Book Review: ‘Re-Visioning Psychology’ by James Hillman

If a book had the power to redeem 2020 for me, this one would be it. It’s so refreshing to read a book that manages to change your mindset or show you old things in a new and surprising way, and this one succeeds at both. At the same time, the book gave form and substance to ideas that had been floating around my mind since my disillusionment with psychology (as it is typically taught) during my undergraduate degree and beyond. It reminded me of one of my favourite quotes of Montaigne: ‘We are all patchwork, and so shapeless and diverse in composition that each bit, each moment, plays its own game.’ 

James Hillman was a psychologist and Jungian psychotherapist who founded the movement of ‘archetypal psychology’. The approach is an invigorating blend of philosophy, religion, myth, art, history, classicism, literature, depth psychology, rhetoric, and more…  

The general idea of the book – if it could be summarised easily, which it cannot – is that we humans are both myth-makers and made-by-myths. There is not one ‘I’ within us that directs and controls us, nor something so coherent as an ‘ego’ à la Freud. Hillman complains that ‘diversification of personality, and its differentiation and vivification have been suppressed. “Integration of personality” has become the moral task of psychotherapeutics.’ (2) Instead, we are better thought of as a composite of various mythical archetypes or Gods that have been carried through culture down the ages, and at times we are led by some more than others. Some situations call for certain Gods rather than others, as all are characters each with their own strengths and weaknesses, and a distinct way-of-being. Before I go further, it is worth noting that none of this should be taken literally – literalism is one of the most insidious culprits that Hillman identifies as holding too much power in our era, and that is why he relies on the Ancient Greek mythical personas as the ‘archetypes’ that govern our soul. Hillman defines archetypes in a helpful way for those of us unfamiliar with Jung’s work, as ‘the deepest patterns of psychic functioning, the roots of the soul governing the perspectives we have of ourselves and the world.’ (xix). 

For psychology to return to ‘the soul’, we must remain cognizant of the power each of these various Gods holds within ourselves and allow each space to exist freely, and in relation with the others. That is the benefit of both dreams and pathologies, both give voice to the characters that typically we may suppress when we aim for an integrated (but false) ‘wholeness’ under the ego or subjective ‘I’. I found this idea hugely liberating, and therapeutic in itself somehow. Thinking of our psychopathologies as means through which our internal ‘Gods’ are communicating with us to alert us to some kind of mis-alignment either within ourselves, or between ourselves and our environment, felt novel and comforting. The idea lets us both try to cure or resolve the conflict while allowing us to accept it on its own terms. His own words capturing the role our psychopathologies play are more bombastic, which makes for far more exciting reading: ‘do not forgive me the means by which the divine powers connect and become real: my complexes, which are my sacrifices to these powers … Forgiveness of the confusions in which I am submerged, the wounds that give me eyes to see with, the errant and renegade in my behaviour, blots out the Gods’ main route of access.’ (186) 

Hillman’s approach in general also aligned with my feeling that psychology as a discipline had lost some of the creativity that is necessary to capture the immense complexity and richness that each of us hold within us. That was precisely why I turned to studying literature at postgraduate level after my undergraduate degree in psychology – and I was unsurprised to find that Hillman too had an academic background in literature. But literature and the arts are by no means the only disciplines that can enrich psychology, psychology can only gain by incorporating concepts and approaches from other disciplines, if only because humans (with other interests) are its subject.  

There is far more in the book than I can adequately capture in one post, so I do really urge you to find a copy of this book and read it for yourselves.  

Which book has been your favourite of 2020? 

Book Review – ‘Madness and Modernism’ by Louis Sass (2017 Ed.)

This ground-breaking work revises traditional understandings of schizophrenia as ‘a form of encroaching dementia, regression, or dominance by instinct and the irrational’ and instead views it as ‘involving unusual forms of self-consciousness together with associated alienation and withdrawal – not only from the surrounding world and other human beings, but also from one’s own thoughts, feelings, and bodily presence.’ (Preface).

It is a work of ‘comparative phenomenology,’ which uses modernist art and literature as a tool to help us better understand schizophrenia. By placing both next to each other, Sass draws out some striking similarities to illuminate a potential logic that might underpin them both.

Sass argues that both modernist art and schizophrenia can be understood as evidencing ‘hyperreflexivity’ and a concomitant ‘alienation’. The range of material that he covers, and the detailed analyses of case studies of individuals with schizophrenia, make this book a brilliant attempt at better understanding a mental disorder that has, since its conception, baffled psychiatrists and researchers.  

My own academic background is in both psychology and literature, so I was extremely excited to see the disciplines used productively together to help us understand, phenomenologically, madness – and, by bringing its opposite into relief, sanity as well. Sass doesn’t try to explain the aetiology of schizophrenia, other than gesturing towards the likely conclusion that it will involve several primary and secondary factors, in unpredictable combinations, and this is a good thing. His aim is to understand, rather than explain, and this book does a fantastic job in making sense of symptoms and behaviours that have typically been distinctive by their complete incomprehensibility. I thoroughly recommend this book to anyone interested in phenomenological psychopathology and/or modernist art.

