CHAPTER THREE: Why We Lift: The Deeper Motives
In Chapter One I identified four motives for lifting weights. I named
these motives "I Should," "I Have To," I Want To," and the "Path for
Personal Growth." Important as these distinctions of motive are, they
are not sufficient to fully understand why people devotedly lift
weights. These four motives are relatively easily recognized, or, we
might say, are surface motives. If we look more deeply, however,
we find motives which may be unconscious and thus operate for the most
part outside the lifter's awareness.
Lifting weights is usually an overdetermined behavior, I believe. Just
as I suggested in Chapter One that more than one of those surface
motives may be operating at the same time with a particular lifter, more
than one of the deeper motives to be discussed in the present chapter
may be operating coincidentally. It is to these deeper or more inferred
motives that I now want to attend.
In order to understand unconscious motivation to lift weights, we need
first to understand the peculiar challenges of the lifting sports. Just
what does lifting weights uniquely offer?
There are several basic parameters of exercise: strength, speed,
flexibility, endurance, and coordination. These are the components of
physical activity, itself. Although these parameters may seem
self-explanatory, I believe some brief explanations would be helpful to
our understanding here. In reversed order, coordination means the timing of movement. It means putting several
movements in a particular sequence and with a particular rhythm such
that a particular effect is produced. Endurance refers to the ability to
continue an activity through time. It includes both muscular endurance and respiro-circulatory endurance. Flexibility is a measure of the range of motion of body parts, or the extent of their excursion as they are moved to their limits. The rate at which one is able to perform a particular movement is referred to as speed. And, finally, strength is a measure of the amount of resistance
which one can overcome in the execution of a movement. Combinations of
these qualities will, of course, create more intricate parameters, i.e.,
strength + speed = power.
With these five basic dimensions in mind one can evaluate any given
physical movement or activity. On a grosser level, a particular sport
can be analyzed in terms of these parameters. Any given sport has its
own peculiar profile, requiring more or less development of each of
these five dimensions. To do well in any physical activity requires a
certain level of development of all of these, but certain activities are
outstanding in their demands in terms of certain dimensions. We can
think of particular sports of physical disciplines which are extreme in
the focused demand on a particular parameter of movement. Some such
pairings which I think of are coordination and figure skating, endurance
and the marathon, flexibility and gymnastics, speed and sprinting,
power and Olympic weightlifting, strength and powerlifting.
Although the degree of involvement of coordination, endurance,
flexibility, and speed differ among the weight sports, what they hold in
common is an extreme emphasis on the development and demonstration of
strength (in bodybuilding, the emphasis is on the development of
muscular hypertrophy which reflects and symbolizes strength,
even though the strength is not demonstrated directly). If strength is
valued highly, then the weight sports will have great appeal. So far,
however, we have not tapped the deeper psychological level. To do so, I
enlist the notion of the "archetype" as developed by Carl Jung.
Jung hypothesized that, in addition to the personal unconscious so
thoroughly explored by Freud, there exists a "collective unconscious."
This deeper unconscious manifests itself through universal images
expressed in dreams, religious beliefs, and fairy tales. Jung referred
to the structural components of the collective unconscious by several
names, one of which was "archetype." The archetypes derive from the
accumulated experience of humankind and are inherited just as the form
of the nervous system is inherited. Archetypes then function as
universal thought forms, serving as a frame of reference with which to
experience the world. Examples are god (good), devil (evil), earth
mother, hero, unity, magic, birth, death, rebirth, old wise man, male
principle, female principle, and self.
The archetype, as a universal thought form, does not have a
predetermined content, but is a possibility of representation which can
be actualized in any number of ways. Jung demonstrated through his
research that archetypes are not only passed down through tradition and
language (myth, religion, folklore), but can arise spontaneously, as in
dreams and art. Archetypes can combine, and so, for example, the
primordial images of wise old man and hero can interfuse to produce the
conception of "philosopher king."
