Conclusions
A colleague of mine, who comes from a country in Eastern Europe which was invaded eight times during the 20th Century, strongly aligns with this saying. He feels like he can control very little in his life. He can’t control the people or events who are fluttering (like seagulls) around his head. My colleague finds it absurd to plan for the future. When I asked him (soon after the collapse of the Soviet Union) what he hoped his son would do when he grew up, my colleague said that he had “no idea” and no longer even had “hopes” for his son. He knew (or at least assumed) that these hopes would soon be shattered by massive world events over which he (and his son) have no control. Those of us who live in the United States gained a more intimate sense of this pessimism (or at least a passive perspective on life) after the September 11, 2001 attack on the World Trade Center. We glimpsed a reality which frightened us. We weren’t in control. We probably will never again, as a society, feel like we can control either our personal or collective destiny—or at least be certain of our personal and collective security.
The external locus of control, at one level, seems more “realistic” than the internal locus. It is very European and Asian—and is often pessimistic (or at least cautious). We are told to be reflective rather than rash, to observe before plunging in. Instead of declaring the usual American imperative: “Don’t just stand there, do something” we are given the opposite instruction: “Don’t just do something, stand there!” We must understand the situation before plunging in and trying to change everything. The widespread European critique of many, unilateral and often poorly conceived US interventions exemplifies this perspective. An external locus, however, also evokes a troubling dynamic of “self-fulfillment.” When we are passive and wait for external events to direct us, then, sure enough, the outside world begins to have a profound impact on our lives. We accept a deterministic world view in which everything operates like a finely crafted Swiss Watch. We soon lose any sense of personal agency or personal responsibility.
John Calvin, the monumentally influential Swiss lawyer and theologian, saw the world as just such a finely crafted and divinely created Swiss watch. Like the American behaviorists and other determinists, he looked primarily to external sources when examining and explaining human behavior. He didn’t look to the environment, however, as did the behaviorists. Rather, Calvin looked to a Protestant God. He believed that each human being was placed on the earth to act out some pre-destined drama.
The Calvinist task was (and still is) to discover God’s plan. It would be arrogant, foolish and ultimately sacrilegious to design and enact our own individual plans. We see comparable perspectives on the externally determined human destiny in many Eastern religions and philosophies. Contemporary businessmen in Taipei, Taiwan, for instance, venture from their office buildings at lunchtime to discover something about their fate and future (through the I-Ching). Mahatma Gandhi (Erikson, 1993) met with his enemy (and childhood friend) every afternoon during a nonviolent strike in India to ensure that each party to the conflict played out his predestined role in this great, pre-ordained historical drama.
The external locus of control situates us on a much larger stage and provides us with assurance that we are not alone. Yet, ultimately, we are alone—and we must somehow stand outside the steam of history so that we can feel accountable and engage in the courageous act of seeking to improve the human condition. We do have free will. Despite precedence, dominant mindsets and the powerful societal, political and economic forces of our society, we must exert our free will and do that which is unexpected, brave and transforming.
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