho Road (Luke 10). We should take note that the innkeeper, too, relinquishes the role of bystander, when he enters into “a conspiracy of goodness” with the Good Samaritan. The innkeeper agrees to continue caring for the victim and says he will accept payment for his trouble at an unspecified time in the future. “Whenever I return...” is the promise made by the Good Samaritan.

Will the adolescent construct a life narrative that embraces religious commitment, or will she reject faith? Regnerus and Uecker (2006) speak of four kinds of religious or spiritual transformations in adolescence: (1) intensified devotion within the same religious structure, (2) a shift from no religious commitment to a devout religious life, (3) change from one religion to another, (4) losing faith – a transformation in which religious commitments or behaviors are suddenly left behind, replaced by nothing in particular (Gooren 2010).

Fredriksen (1986) suggests that reflection on religious conversion begins with a retrospective glance: How did I get here? And it is by construction of a narrative account that the self is able to unify his past and present: “I’ll tell you how I got here, it was like this [...]” (Ricoeur 1979: 123). Yet the narrative that emerges from that telling and re-telling also helps the journeying self consolidate her current understanding of meaningful projects and obligations to others. The story that she is constructing is not merely retrospective. This narrative helps her name the goal-oriented actions to which she is presently committed and to identify the companions she finds beside her on the road (Scott 2004).

3.1 Twenge’s view of narcissism

If we take narcissism to mean, “an excessive preoccupation with the self,” it might be claimed that all these themes – the child’s development of self-awareness through narratives, the adolescent’s construction of identity through autobiographical stories, the preoccupation with my own sins in confession – are narcissistic. There may be good reasons for resisting this “narcissistic” interpretation: the child tells his story to family members, the adolescent is oriented to a circle of friends, the confession of sin anticipates reconciliation with God and with fellow human beings (Leith and Baumeister 2008). The journeying self is never simply egoism “all the way down.”

Perhaps, though, it would be a mistake to dismiss this question of narcissism too quickly. In their essay, “Egos Inflating over Time,” Twenge et al. (2008) try to show that today’s young people are more narcissistic than young people of the recent past. They are less interested in community concerns than previous generations have been (Campbell et al. 2002). Their efforts to enhance the self-range from attention seeking and taking credit from others, to seeking high-status romantic partners (Campbell 1999), and looking for opportunities to receive public glory (Wallace and Baumeister 2002). In sum, young narcissists seek self-esteem and advantage over others through a variety of social means, but that they have little regard for the consequences of their actions as they are borne by others. In the tale they are spinning, they themselves tend to be at the center of everything (Slotter and Gardner 2011).

3.2 Generativity/doxology

So how do human beings who are “endowed” with a natural narcissism learn to care about others? If we approach this question in light of the “retrospective self,” the self that critically assesses his own moral transgressions, we are likely to find several important turning points. McAdams describes two typical stories that emerge from this process – a contaminated self and a redeemed self. A narrative of “contamination” begins with what is whole and good in life, and by degrees, tells a story of how that goodness was effaced by self-centered actions. Narratives of “redemption,” on the other hand, begin with a low point, a nadir, and then describe an upward movement, a process of healing and integration, after which it is easier to regard other people and their struggles with newfound compassion (McAdams 2001).

Other stories of commitment may emphasize how, after a prolonged period of living only for oneself, a person began to feel a desire to “give back” to the world (Maruna 1997; McAdams et al. 1997). Generative people seek to nurture, guide, and care for those in a wider community. The autobiographical stories told by generative adults often incorporate an early awareness of the suffering of others. Josselson (1995) sees in some narratives “a process of overcoming distance rather than accepting it or creating it.” Or a person may describe what it feels like to be guided by “an expanded radius of care” (Peterson and Klohnen 1995).

With respect to this new scope for compassion, Ricoeur (1995) speaks of the self as being “summoned” by God through narratives. The prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures tell of being called by God, commanded and sent with a mandate to speak out against injustice. The prophet Nathan knows that King David’s hands are “steeped in blood,” and now he hopes to catch the conscience of the king by means of a parable (Bar-Efrat 1980). Ostensibly, the story is about a powerful landowner who has stolen a poor man’s only sheep. In reality, the parable refers to David’s conspiracy to murder his loyal soldier, Uriah, in order to take Uriah’s wife Bathsheba for himself. When David’s sense of justice is offended by the actions of the powerful man in the parable, he rises up in anger, ready to punish the evildoer. At that very moment, however, Nathan springs the trap and declares: “That man is you!” (Gaiser 2003).

In stories such as these, the journeying self arrives at a threshold in which he is being summoned to become a more responsible person (Human 2005). Tradition says that after Nathan confronted David, the great king humbled himself and called upon the Lord for pardon and renewal in Psalm 51: “Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions [...] I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.” This is followed by a prayer for personal transformation: “Create in me a clean heart, O God.” If David’s supplication had ended at this point, we might be justified in regarding it as a narcissistic prayer, one in which he is concerned only with his own status before the Almighty.

After these requests for personal cleansing and healing, however, David makes a commitment, a promise to serve others in an expanded radius of care: “Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee.” Moreover, David asks the Lord to “rebuild the broken walls of Jerusalem” (Lowndes 2011). Here David is speaking not of the city’s literal walls, which are made of stone, but of the symbolic walls that once defined a cohesive community and a strong sense of solidarity in Israel – the symbols that were ruined by his own wrongdoing. The overall aim of David’s prayer indicates the journeying self’s desire to move from an archaeology of a broken past, to a teleology within a horizon of renewal, anticipating an eschatology in which hope and compassion for others will figure prominently. King David, whose beginning was bounded by narcissism, is searching for a way to move toward doxology: “O Lord, open Thou my lips; and my mouth shall show forth Thy praise.”