[originally published in the Journal of Nau’gsh Psychology Vol. 7:4 (3605)]
The history of human psychology as a scientific endeavor stretches back to the works of Freud in the 1890s. In contrast, the first attempt to explore Cu’endhari psychology began in 3597. It stands to reason that this nascent science could learn much through analogy. One obvious area of comparison is between the sense of “selfhood” present in the various species. Of the three Cu’endhari sub-species, the Cu’enmerengi sense of self is very similar to that of humans, the Cu’enashti sense of self is radically different, and the Cu’ensali sense of self has so far proven inaccessible to researchers[1]. This paper will concern itself primarily with the sense of self in the Cu’enashti and its differences from a human baseline.
It is not so far-fetched to say that perfectly normal patterns of thinking in a Cu’enashti would be considered insane in a human. The human sense of self rests on the concept of integration, an underlying sense of unity. Scratch the surface, however, and it becomes clear that this unity is illusory. Even Freud recognized the difference between the parts of the psyche, parts which he clumsily defined as Ego, Id and Superego. Many years of research have proved the truth to be more elusive and subtle. The human brain functions through a sort of cloud computing, a multiplicity of voices, complexes and scripted behaviors both contributing and competing for dominance, for temporary recognition as the true voice of self. For example, a common human thought process could run something like this:
Oh, that’s a delicious-looking chocolate torte.
You really can’t. It’s full of calories.
I am hungry, though. I won’t have time for lunch.
Remember what Coach said. I should look for a healthy snack.
Why can’t I ever have any fun?
Such thinking is typical. Note the effortless slide between first and second person, a move which indicates that the voice in question belongs to someone other than the central self – perhaps that of a mother, teacher or other authority figure. Sooner or later, this hapless “individual” will reach some sort of decision. Embedded in that decision is the assumption that a single personality was responsible for the choice despite the evidence to the contrary. No human would consider this line of thinking to be abnormal or insane unless the person in question actually began to identify the voices as having a separate existence.
For example:
Oh, that’s a delicious-looking chocolate torte, says Elizabeth.
You really can’t, Mother injects. It’s full of calories.
I am hungry, though, says Ms. Datmuller, the desk clerk. I won’t have time for lunch.
You should look for a healthy snack, says Coach.
Why can’t I ever have any fun? whines little Lizzie.
The mental dialogue just given would be an example of a schizoid – that is, fragmented – personality, and a human in need of treatment, of reintegration of the self.
The Cu’enashti situation is much different. Physically capable of manifesting various personae, each emanation remains as a distinctive voice existing in the mental space of the whole. The contributions of each voice are considered and weighted; when a decision is finally reached, its source and the attendant reasoning are clear. This provides an efficient system for tracking the effectiveness of every action. Furthermore, decisions are left to those with clear experience and talent in any given area. There are no incongruities such as seen all too often in humans; for example, the internalized voice of a critical relative might push the entire individual into inappropriate relationships and career choices.
I don’t think I like Henry very much. He’s rude to his secretary.
He likes you. You should go out with him. After all, he is a lawyer.
I guess he’s kind of cute. But he’s so sarcastic.
Marry a lawyer, and you’ll be set for life.
Were Elizabeth a Cu’enashti emanation, she would easily reach the logical conclusion by confronting the emanation called “Mother,” and telling her directly: You’ve been divorced four times; don’t tell me who to date.
The average Cu’enashti has three to four emanations. The highest recorded number is the famous Atlas Tree, with twenty-five (disclosure – I am the 19th of those 25 emanations). Considerable debate exists concerning whether there is an optimal number. Some have argued that a greater number becomes increasingly unwieldy until a point of instability is reached. I have found no evidence to support that hypothesis. Discounting the traumas that are generally the stimulus for increased branching, high branch-count Cu’enashti (6-8 branches) are no more likely to be unhappy, unsuccessful or ineffectual than medium branch-count Cu’enashti (3-5 branches), and both high and medium branch-count nau’gsh are considerably more successful, stable, and able to cope with trauma than low count (1-2 branch) trees. Usually, low branch-count indicates a younger nau’gsh. It is likely that as in humans, greater experience leads to greater wisdom and more ability to deal successfully with difficult situations.
Although a lack of objectivity is an obvious problem, nevertheless, I must cite my own case as an example. With two Pan-Gal Prize winning scientists, two Luny-Award winning musicians, a critically acclaimed artist, a corporate CEO, the highly-decorated Admiral of the Unified Fleet, the Director of Skarsian Secret Operations, and the Living God of the Domha’vei among the branches of the Atlas Tree, we can hardly be accused of incompetence. A branch-count which many deem to be excessive seems not to have hurt us; quite the opposite, it has allowed us to adapt to extreme circumstances and, most importantly, facilitates in the continued happiness and diversion of our Chosen human partner.
