Culture As Identification PDF

# Culture as Identification "Life is a continuous process of consolidation and detachment." - _E.T.H._ From birth to death, life is punctuated by separations, many of them painful. Paradoxically, each separation forms a foundation for new stages of integration, identity, and psychic growth. Th...

# Culture as Identification "Life is a continuous process of consolidation and detachment." - _E.T.H._ From birth to death, life is punctuated by separations, many of them painful. Paradoxically, each separation forms a foundation for new stages of integration, identity, and psychic growth. This introduces a subject in which everyone is involved, in which one finds a meeting ground, a point of synthesis, of the intrapsychic and cultural processes. None of us asks either to be born or to die. Yet both are natural and inevitable separations of the person from an all-encompassing environment. Between the two lie many other separations, each accompanied by new awareness. There is a time when the baby has not yet distinguished between his own body and the nurturing breast. During that time, he experiences himself and his small universe as a unit. Even at this primitive and simple level, life is not always serene, for when the breast does not function-does not present itself-and hunger strikes, frustration and rage at this uncontrollable part of the self-universe are commonly observed. Eventually, the baby learns that he and mother are separate beings and have independent existences. Yet, the experience of the separation is frequently not clear-cut; it is much more indefinite and obscure than many of us once believed. (If there is a boundary at all, or when there is ambiguity as to where the boundary lies, people experience difficulty.) Sullivan, for example, builds much of his theory of the development of the self around the notion that the infant only gradually and in stages separates mother's feelings, as contrasted with her physical being, from his own. When mother is warm, comforting, and giving, the infant feels good. When mother is distracted or anxious, the child's emotions reflect this state. The process of separating mother's emotions or those of other significant persons from our own emotions can be protracted, and to some extent it is never really complete, even though this may be denied. Richard Hughes, in his remarkable little book _A HIGH WIND IN JAMAICA_, writes a poignant example of the identity-separation process in his description of Emily's discovery of herself. Emily, a captive of pirates, is on one of the last of the sailing ships with her brothers and sisters. The children had been on the boat for some weeks and had explored every inch of the schooner. Life had settled down to a routine. Hughes's description follows: And then an event did occur, to Emily, of considerable importance. She suddenly realised who she was. There is little reason that one can see why it should not have happened to her five years earlier, or even five later; and none, why it should have come that particular afternoon. She had been playing house in a nook right in the bows, behind the windlass (on which she had hung a devil's-claw as a door-knocker); and tiring of it was walking rather aimlessly aft, thinking vaguely about some bees and a fairy queen, when it suddenly flashed into her mind that she was she. She stopped dead, and began looking over all of her person which came within the range of her eyes. She could not see much, except a fore-shortened view of the front of her frock, and her hands when she lifted them for inspection; but it was enough for her to form a rough idea of the little body she suddenly realised to be hers. She began to laugh, rather mockingly. "Well!" she thought, in effect: "Fancy you, of all people, going and getting caught like this!-You can't get out of it now, not for a very long time: you'll have to go through with being a child, and growing up, and getting old, before you'll be quit of this mad prank!" Determined to avoid any interruption of this highly important occasion, she began to climb the ratlines, on her way to her favourite perch at the masthead. Each time she moved an arm or a leg in this simple action, however, it struck her with fresh amazement to find them obeying her so readily. Memory told her, of course, that they had always done so before: but before, she had never realised how surprising this was. Once settled on her perch, she began examining the skin of her hands with the utmost care: for it was hers. She slipped a shoulder out of the top of her frock; and having peeped in to make sure she really was continuous under her clothes, she shrugged it up to touch her cheek. The contact of her face and the warm bare hollow of her shoulder gave her a comfortable thrill, as if it was the caress of some kind friend. But whether the feeling came to her through her cheek or her shoulder, which was the caresser and which the caressed, that no analysis could tell her. Ray Bradbury's _DANDELION WINE_ also contains a wonderfully appropriate passage on being alive. To be truly alive in a culture like our own, one must grow up, and while growing up involves meeting a multitude of challenges, the full impact of the process does not come home until one has "cut the apron strings" and established oneself as independent of one's parents. The degree to which this process is complete varies with the individual and from culture to culture. In many cultures, the bonds with the parents, grandparents, and even ancestors are not severed but are maintained and reinforced. I am thinking of China, Japan, the traditional Jewish family of central Europe, the Arab villagers, the Spanish of North and South America, and the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico, to mention only a few. In these cultures, one separates himself from childhood. The