Allow me one example of how an archetype can become manifest. The child
inherits a readiness or tendency to have certain experiences. By virtue
of the human nervous system, as it has evolved to this point in time,
the child is programmed to recognize certain universal motifs. This is
shared by all humans, by virtue of the human nervous system, or in
psychological terms, the collective unconscious. The child's archetype
of mother produces a primordial image of mother, and through this the
child can "recognize" mothering as it is presented through the person of
a literal mother. The child's preformed conception of "mother" then
determines in part how the child perceives his actual mother. The
child's experience of his mother will be, then, a combination and
interaction of the mother archetype (universal inner disposition) and
the actual behavior of its mother (specific, literal events).
With this very basic understanding of archetypes, we can return to the
question of the deep psychological appeal of lifting weights. One of the
primordial images recognized by Jung is the archetype of strength or
power. The strength or power archetype is a predisposition to be
fascinated by power. It leads to a desire to create and control power.
When an archetype is tapped into, there is often a rather mystical
quality to one's experience. Perhaps you can recognize in yourself that
mystical fascination in some experience with an event of power. Some
examples of situations which would elicit or invite such archetypical
experience with power are fireworks displays, drag racing, pile drivers,
a heavy surf, a tractor pull, a violent storm, and firing a
high-powered gun. Recall when you have been mesmerized by such an event,
of have observed someone else so entranced by such an occurrence. I
remember, vividly, standing on the rim of Mauna Loa while the volcano
was active, enraptured as time stood still. I was completely in awe of
the incomprehensible power as I felt the intense heat of the rising air
currents, smelled the sulfur fumes, and watched the molten lave bubble
and flow.
But, again, I have mentioned lifting weights only to go on about the
power archetype in general. In the above examples of experience with
power I mentioned natural events and two categories of man-made events,
machinery, and chemical explosions. The events which are focal to our
discussion, however, are the events in which men perform an act of
strength, thereby tapping into the archetype of power. What I am
proposing is that the weight sports are valued insofar as they provide a primitive, personally-embodied manifestation of the power archetype. That is, the act of lifting weights is a living out through one's own body the archetype of strength.
I have come to believe that it is this embodied
living-out-into-the-world of the strength archetype which is the primary
(i.e., deepest, most primitive, most basic) motivation for lifting
weights. All other motivations, valid as they are, are secondary. To
recognize power and to want to control it is an orientation we derive
from the collective unconscious. The most direct way of controlling it
is to manifest it through one's body, to be strong, to BE strength.
When one performs an act of strength, there is a congruence between
what is manifested and the unconscious archetypal pattern. This
congruence is experienced in various degrees of interest, fascination,
or awe. An eternal and universal truth is known.
Jung emphasized the universal expression of the archetypes in myth,
folklore, religion, visions, art, and dreams. There are obvious examples
of the strength archetype manifesting across cultures. Looking at
Western civilization, we can find a plethora of examples from our
earlier written records to the present. In Samuel, Chapter 4, Verse 9 it
is written, "Be strong, and quit yourselves like men . . ." Often we
find a blending of the strength archetype with the hero archetype. In
Greek mythology we find Atlas, the leader of the Titans in their contest
with Zeus, who for eternity bears the heavens on his head and his
hands. The great hero of the Greeks, known for his strength and
endurance, was, of course, Herakles (Latinized as Hercules). The Old
Testament presents us with Samson and his incredible feats of strength,
performed when his faith pleased his god. Beowulf was the strong hero in
the West Saxon epic of about 700 A.D. Such heroes of strength continue
today as the Saturday morning cartoon "superheroes" dash upon the screen
with grossly hypertrophied muscles. Conan, Superman, the Incredible
Hulk; the list could be extended. The point is that the strength
archetype, often interpreted with the hero archetype, is well
represented in the world's literature, from its beginning until now.
It seems that of the weight sports it is bodybuilding which most clearly
interfuses at least an element of the hero archetype with the strength
archetype. The hero is recognized as such only after he has done
something heroic. So, too, the bodybuilder is judged after he has done
what he does, after he has trained. The names of the contests, and
titles awarded also suggest the conferring of hero status on the winner.
Rarely, if ever, has a winning powerlifter of Olympic weightlifter been
given a "Mr." title. But consider how we designate a physique winner.
Even the smallest local contest confers its "Mr. Prairie City" award.
One of the first physique contests I attended was the "Mr. Hercules"
contest, held the evening that Steve Reeves' movie made its debut in
town. (That was three or four years before I attended the "Mr. Avon
Beach" event.) The big physique events are clearly infused with an
element of the hero archetype. Consider the titles of Mr. U.S.A.,
America, World, Universe, and, if any question remains, Olympia.
