I’m reading a book written in the mid-1980s.(All will become clear eventually.)The author notes the connection between social madness and personal mental illness.He cites the alarming rise of teen suicides.This was over three decades ago.Suicide rates have continued to climb, and this particular author got me to thinking about something that troubled me even as an undergrad.Although I went to college intending to be a minister, I ranged widely in the subjects I studied.(Being a religion major in those days allowed for quite a bit of flexibility.)I took enough courses in psychology to have minored in it, if I had declared it.Since my mind was set on church work I saw no reason to make said declaration.The thing that troubled me was I had also taken sociology classes.
Like most people who grew up in uneducated households, I suspect, sociology was something I’d never heard about.Asking what it was, in college, someone answered along the lines of “psychology of groups.”My own experience of it was that it involved math and graphs—it was a soft science, after all—and now I read sociologists who say that such numbers can be made to declare what the sociologist wishes.In other words, psychology.The point of all of this is that the book I’m reading suggests societies exhibiting illness cause individuals to be sick. Sociology leads to psychology.In times of national turmoil, individual mental illnesses rise.I had to pause and put the book down.The eighties weren’t a picnic, but the national madness of the Trump era bears no comparison.We are a nation gone mad, and when society can’t project health, the many who stand on the brink of individual mental illness simply get pushed over.That sure makes sense of what I’m seeing.
Looking back, I often think I should’ve probably declared that minor.Raised in a strong biblical environment, however, I wanted to learn as much about the Good Book as possible.I was teaching Greek by my last year in college and in seminary I specialized in the Hebrew Bible.It would’ve been a natural place to continue studying psychology.By that point I’d decided to go on to a doctorate, and psychology required medical training.For a guy as squeamish as me that wasn’t possible.Ancient languages, though, they were something I could handle.It’s rather frightening that those writing at that time already saw America (in the Reagan years, I might add) teetering towards national insanity.We’ve gone far beyond that now.And a society that doesn’t know it’s ill will sacrifice many individuals who realize that it is.
In college I took enough psychology courses that I could have minored in it, had I simply declared it.Focused on ministry at the time, this declaration never happened.My own psychological issues (who doesn’t have them?) show up, I suspect, to those skilled at spotting such things, and friends sometimes suggest books I might enjoy reading.As a result I recently finished Paradox and Counter-Paradox by Mara Selvini Palazzoli, Luigi Boscolo, Gianfrancro Cecchin, and Guiliana Prata.Attempting to summarize the study would necessarily over-simplify what is clearly a very complex topic—what used to be called schizophrenia—but the basic idea can be explained.These psychoanalysts worked as a team to help patients with (since it was the 1970s) schizophrenia.Realizing that the basic mental processes are developed within a family, their practice used group therapy to treat families rather than singling out the “sick individual.”This book is an account of the methods they used.
Seeing schizophrenia as a family issue rather than an individual one, the therapists saw the identified patient as often a child trying to keep family expectations in order.The psychoanalyst team called this a “game” played by families seeking homeostasis—the perceived state of balance between members to assure that things stay the same.The psychotic member enables this to happen and families, as recounted in some of the cases, clearly try to manipulate the situation to keep this strange and awkward balance.The doctors used paradoxical (thus the title) scenarios to treat such families and reported a good rate of success.The focal point of their work was often not on the “sick” member, but on the group dynamics which led to the sickness.
The idea is a fascinating one.We are all members of families (with some exceptions), and the way our group functions is, for the most part, acceptable.Dysfunction, however, sometimes leads to psychosis, which, according to these authors, is a state of affairs best treated on a family scale.While it may be easy for me (having grown up in a clearly dysfunctional family) to see this, I sometimes wonder at how widespread mental issues really are.Our species lives a highly unnatural existence for evolved beings.Our work together in family units often leads to conflicts, overt and subtle.Children—often the identified patients here—can see such things much more clearly than we frequently suppose.Afraid of the consequences, they learn to play the game to keep the situation stable, if untenable.There’s great insight here, even if the book is a touch outdated; our learning about the human mind is never-ending and it makes perfect sense to pay attention to the context when wondering about the results.
The problem, or rather a problem, of growing up Fundamentalist is taking things literally.I suppose we’re all born naive realists, learning only later that things aren’t what they seem.One of the dynamics of finding something new to say about demons involves an unconventional method of research.Richard Beck’s Reviving Old Scratch: Demons and the Devil for Doubters and the Disenchanted is a case in point.Being part of a series called “Theology for the People,” this book is not an exploration of literal demons or the Devil.Well, it kinda is and kinda isn’t.It is an engaging and often insightful treatment of the question of evil and what to do about it.Evil is a question, but most of us, at least pre-Trump, could recognize it when we saw it.
