Systems in the Psyche: Chaos, Order, Courage, & Compassion

Over the past several months I’ve become enthralled with complex systems. Since every living thing is a complex system—including our brain—I’ve begun wondering whether the psyche also behaves as a complex system. Do the principles governing health, illness, and evolution in organisms also extend to the mind?

A bit of background on complex systems: Complex systems are integrated wholes made up of many interconnected, interdependent parts. Cells, plants, animals, ecosystems, communities, cities, and economies are all complex systems. The human body is a relatable example: every cell, organ, and network (e.g., nervous, immune, musculoskeletal systems) is somehow interconnected and interdependent.

A key principle underlying complex systems is that they must balance chaos and order. Healthy systems stay on the verge of chaos and order. This is what allows them to continuously adapt and grow. Unhealthy systems generate too much order, leaving them rigid and stagnant; or they succumb to too much chaos, where they collapse in on themselves. Successful evolution depends on how well an organism (whether a cell, city, culture, or other system) can navigate the delicate dance between chaos and order.

I’m hardly the first person to wonder whether a healthy mind is built on this balance. Taoism, for example, instructs that “the way” rests on this equilibrium (i.e., the Ying/Yang symbol). Shades of complexity theory have found their way into certain schools of psychology (e.g., family systems). Most recently, Jordan Peterson has performed a sort of archeological excavation of chaos and order, bringing these ideas into public awareness through the prism of personal development and a meaningful/ethical life. The way he synthesizes these ideas is bloody (to channel Dr. Peterson) brilliant! If you are looking for anything close to the complexity and richness of his arguments, please go check out his work.

Here I want to put forward my own thoughts and unique spin on “systems” in the psyche. Much of this is influenced by Dr. Peterson, but it also borrows from other great psychologists, new and old, such as Steve Hayes (founder of ACT) and the Buddha (founder of—well, you know). More than anything, though, I try to remain close to my own experience; this is the way of our psyche, as I see it.

Suffering is a feedback mechanism that regulates homeostasis  

If we pay really close attention, our psychological suffering is contingent upon the balance between chaos and order. Suffering is a symptom of imbalance—the same way symptoms manifest in the body when it deviates from homeostasis (i.e., balancing chaos and order). Suffering is the feedback mechanism by which we can measure how well we are maintaining this delicate balance. Suffering falls to both sides of this fulcrum: some people suffer from too much chaos, others suffer from too much order, and all of us suffer from a little bit of both at certain times.

What is order and chaos in the psyche?

Order is control. This is one type of suffering that I know very well. Order is rooted in the ego. The ego is based in language (language development in humans gave us the experience of a separate self). Because of language, we can remember the past and try to predict the future. We can try to control what happens to us in our environment. More importantly, though, we can try to control what happens to us internally: we try to manipulate our thoughts, emotions, and bodily sensations (more on this below). Too much control is a recipe for anxiety. Again, I have caressed some dark corners of this world.

Chaos is the unknown. Chaos is associated with the unconscious. It’s the predators lurking (that our language-ego-control center evolved to better manage). It’s the dream world. It’s the archetypes and gods that unwittingly dictate our behavior. Chaos is confusion and feeling lost, like walking in the dark without a flashlight. Chaos is uncontrollable anger, rage, and physical pain. It’s organ failure that spirals into other organ failure.

Too much order is reflected in our lives through stagnation. We are “stuck.” Life isn’t moving. Things are stale. I’ve learned to control my emotions so well that I don’t feel anymore. I’m not spontaneous anymore. Order is trying to control what happens to me ten years from now, a year from now, next week, tomorrow, or later today. Here’s how it goes: we come up with a perfect plan (this is really going to work!). Then try to fit our life into that. But if we don’t leave room for a little chaos, a little of the unknown—if we are not flexible—we waste precious energy trying to fit that image. We are pushing too hard against life. We tell life how we want it to go, rather than allowing it to tell us. We are not listening to the feedback of life when it tells us: “this isn’t working. Try something new.” The voice of my dad comes to mind: “how many times do I have to tell you…?” We’re not very good listeners. Typically it takes a BIG wake up call to make us even consider letting go of some control.