If the hero archetype is less in manifest evidence in powerlifting and
Olympic weightlifting, the strength archetype is manifested in a form
more raw. The physique contestant displays a body which suggests
strength and stands as a symbol for it. The competitive lifter, on the
other hand, demonstrates strength in its raw form.
Just as the physique contestant draws on the hero archetype to augment
his living out a symbolic portrayal of the power archetype, the
competitive lifter may draw, to some degree, on the archetype of magic. A
heavy lift is clearly a demonstration of power. But it may also touch
lightly on the realm of magic. A good lifter is able to lift a weight
far in excess of what a nonlifter of comparable bodyweight could.
Sometimes these feats seem almost beyond human ability. These are acts
apparently in defiance of gravity. It appears as if the lifter is able
to partially suspend, or at least reduce the ordinary gravitational
pull, to alter the law of gravity. This is an appearance not only to the
spectator, but may also be noted by the lifter himself. As I write this
I am recalling the sensation I had when as a teenage lifter I did an
Olympic press of 190 pounds at a bodyweight of 140. Somehow, it was
almost as if the weight were floating up. Paradoxical as it sounds, I
felt at the same time as if I were and were not pressing the weight. I
have experienced this many times while performing maximum or
near-maximum lifts. This is not always the case with a maximum lift,
however. Sometimes the weight seems extremely heavy, and is lifted only
with the greatest of effort. When I was training for powerlifting
competition, I was fascinated with the two different experiences which I
regularly had in the deadlift, sometimes the effortful lift, sometimes
that "magical" floating lift where I seemed as much the observer as the
active lifter. When I began breaking the 400 lb. mark with regularity in
training (at a bodyweight of 160), I discovered how to create the
floating sensation in the lift. What I discovered worked like magic. (I
will describe the procedure in a later chapter on techniques to enhance
lifting performance.) Levitation of objects has long been a feat worthy
of the best of the legendary "magicians." A lifter can create such an
illusion with the most astounded and delighted witness being himself.
I am suggesting a corollary to my above stated belief about the power
archetype being at the root of weightlifting's attraction. I believe
that in addition to tapping into the power archetype, as all forms of
lifting do, bodybuilding taps into the hero archetype and weightlifting
may at times tap into the archetype of magic. The bodybuilder lives
out an embodied manifestation of the strength archetype interpenetrated
with the hero archetype. The competitive lifter may be closer to living
out an embodied manifestation of the archetype of power, by itself. Some
competitive lifters, at times, may also infuse their performance with
the perspective of magic.
Masculine & Feminine
Perhaps the most controversial topic in the iron world has been the
advent of women bodybuilders. There have been "strongwomen" since the
days of vaudeville and earlier. But these women were, for the most part,
regarded as oddities, interesting as they were. In recent years, women
have become a large force in bodybuilding, Olympic lifting, and
powerlifting. The fact of women in the latter two sports has been
accepted pretty well as a more or less natural development. The
acceptance of women in bodybuilding, in contrast, has been fraught with
controversy and heated polemic. This degree of concern suggests some
deep, psychological dynamic. I believe this state of affairs is
understandable, again, with the aid of the theory of archetypes. Jung
identified several archetypes which have evolved to such a high degree
that they deserve to be viewed separately from the many other archetypes
of the collective unconscious, and regarded, instead as distinct
elements of the personality. Two of these, the "anima" and the animus,"
represent the feminine and masculine principles, respectively. Remember,
the anima and the animus are archetypes, highly evolved, and as such
are forms which serve as frames of reference for experience. The anima
is the unconscious side of a man's conscious masculinity, and the animus
is the unconscious side of a woman's femininity. For each, it is the
respective unconscious archetype which allows an empathic understanding
of the opposite sex.
The difficulty which many people have had with women in bodybuilding has
been that they thought the women did not look feminine. They did not
look soft and curvaceous. And, so the schism in women's bodybuilding
evolved. Some contests awarded their honors to the more "feminine"
looking bathing beauty type, while other contests chose as winners those
who looked lean, angular, hard, in a word, muscular. The tradition had
been set by the Miss America and Miss Universe contests and their
regional and local versions. These were contests for bathing beauties.