Beck is a professor of psychology.This meant that at several points I found myself pausing to consider some of the points he was making.Some parts didn’t work for me—welcome to the world of reading—but others were eye-opening.One thing that all books about the Devil seem to have in common is the observation that evil is clearly present in our world.Governments, and Beck uses Rome as an example, easily become oppressive and harmful to the weak and powerless.As a volunteer in a prison ministry, Beck knows whereof he speaks.When governments are run by the unstable (think of the one with a toothbrush mustache or any other who declare themselves geniuses) oppression follows.Evil not only bobs in the wake of oppression, it is oppression.Beck has a Christian anchoring—call it theology—behind this, but it clearly works even without that.
Getting over my literalism, I know that academic books about demons or the Devil come with more serious titles and more hefty price-tags.The value of a book, however, has to do with more than the cash you shell out for it.Beck does a service by offering a theology that isn’t too theological.I’ve known many candidates for the ministry who lost their compassion by getting tangled in the weeds of theology.Even to the point of making sarcastic remarks to someone who wanted to help them when they fell on the ice.I know myself, and I have to learn to trust those who practice theology in ways that I do not.This may not be conventional research, but it is important reading.Old Scratch, after all, is not just in the details.
In keeping with my recent theme of jobs you never knew you could have, I recently read a story a friend sent me from The Vintage News.The story concerns a spiritual counselor who is planning to marry a ghost.I didn’t know that spiritual counselor was an available job.You see, I had taken enough psychology courses in college that I could’ve had it as a minor, but I didn’t declare it.At the time I was destined, or so I thought, for a career in ministry and psychology seemed a good subject to assist with that.Also, I naturally tend to try to figure out what motivates people.Like most career options, not having a science background prevented me from pursuing psychology as a fall-back career.But spiritual counselor?
The woman in the story lives in the United Kingdom.Here in the United States, where unhappy people seek any opportunity they can find to sue someone, having a job as a spiritual counselor probably involves ordination.Even if you’re ordained, as I learned from long years both attending and teaching in seminaries, you always refer those who come to you to a licensed psychologist.Clergy can easily be sued for providing bad advice.That’s why the counselor part of this job seems so odd to me.That, and the woman the story features is only 27.I suppose that’s time enough to finish a doctorate, for the truly ambitious, but apparently she doesn’t have a terminal degree.Just a post-terminal lover.
Also, I learned that spectrophilia is a condition with a name.The idea of intimacy with spirits is nothing new, of course.The ancient idea of incubi and succubi reflect this concept, and a number of the stories in the Ed and Lorraine Warren oeuvre include sexual attacks by demons or ghosts.What’s different here is that the young woman wants to marry a spirit she can’t see.Unlike most such reputed cases of spectrophilia, she claims spirits are superior to physical lovers.Despite the oddities that make such a story newsworthy (in a sense) a potentially important point could emerge from all of this.Love is not a physical phenomenon.We all know it when we feel it.I suspect that other such feelings, like finding the perfect job that matches your skills and interests, are likewise intangible.The problem is finding out that such jobs even exist.
The brain is one troubling organ. The gateway to both our thinking and our physical experience—as well as our survival—it tends to explain things in terms of narrative. Human consciousness likes a good story. Experiment after experiment has shown that if the brain doesn’t know why you do something it will make up an answer. Consciousness is far from foolproof. Those who rely too heavily on rationalism don’t like to think about such things. Logically, if your brain can fool you then you can’t believe everything evidence seems to verify. Think about that. If you dare.
Psychology has sometimes received a bad rap among the sciences for not having empirical evidence to back up some of its assertions. “Freudian” is now used as much as a slur as it is a sign of the sudden insight that strange things constantly go on inside our heads. BBC Future recently ran a story by Melissa Hogenboom titled, “The woman whose tumour made her religion deadly.” The account regards a woman who came to the hospital with serious self-inflicted wounds. Although hackneyed, the voices in her head told her to do this to herself. Brain scans indicated a tumor at the point in her brain where auditory information and religious belief come together. Paging Dr. Jaynes! Now, I know this is over-simplified. I’ve read enough neurology to know that brain functions can switch from one part of the brain to another and that mapping this kilo-and-a-half universe is one of the the most vexing of scientific enterprises. Still, in this case, the implications were clear: the woman’s self-destructive behavior was connected, in her brain, to religious commands.