child moves into the larger and more real world of the adult, but he does not, even under normal circumstances, establish an identity separate from that of his community. We have considered briefly the separations of self from mother's bosom, from parents' emotional state, and from one's group. How many other kinds of separation crises are there? There are many, and they can take several forms, such as separations on a large scale, involving whole populations. The West has given up belief in the Bible creation myth in exchange for Darwin's new world view of evolution. But this process of separation from one's creation myths is not and probably never will be totally complete, for as this is being written a controversy rages in California over "equal time" for the "creationists" in education that has even usurped the pages of the academicians' own magazine, _Science_. And while all these events may seem natural and normal and familiar to most educated people, it had not occurred to me until recently, while working on a theory of identification, that the world of man divides into cultures whose members cut the apron strings and those whose members do not. At this point, it is difficult to assess the impact of such differences on our lives except to say that they must be very great indeed. I believe that man in the aggregate resists separations, that he has more things in his life to be separated from than he can ever achieve, and that one of life's important strategies, albeit an informal, out-of-awareness strategy, has to do with what one is going to give up: appetites of every conceivable variety, neurotic dynamisms, ambition, greed, dependence on material things, security of a home with parents, the need for power and dominance over others, quick temper, lust, hard belief in a single religion to the exclusion of all others, nationalism, a single view of science, and many others. We should not deceive ourselves; the separation of oneself from an uncontrolled dynamism is not easy, if only because many dynamisms are a function of habit. These are simply illustrations. The woman who has a compulsion to buy shoes or is powerless to resist sweets shares addiction with the alcoholic. Neither individual can, in operational terms, maintain a clear-cut line between herself and a particular part of the environment. It is as though a hidden tentacle reaches out from body to candy or liquor. This is what is so insidious about environmentally imbedded dynamisms. A man can wrestle and struggle and fume and rage against himself but, like the baby who is powerless to control either mother's breast or her emotions, he is caught up in a hopeless struggle against an undifferentiated part of the self that is still extended into the environment. Or he may unconsciously shift from alcohol to religion or to food from cigarettes and still be just as irrevocably tied as before. What might be termed the identity-separation-growth dynamisms, which can also be classed as boundary-ambiguity syndromes, are not all the same. In fact, they cover a host of different events. The separation from mother's womb in birth and the separation from physical things in death are existential in nature. Growth and development of the ego as a differentiated dynamism is also existential and therefore natural, but lacking the inevitability of birth and death. (The ego does not have to develop and be centered in a particular part of the psyche.) The child soon learns that he can't touch the moon no matter what. Dynamisms such as greed, envy, or the anxiety occasioned by separation from hearth, home, and mother, while frequently neurotic, can also be cultural. It is in the nature of the human situation for man to have to overcome the anxiety occasioned by separations of both types-the neurotic and the cultural. Addictions are biochemical in nature, and while they may have neurotic elements, are manifestly physiological, which should not mean that they are any less serious or difficult to contend with than other forms of boundary ambiguities. There is also a type of boundary ambiguity in which the senses do not function normally; here there are perceptual aberrations. One class of such perceptual aberrations has to do with the perceived body boundary that expands or contracts, so that the self is actually perceived (not conceived, but perceived) as occupying an entire room. Perceptual distortion of this sort can place an unbearable burden on the psyche, as can auditory distortions (such as hearing voices). Two quite different psychiatrists, Humphry Osmond and Harold Searles, have contributed much to understanding the complex, ill-defined, and poorly understood disorder labeled schizophrenia as a function of altered perceptions. In an entirely different context, a recent study has demonstrated that there are no generally accepted, valid criteria for making a diagnosis of schizophrenia, where separations are made artificially, with little reference to the real world. I am referring to Professor David Rosenhan's three-year study of mental institutions in all parts of the United States, described earlier. As the reader may remember, Rosenhan and his colleagues went to hospitals and simply said they heard voices-unclear voices saying words like "empty," "hollow" and "thud"-nothing else. Their case histories were their true case histories, yet without exception each was classified as psychotic (schizophrenic) by mental hospitals on little evidence. In this instance, the capability of most of the workers in the mental health fields to draw valid lines to separate the so-called psychotic from the so-called normal was ambiguous at best. Perceptual aberrations are not restricted to psychoses but can also be situational in character, particularly in instances of great stress, excitation, or drug influence. In another book, Richard Hughes provides an