Guest post: This fluidity in all of us
Originally a comment by Tim Harris on A woman is whoever wants to be a woman.
‘Childhood pretending’ – I am reminded of doing mask-work while doing acting training (which can be alarming – some odd things come out, and the emotions called forth can be overwhelming), and of the way a Noh actor (the shite – which is pronounced, roughly, ‘shte’ and not the way you might suppose, though it may be there are some real shites among Noh actors, as there are among all actors), having put on his mask, looks into a mirror to allow the spirit of the character to enter him. And I feel that when you are acting well, it is as though you have a kind of second skin an infinitesimal distance from your actual skin, and that this leads you. It is like a mask. You are no longer in control – though there remains a constant sort of double focus, since you know the role is leading you, and allow it do so. I have come across some actors, in nearly every case, poor ones, who so lose themselves in what they suppose to be their role that they will behave violently towards other actors in rehearsal and then excuse themselves, first of all, usually, to themselves (since they feel this loss of control shows that must be good actors) and only then to others if they do so at all.
The Danish anthropologist Rane Willerslev has written very interestingly on Siberian hunting tribes, whose members enter the animal world in dreams and are given tips by the Mistress of Animals where to go on the following day or in a few days’ time. The hunters, if hunting an elk, will, after spotting an elk, so move that the elk supposes they are an elk and will at times come towards them. They have, while retaining human form, as it were put on the skin or mask of an elk and allow this to guide them. At the same time, however, the hunters told Willerslev, you must not allow yourself to be too caught up into the world of animals, for you will eventually lose your humanity, and, it seems, this occasionally happens, so someone will actually become mentally deranged. There is a sort of double focus here, too, which it is important to maintain.
This kind of thing is profoundly connected with all the arts – and very obviously in the case of imaginative literature, where a good playwright or novelist or poet enters deeply into the skin of a character, whether of the same sex as the writer or not. I recall the composer and violinist George Enescu speaking, concerning the composing of his great opera ‘Oedipe’, of struggling to to build an almost unbearable tension in order to depict the victory of Oedipus over the Sphinx. Ah, I’ve found the place in the book: ‘To describe the howling of the Sphinx, he had “to imagine something unimaginable.” “When I finished that scene,” recalls the composer, “it seemed to me that I was going mad.”‘
But he didn’t go mad.
There is this fluidity, if you like to call it that, in all of us, and it is a great part of what makes us human. And, particularly in youth, one’s imagination can seem to be all too real – particularly if it is in part a defence against some traumatic experience, as in the case of that poor young girl quoted in a thread here some days ago, who, having experienced abuse at the hands of a cousin, and having discovered that she was attracted to someone of the same sex, declared that she was a boy called ‘John’, and absolutely denied that she was a lesbian. And, certainly, there is something called gender dysphoria which may be connected with this fluidity.
Which all seems to me pertinent to the case of claiming to be a sex other than you are, particularly in the case of the behaviour of the most vociferous of the trans-females, a number of whom sport beards, wear male clothing, and who behave like bad actors and real shites.
Great comment Tim, on many levels.
I can attest to this. My characters fill the world, and are often more real than the real people I interact with. And in many cases, it is only when I am writing that I am able to control my depression and anxiety. And sometimes I forget that the characters I create are not real, and begin to think of them as doing something or other…and have to remind myself, and bring myself back to reality.
I think that is what trans find difficult, that coming back to reality. Because, let’s face it, reality bites for a lot of us. Staying in the dream, the illusion, is easier and more fun. Plus you have a sense of control. I control the world’s I create. I decide when my characters come and go, who they are with, even if they live or die. The first time I killed off a character it was difficult, but stunning. It was power. It almost overwhelmed me to have that much power….until I remembered it was only a character in a book I was writing. I was not God, I was just me.
I think the trans are unable to accept that reality, unable to shake off the feeling of control, the feeling of power over nature itself. I understand; I was anorexic for a long time, and I found it difficult to move past it, move past being in control of something, and accept living in a world where I was in control of nothing. But the control was always, in my anorexia, and in my writing, an illusion. I moved past the illusion, and recovered. Now I use my writing to keep me sane, and live in reality the rest of the time. Yes, it hurts. Yes, I still remember the abuse, even though I am no longer being abused (unless you consider contempt and degradation at work to be abuse). Yes, I still have depression, and I would rather remain in the world I control, but I have to live in the world as it is. Those retreats, those escapes, are my islands.
If only trans could accept that calling themselves by a woman’s name, putting on a dress and make up (if they do), and being in the skin of a woman, was an island they could escape to when reality became too much to bear. If only they could return to reality, and live there most of the time, like we all have to do.
This is fascinating, thank you for sharing.
Excellent post.
I have read, from detransitioners and others, that most older adults don’t realize how much impact virtual online roleplaying games have had on young adults’ sense of self, and understanding of reality. You immerse yourself in a character you create, making decisions, reacting to people and events, establishing a reputation, winning and losing. Play these games long enough and the line between who you are in virtual reality and who you are in actual reality becomes blurred.
Preteens and adolescents are particularly susceptible to the idea that their “real selves” are the ones where they do ‘important’ things and have an accepting peer group — the one where they choose to become who and what they are — and what they revert back to when the computer is off is no longer really “them.” They’re still forming their characters, and doing it in character.
Self as avatar.
I think that in childhood and early adolescence we have experiences, and in the midst of them and as they go, try out various personas (personae?) to see how they fit into our unfolding scheme of things, including into our moral philosophy. But we are out there on life’s great stage from early on, both auditioning and playing this or that tryout role for as long a season as the task requires, which can be as short as a single afternoon matinee. (‘One night stand’ has other connotations.)
Religion or systematic belief is an important part of this. Most religious people inherit their family’s religion, but a few for a variety of reasons convert to another after shopping around sampling what is available. Moving from one Christian denomination to another, say from Presbyterianism to Methodism, is a lot easier and more common than going from say Catholicism to Islam or Judaism to Catholicism.
A lot of the angst of the teen years has to do with trying oneself out these various roles and pushing the envelope of the family religion.
It would be interesting to find out if any studies of twins separated at birth for whatever reason have been done in this regard.