Then along came women with muscles. Clearly, muscles have traditionally
been associated with masculinity. Note the similarity of the words
"masculine" and "muscular." The stem words "mascul" and "muscul" differ
by only one vowel. If that were not enough, we can be informed by the
etymological fact that the Sanskrit root word for muscle is "muska,"
meaning "scrotum." And here we have the issue that for some is a
problem. The issue is that women bodybuilders are displaying a high
degree of development of something which is associated with the
masculine -- muscles. The problem is for people who insist on a simple
world where black is black and white is white, or more to the point, men
are masculine (muscular) and women are feminine (not muscular).
Jung insisted, as Freud had before him, that human beings are not so
exclusively masculine or feminine as some people would have it. Rather
than black and white, the human situation is black and white, and also
some black within the white and some white within the black. This is
profoundly symbolized by the Yin Yang symbol of Taoism. Jung's way of
saying this is that the man carries the anima within him and the woman
carries the animus within her. The development and expression of the
anima or the animus aspect of one's person is a part of one's
development of wholeness or self-realization.
For a woman, then, the task of self-actualization includes the
realization of her animus (masculine). While her animus is denied and
repressed, she is incomplete, she has not actualized an important aspect
of her potential being. Lifting weights is a direct avenue to the
primitive, archetypal level of experiencing the animus. I suggest that
women bodybuilders may be unconsciously motivated by the urge to live
out and experience their animus in the dramatic and blatant form of a
highly muscled body. As I see it, a woman bodybuilder is bringing forth
an aspect of her being which has not been welcome in our culture in such
a stark and dramatic physical expression. Whether or not someone likes
that muscular look is another question, a question of personal esthetic
preference.
Just as lifting weights can bring forth the woman's animus, it is a way
for the man to give emphasis to his masculinity. The psychology of
Alfred Adler is particularly useful in the understanding of the
motivation for this. Adler observed that when someone has a physical
weakness, some underdeveloped or inferior body part, the person will
tend to compensate by trying to develop that part through intensive
training. The classic examples are of Demosthenes, who, although a
stutterer as a child, became a great orator, and Theodore Roosevelt who
overcame his childhood puniness to become a strong, robust man. Adler's
idea was that one's feeling of inferiority leads to an attempt at
compensation. He termed this striving for compensation the "masculine
protest." As he broadened his view over the years, he came to see that
feelings of inferiority can arise from a sense of incompletion or
imperfection in any sphere of life, and lead to compensatory behavior.
Behind this compensatory behavior is a "striving for superiority." Adler
believed that "striving for superiority" is an innate urge, a natural
part of life. It is this basic motivation which carries a person from
one stage of development to the next, and keeps one wanting to grow
throughout one's life. It is "the great upward drive," a striving for
completion. As such, "striving for superiority" is parallel to Jung's
concept of "self-realization," and the concept of "self-actualization"
in humanistic psychology.
As a deep motive, then, a man's feeling of physical inferiority may lead
him into a "striving for superiority" via the barbells. The more keenly
felt the inferiority, and the more hopeful and optimistic about
successfully compensating for that, the more devoted one may be in his
pumping of iron. Remember, the key to understanding this motive is the
subjective experience. What is important is the degree of self-perceived
inferiority. A man may be small, weak, and even puny, relative to other
men, but may or may not experience a feeling of inferiority. Likewise, a
large, strong man may feel physically inferior despite objective
evidence to the contrary. So it is when a man feels physically
inferior regardless of the objective case, that he is likely to seek out
a compensatory experience. Lifting weights, of course, is an obvious
choice when it is available.
I think it is good to recognize this Adlerian "striving for superiority"
as a deep motive for lifting weights without becoming moralistic and
critical. My purpose here is not to judge this motive as good or bad,
but to acknowledge it as a probable dynamic in many men's choice to lift
weights.