Many educated people in this post-Christian world rely staunchly on reason. I don’t disagree that reason is essential. I do wonder, however, what happens when such thinking is forced to confront the fact of the irrational brain. Ever since setting our clocks forward I’ve been awaking in the midst of dreams. My usual sleep cycle hasn’t yet adjusted. I know some pretty strange stuff is going on in my brain when rationality’s taking a snooze. The other day I awoke convinced I was in my boyhood home. Rationality tells me it was razed years ago. Yet this brain with doctoral-level education was convinced it was in another state at another time. And this isn’t the result of a tumor, but normal sleeping brain functioning. It does make one wonder if putting too much faith into rationality isn’t a form of minor neurosis. To find out you have to ask a troubling organ and hope for a rational answer.
Human evolution (while it still legally exists) tells us a considerable amount about belief. Brain science (while we still have it) has long indicated that our noggins evolved to help us survive, not “to figure out” the world. Along its long and torturous path to modernity, the human brain has developed the ability to believe what it knows not to be true. This doesn’t just apply to the study of religions, but, in reality, primarily to psychology. Patients with split brains have shown a mastery of rationalization that should make any Republican jealous. So far the Dems are with me. What Democrats don’t understand is that you can’t change beliefs with reason. I grew up a Fundamentalist. That past still continually haunts me. What brought me out of it wasn’t thinking. It was experiencing. Specifically, experiencing in the course of education.
Recent polls show that well over 50 percent of Republicans believe Trump won the popular vote as well as the electoral vote. You could show this 50 percent as many statistics as you like and you won’t be able to convince them. Belief doesn’t work that way. In my experience, higher education (typically characterized as liberal) doesn’t really care about understanding belief. They hire professors recommended by establishment friends, very much like cabinet posts are now being filled. They still believe if you talk at someone long enough with reason, they will change their minds. I can’t change that belief of theirs—I have an idea how belief functions. We’ve all seen how the system works. Not every 1930s German was a Nazi.
In other words, it is very easy to believe a lie is the truth. In the words of Jim Steinman, “everything’s a lie and that’s a fact.” Education may help you spot the contradiction there, but it won’t help you unbelieve it. The truth is power can’t be taken, it must be given. If people do not believe what the media tells them, it isn’t true. As someone who’s spend a half-century trying to figure this out, I’m always amazed that my own party can’t see what’s so obvious to a reformed Fundamentalist. Until the day comes when avowed rationalists admit that emotions matter just as much as orthodox reason we will all be at a loss to explain how otherwise intelligent people will insist that what they know to be lies are indeed the truth.
Source: Lbeaumont based on image by Mila / Brocken Inaglory, Wikimedia Commons
Mirrors can be such deceptive things. In my head I’m a much younger man than the one I see staring at me. And I have to remind myself that other people see what the mirror sees, and not what I really am. Things age. A friend who aged so much that she’s no longer alive recommended to me years ago Games People Play, by Eric Berne. Of course I’d heard of it before—I wasn’t born yesterday. I do enjoy reading psychological books. Psychology like having a window in someone’s forehead. If you could really master it you’d understand so much of what seems a mystery to people like me. But it is an old book. When Berne casually cites the year he was writing it as the year I was born, I began to suspect that some of the data might be outdated. The guy in the mirror certainly seems to be.
We still play games, though. The hope Berne expresses in the last chapter is that we might get beyond this endless game playing to true awareness, spontaneity, and intimacy—the things psychological games are meant to mask. I also have to confess to recognizing myself at several points and then reading that games are played by disturbed people. “So that’s why I x, y, or z,” I found myself thinking. Disturbing thought. And these ideas are as old as I am. Probably older.
Reading this book from ‘60s, I noticed a strong sense of certainty that is now lacking. I can’t imagine too many psychiatrists or psychologists making quite so many declarative statements these days. I know it’s a classic in the field, and I know there are some valuable insights here, but we don’t call people “squares” any more, and a good deal of the analyses point to assumed gender roles that we now know are as much fabrications as the games themselves. I was looking for a game that my departed friend had pointed out to me. We both knew a man who was apparently picking fights because he wanted to leave his job but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Stamp collecting,” she called it. She may have been right, and I have to wonder if many of us really know why we do the things we do. Maybe I could use a window into my own forehead. Of course, I would need the mirror to see it. It’s a little game I play.