This is post number six, and it is about ethical differences and new Southern Rock. Post number five was about imaginary devil worship. Number four was about Public Enemy and my contrary ways. Number three was about the blues, number two was about feorabros, and number one was about Scandinavian heavy metal.
Skimming around after having read the book in a few binges,
I continue to enjoy Hollis’ playing about with the connections between evil and
“civilized society.” For me, that is the best part of the book. We too often say
that people who commit awful crimes are somehow other. They aren’t. I have used
the word “banal” a lot in these posts, as it is appropriate. The motivations
that underpin atrocities, whether systemic or notable, are ordinary bits of self-preservation
and identity. The book gets fairly repetitive (and inconsistent, as “the Shadow”
is sometimes a neutral term for something like “the unconscious” and sometimes
a term that means “evil”), but that central observation is particularly
valuable, particularly for the well intentioned sort that trains to administer
therapy.
Skimming about this week, I was drawn to this quote:
“What surely must make all of us shudder is the recognition
that not all of our institutional religion, not all of our humanistic and
scientific training, not all of our collective mores could keep perfectly
civilized, highly educated souls from murderous possession by the Shadow.” (pg.
180)
This passage is the central insight in the book, and the central problem with it. On one hand, being a “civilized” modern human, whether we fundamentally embrace liberal values or tradition, will not save us from being a monster. On the other hand, any sort of value system might, in fact, nurture something monstrous within us.
(I want to be fair to Hollis here, and acknowledge that I am probably pointing out sophistication with the places his concept goes. He has not resolved what he means, but in some ways he is pointing toward challenges that are messy. Our unacknowledged feelings do not necessarily fit in with some sort of “selfish subversion of values vs. evil undercurrents of society” paradigm. Some of the challenge is the messiness of psychoanalytic theory, which I understand as a sort of structuralist intellectual project more than anything else. That opinion has more to do with literary theory, which has borrowed heavily from psychoanalytic theory, than anything.)
This passage is the central insight in the book, and the central problem with it. On one hand, being a “civilized” modern human, whether we fundamentally embrace liberal values or tradition, will not save us from being a monster. On the other hand, any sort of value system might, in fact, nurture something monstrous within us.
(I want to be fair to Hollis here, and acknowledge that I am probably pointing out sophistication with the places his concept goes. He has not resolved what he means, but in some ways he is pointing toward challenges that are messy. Our unacknowledged feelings do not necessarily fit in with some sort of “selfish subversion of values vs. evil undercurrents of society” paradigm. Some of the challenge is the messiness of psychoanalytic theory, which I understand as a sort of structuralist intellectual project more than anything else. That opinion has more to do with literary theory, which has borrowed heavily from psychoanalytic theory, than anything.)
I want to ramp down the rhetoric from “evil” towards
something more tangible here. What do we do with perspectives that, when at
their best, might point people toward social responsibility and health, but
that are also connected to big ugly social histories? As usual, my artifact is
music, and in this case, I think about my heritage as a Southerner. One of my
favorite bands is The Drive By Truckers, who established themselves writing
songs about what their frontman described as “The Duality of the Southern
Thang.” The issue at hand is the pride of being a part of the American
underclass, but identifying with an ugly history. I (and the Drive By Truckers)
have navigated our own peace with cultural pride and progressive dissent, but
the conflict inherent in the duality of the Southern Thang is similar to one
that many of out clients, who might have repressive ideas about gender, race,
or class while having their own idiosyncratic ideas about personal pride and rebellion
from dominant discourses.
What do to with that? I can imagine, when I understand someone’s perspective to some extent, a path forward, but doing that (let’s face it) literary work is not what therapy is. At the same time, I do have a responsibility, according to Doherty, to introduce new perspectives to my client and to have my own moral point of view when I am in session.
What do to with that? I can imagine, when I understand someone’s perspective to some extent, a path forward, but doing that (let’s face it) literary work is not what therapy is. At the same time, I do have a responsibility, according to Doherty, to introduce new perspectives to my client and to have my own moral point of view when I am in session.
This is not at all a hypothetical dilemma. I was working on
my case conceptualization and it was a useful exorcise for thinking about the
differences between my perspective and that of a client. I suspect that we will
all have situations where we can imagine a nuances of a case that our clients
might struggle to find and we will be puzzled about what our role is in terms
of sharing our perspective.
My own little example of dualities is below. I had resolved
this a long time ago, but this is pretty good.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k84lMPX_Kjg
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