Psychological Imperialism: The Dark Side of a Redemptive Story

In his eight-stage model of the human lifecycle, Erik Erikson identified generativity as the psychosocial centerpiece of the middle-adult years. According to Erikson, the mature man or woman in

Page 86

midlife channels life’s energies into caring for the next generation, aiming to leave a positive legacy of the self for the future. Yet as Erikson illustrated in his famous case study of Mahatma Gandhi, some midlife adults are substantially more generative than are others. Over the past 15 years, my students and I have used well-validated self-report and behavioral measures to assess individual differences in adults’ generativity. We have identified adults scoring relatively high and low on our generativity measures and then interviewed many of them with an aim toward analyzing their life stories. Our research is guided by contemporary narrative theories in psychology asserting that modern adults provide their lives with some measure of coherence and purpose by constructing and internalizing self-defining life stories, or what we now call narrative identities. How do highly generative American adults narrate their lives?

Although every life story is unique, we have observed that certain themes appear significantly more often in the narrative identities of highly generative American adults compared to their less generative counterparts. Highly generative American adults tend to construct their lives as heroic morality tales wherein a gifted protagonist suffers through many hardships on the way to redemption. In these mythic reconstructions of the past, the protagonist learns early in life that while many people are disadvantaged and in pain, he or she is blessed with some kind of special advantage. Knowing deep down that “I am blessed but others suffer,” the protagonist commits the self in adolescence to a clear and strong set of values, often rooted in a religious tradition, and aims to make the world a better place for others while promoting the strivings of the self. The protagonist encounters many setbacks, ranging from addiction to abuse to poverty, but bad things usually turn good and life moves forward and upward. The generative authors of these progressive narratives of the self employ many different kinds of redemptive discourses in telling their life stories. They may use language and metaphors describing atonement, emancipation, recovery, enlightenment, self-actualization, or upward social mobility—all highly privileged ways of talking about selfhood in contemporary American life.

The life stories of highly generative adults—these most productive and caring American men and women in their midlife years—are windows into the midlife self and into American society and culture. The redemptive tone of these life-narrative accounts recalls some of the most cherished life texts in the American heritage—from Puritan spiritual autobiographies to the 19th-century slave narratives to the wide range of contemporary forms, both exalted and profane, that celebrate the American self’s inner goodness and its striving to expand and to overcome. The protagonist’s early conviction that he or she is blessed with a special advantage is the psychological counterpart of American exceptionalism and manifest destiny; the commitment to make the world a better place while promoting the self reflects ideals and dilemmas in American cultural life that have been recognized since the time of de Tocqueville. For the most part, this kind of redemptive life narrative provides psychological sustenance and support for a productive and caring engagement of the world. Empirical research shows conclusively that highly generative American adults are indeed engaged in a range of life pursuits—from effective parenting to volunteer work in the community—that do make a positive impact on the world around them.

At the same time, the redemptive life stories constructed by highly generative American adults hint at a darker side of American character. While many highly generative American adults are sincerely committed to promoting the well-being of future generations, the narrative identities they construct to make sense of their own lives and to sustain their generative involvements in the world may suggest images and themes that resonate well with, and may even reinforce, imperialistic thinking. Like the Puritan settlers and the 19th-century champions of American manifest destiny, highly generative American adults tend to see themselves as the chosen people. They have been blessed with a special gift, a gift they hope to use to benefit themselves and the world. They have committed themselves to a set of values that they know to be true. But the world may not welcome their usually well-meaning efforts, may not appreciate their noblesse oblige, and may not share the same values.

The redemptive life narratives told by highly generative American adults sometimes suggest arrogance and a sense of moral superiority that others find off-putting. Since the 19th century, cultural observers have taken Americans to task for their arrogant exceptionalism and their deeply held belief that they are the chosen people. American exceptionalism sometimes takes the form of a blithe and naive isolationism, as Americans go their merry way without paying much attention to

Page 87

what the rest of the world is doing. But American exceptionalism can also take the form of psychological, cultural, and political imperialism, especially when it is buttressed by power: I am blessed with the truth; I will share the truth with you; I will liberate you to see the truth the way I see it; You will follow my path, which is the right path; You will follow my path even if you do not want to.

Even though highly generative American adults are no more aggressive than other people, the narrative identities they construct suggest images and themes that may condone imperialistic aggression in the name of redemption. If I am the gifted exception, the one who is blessed and chosen, I may need to break the rules sometimes and to violate the autonomy of others in order to promote the good agenda to which I am committed. Life is a mission, even a crusade. I am here to do God’s work, or at least good work. If I encounter resistance, I may need to fight for what is right. I know what is right. My fight, therefore, will always be the good fight. As James Monroe argues in Hellfire Nation: The Politics of Sin in American History (2003), Americans have been subject to moral fervor since the days of the Puritans, reinforcing the twin urges of reforming “them” as we redeem ourselves. Such moralizing divides the world into the forces of good (think: freedom, democracy, Judeo-Christian values, American capitalism) and the axis of evil.

In certain features of current American foreign policy, the discourses of redemption and imperialism blend together. A man whose own life story follows closely the redemptive narrative of the highly generative American adult, George W. Bush appears committed to the idea that American values are the right and universal values, that America is the most gifted and blessed of all nations, the one chosen to fight the forces of evil (think: terrorism, Saddam, those who threaten us with weapons of mass destruction) even if it must fight the good fight alone. In a similar power politics-oriented vein, the influential analyst Robert Kagan has argued that Americans, unlike the Europeans, are perfectly positioned today to exert imperial power for the good of the world. After two bloody wars, the weakened European nations have come to value cooperation and conciliation in world affairs, Kagan suggests. By contrast, Americans generally are more comfortable going it alone, both because of our unsurpassed military might and because of a history of independent action.

Of course, American imperialism today is a complex phenomenon motivated by a wide range of forces and interests. While some Americans see the war in Iraq, for example, as an effort to establish a democratic beachhead in the Middle East, others justify the venture as part of a more general war on terrorism, a long-term strategy to obtain cheap oil, or any of a number of other reasons. Americans are increasingly split on the Iraq war, however, and many recoil at what they see as a dangerous imperialistic turn. Still, while many Americans may disagree with the administration’s policies, many still find stirring the story of America that the Bush administration implies. It is a redemptive narrative of the national self—blessed from its inception with a special truth and goodness, committed to fulfilling its manifest destiny, strong and free and dedicated to making the world a better (American) place for generations to come, even if the world does not think it wants to go there.

Page 88