Moderators: Elvis, DrVolin, Jeff
They say it unconstitutionally requires enlistees to believe in God or a "higher power" in order to be deemed "spiritually fit" to serve in the Army.
The war on unhappiness:
Goodbye Freud, hello positive thinking
By Gary Greenberg
......
Martin Seligman, past president of the American Psychological Association and the inventor of positive psychology, is giving us the good news. “The question of what really makes us happy is actually quite simple,” Seligman says. “From the Buddha to Tony Robbins, there have been about two hundred suggestions about what makes people lastingly happier.”1
Seligman has spent the past twenty years developing positive psychology. At the beginning, he was content to reorient psychology away from Freud’s focus on pathology and toward a “science of happiness,” but he recently decided that his goals were too modest. “I had thought that positive psychology was about happiness, but it is not,” he says. “Positive psychology is about well-being,” which is “what people choose to do when they are not oppressed, when they choose freely.” Well-being comprises not only the positive emotion we call happiness, but also meaning (“using what’s best inside you to belong to and serve something bigger than you are”), positive relationships, and “achievement, mastery, and competence.” Well-being on a wide scale results in a state Seligman calls “human flourishing.”
Seligman established his reputation with a series of experiments he conducted in the late 1960s. He subjected dogs to electric shocks. Some of the dogs could turn off the shocks by pressing a lever, and others could not. Most of the leverless dogs soon gave up trying to escape their lot. When they were later given the opportunity to turn off the shocks, they never even tried; at the first jolt, they simply whined and curled up in a ball. They had, he concluded, learned to be helpless.
More curious about the dogs than about the people who tortured them, Seligman still drew from his work some lessons for humanity. He theorized that people, confronted with unrelenting difficulties beyond their control, developed the core belief that they were helpless, so any subsequent hardship felt to them insurmountable. Learned helplessness, he claimed, was one of those core beliefs that could cause depression. Seligman and Beck worked together at the University of Pennsylvania, and unlearning helplessness became a key goal of cognitive therapy.
Seligman wasn’t a therapist for very long. “I’m a better talker than I am a listener,” he says. But he practiced long enough to discover that “even when I did good work and I got rid of almost all of [a patient’s] sadness and all of her anxieties and all of her anger, I thought I got a happy person, but I never did. What I got was an empty person.” Seligman blamed his difficulties on Freud. Psychoanalytically based therapies—preoccupied with what was worst in us, in thrall to misery, and reaching only toward “common unhappiness”—had sickened rather than healed patients; positive psychology, as the antidote to Freud, would be the panacea.
Seligman is thrilled about a recent development that, he predicts, will help us all flourish. In August 2008, “the top people in the Army sent their colonel in charge of returning warriors to visit me.” She told him that the current situation—“unprecedented post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, divorce, substance abuse, anxiety”—was unacceptable, especially to Army brass worried that their “legacy” would be “more homeless veterans begging in Washington.” And she posed a challenge: “What is psychology going to do about that?” (It wasn’t the first time Seligman was asked to serve his country. In 2002, he delivered a talk on learned helplessness to the CIA. In the audience were two psychologists who helped the CIA enhance its interrogation protocols with methods including, among other infamies, treating prisoners like dogs. Seligman denies that he intended to help the CIA refine its torture protocols; he claims he thought that he was helping the CIA train American troops to “resist torture and evade successful interrogation.”)
Last December, Seligman continues, he delivered his answer directly to Army Chief of Staff George Casey, at the Pentagon. Seligman told Casey that the $5 billion to $10 billion the military was spending annually on treatments like CBT was insufficient—not because more therapy was needed but because the treatment was too late. “The reaction of human beings under very high adversity is bell-shaped,” Seligman says he explained to Casey. “On the extreme left, you have people who collapse, in the vast middle you’ve got people who are resilient, and then you’ve got a large number of people who show post-traumatic growth—people who a year later are stronger emotionally and physically than they were before. Your job, in my view, is to move the whole distribution toward growth and resilience.” Casey, according to Seligman, acted immediately. “He ordered that from this moment forward, positive psychology and resilience will be measured and taught throughout the United States Army. He said, ‘We’re going to create an Army that is just as psychologically fit as it is physically fit’”—and that will, thanks to soldiers’ not-exactly-freely-chosen participation, become a 1.1-million-person experiment. This “big demonstration” will allow the Army to find out whether, for instance, soldiers who learn optimism will heal faster when they are wounded on the battlefield. And it will give Seligman the opportunity to assess whether positive psychology can actually create a state of human flourishing.
My colleagues applaud upon hearing this news, as they did earlier in the day when Seligman first told the story and as they will later on when he repeats it again nearly word for word. Louder applause comes when Seligman points out the long-term implications of his collaboration with the Department of Defense on our professional culture. He reminds us that the National Institutes of Health have been our major patrons, but “NIH’s agenda is to cure pathology,” whereas “DOD’s agenda is creating strong human beings. I think we will see in the next decade a rival institution to NIH which will be about the creation of strength and not just the remediation of pathology.”
