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Rewards

There are many theoretical orientations within psychology. One of the most straightforward and commonsensical is Behaviorism; it can be deceptively simple and is certainly applied by some folks in terribly simplistic ways, but there are complex and sophisticated versions extending well beyond what is immediately apparent. The fundamental principles of Behaviorism include such maxims as: 1) behaviors followed by rewards tend to increase in frequency; 2) behaviors followed by punishments tend to decrease in frequency; and 3) behaviors followed by neither rewards nor punishments are apt to linger for a while, but gradually decay (“extinguish”). I’m sure no one is shocked to learn this.

Where it gets tricky is how rewards and punishments are defined (e.g., a reward for one person may be a punishment for another, and replacing something negative with nothing can be positive), what “schedule of reinforcement” is in play (e.g., 1:1 ratio between behavior and consequence versus a variable ratio, such as exists in gambling, which turns out to be even more powerful), or what competing dynamics may exist in a given situation (e.g., a combination of rewards and punishments may result from a single behavior). People regularly do things that seem contrary to their best interests, but there is likely a system of contingencies supporting their behavior somewhere in the shadows.

Ivan Pavlov

The preceding are aspects of Operant Conditioning. This is distinct from Classical Conditioning, as illustrated by Pavlov’s dog. Both involve associative learning on the way to altered behavior, but instead of using rewards and punishments, Classical Conditioning involves repetitively pairing one stimulus (e.g., a bell) with another (e.g., food) which naturally elicits a certain response (e.g., salivation) until eventually the first stimulus elicits the involuntary end response without the second stimulus with which it had originally been paired. Hence, Pavlov could make his dog salivate by simply ringing a bell, even when he no longer provided food along with it.

One more distinction to make is between the original school of Behaviorism and the more modern version, Cognitive-Behaviorism. Whereas the former can be used to understand animals and human beings, the latter can only be applied to people, since it incorporates elements of thought and we don’t really know what animals are thinking, much as we may superimpose human traits upon them. (I would add we also don’t know nearly as much about what people are thinking as we like to, er, think.) Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy, or CBT, is currently a popular form of psychological treatment, and its proponents would have you believe it is the only one validated by experimental research. That is not true for at least several reasons. First, there is a great deal of controversy over what actually constitutes meaningful evidence in so-called “evidence-based” psychotherapy research. Second, there is substantial research support for other forms of psychotherapy. Third, psychotherapy outcome research has consistently shown the relationship between therapist and client is a more important factor in predicting the derived benefit than is the therapist’s theoretical orientation. I note these points because CBT has enjoyed much favorable media attention and academic acclaim, not all of which it deserves. Since I consider part of this column’s mission to be psychological education, I’m taking this opportunity to inform you all schools of psychotherapy have their limits, including CBT.

Not Ivan Pavlov

If you haven’t sensed this already, I’m not a Behaviorist or CBT therapist—not because I consider these orientations false so much as I consider them incomplete. I have great respect for the power of reward and punishment (even to the point of raising real questions about free will), and I certainly believe thoughts can influence feelings, but I also consider other models better at capturing the dynamics of our emotional and relational lives (e.g., how emotions and relationships influence our thoughts in ways we’re not even consciously aware of). There are skilled theoreticians who have “translated” other models into Behavioral or CBT language, albeit with considerable strains and omissions, but I can’t do any of that justice here. Okay, that’s your psychology mini-lecture for today; now let’s talk about how some of this relates to riding!

Maybe I should have said how it relates to not riding!

The great pleasure we derive from motorcycling can make it a potent reward, motivating us to get boring or obnoxious chores done so we can have saddle time. It’s a common Behavioral tactic to withhold a treat from ourselves until we take care of something we don’t really want to do. If we don’t allow riding until after the yard work or gym session is finished, we may be more likely to get the onerous tasks completed early and efficiently. The more we do it this way, the better it works. Then when we enjoy our reward, it feels even better to know we no longer have those tasks hanging over our heads. Otherwise, guilt about not doing them and dread of having to do them later can detract from the fun of our ride, and without a treat to look forward to, we may drag our feet on the chores, procrastinating and making them last even longer than necessary. The lack of an incentive leaves us less motivated—no surprise.

