The Little Terrors

I have often said that terror is the mother of invention.

I don't mean the sort of terror that saturates the news these days and penetrates the consciousness of the American people and countless others around the world.

I mean the little terrors; the deadlines, the bills that are due, maintaining the romance, the things that bring us to the threshold of humiliation. Most of us would do practically anything not to look foolish. This is a driving force, another aspect of the so-called work ethic. Shame is a terrific commodity.

The other day scientists announced they are having great success in getting monkeys -- like most humans, quite lazy by nature -- to stay busy and work hard without the inducement of a reward. The researchers employed gene therapy to block dopamine in the monkey's minds. Dopamine is the chemical in the brain that lures us into listening to reggae music and watching Dr. Phil on television instead of attending to our responsibilities. Dopamine is the daydreaming drug. The monkeys suddenly set about their activities with a non-stop fury.

It is sobering to think that corporate managers could get their hands on this genetic technology -- another blow to labor unions. But most of us don't need this sort of thing these days, with a deteriorating economy and shrinking paychecks. We are willing to accept all sorts of assignments. More terror.

Ah, but prosperity -- or recovery -- is just around the corner. Which corner, no one is saying. It is unsettling to hear George W. Bush use the same language as Herbert Hoover did.

But I digress.

Mankind's desire for stimulants is as old as mankind itself. The big theme at the Athens Olympics was "doping." That seems like an odd term for the use of illegal steroids and other body-bolstering substances that would enhance an athlete's performance for that extra edge. There were no dopes in the doping pas de deux between the cheating athletes and the ever-vigilant officials from the International Olympic Committee. The slick cheaters constantly found ways to outfox the officials with test-proof steroids and the officials kept coming up with more sophisticated testing methods. This drama should have been a separate competitive category at the games -- cops and robbers on a Olympian scale.

The manic drive to win produces a terror of it own. The fear of failure. The nightmare of humiliation. The agony of defeat.

I was amazed to learn a boxer from Kenya was kicked out of the competition after a test revealed that he had been using – get this - caffeine. Caffeine? Boy, are they serious. Athensis no place for Starbucks.
I am not going to knock Starbucks. I might have to go to work there.

Some of us are lucky enough not to be driven by terror but by the sheer pleasure of doing something we enjoy. Thirty years ago, while watching the Academy Awards of television, I saw the great actor Raymond Massey accept the Oscar for a colleague who was "away in Europe working." Massey paused for a moment -- a wonderful theatrical hesitation-- and said, "Work, isn't that a beautiful word?"

I'm not so sure the research monkeys would agree with him. After the gene therapy wore off -- that took about ten weeks -- the dopamine kicked back in and the monkeys resumed their lazy, layabout behavior. But one could get a lot done in ten weeks. I could write the Great American Resume. Monkeys seem impervious to the little terrors. We could learn from that.

Terror? What terror? What, me worry?

Bruce Bellingham is the author of Bellingham By The Bay. His e-mail is bellsf@mac.com

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