Seligman is cheered by our enthusiasm. “I believe this may be an inflection point in all of psychology and psychotherapy,” he says, “so your applause is very meaningful to me.” Indeed, the implications of this inflection go beyond our profession: in another applause line, Seligman tells us that while General Casey understands the necessity of “a highly resilient, psychologically fit force” for the “persistent warfare that looks like it’s the lot of our nation for the next decade,” he also sees “comprehensive soldier fitness” as a “model for civilians.” Seligman tells us he’s been following the news from the Copenhagen Climate Change Conference, which is just now drawing to a close. “I think cleaning up the earth is probably a good thing to do,” he says, “but it’s actually second on my list. First on my list would be human well-being.” Because “the downstream effects of human flourishing are almost everything we want,” we can afford to go Seligman’s dogs one better—thriving on the shocks that come our way rather than merely learning to escape them.
In case the audience is feeling skittish, Seligman wants to reassure us that there is historical precedent for a politics of well-being aided by professional consultants. “Florence of the 1450s is one of the great examples” of a society dedicated to “human flourishing.” When Cosimo the Great—“he wasn’t called the Great for nothing” —was confronted with the question of what to do with the Medici wealth, he decided, “ ‘We will invest our surplus in beauty.’ They gave us what we, two hundred years later, call the Renaissance.” We are, Seligman says, at least those of us in the United States, the European Union, and Australia, living in a “Florentine moment.”
If thinking makes it so, perhaps it shouldn’t matter that Seligman’s math is off by three hundred years, or that Cosimo the Great ruled in the sixteenth century, not the fifteenth, or that Florence wasn’t exactly free from oppression, or that its closest resemblance to us may be that it was a plutocracy riven by religious strife. To those who might quibble over such matters as this—he cites his historian daughter, for whom “history is just one damn thing after another,” as an example of such negative thinkers—Seligman says, “You have to be blinded by ideology not to think we’ve made progress.” As neo-Florentines we won’t “do sculpture” like the Medicis; rather “the monument that we can build is well-being. We can be the agents of massive human flourishing.” The crowd of therapists, freed at last from the yoke of pathology, rises to its feet.
“I am very glad I am away from [America], and even more that I don’t have to live there,” Freud wrote to his daughter upon his return to Vienna. To hear him tell it, he hadn’t brought the plague so much as contracted it. He was seasick on the Atlantic. The New World food inflamed his colitis. He endured harsh weather and bone-shaking carriage roads and the humiliation of being out-hiked by an American colleague in the “utter wildness,” as he called it, of the Adirondacks. He went so far as to blame the trip for leading to the deterioration of his handwriting, and he never returned to our shores. Even Freud’s first biographer, Ernest Jones, had to acknowledge that Freud’s grudge “had nothing to do with America itself.”
But I wonder if Jones was wrong. Even if Freud could not have anticipated the particulars—the therapists-turned-bureaucrats, the gleaming prepackaged stories, the trauma-eating soldiers—he might have deduced that a country dedicated in its infancy to the pursuit of happiness would grow up to make it a compulsion. He might have figured that American ingenuity would soon, maybe within a century, find a way to turn his gloomy appraisal of humanity into a psychology of winners.
Or maybe not. Perhaps in reacting to America this way, Freud was only doing what he insisted all neurotics do: rejecting violently that which arouses the most forbidden desires. As the rest of my colleagues emerge from their rapture and gather up their belongings, I’m thinking of the last patient I saw before I flew to Anaheim. She was telling me that every time she contemplated breaking it off with her junkie husband, she became paralyzed with fear. She described what the dread felt like in her body, what thoughts and fantasies it brought to mind, and soon we were talking about her father, also an addict, whom her mother finally kicked out and who then turned up dead in a snowbank. “I never put that together before. I’m afraid I’ll kill him if I end it,” she said. She gave a little laugh. “Probably only because of how much I want to.”
She gathered her jacket around her like a carapace. After a short silence, she said, “How did you get us there?”
“I didn’t,” I replied. “I didn’t know where we would end up.” It’s an answer I’m regretting now. Not because it pushed away her admiration (which, of course, I crave) or because it was disingenuous (after a quarter century of delivering the talking cure, you have some idea about where these excursions will end up), but because I see now that she was asking me what made me believe it would be worthwhile to have the conversation that we had, rather than all the others we could have had. She was asking after my faith, and I had handed her only my doubt.
I’m wondering now why I’ve always put such faith in doubt itself; or, conversely, what it is about certainty that attracts me so much that I have spent twenty-seven years, thousands of hours, and millions of other people’s dollars to repel it. What reminiscence of my own makes that lust forbidden? What drives me to recoil from the ecstasy of this audience?