This approach may often work well, but it can go awry. For example, I could be too absolutist. If I don’t allow myself to enjoy any reward until all my work is done, my supposed source of motivation will be forever beyond my reach. In the world of most adults, there is no end to the obligation/to-do list; more items are added at least as fast as others are checked off and the horizon of completion never gets any closer. The resulting imbalance between play and work makes us feel burned out, and the gears of productivity grind ever more slowly and roughly without enough fun to keep the psychological gearbox lubricated. Someone may condemn themselves for lacking self-discipline when it would be more accurate to say they’ve exercised nothing but, and now it’s exhausted.

Such a counterproductively compulsive dynamic, including the anxiety driving it, is often caused by unquestioned assumptions and irrational beliefs about the necessity of getting certain things done. Of course, there may be dire consequences for neglect in some areas, but probably not all of them. Taking time to carefully consider what’s really at stake may lead to a reevaluation of priorities, with some chores demoted in importance or urgency. This reorganization is even more likely to occur when we consider how miserable and inefficient we become without regular rest and recreation. Our anxiety should diminish in light of more realistic appraisals of the true consequences of both relentlessly whipping ourselves and allowing ourselves some respite.

Photo by RODNAE Productions.

Unfortunately, anxiety isn’t always so responsive to (or even related to) the most obvious logic. What if taking the above inventory does little or nothing to relieve the pressure we feel to keep plowing ahead with everything other than fun? There may be less obvious factors in play. For instance, some people learned early in life that pleasure and relaxation were problematic to important others in their lives. Perhaps those others equated enjoyment with immorality (including sins of selfishness, laziness, entitlement, and irresponsibility), or they imposed envious retaliation or shaming rejection in response to someone else’s pleasure because they felt deprived of joy, themselves. This kind of experiential history sets up a strong association between enjoyment and guilty apprehension. A common version leaves its victims always on edge about when “the bill will come due” for any frivolity; the feeling may be vague and unjustifiable (in present terms), but nevertheless quite strong. Such folks may try to “pay it forward” by getting even more done, and done earlier, than required as a prerequisite for pursuing gratification, though they may always feel such prepayment is inadequate and either never get to the good stuff or be unable to savor their reward when they obtain it.

In such cases, a deeper analysis reveals hidden systems of incentives and deterrents. To please those key figures from their past, the person adopted a set of unrealistic standards which now predisposes them to neurotic anxiety, guilt, and martyrdom. Whereas this was originally a matter of earning the approval of, or securing a connection with, someone else, the process is now internalized with the person’s self-acceptance dependent upon meeting impossible goals. By definition, this is an interminable quest that makes “free time” a mythical beast as available as a unicorn. Perpetually tending to duties yields a (perhaps secret) reward of puritanical pride, while pausing to enjoy the spoils of one’s labors brings on painful feelings of shame, guilt, and dread. Personal redemption (and an accompanying sense of righteous superiority) is obtained via relentless productivity and self-sacrifice; these are the rewards and punishments involved, based on Operant Conditioning at the hands of key dependency and authority figures in the past, and the now-internal rewards and punishments sustain the behavioral pattern long after the old contingencies have ceased to apply.

I find the psychoanalytic concept of the Anti-Libidinal Ego (Google it) a better way to capture this type of problem, but much of it can be understood in the (somewhat stretched) Cognitive-Behavioral terms just outlined. The ensuing self-deprivation and associated self-condemnation/grandiosity can have psychologically and relationally crippling effects, with decreased motorcycling time just one of many forms of self-imposed suffering involved. As you’d guess, such people end up passing on this kind of model to those over whom they have influence.

A good life requires balance, with a healthy collection of contingencies that both prompt us to stretch ourselves to reach goals, and then provide us with satisfying rewards for doing so – rather than continually moving the goal posts further away. If you realize you have inhibitions against riding along the lines described here, it’s probably time to examine those more closely, possibly with someone’s help. Riding can be such a richly rewarding aspect of living, but only when we’re able to allow it.

Mark Barnes is a clinical psychologist and motojournalist. To read more of his writings, check out his book Why We Ride: A Psychologist Explains the Motorcyclist’s Mind and the Love Affair Between Rider, Bike and Road, currently available in paperback through Amazon and other retailers.