excellent description of a normal man under stress experiencing the same thing as the schizophrenic suffering from body-boundary ambiguity. August has just entered his gun room after a damp return from the moors. The body of a dead child rests on the shoulder of his dewy oilskins. He scans the walls of the warm, friendly room, filled with mementos of people and times past. Then his eyes shifted. In a corner of the room stood the collection of his fishing-rods. Their solid butts were set in a cracked Ming vase like arrows in a quiver; but he felt now as if their wispy twitching ends were tingling, like antennae-his antennae. Above them the mounted otters'-masks on the peeling walls grinned. The tiny wisp of steam from the ever-simmering kettle on the round cokestove seemed to be actively inviting the brown teapot that stood on the shelf above-the loaf, and the knife, and the pot of jam. In short, these guns and rods of his, and even the furniture, the kettle and the loaf had suddenly become living tentacles of "him." It was as if he and this long-loved gunroom were now one living continuous flesh. It was as if for the time being "he" was no longer cooped up entirely within his own skin: he had expanded, and these four walls had become now his final envelope. Only outside these walls did the hostile, alien "world" begin. (italics added) Perceptual distortions, the failure to separate the body envelope from the surroundings or the incorporation of outside stimuli (the hearing of voices and seeing visions) are definitely cultural. The Plains Indian had to have a vision before he could become either a warrior or a medicine man. Culture has always dictated where to draw the line separating one thing from another. These lines are arbitrary, but once learned and internalized they are treated as real. In the West a line is drawn between normal sex and rape, whereas in the Arab world it is much more difficult, for a variety of reasons, to separate these two events. Language provides another instance. One finds that individuals in the northern part of the United States-speakers of middle-class English-draw a line around the spoken sound short "e" as in "pen" and another line around short "i" as in "pin." In the South along the eastern seaboard, these two sounds merge, so that when someone says, "Hand me the p_n," the hearer will ask, "The writin' pein or the stickin' pein?" There is such a thing as "black" English, which is different syntactically and in other ways from "white" English. One of the differences is that the blacks will recognize or distinguish between types of discourse that whites do not. One distinction that blacks make is between the times that they are "signifying" and when they are not. Signifying is using the language in such a way that the speaker communicates to the hearer indirectly and by analogy a message that is different from the manifest content of the conversation and in many instances would make sense only to the hearer. Ethnic blacks (as contrasted with acculturated middle and upper-class blacks), also rap, sound, play the dozens, woof, mark, loud-talk, shuck, and jive. Whites "signify" too, but they don't have a word for it and when confronted will frequently deny that something they said had carried two or more implications, and what is more, that the second meaning was what the conversation was really all about. Recent research in the Spanish communities of northern New Mexico reveals that the line between mental health and mental illness is not at all as clear-cut as it is in the "Anglo" community, where mental health is seen as a quality of the person, more or less independent of the situation. The Spanish New Mexican is apt to see behavior as highly situational. The idea that a given "person" is mentally ill is a completely foreign notion. What they see is that the individual in a certain set of circumstances acts peculiarly or gets violent. So they try to keep the individual away from or out of situations that are not good for him while rejecting the notion that he is mentally ill. There are still people in the West who draw lines between individuals on the basis of skin color or ethnic affiliation, while in Europe it is much more likely that social class will divide people. Also, in the Western world in a deeper sense we draw a line around the individual and say this is our basic entity-the building block of all social relations and institutions. "Men" compete against each other, while churches compete for the stewardship of their souls. None of this can be applied to the Pueblo Indian, for something akin to lineages in the Pueblo are the viable unit. No human being outside of these groups has significance independent and distinct from the group. The Pueblo view of the group as the basic unit is difficult if not impossible for the average European to comprehend, because he lacks the experience of having grown up in such a group. For the Pueblo Indian, the idea of competition between men is therefore repugnant and foreign, with the result that everything in the white man's schools is subversive and threatens the very core of his existence. It is like having different parts of the psyche in competition. When this happens, the individual can only suffer. The Pueblo have cast a larger net. For this reason, arbitrarily separating the Indian from his context comes very close to destroying him-which the white man has repeatedly done his best to do, whether or not he knows it. What is included in a given boundary is inevitably culturally determined and therefore completely arbitrary. We in the West take the many entities that are enclosed in a single skin and supported by a single system of bones and muscles and say that this is one thing-a person. This brings me to my next point, which concerns the way in which a part of the psyche works that is totally at variance with