Wednesday, May 21, 2014

THE PRESENCE OF THE PAST




Freud’s discovery of the unconscious changed everything. Copernicus had shown us that our planet was not the centre of the universe, Darwin demonstrated that we were just another animal species, and then Freud came along to give us another shock: the ego was not the center of the person: we have an unconscious mind, he said, that exercises an enormous power and influence over our lives. Freud's work and theories helped shape our views of childhood, personality, memory, sexuality and therapy. Just how influential he was can be judge by W.H.Auden’s poem written at the time of Freud’s death,
if often he was wrong and, at times, absurd,
to us he is no more a person
now but a whole climate of opinion.
The years since then have seen a gradual change in that climate. Freud is no longer fashionable. Indeed, the present received wisdom among scientifically minded psychologist is that Freud is passé. Only in the humanities is Freud still a subject for study. Patricia Cohen said that psychoanalysis is taught at all the top universities, but not in the Psychology Departments. In therapy we now concentrate on the various versions of Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy. Forget the past; what matters is The Now and how to enhance it.
Folk wisdom from pop psychology to meditation, all stress the importance of living in The Now – the great Ekhart Tolle fever. But the present moment isn’t as simple as we make out. The past is an aspect of the present moment of which we are unconscious. What we call the present moment encapsulates the past. The present moment contains, yet hides the past. The past is always present. What we regard as ‘the present’ in common sense is actually an abstraction. Freud never said this, but it’s what I take from his remark that there is nothing in the id corresponding to the idea of time; there is no recognition of the passage of time.
The past is that aspect of the present the influence of which we are unaware, oblivious of how it is woven into our perceptions and behaviour. We can, of course, cognitively discern the past as something quite distinct from the present, but this is an abstraction from the actual presence of the past. 
If the ‘present moment’ were denuded of the past, our experience would be relatively formless; in fact, what we call the present moment would disappear if it wasn’t informed by the past. In its place would be a world of pure being – impossible to describe, a mystic state of consciousness that people often find after a long retreat in meditation. Because this state is relatively detached from the past, the environment seems completely new and is hardly recognisable. It is a state of bliss that usually last for only a few days. After a while ordinary consciousness returns where the present moment carries the past as it’s hidden but active component. It’s back to business as usual.
The past is an essential ingredient of the present, seamlessly interwoven with the body and influencing our day to day life in the most profound way. When we experience life in a detached way we are relatively cut off from the body and its feelings and memories. We are then unconscious of the body and its store of memories, and can pretend we have put the past behind us. We then live in the head and our bodily memory becomes that aspect of the present which is invisible. We can then be victims of strange emotions and reactions for which there seems to be no reason.
Under these circumstances the unconscious gets to a point where it screams to be heard. But it can only express itself in a hidden way and it does so with strange pains and physical dysfunctions of all kinds. This is the reason for the placebo effect: I contact my therapist or doctor and she gives me attention and treats me seriously. My unconscious gets that it is being heard. It can then drop the symptoms which were the effort to be heard. Sometimes just ringing for an appointment is enough for the symptoms to disappear. 





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THE GREAT DIVIDE.



Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung became fast friends the moment they first met way back in 1907 and Freud viewed Jung as protégé and heir to psychoanalysis. Over the years they began to drift apart. Jung was drawn séances and spiritualism, whereas Freud wanted to keep his psychoanalysis within the fold of scientific respectability. Freud famously warned Jung, ‘beware of the black tide of the occult’. This is the same paranoid fear that today’s militant atheists have of admitting any validity to parapsychology. They insist that it would open the door to all kinds of crack-pot and dangerous beliefs.
For Freud and Jung it was a difference that ran too deep for any kind of resolution. It wasn’t just a disagreement between two intelligent individuals; rather it was a gulf that had its origins in the age old fight between the church and the rationalist, the belief in the supernatural and the growth of science and scepticism in the 17th century. It was a struggle that gouged a rift that divided these two men and still divides us today. Having banished all the ghosts, ghouls, devils, demons, werewolves, and spirits, the guardians of science are still scared of them coming back to haunt us – deep down they still believe that the unfettered psyche could throw us back into superstition and savagery.
The gulf is now deeper than ever. On one side of the great divide is science which is objective and impersonal. This enables a physicist in Beijing to understand exactly what a physicist in Boston or Reykjavik is talking about; a common language, and unified view of the natural world. Standing behind this tradition are all the technical achievements of the modern world.
On the other side of the divide there are only subjective opinions and all our individual slants, preference, prejudices, idiosyncrasies, dreams and moods, styles and fashions, as well as the huge range of alternative medicines and spiritual beliefs, as well as the many crazy religions, cults and self-opinioned gurus I can believe in. There’s huge choice of fantastic promises out there in the wild.
Amid all that chaos, science does give us some certainty. Throughout history there has been wave after wave of smallpox epidemics, decimating millions. Following aggressive vaccination campaigns during the 19th and 20th centuries the World Heath Organization certified the eradication of smallpox in December 1979. To this day, smallpox is the only human infectious disease to have been completely eradicated. The virus is now totally extinct. The story of polio is shaping up to go the same way.
With triumphs like this it is no wonder that we have faith in the scientific method. Nonetheless, the growth of alternative medicines shows that we have growing doubts. Something remains unsatisfied. Maybe our uncertainties about science are due to its inability to deal with human subjectivity – viruses are objective things, human minds are not. Consciousness itself is still a mystery. In many medical treatments the placebo effect is so strong we don’t know quite what we are dealing with. Where does science end and the power of belief begin?
Personal subjectivity is admittedly messy and certainly no one can say what is normal. Still, when dealing with personal subjectivity we have to take everything into account and treat what we find seriously and respectfully, even if we don’t understand it. We cannot tidy the mind up without losing what makes us human. To fully grant being to something we don’t understand is a brave step; and in our personal encounters this is exactly what is demanded of us.
Clinical and medical psychology tries to categorise human nature. The trouble is that despite all its wonderful achievements, when science turns it attention on human psyche it objectifies and depersonalises it. The very project of science from the beginning was to discount ‘qualia’ and ‘feelings’ and stick to what is objectively measureable. The individual human then becomes an object to be categorised instead of a subject to be felt.
The world of science is a world of objects, not subjects. And so clinical psychologists are apt to deal with people more as though they were dysfunctional machines. The wild and volatile realms of human subjectivity do not fit well with psychological systems; we nervously hide behind them when confronting the stormy oceans of the soul.


“I think I am, therefore, I am... I think.” 
                                                                 ― 
George Carlin



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