This motive seemed so obvious to me, since it sparked my beginnings with
the weights. When I was a boy, my father tried to get me interested in
lifting. He lifted regularly both at home and at a gym. Although I
sometimes watched him work out, had access to a variety of equipment,
and even knew the names of many exercises and what they were for, I felt
no urge to participate. I was simply uninterested. I started high
school young, still twelve when I walked through the door for the first
time, and weighed 98 pounds. It was a couple more years before I started
lifting. A girl friend and some teasing from the "jocks" led to my
taking stock of my physical being, and clear sense of inferiority. My
feelings of physical inferiority sparked me to avail myself of all that
iron in the garage, and I became a devout lifter. The mental shift was
dramatic. I changed from being indifferent to lifting to truly loving it
in a matter of weeks. I soon identified with lifting as "my sport," and
felt a self-identification as a weightlifter. Without that feeling of
inferiority, I doubt that I would ever have become a hardcore lifter.
As I touched upon, above, along with the feeling of inferiority, the
hope for successful compensation by means of lifting is necessary or
else one would not lift, but would seek out some other form of physical
training. So, one may sally forth on the weight path sufficient with
this faith and hope. Soon, however, hope will dim, if the hard work is
not rewarded by some experience of successful compensation. A gain in
weight, a new bulge where there had only been skin and bone, a lift with
five more pounds . . . all will provide early reinforcement. My first
big reinforcement came less than two years after I started lifting, with
my winning a state weightlifting title. That little plastic and metal
trophy was the concrete evidence which symbolized that I had
successfully compensated for my beginning state of inferiority. To have
gone from weak and puny to a locally recognized winning athlete in less
than two years felt to me like a huge reward. With this magnitude of
reinforcement, of course I continued lifting.
What becomes of this "masculine protest" after the inferiority has been
adequately compensated? Two things, I believe. First, as Adler described
the "striving for superiority," there is no end. It is not just a move
from "inferior" to "no longer inferior," but it is a lifelong striving
for completion and wholeness. It is, as I wrote a few paragraphs back,
parallel to self-actualization and self-realization. As such, it is a
driving force to carry one from one plateau to the next, perpetually.
Second, the activity which was the means of successful compensation may
then become an end in itself. What I am suggesting is that lifting
weights, begun as a means to compensate for physical inferiority, may in
time, come to be cherished for itself. The psychological term
for this, as introduced by Gordon Allport, is "functional autonomy." in
the beginning one may lift with the hope of overcoming perceived
inferiority, later because of the success experienced, and still later,
out of a love for lifting, per se. In this third stage the act of
lifting has become functionally autonomous, no longer tied to either
hope or the reinforcement of success. It is as if one lifts in this
third stage to honor and be with the experience which once was so
important in transporting one from the realm of inferiority. This is not
merely habit, nor is it neurotic compulsion, but rather the pleasure of
the company of an old friend.
Ego-Transcendence
A woman, too, may experience a sense of Adlerian inferiority. And, she
may choose the animus oriented expression of "masculine protest" in her
striving for superiority. An additional factor can be the woman's wish
to prove herself in the "masculine" realm because of familial and
societal messages which have denigrated the "feminine." It is no
accident that the growth in women's bodybuilding. Olympic lifting, and
powerlifting has been on the heels of the "women's movement." Feminism
has led to greater recognition and expression of the animus by many
women. Nowhere is this more blatant than in women's pumping of iron.
Lifting weights offers a special opportunity, therefore, for a woman to
claim her equality. The old phrase, "the weaker sex," is forcefully
thrown out every time a woman steps onto a lifting platform and hefts a
weight which untrained me in the audience, of comparable bodyweight,
could not lift.
Lifting weights can be an avenue to what Abraham Maslow has identified
as "peak experiences." These experiences give one's life a special
sparkle, a special joy, a grounding in experienced profundity. Most
everyone who has spent much time engaged in hardcore lifting recognizes
peak experiences as something that just happens from time to time. A
systematic investigation of peak experiences in sports was conducted by
Kenneth Ravizza several years ago. Although he did not interview lifters
in his study, he did include representatives from 12 different sports,
both team and individual, at three levels of proficiency (recreational,
university team, Olympic). His results showed that participation in
sports often does lead to peak experiences. More specifically, when he
asked the athletes to describe what characterized their "greatest
moment" while participating in sports, the following emerged. Over half
of the athletes reported an unusual richness of perception during the
experience, a uniqueness of the event, and a fusion of the athlete with
the event (so it was as if the event "took over" and the person were no
longer "doing" it). Eighty percent or more of those interviewed revealed
a transcendence of the ordinary self (they became so absorbed in the
activity that it was as if there was a union with the phenomenon).