folk beliefs concerning where the lines are drawn vis-à-vis the person. That is, current lore provides us with a picture of personality boundaries that is at variance with the facts and, because it is at variance, causes no little trouble among people. The process I am about to describe is related to but not identical with what is known in psychoanalytic circles as "identification" and is a key concept in the process of transcending culture. Currently, there are differences in opinion among psychiatrists concerning how identification works and what it is. I will limit my discussion to those things I have discovered personally, in the course of my own psychoanalysis, that have worked for me and that I have observed working in those I know well. In the context of this discussion, identification will take two forms: as an individual dynamism that is more or less unique or characteristic of a particular person; and as a manifestation, and probably one of the chief manifestations, of culture. The fact that I draw this particular line is a function of the world in which I was reared, and as is the case with all classifications, the lines drawn are quite arbitrary. There will be cultures in which the distinction does not occur at all or would seem unnatural as well as those cultures that draw additional lines. The subject of identification also illustrates the problems that are created when an individual has been drawing lines in inappropriate ways, for any number of reasons. Because, in the course of conducting daily transactions, this individual may make distinctions that are inconsistent with what is actually happening. At the beginning of this chapter, I spoke of cutting the apron strings and inferred by implication to the need of the growing young adult to establish his own identity independent of the parent. That is, I was looking at the separation process from the point of view of the child. (I am using "child" in the generic rather than the developmental sense.) Popular psychiatric theory as well as professional practice in the West has focused our attention on these early relationships. In fact, we see them as setting the basic pattern for later life and often spend a good deal of time and money trying to work out the complex relationships that each of us had with parents and siblings when we were young. All of this is well and good up to a point, but whatever it was that happened to us as children has happened, and while it is sometimes helpful to know these things, there is nothing any of us can do to alter or change in any way the parents we had or how they treated us. This brings me to a different source of psychic malaise that is more and more common because it is exacerbated by the times. In contrast with the Freudian "child in the man" syndrome that looks to the past, we find that an area of psychic tension, discomfort, and grief that has recently been recognized as pivotal to adult mental health is the relationship of middle-aged parents to their children as these children approach and discover adulthood. During the 1960s one read a good deal about the "generation gap." But seldom does one find adequate insightful descriptions of why parents become so upset by the behavior of their children. The answer lies in the presence as well as the discontinuities of individual and cultural identification. Before examining problems posed by the generation gap, let us further define identification. Identification has many meanings-from documents that establish one's identity to such expressions as "Jones has been closely identified with his company" and "The audience identified with the actor in his role as Hamlet." Students may unconsciously transfer the feelings they have toward their parents to their teachers and behave toward them as if they were their parents. One dictionary defines the psychoanalytic position on identification as "the transference reaction of one person with the feelings or responses relevant to another."11 None of these definitions quite convey what I have in mind (although Melanie Klein's12 "projective identification" comes closest) when I consider the relationship of parents to their young (individual identification) or to individuals in intercultural transactions (cultural identification). It is necessary, therefore, to still further refine the term identification to include those feelings that one has about parts of the self or aspects of the personality that have been "dissociated," and how one handles these feelings. Dissociation (Sullivan13) means those behavior patterns, impulses, drives, and dynamisms that were for one reason or another disapproved of in our childhood by persons very significant to us. Thus, for a variety of reasons, a child may have had a deep resentment of and therefore a need to bully a younger sibling. When the bullying was observed by mother and others, who severely punished the child and made him or her feel guilty and ashamed, the punishment and feelings of guilt did not bear on the underlying need to bully, which therefore remained intact and unchanged. According to Sullivan, the result is that the bullying persists (because the need is still there) but is dissociated from the self, so that self-respect can also be maintained. One continues to bully when the occasion arises, but the bullying is sealed off from conscious awareness; therefore, dissociated acts have a "not me" quality to them. In other cultures and contexts, the dissociation process is handled by explaining a given act as though it were due to forces or personalities or influences outside of the self (Geraldine, on the Flip Wilson Show, "The Debbil made me do it"). When one is acting under the rule of dissociated impulses, everybody except the individual himself knows and perceives what is happening. The individual who is stingy and mean in certain relationships will persist