I’d be very interested to know whether any other scholar has attempted a study of contemporary, 21st century art and thought, in its relation to another form of madness? It seems that Sass is right in identifying the parallels between 20th century modernist art and schizophrenia, but times have changed, and I wonder what the contemporary parallel could be? The present day has moved interestingly away from the ‘modernist/postmodernist’ zeitgeist that Sass studied, into new territory, and I think one deserving the same kind of scrutiny that Sass gave the 20th century!

Louis Sass on Wittgenstein and Freud

[This blog captures my initial thoughts while reading Louis Sass’s chapter in Wittgenstein, Theory and the Arts (eds. R. Allen & M. Turvey), titled: ‘Wittgenstein, Freud, and the Nature of Psychoanalytic Explanation’. The bracketed page numbers are from that book.]

Louis Sass begins by acknowledging the complex relationship Wittgenstein seemed to have with Freud and the Psychoanalytic method. Wittgenstein valued the profundity of Freud’s discoveries about the human unconscious, but disagreed with Freud’s attempt to transform this theory into a scientific, deterministic, enterprise: ‘What Wittgenstein criticises, then, is not the adopting of such frameworks but only the tendency – which he discerns in Freud and various philosophers – to mistake the frameworks themselves for something in the nature of empirical assertions or discoveries.’ (260).

While theorising explanations of human action, Wittgenstein distinguishes between causes and reasons, claiming that both partake of entirely different ‘language games’. Causes establish empirical correlations, while reasons are used to rationalize or see the point of our own or others actions, and can therefore take only an ad hoc form.  

Sass writes that Freud generally portrayed himself as a scientist pursuing causes for phenomena. ‘But Wittgenstein suggests that Freud’s actual methods are, in fact, more akin to those of an aesthetic investigator who puts things side by side or strives to give a good simile, as when a critic of literature or art seeks agreements to the aptness of certain comparisons or tries to sum up a complex artistic work or effect in a succinct expression.’ (261).

‘For Wittgenstein, a key difference between causes and reasons seems to be that, whereas causal explanation operates in the third-person realm of objective or objectifiable reality, there is something more first-person about the nature of reasons, some way in which reasons are intimately connected with the point of view of the person whose action is being accounted for.’ (262)

I wonder whether this ‘something more first-person about the nature of reasons’ can be elucidated using Polanyi’s conception of tacit knowledge (which he says underlies all forms of knowing), or whether they are incompatible positions? Polanyi writes that: ‘Our body is the ultimate instrument of all our external knowledge, whether intellectual or practical. In all our waking moments we are relying on our awareness of contacts of our body with things outside for attending to these things.’ (Loc. 322 in Kindle book ‘The Tacit Dimension’). Sounding much like a phenomenologist, he is saying that because we are bodily beings, all of our reasons (and much else) will have this ‘first-person nature’. Polanyi interestingly qualifies that this does not necessarily make them ‘subjective,’ but that is a topic for another post.

(As a side note: There seems to be ongoing debate as to whether this tacit element has much explanatory value, and might not be worth being scrapped, sticking instead with the anti-private language approach that Wittgenstein puts forward. See Tim Thornton’s chapter in The Oxford Handbook to the Philosophy of Psychiatry which compares Wittgenstein and Polanyi and concludes that Polanyi’s tacit knowledge is better conceptualised as ‘context-dependent knowing’, leaving out much of the tacit bit.)

Back to Sass – The biggest difficulty for bringing together Wittgenstein and psychoanalysis is Wittgenstein’s emphasis that self-ascriptions are sufficient and do not require any grounding, or private, introspective access to ‘inner’ mental states; whereas psychoanalysis is of course all about those private inner mental states… (Polanyi would presumably be on the side of the psychoanalysts here).

Sass emphasises that even if Wittgenstein is suggesting that no causes can be given for motives, we shouldn’t take this in a postmodernist, sceptical or relativistic fashion. To make this point he enlists the help of a philosopher personally acquainted with Wittgenstein, Freidrich Waismann, who, in his essay ‘Will and Motive’ describes a way we can understand motives as something between a ’cause’ and a ‘reason’. This treats motives as a ‘family-resemblance’ concept that has no clear boundaries (276), and is able to encompass two extremes: the cause (lawlike) and the purpose (constituted within).

Waismann acknowledges the inherent difficulty in disciplines such as psychology (and philosophy) because of the fact that ‘our ordinary concepts are too rigid’ (qtd in Sass 277), ‘we need something looser, more indefinite … In order to describe the mental we need a language that is just as flexible; which, of course, runs counter to our usual way of thinking.’

And it is here that Sass neatly brings back mention of aesthetics: ‘The project of understanding motivation – one’s own or that of another – also has much in common with that of artistic representation or appreciation, for it is something that demands active, imaginative interpretation or an attitude of subtle, connoisseur-like discernment toward the world.’ (278) Understanding motives is like understanding aesthetic patterns but this does not lead us to subjectivism in a postmodernist way, nor to pure behaviourism. (Here Sass also references Merleau-Ponty on ‘reciprocal expression’ which I have made a note to follow up in future reading).

