Intellect and Instinct: The Ever-Present Battle That We'll Never Win

 

A Deeply Flawed Man, Mona Dworkin, 2019

        What strikes you about this painting? The suit and tie attached to mechanics and a human eye, or perhaps the cloudy, simple background preceding the unsettling image of man combined with machine? To me, I see a representation of nature compromised by the product of intellect. Really, that’s what we all are today. However, when applied to literature, it’s often hard to get these nuances of human traits across. That’s why, when contemplating the qualities of artistic storytelling, the importance of character presents itself as a crucial aspect and in turn, so does their inconsistency. This quality works best to display characters as human, as intelligent thinkers, and as prime examples of what happens when intellect is combined with instinct within several interacting minds. 

Take, for example, game theory. I know that those of you who’ve taken AP Economics know what I’m talking about. It’s the strategy of trying to predict what another person or mind is planning so that you can have a favorable outcome. Besides economics, this is practiced in everyday situations, but in a more crude, basic manner. A simplified explanation of game theory can be found here. How often have you caught yourself trying to predict what someone else is thinking of doing? If it backfired, you might tell yourself that you jumped to conclusions too fast. In fact, this “jump” is actually game theory conflicting with an instinct we all have deep inside that ancient brainstem of ours. We’re trying to protect ourselves, and our instinct has no time to discriminate against what we’ve learned to be kind or not. We’re selfish, and that’s what’s kept us alive for a long, long time.

        When you put that kind of reaction together with two people in a more modern relationship who aren’t so willing to recognize that this instinct is merely instinct, you get a dynamic like Rosamund and Tertius Lydgate’s from George Eliot’s Middlemarch. In the midst of financial troubles, the couple goes back and forth about what they are to do in such trying times. Rosamond suggests that they ask her father for help, but Tertius merely says that “[her] father shall not know unless [he chooses] to tell him”. Here, there are many layers of societal, primal, and gender-related influence within the way he’s behaving towards Rosamond. One could interpret his words as a last-attempt grab for societal redemption, a way to bar others from knowing about what would otherwise deem the couple as inferior or lowly. However, when gender and primal influence are taken into account, this kind of interaction initiated by Tertius toward Rosamond seems more like a desperate grab for dominance. This could trace back to a hunter-gatherer type of relationship, where men needed to be more aggressive and make these kinds of broader decisions for the well-being of the entire group. However, it could merely be a remnant of toxic masculinity taught to men in more traditional households, which would have been the case in Tertius’s upbringing due to Middlemarch’s older setting. Tertius may feel that he has to make these kinds of decisions absolutely because he is the only one capable of doing so in the relationship. 

However, the Lydgates’ relationship isn’t entirely taken over by this kind of rash, toxic dialogue. There are brief moments where they both try to reconcile with each other and find a common ground. Lydgate admits that “it is [he] who [has] been at fault” and that “[they] must change [their] way of living”. The battle between intellect and instinct continues. Perhaps because of his love for Rosamond, Tertius seems to give up his stern, dominant mannerisms and method of speech in order to cooperate in a more civil manner with his wife. However, right after this moment, Rosamond suggests that they leave Middlemarch and sell their property to have some spare money, Tertius says, “But we are not going to leave Middlemarch”. Now, it is clear what side Tertius is allowing to win: instinct. Yet again, the dominance he’s been taught to display has fueled and rationalized his stubbornness toward Rosamond’s potential solutions. Even if Rosamond may be right about her suggestion and selling their property may do them good, Tertius’s gut instinct tells him to behave the same way over and over again–stubbornly, despite the presence of a positive outcome that doesn’t align with his beliefs. This kind of persistent gut response isn’t uncommon even in today’s people; additionally, it still serves as the same kind of problem in modern-day conflict.

Really, though, this fight between instinct and intellect is what makes us human. Minds interacting and trying to figure out how to serve themselves best is what we’re best at as intelligent, selfish beings. However, it’s the distinct difference between these two qualities of ours that makes us feel human. Without this display of contradiction in Tertius and Rosamond, these simple interactions between them wouldn’t feel nearly as human. Yet, in the reality of the text, the resemblance to how we act in real life is uncanny. Honestly, I could see Lydgate employing some game theory strategy. It suits his unwavering goals and the means he intends to use to achieve them. 

Part of Harold Smith’s "Man of Color" series

As I finish up my connection between what the Lydgates can and cannot control with what we do in real life, I want to leave this painting up to your own imagination. What is the same? What contradicts? Is it meant to resemble the nature I’ve been describing?

It’s helped me realize that the parts of me that I feel are selfish are just a part of my nature. Of course, I’m evolved enough to recognize the utility of such behavior, but then again, it’s nature. It gives me a bit of leeway, coming to this realization. I can mess up. It’s alright. I’m supposed to. Everyone’s supposed to. We’re big, smart, stupid animals. That’s the way we’ve been made. It’ll take a long, long time before that ever changes.