in perceiving himself as generous and kind. Similarly the individual who has trouble getting close to people may compensate for this deficiency with a pseudo friendliness and overt joviality (a common cultural trait, characteristic of many Americans, that is recognized all over the world). Or take the case of the man who feels he should be careful and cautious and take good care of things because as a child he was repeatedly told to do so by his parents. Such people will frequently manifest surface neatness but be rather sloppy and lazy underneath; they will not see themselves this way, for the sloppiness and laziness will be dissociated. When a parent suffering from these or other dissociations sees his child-usually one of the same sex-struggling with something he has himself dissociated or experienced difficulty with, he is apt to become anxious or angry and to be unnecessarily hard on the youngster. Without knowing he has done so, the parent will treat the child as himself (and people are very hard on themselves in dissociated areas, because they are acting as their own parent). Not only does one treat the child as oneself, but unconsciously includes the child inside the psychic envelope, so that the child becomes an extension of the self with all that implies, including the extension-transference process described in Chapter 2. The process is reminiscent of one's former reactions to mother's breast, when it was wanted but was not present, which occurred at that stage in life when the universe and the self were one. Once it is known that identification with the offspring is the source of difficulty and discomfort and agony, it is possible for the parent to take a new tack, which is to "empathize" deeply with the struggling young person, which takes care of the natural concern one experiences and at the same time frees the offspring to be himself. It is crucial that the parent recognize that his difficulties are not really with his offspring but with a dissociated part of the self and are traceable to the identification process. In these terms, it is easy to see why parents and children have trouble with each other, and children, without knowing why, can be deeply resentful when they have to bear the brunt of parental identification at the very time when they are struggling to establish their own identity. This is a difficult task at best, even in a culture that does cut the apron strings. What is interesting about the process we are discussing is that it is not restricted to one's children but will apply to anyone in one's entourage or inventory of friends and associates who is experiencing certain difficulties. Part of the frustration experienced can be traced to anger at oneself for not being able to cope with a dissociated aspect of one's personality and at the same time to defeat from being denied the experience of an important part of the self. An additional source of feelings of inadequacy can be traced to the normal feelings people have when they can't make something work (ranging from mechanical gadgets, automobiles, social relations, computers, to such bureaucracies as the post office and the telephone company). No matter what one does or how hard one tries, it is exasperating when the system doesn't produce. The source of rage on the part of minority groups in our society is not only that they are treated badly, which they frequently are, but that they can't seem to get the system to work for them. Like the father who identifies with his son's problems, they don't know which buttons to push or how to push them. So far, I have spoken of dissociated negative traits. However, it is just as likely that positive traits such as love, warmth, compassion, and creativity will be dissociated. I once knew a mother who was made very anxious and envious by any sign of success in her children-in fact, in anyone with whom she was associated. For others to succeed was a sin, because it diminished her worth. It is not hard to imagine the handicap under which these children struggled in the competitive culture of the United States. Having internalized aspects of mother, the problems they then had to cope with were their own dissociated strivings for success and the difficulty of dealing with successful people. Let us now go beyond the individual to deal with groups. Paradoxically the identification process as described here is one of the strongest cements that bind cultures into cohesive wholes. It is analogous to the forces that bind the nucleus of the atom together. One would infer from all of this that the important part of culture exists safely hidden below the level of conscious awareness. Why, for example, are people so insistent that others conform to the mores of the group? Why are they made so uncomfortable and anxious if they don't? One image that comes to mind at this point is the tremendous amount of psychic energy and concentration that goes into feeding an infant with a spoon. Watch mothers do this. There are several kinds of maternal patterns, and in the one I am thinking about, the mother opens her mouth and goes through all the motions she wants the child to make. In this case, while she may not be aware of anything that she is doing, the acts themselves are not dissociated, which is one of the differences between individual and cultural types of identification. In general, however, the process of identification, whichever type it is, is normally out of awareness or unconscious. I recently observed a highly intelligent, sophisticated woman going through agonies over the fact that her daughter, who also was a very talented and intelligent person indeed, did not observe amenities that were so important to the mother. Having observed this pattern in action for a considerable length of time and empathizing with the pain it occasioned, I took the risk of telling my friend that I