Maslow has referred to this as an "ego-transcending experience," a sense
of awe and wonder of the experience, and a disorientation in time and
space. Ninety to ninety-five percent spoke of an effortless, passive
perception, a perception of the universe as integrated and unified, a
self-validating experience of the activity itself (winning or losing
seemed of little importance), a feeling of being so in control as to
feel almost godlike, a feeling that the experience was perfect, and a
total immersion in the activity (giving full attention to the activity).
Of Ravizza's sample, all spoke of a loss of fear during the activity.
(Although other characterizations were given as well as these, the ones
mentioned above coincide with qualities which Maslow discussed as
occurring with peak experiences.) Surely, this is a spiritual
experience, a glimpse through the window of ecstasy.
To be explicit, I am suggesting that in the overdetermination of the
motivation to lift weights, the urge for peak experiences can figure,
too. Another eternal truth is reached.
Staying for the moment with research findings, Larry Tucker has shown in his studies that there is an increase in global internal and external self concept in college males taking a weightlifting course.
The results of these research studies seem to be consistent with my proposed deeper motivations to lift weights. The studies generated data which are at a different level from the level at which these deeper motivations lie. However, there is a consistency between the two levels which can be inferred.
There is one final deep motivation which may operate with some lifters. That is the motivation of risk-taking. Some background is necessary before saying more about the risk in lifting weights. Sol Roy Rosenthal has stated that a certain amount of risk is a basic evolutionary need and is essential in our lives. He divides sports into two categories, RE (risk exercise) and non-RE (seeing the former as having the special importance of providing a good source of risk taking. Skiing and rock climbing are examples of RE sports, as contrasted with non-RE sports such as golf and tennis. Rosenthal believes that RE and non-RE sports have different effects on the participant. In addition, he states that the enjoyment of non-RE sports is often tied to winning, whereas the RE sports are more likely to be enjoyed for their own sake, with competition being of less importance. It is the tension between highly developed skill and calculated risk which creates the exhilaration of RE sports. Research conducted by Rosenthal suggested that participation in RE sports makes men and women more efficient at work, more creative, and more productive, as well as improving their sex lives.
Now, to relate this to the iron game. Certainly, lifting weights does not involve the dramatic risks found in skydiving, rock climbing, or downhill skiing. On the other hand, the risk of serious injury far exceeds such risk in golf, tennis, or volleyball. In bodybuilding the risk may be kept to a minimum. However, in Olympic weightlifting and powerlifting the risk of serious injury is frequently present. On limit days and in competition the lifter is pushing a limit beyond where he or she has been before, and in so doing risks injury either from a strained body or a body crushed by a dropped weight.
As I am writing, I am remembering watching a powerlifter in a meet. As he squatted, one of his ankles gave way, turning under, and he fell. He was saved from possibly being crushed by several hundred pounds of falling iron by two very alert spotters. Another time I saw a man lose consciousness while straining to break a world Olympic press record. He fell backwards, flat on his back, to a loud clatter of plates.
I know that this element of risk has beckoned me back to heavy lifting several times after I have given it up. Some of my most vivid and exciting memories of lifting involve these potentially dangerous situations. I recall falling forward while attempting a squat, and feeling the bar roll over my neck and the back of my head as the ground rushed toward me. My two spotters stood motionless watching, as if in a trance. Another time, in competition, I lost control of the bar just before locking out on a record jerk. The weight came down behind me, just grazing my upper back and tearing off some skin as the knurling dug in on its rapid descent to the platform.
What I am suggesting is that Olympic lifting and powerlifting, where exceedingly heavy weights are moved about, over one's body are, to a degree, risk-taking sports. To the degree that one engages in these, then one may be motivated by the exhilaration attendant with the inherent risk.
To understand why we lifts weights requires that we admit of over-determination. It requires that we understand the coexistence of both conscious and unconscious motivations. And, finally, it requires an appreciation of such forces as risk taking, peak experience, the "masculine protest," "striving for superiority," manifestation of the animus, and, perhaps most centrally, the actualization of the strength archetype. These forces speak of eternal truths.
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