(Earlier in the chapter Sass mentioned Wittgenstein’s notion of ‘Seeing-as’ or ‘Aspect-seeing’, which is when we can see something in a new way, while knowing that it itself has not changed (274). I always think of art’s ability to provoke this in us…)

I love the quote from Waismann that follows so I will quote it at length: ‘There really is something like digging down to deeper layers, becoming more truthful, struggling passionately, while things become clearer and clearer. There is undoubtedly such a process of plumbing the depths in which one penetrates to one’s innermost motives. So things are not entirely subjective; there is truth after all. And yet! When we want to put our finger on it, it will not stand up; when we look more closely at it, it looks different again. It is an interpretation and yet something more than an interpretation, knowledge and yet not quite knowledge: what are we dealing with? […] We require a composite concept that combines “knowing, acknowledging and interpreting. For fathoming a motive touches on all three”.’ (279, and 136 in Waismann.)

Sass concludes by summarising his two main points. What Wittgenstein and Freud have remarkably in common is their shared ideal of clarity. Wittgenstein says so much by explicitly comparing his method to psychoanalysis: ‘It is a principal function of philosophy to warn against false analogies. To warn against the false analogies which lie embedded in our forms of expression without our being fully conscious of them. I believe our method here resembles psychoanalysis which also makes conscious the unconscious and thereby renders it harmless, and I believe that this resemblance is not purely superficial. (Wittgenstein manuscript 109, 174)’ (Sass 280). (But couldn’t you say that surely most philosophers share this ideal? I imagine that even a rouge philosopher wanting to deliberately complicate our understanding of the world would be doing so in order to make that complexity clearer in some way?)

Where Wittgenstein and Freud most drastically differ, though, relates to Wittgenstein’s second ideal of ‘awe or wonder’. Freud’s method towards greater understanding of the the human psyche was driven by the desire for scientific objectivism. This was anathema to Wittgenstein, who repeatedly argued that we should remain aware of the limits of scientific knowledge, and not try to cross those lines. Wittgenstein wanted us to avoid rationalising things into generalisations or too-clear pictures. Sass quotes Wittgenstein earlier in the chapter: ‘And may we not advance any kind of theory … We must do away with all explanation, and description alone must take its place.’ (273) And of course his most famous quote encapsulates this sentiment: “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” (Tractatus)

It’s somewhat ironic now that Freud is treated more seriously in humanities/arts disciplines than the sciences, and Wittgenstein’s (lay) reputation remembers predominantly his dry and methodological treatment of how we use ordinary language rather than his mysticism; but I think that is precisely the richness and value of both thinkers – both occupy an ambiguous space between two extreme camps, and can’t easily settle into either, as they themselves well knew.

Final thought – I think this is also why I am so interested in Michael Polanyi’s work at the moment, because he seems to have tried to build a comprehensive theory explaining why sciences and the humanities aren’t diametrically opposed projects at all, an idea he also lived by.

Michael Polanyi on the Arts

I have recently become interested in how the scientist-turned-philosopher Michael Polanyi’s understanding of the arts can help us theorize how creating or appreciating the arts has a role to play in clinical psychology, in particular psychoanalytic or psychodynamic approaches.

In his 1958 book Personal Knowledge, as he leads up to a discussion of ‘indwelling’, Polanyi sets forth a theory of the arts. He compares the abstract arts (music, abstract painting), to pure mathematics, describing both as ‘appreciated for the beauty of a set of complex relations embodied in them.’ Like mathematics, music ‘articulates a vast range of relationships for the mere pleasure of understanding them’ (193).

He continues: ‘Laments for the dead and songs of love are likewise formulations of earlier shapeless emotions, which are refashioned and amplified into something new by words and music.’ (194). If the arts give words to ‘shapeless emotions’ which are then ‘refashioned and amplified into something new’, is this not what psychoanalysis is trying to do within the psychoanalytic encounter?

How the arts differ from mathematics or science is that they do not try to map precisely what those underlying formulations are. The scientist is trying to construct a framework which will handle experience on our behalf, while the artist is content to allow that framework to remain such that allows us a ‘contemplative experience’ of those shapeless emotions. At the other extreme is mystic experience, which attempts to ‘dissolve the screen [which separates us from experience], stop our movement through experience […] we cease to handle things and become immersed in them.’ (197). Appreciating artistic works, we are able to contemplate those ‘shapeless emotions’ in a position that is at once immersive and detached:

‘Music, poetry, painting: the arts – whether abstract or representative – are a dwelling in and a breaking out which lie somewhere between science and worship […] Owing to its sensuous content a work of art can affect us far more comprehensively than a mathematical theorem […] Art, like mysticism, breaks through the screen of objectivity and draws on our pre-conceptual capacities of contemplative vision.’ (199).

This intermediate position of the arts reminds me of psychoanalysis as a discipline caught somewhere between a science (as holding universal ‘truths’) and an art (as always coloured by our ‘personal’ or  ‘tacit’ knowledge, that lies beyond the grasp of scientific propositions). And so, if the two share this liminal position, might they both have interesting things to teach each other?