thought she had an identification problem with her daughter and that the two personalities were in a partial sense intermingled, which was painful to both of them. I suggested that it was necessary to draw a new boundary around the self that excluded the daughter, because whatever the daughter was to do with her life, only she could do. In another instance in which I personally was involved, I found myself becoming deeply annoyed and threatened by a man of my own age who happened to have great personal difficulties in human relations. The sources of these difficulties were complex; one aspect, at least, had to do with ambiguities in regard to his own image. The result was that in order to perform at all, he felt comfortable only (because of his extreme narcissism) when controlling others. Not only did he need to be the center of attention, but he felt compelled to tell everyone else what he or she could or could not do, down to and including small details of daily life. Instead of empathizing with his problem, I discovered, to my surprise and chagrin, that I felt defeated and anxious. Our relationship was such that, for the moment at least, escape was impossible. The reader may think at this point that such a person is more to be pitied than spurned, and he would be right. My problem, however, was not with my friend but with my own feelings. The source of my discomfort was that it was impossible to reach or influence him in any ordinary sense. There was no way. It wasn't until I realized that I had an identification problem and that the source of my discomfort was not in this other man but really in myself that I was able to make some progress in our relationship. I had failed to draw a line separating me from him and was treating him as a recalcitrant, somewhat obnoxious, bumbling part of myself that wouldn't behave. The paradoxical part of the identification syndrome is that until it has been resolved there can be no friendship and no love-only hate. Until we can allow others to be themselves, and ourselves to be free, it is impossible to truly love another human being; neurotic and dependent love is perhaps possible, but not genuine love, which can be generated only in the self. The processes being discussed here are much more common than might be supposed, and since the function of maintaining some behaviors out-of-awareness is to keep things safely hidden-safe from change and beyond the reach of reason-any behavior that falls in the out-of-awareness category will be highly persisting in man. In most people-those who are reasonably well acculturated so that they can function according to the informal rules controlling the various and sundry groups that go to make up their lives-one finds a high degree of sensitivity and responsiveness to the identification needs of others. These are people one gets along with, who don't raise ripples in the pond of life, who give extraordinary consistency to the informal culture of any given group. Which brings us to intercultural and interethnic encounters. Theoretically, there should be no problem when people of different cultures meet. Things begin, most frequently, not only with friendship and goodwill on both sides, but there is an intellectual understanding that each party has a different set of beliefs, customs, mores, values, or what-have-you. The trouble begins when people have to start working together, even on a superficial basis. Frequently, even after years of close association, neither can make the other's system work! The difficulties I and others have observed persist so long and are so resistant to change that they can be explained only in psychological terms: people are in and remain in the grip of the cultural type of identification. Without knowing it, they experience the other person as an uncontrollable and unpredictable part of themselves. I used to see this years ago in Iran, where, at the time, bullying was an accepted and frequent mode of interaction with those who were not in one's own entourage and who were weaker, less powerful, or less influential than oneself. No amount of explanation could convince Americans that the Iranians were not behaving badly and dispel the extreme discomfort they experienced when they saw a more powerful or influential Iranian bullying a weaker one in public. I have also observed the identification process at work in American businessmen in Japan, where they ignore Japanese successes and American failures and persist in telling the Japanese how to do business the American way. In America, we encounter interethnic identification in another form. Here the groups have lived together, in many instances for generations. They no longer have the goodwill (so fleetingly and quickly dispelled) that one finds when traveling. Instead, there is a deep emotional involvement of the type observed in the family where there is a generation gap. Again, the only thing that explains the feelings and the behavior that one observes is that there is a significant identification factor on all sides. Individuals who are willing to let others be themselves without paying a dreadful price for it are very rare indeed. There has been some progress here and there, yet one seldom hears the remark: "The trouble I have with him is me." Possibly the most important psychological aspect of culture-the bridge between culture and personality-is the identification process. This process, which works admirably when change is slow but wreaks havoc in times of rapid change such as we are currently experiencing, is most certainly a major impediment to cross-cultural understanding and effective relations among the peoples of the world. Man must now embark on the difficult journey beyond culture, because the greatest separation feat of all is when one manages to gradually free oneself from the grip of unconscious culture. ==End of OCR for page 1==