In much of my writing I give the thinking mind a hard time. I aim to highlight the ways our modern world grants linear thought excessive respect and power. No doubt logical thinking has advantages, and can accomplish much in material spheres; the advanced state of our technology speaks to logic’s abilities. Even so, linear thinking creates problems when used to the exclusion of other mental skills, especially during social interactions. Our culture devalues vital brain functions that might help us negotiate the many complex societal problems we face as a species.

In usual parlance the word intelligence refers only to linear, left brain activity. Many commentators have worked to counteract this bias by describing emotional intelligence, and it is important to remember that some people who don’t excel on standard IQ tests have their own exceptional abilities. Furthermore, these latter skills are often underdeveloped in those with the sort of brain that performs well on conventional tests. I applaud efforts to give emotional sensibility its due.

But if we stray too far in the emotional direction, we become just as unbalanced as when we rely solely on logic. Emotions are not necessarily more adept than thoughts at determining what really matters to a person. Emotive brain functions are mysterious, and they tap memories and deep history in ways that linear thinking does not. This can be useful in art and literature, but can sometimes be counterproductive when important decisions need to be made.

As I pursue my new career direction as a physician acupuncturist, fear often touches me, and sometimes it strikes with great force. The welling up of this powerful emotion derives from painful past experiences as a doctor, but even more from ancient childhood history. The traumas I endured growing up taught me that life can be scary, that people can hurt me, and that the safest course may be to avoid others. These deep seated convictions, floating mostly below awareness, combine with stressful memories from my days as a surgeon to distort my opinions about the advisability of my new path.

If I were to take these apprehensions to heart, my emotions might persuade me to quit pursuing this new career. So although I honor those parts of myself that suffered in childhood and now want to avoid exposure, I don’t let them make my decision in this case.

It makes sense to briefly embrace the remembered terror, and honor it as part of my experience, but it is not helpful to dwell on the discomfort it causes. Instead, I remind myself that it is natural to feel apprehensive when starting something new, and that my distress doesn’t imply I’m making a mistake. Fear is a predictable reaction given my plans, my history, and my personality.

The emotional brain doesn’t understand the big picture. It lives in immediacy, and its reactions are stirred by obscure memories and bodily impressions. It can’t understand delayed gratification, or appreciate that I’ll be helping others, or predict that my financial situation will be improved. It just knows there must be risks, and it is warning me my new direction might entail pain.

Yes, it might. In fact, like any new venture it certainly will spark misery from time to time. But the endeavor will also reward me as I help others heal and grow. It is important work and I want to do it. So I thank my emotions for their concern. I acknowledge their warnings. I choose to go forth, despite the inevitable problems.

Emotions can help in choosing a mate. They can help in finding interests. They can even help in selecting a career. But they should not be granted too much influence, especially when they put up roadblocks in the middle of  otherwise passable roads. All parts of the brain need to be consulted, and they all need limits. Rampant emotions fare no better than rigid logic at building a fulfilling life.

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    Last reviewed: 8 Sep 2010