That’s where good old chaos comes in! Chaos presents as our enemy in the moment it arrives, but it carries a deeper, more compassionate motive: it tries to guide us on a more successful course. It taps us on the shoulder (or bashes us over the head) and points, not this way, but that way. Chaos is called onto the stage when too much order is present. “You think you can control life? How many times do I have to tell you!” Chaos is the loss of a job. A breakup. The death of a loved one. Having to move homes. Chaos is a panic attack that causes more panic attacks because we try even harder to control or prevent them. Chaos disorganizes a system. Then either one of two things happens: a) the system continues to spiral into chaos, eventually collapsing (think about the world right now), or b) the system is able to reorganize into a higher level of order. The latter is what keeps a system healthy and continuously evolving.  

Order is a Tool

Order is a tool that we use to gain control over the world. This has its obvious benefits, such as the ability to plan, organize, and regulate our behavior.

But too much order will necessarily bring some chaos. It’s a non-negotiable contract. In the psyche it looks something like this:

There is some method of self-improvement that we are constantly working on. We find a tool that we are going to use to fix ourselves up, once and for all. This new tool that we found holds all the answers (“the other ones were crap. This one will really work.”). I’ve really got it figured out this time! If I just to x, y, and z, I will be able to avoid suffering! This is order, and it works for a little while. But eventually that tool stops working; once sharp and effective, it becomes blunt and impotent after repeated use. We find ourselves back in suffering—confused, lost, back in the unknown. Confronted again with chaos. What happened?! I thought I really had it figured out… maybe I should just try harder. So perhaps we double down on this tool; we grip it even tighter, drill even harder. But eventually we see this doesn’t work. In fact, it often makes things worse. What we are being asked is to let go of the tool. We are being asked to make a little more room for the unknown. This is what happens when there is too much order in the psyche.

This is a pattern we repeat throughout our lives. For me, I don’t know of anything truer. If I had to sum up my inner experience, it would be something like this.  

What we fail to realize is that the problem isn’t the tool we are using—it’s the process itself. The whole effort to eliminate psychological suffering guarantees more suffering. It’s hard to admit that I cannot control the world; we cling to order and try to keep chaos at bay. 

If this process sounds familiar, it’s because it’s been mapped out for ages. The paradoxical consequences of trying to manipulate our inner experience is at the core of Buddhist teachings. The ego is built on control (i.e., order). Its favorite task is to search for clever ways to negate suffering. It gropes for tools, and then new tools, and then newer ones, and clings to them with all its might. It devises self-improvement projects so that we can finally achieve that project of being the person we want to be, and never having to suffer! This kind of attempt at order has a dark side, and her name is chaos.  

Language: The internal Control Machine  

As noted above, the ego is rooted in language. Thus, we might say that language is a tool for trying to control our experience. This is in fact supported by decades of research.

Researcher and clinical psychologist Steven Hayes, and colleagues, have developed a theory (called “Relational Frame Theory”) that explains how language is at the root of mental suffering. It basically says this: trying to problem-solve our internal experiences using language only leads to more suffering. The tool— trying to “fix” or “eradicate”—is the problem itself. Instead, we can simply focus on acting in accordance with our values. That is something we can control. And at the expense of feeling difficult feelings, we can live a life of personal meaning. When we get tangled up in the language-based strategy of, “don’t feel X,” or “don’t think X,” we end up in a battle with our internal experience and lose track of what matters to us in life. 

This “tug-of-war” battle is not only ineffective, but actually heightens suffering. A wealth of research demonstrates that attempting to suppress thoughts, feelings, or body sensations actually amplifies their frequency and intensity. This harkens back to Freud’s notion that suffering is rooted in the suppression of the unconscious. If we look at this through a systems lens, it lines up: too much order generates chaos. We must figure out some way to skillfully walk the line between order and chaos.

I believe Hayes’ Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) teaches us how to do this (although not explicitly saying so) through developing what the model calls psychological flexibility.  Hayes refers to the language-ego-control center as the “Dictator Within.” Psychological flexibility involves six “pivots” that help free us from the Dictator Within: Defusion, Acceptance, Presence, Self-as-Context, Values, and Committed Action. In a nutshell, these skills teach us how to: “unstick” from our thoughts and feelings (defusion or mindfulness), stop struggling against them (acceptance), and turn towards behaving in a manner that is consistent with our values and gives our life meaning (values and committed action). The swivel that these pivots rest on is present-moment awareness in each particular moment (presence and self-as-context).