As an example, a conversation quite similar to the first hypothetical case above recently took place. As branch memory is perfect, I am able to reproduce it exactly.
*****
Oh, that’s a delicious-looking chocolate torte, says Davy.
Think of all the cocoa-nibs that died, says Patrick. Delicious, but unethical.
Disgusting, says Evan.
It’s actually quite beautiful, says Driscoll. Ethics must be weighed against appreciation of the pâtissier’s art.
Whatever happened to that project that Cuinn and Davy were working on? asked Tommy. You know, the chocolate version of the javamelon.
I wasn’t happy with the prototype, says Davy. It was lacking in excitement.
Excitement? asks Blackjack. What’s exciting about a melon?
The javamelon was also designed to be perfectly balanced and weighted for use as trebuchet ammunition, says Cuinn.
I guess we could’ve had two different colors of ammo, says Davy, or sizes or something. But it just wasn’t original. What’s the point if it’s not any fun?
The point is chocolate, says Patrick. I love chocolate, but I won’t eat it.
Melons aren’t fun, says Driscoll. I’ve never yet attended a party where a melon was regaling the crowd with an amusing story.
Melons are fun, says Tommy. The right kind of melons, if you get my drift.
All you ever think about is sex, Evan protests.
And what’s wrong with that? I inject. Sex is probably the most psychologically healthy thing for a Cu’enashti to think about.
Sex is fun, says Davy. Maybe I should make some kind of a sex toy instead.
Why not compromise and make a cucumber? says Blackjack.
That’s it! Davy exclaims. A chocumber. Cuinn, where’s all that data you collected on cock size?
*****
Unlike poor Elizabeth, the seemingly random and non-linear nature of our internal dialogue led to a solution which was ethical, innovative, practical, and had added desirable design features. From the moment hot chocumber juice and chocumber doughnot-nuts were introduced at the popular fast-food franchise No Beans About It (disclosure: the CEO of No Beans About It, Ross Adare, is the 16th emanation of the Atlas Tree) the chocumber has been a smash success, even outstripping the earlier popularity of the javamelon (perhaps attributable to the enormous amount of product placement push received from the chocumber’s inclusion in pornographic films.)
This brings me to the exploration of a secondary question – the concept of a “mental space” in which thinking takes place. Human thought is rarely personified. It generally consists of a series of images and voices, sometimes linear and direct, sometimes symbolic. For the Cu’enashti, the thoughts are “spoken” by the individual emanations, which seem to exist in a shared interior location. The locus of human thought is assumed to be the brain, and most humans localize their thoughts in the head region, often behind the eyes. Only the emanated persona experiences sub-vocalized thought in this fashion. Unemanated personae experience their conversation in a space which seems located neither in the brain of the emanation, nor in the nau’gsh of origin. This space is referred to as the pleroma, and the shape it takes differs from nau’gsh to nau’gsh.
One consistent factor is that in all the Cu’enashti I interviewed, the pleroma took the shape of some space familiar to the first emanation. When this emanation first experienced being “inside,” it projected into its surroundings an image most usually of the place which seemed safest and most comforting during its emanation. The shape of the pleroma is not mutable, and in no case has ever been known to change form after inception. This has led to some absurd circumstances. In my own case, the mental space of the pleroma is a bedroom far too small to easily fit twenty-five men. Oddly, it always seems just big enough to fit another emanation without discomfort. The space enlarges slightly without changing shape or proportion; another chair appears, or a pillow on the floor, or a couch expands to fit an extra person.
Objects occasionally appear in this space: for example, a datapad, chess board, poker table, painter’s easel, collection of sock-puppets, hookah, stack of gardening catalogs and a fully-stocked bar have appeared within the space of the Atlas pleroma. However, much to the dismay of our 15th emanation, artist Driscoll Garrett, the space is resistant to changes in décor. Research confirms personal anecdote. Of 126 Cu’enashti interviewed, none of them have essentially changed the nature of the pleroma since the second emanation. It is worthy of note, however, and a possible topic of further research, that 89 of the subjects interviewed expressed puzzlement at the question. The idea of changing their mental space had never occurred to them.
Obviously, much work is left to be done. The nature of the interactions between emanations is a fascinating question which will require extensive research, research difficult to conduct as the interior workings of the pleroma cannot be directly observed by the researcher. Fortunately, the memories of these interactions are all perfectly intact, stored in the wood of each individual branch. It remains simply for these histories to be written, brought into the light of common discourse.
[1] They have rebuffed every attempt to engage them as subjects for research, generally by pelting the researchers with small natural objects such as stones and squirrel dung.