Perhaps what plagues me is a private memory, of violence suffered at the hands of people unrestrained by self-doubt. Or a historical one, the recollection that lends these proceedings a faint but unmistakable whiff of Nuremberg. Or something even more deeply buried, what happened when delight in their own capacities got the better of Adam and Eve, the concupiscence and the stain it left. Which may be nothing more than a fairy tale, a fearful pretext for declining the pleasure of equipping myself with the tools of science, enlisting as a soldier of good fortune, and joining my colleagues on the march toward happiness.
Freud never said how certainty got to be his founding taboo, or which painful reminiscence might have made it so, or what might happen if that reminiscence were retrieved. But one of his contemporaries did address this topic. As it happened, Friedrich Nietzsche was the subject of Seligman’s final peroration. His précis of Zarathustra’s Three Metamorphoses is no more accurate than his Florentine history. In it, Nietzsche’s camel “just moans and takes it”; his lion has somehow become a “rebel” who has held sway “since 1776 at least.” And now that the rebel has evidently achieved all he is going to achieve, it is time, Seligman says, for us to become Nietzsche’s “child reborn” (a lion in Seligman’s version), the Übermensch, who values self-assurance and rejects self-doubt, who dismisses poking around in our chimneys as a useless vestige of a benighted past.
“One must be a sea to be able to receive a polluted stream without becoming unclean,” Zarathustra instructs the people. And so will our comprehensively fit troops, their families, and eventually the rest of us remain unstained by the terror we witness and unleash. Florence had its Machiavelli; our therapeutic state will have its Seligman, whispering reassurance to our generals about the inexhaustible optimism of their troops. More than perhaps anyone else, Freud would have appreciated the irony of this outcome: the talking cure as battle cry, used to conceal rather than to reveal darkness, and to prepare us to meet the challenge issued by Nietzsche’s prophet: “Man is something that will be overcome,” spake Zarathustra. “What have you done to overcome him?”
Hedges, author of the book "Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle," wrote, "positive psychology, which claims to be able to engineer happiness and provides the psychological tools for enforcing corporate conformity, is to the corporate state what eugenics was to the Nazis."
crikkett wrote:Hedges, author of the book "Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle," wrote, "positive psychology, which claims to be able to engineer happiness and provides the psychological tools for enforcing corporate conformity, is to the corporate state what eugenics was to the Nazis."
...Godwin's law fulfilled, that's where I get to stop reading.
My experience is that the intelligent soldier understands that it's better to give the Army what they're looking for than to actually answer truthfully.
brainpanhandler wrote:My experience is that the intelligent soldier understands that it's better to give the Army what they're looking for than to actually answer truthfully.
Better? Really? For whom? Intelligent? Really? Compared to what?
nathan28 wrote:brainpanhandler wrote:My experience is that the intelligent soldier understands that it's better to give the Army what they're looking for than to actually answer truthfully.
Better? Really? For whom? Intelligent? Really? Compared to what?
crickett means, if I understand him and what some friends have told me, that you do whatever the fuck your superiors tell you, especially in basic training, without pausing to reflect, question, etc., because it's one of the only ways to stay intact psychologically, especially if you are a critical thinker. You just suspend judgment--you can always reclaim it. We're not talking about Mai Lai here, we're talking about stupid power trips and systemic bullying. I'm not going to say that I "understand", but I once had a supervisor who was best treated in this manner--do whatever it is you need to get them off your back so you can lay low, I think, is what crickett means.
That's pretty far away from the OP, but to bring it back, the idea is to "compartmentalize." You can be an atheist around a bunch of believers, but you have to respect the terms of the non-aggression pact, which may mean filling out the multiple choice test as though you believed in a higher power.
brainpanhandler wrote:crikkett wrote:Hedges, author of the book "Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle," wrote, "positive psychology, which claims to be able to engineer happiness and provides the psychological tools for enforcing corporate conformity, is to the corporate state what eugenics was to the Nazis."
...Godwin's law fulfilled, that's where I get to stop reading.
Actually it's a fairly apt comparison. "positive psychology" seeks to brand whistleblowers or anyone unwilling to toe the corporate line as naysayers and malcontents and enemies of happiness. Purge them. Cleanse the corporation of those unwilling to blind themselves and see as instructed.
She told him that the current situation—“unprecedented post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, divorce, substance abuse, anxiety”—was unacceptable, especially to Army brass worried that their “legacy” would be “more homeless veterans begging in Washington.”
brainpanhandler wrote:Actually, I got that. I just wouldn't call it intelligent. Id' call it expedient and maybe even a bit cowardly.
Veterans make up one in four homeless people in the United States, though they are only 11 percent of the general adult population, according to a report to be released Thursday.
nathan28 wrote:brainpanhandler wrote:Actually, I got that. I just wouldn't call it intelligent. Id' call it expedient and maybe even a bit cowardly.
Considering that joining the military is largely a matter of expediency for those that do it in the US (it is one of the only institutions in the US to achieve significant racial integration), is that surprising?
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 150 guests