The Swivel: Playing on the Edge of Chaos and Order

This swivel—the present-moment attention that allows us to pivot towards values and meaning (versus trying to control our internal experience)—is where I would like to focus now. This, I believe, is what allows us to walk the line between chaos and order. It’s only in each moment that we can choose to walk this line—to balance the known and the unknown.  But we can simultaneously do this in each moment and subsequent moments, if we are oriented in the right direction. We chart a course on our map that balances chaos and order right now, next week, next month, next year, and ten years from now. Of course, it will not always neatly look like this—that would be too much order. But the orientation to this way of being, in each moment, will set us on the proper course. We have some idea of the direction we are heading, and we use our compass (values in ACT) to know if we are still heading in that direction. But we also stay open to change—the unknown—the gifts of chaos—that steer us in slightly (or largely) new direction. We remain psychologically flexible now and over the broader course of our life. This is how systems evolve.

We are humble warriors as we adopt this stance. In one hand, a sword—a tool—control—order. The other hand remains open and receptive—the unknown—chaos. Present moment attention, the swivel from which we create psychological flexibility, allows us to gracefully meet the challenges that come our way on this journey.

There are many practices that strengthen one’s capacity to remain in this beautiful stance. Meditation, yoga, and other contemplative practices, for example, teach us how to live on this edge. Yoga, for me, is where I really can feel this happening. If the mind wants to get further into a pose (propelled by the Dictator Within – “you should be somewhere else!”), it might prematurely leap over this edge; while we might reach the goal, we either soon fall out of the pose, or we can’t get back there the next time around because we haven’t truly mastered it. The mastery comes right on the edge of chaos and order. On the other hand, we might be in a pose and become frightened to go any further—to go deeper or hold it for longer—so we just back out. We basically give up before even trying because the whole thing seems so daunting. In either case, we are not playing on the edge. Now, don’t get me wrong: at certain times, we need to press harder on one lever or the other, depending on what sort of balance is needed. I often need lots of Yin (passive or “backing away”) time! But mastery happens in the middle. And the only way we know if we need more Yin or Yang, more order or control, is if we are truly present in that middle space.

Athletes know this “sweet spot” very well, too. They are constantly pushing the boundaries of what is possible. This is because they are able to stay right on that edge; right between order and chaos. This is where fear lies—why it’s so hard to stay here. Accordingly, it’s also where courage lies. Athletes are the embodiment of courage staying on the edge of chaos and order. When one does this, they are naturally propelled into a higher state—the system reorganizes into a higher level of order. This is growth. This is where the magic happens. This is how we evolve—both as a species and as individual human beings. No wonder why we pack stadiums by the thousands to watch these creatures play with each other.

I want to defend chaos a little more before wrapping up, because the mind sees the word “courage” and it gets absorbed into the black hole of the ego-control-order machine. In our culture, order often masquerades as courage. But courage is not order; courage is the line between order and chaos. On the other side of this line is self-compassion and acceptance. Instead of controlling more, self-compassion is letting go. It’s not doing anything—it’s doing less; it’s a subtraction, not an addition. Acceptance and self-compassion are trusting in the universe. In this space we recognize that we only need to do 50% of the “work”—the universe has got the rest. We allow ourselves to fall back into chaos, so that it can manifest its genius into our life (just like a dream creates a story all on its own when we’re unconscious), and trust that we’ll be able to grab the reigns when necessary to help steer our course.

How do we know that we’re heading in the right direction? Set your moral compass. Determine your values and speak them. Then show up, and try to dance this dance as you follow your compass.

The Slit in the Fabric of Our Lives

So I hope I’ve made a case for how systems show up in the psyche, and perhaps why the field of clinical psychology should be more curious about this. If the neurons in our brain are governed by the laws of chaos and order, why not the psyche?

But let me clarify a deeper point: I am not saying that the psyche, necessarily, can be reduced to the brain. Perhaps that is where present-moment awareness—or the “swivel”—or courage—comes into play. The thing that allows us to choose how we dance the edge of order and chaos. This is perhaps where spirit and matter interact—where the magic happens. It’s as if there’s a tear in the fabric of our material lives where something out-of-time shines through and helps orchestrate the conduct of our life. This makes sense with a systems view of life: systems are not linear—because of their interconnectedness, they constantly integrate feedback from other parts of the system, such that nothing is “causal,” but all happening at once. The way we show up in each moment dictates the manifestation of our entire life. As we shine through this tear—as we walk the line between chaos and order—we determine the evolution of ourselves as individuals.