Memory

A theme that turned up in the election campaign was the question of who wants to go forward and who wants to go back. Each of the main parties claimed the other is more interested in going back than forward. The parties hold that 'forward' is the right choice of direction.

This is a useless discussion, since forward is the only choice we have as human beings. We can look back and relive moments in our pasts, sometimes vividly, and while this ability is often a blessing, it can also be a curse. People who cannot forget - tragedy, loss, trauma - will tell you they would give a lot to lay aside the horrors of their past lives. We can attempt to repeat experiences from the past - those that seemed powerful, happy or effective - but in practice this can disappoint. Too often, for example, we cannot repeat the joyous memories of a wonderful holiday. We go back, but the place or the people do not seem to live up to our expectations. Perhaps nostalgia is about erasing the inevitable pain in the process of memory.

So there is a shadow side to most things. And just as there is a shadow, there is also light too, even when their darkness seems almost to blot us out. People can have great memories of war time - of the comradely bubble in which they lived then, not invaded by the anarchy and chaos outside. We can remember both the good and bad, for different reasons. As we get older we can crave a return to some particular experience, environment or relationship that now seems bathed in the warm glow of a filtered light bulb. What we remember of the past is just that - a unique personal record, filtered through the moods, states of being and other experiences we had. In this sense, memory is never accurate.  It cannot be 'the real experience' - only our particular experience.

Knowing this, we still associate certain places forever with the sparkling moments of our lives. I remember one such. Finding myself in New Mexico with a few days to spare, I drove in a hired car high into the Sangre De Cristo mountains in search of the old home of D H Lawrence the writer. Lawrence's travels had taken him far from his natural home country in Nottinghamshire, across oceans and continents, but in this remote and staggeringly beautiful landscape, it seems he found a home, which for a brief time gave him the peace he craved to write. It seems as though a desire to get away from his roots, his own landscape and cloying family relationships, drove him into a bigger world with less narrow ideas, where he and Frieda could pursue their lives in whatever way seemed best to them. I could understand that because I had had experiences of my own of a similar ilk. I was there because of it - always wanting to see more, do more while there was yet time. The Lawrences hadn't much money, but a determined local culture pursuivant, Mabel Dodge Luhan, had invited them to stay in her cabin up there, and they spent 5 months in 1924. Well, she didn't so much invite them as banish them there, when their stay in her home in Taos turned sour.  But she had begged them to come to Taos, where she and others of her mind were planning the rebirth of western civilisation. It seems a rather a large project to our minds (!), but in those days, and in that place, not so much. To achieve this goal she attracted cultural icons of the likes of Georgia O'Keeffe, Ansel Adams, Steiglitz, Thomas Wolfe, and from further field, Aldous Huxley, Carl Jung, and Leopold Stokowski.

There is a painting by O'Keeffe called 'Under the Lawrence Tree' where he sat and wrote. During that summer, Lawrence completed his short novel 'St Mawr', in which he celebrates the special quality and landscape of the Kiowa Ranch. He also wrote his biblical drama 'David' and parts of 'The Plumed Serpent' during his last visit to the ranch in 1925. New Mexico itself figures in other essays and stories like 'The Woman Who Rode Away.'

This older photograph I unearthed gives a better impression of the place as I saw it, several decades ago, than the more upmarket version readied for the tourists in recent years. Even now it remains remarkably untouched despite everything, served by an old man who knew the three women in Lawrence's story of those days: Frieda, Mabel and Dorothy Brett, the woman who stayed with them in the adjoining small cabin. Frieda Lawrence, in her memoirs in 1939, remarked that a stream of visitors – "thousands of people" – "must want to come pretty badly" to take such a road. She may have been over optimistic. The house is isolated and high above the snow line, impassable when there are snow and ice.

Still, I soon knew what she meant - I was one of those who found how much I wanted to go! And there were not thousands that day, just me, even though the worst of the winter was already past, and I set off in pleasant spring sunshine. I drove, I remember, for what seemed like hours, further and higher as the hours passed, hoping that the place I was looking for would eventually appear just round the corner. I had soon left all signs of civilisation behind. Here, at an altitude of 8000 feet, there was nobody but the rabbits that ran across my path. Meanwhile I was passing through dark pine forests on both sides of the road, without a human being in sight, and thinking I might have set off sooner, as twilight fell early in these peaks, and the sky darkened. The silence was palpable - there did not even seem to be many birds around, though this could have been the disturbance caused by the car engine, or perhaps I could not hear their calls within the car. Once, I caught the blazing yellow eyes of a mountain lion or a coyote through the trees, but it disappeared, leaving me to my own lonely journey.

With some relief I came across a human figure in a clearing among the trees, and I stopped the car to ask him for directions in case I was on the wrong road.  He was a local farmer, it seemed, and he spoke courteously, looking me over with some curiosity, and assured me that the Lawrence place was ahead a few miles. Spring or not, the snow was piling along each side of my road, and there were wheel ruts showing that heavy vehicles had travelled that way - tractors and farming machinery I guessed. Would the road be passable up ahead, I asked him, and he grinned and said, "Oh, I guess you'll make it ok. What kind of car you go? Got wheel chains?"

To be frank I had never seen a wheel chain and wouldn't know one if I saw it.

      "It's a Ford," I said, thinking about Mrs Robinson, who was then a popular film character and about all the amazing things people had done in Fords!

     "I reckon you'll be ok with a Ford," he said, wondering no doubt what planet I came from. "It's just a few miles ahead - you'll soon get to it!"

And I did. Reassured, I set forth once more, with a little more grit in my spirit, and, in another half hour, I came across the blessed plot. It was a clearing in the middle of a wilderness, with a long, rectangular plot of garden where vegetables were growing. A ramshackle, one storey house stood to one side, with a tin roof leaning over the front entrance. I had seen plenty of these types of building on my travels from Albuquerque and through Santa Fe and Taos - often poor Mexican or American families, or Pueblo Indians, occupied them. Mabel Luhan had not been all that generous to Lawrence, I thought. Perhaps she was writer struck? The place would have limited their lives. But perhaps that was what David and Frieda had wanted - a place that demanded little of them, where they were not having to explain themselves to the press or the neighbours all the time, and where they could live a simple life and do what seemed important to them.

I parked and got out to have a look round. There was not a soul anywhere. The house was closed and there was no caretaker in situ then, and little to identify it as the place I had been looking for. I wandered around in the still light twilight, peered through shabbily curtained windows, and wondered why I had come. To the left of the house was a commemorative stone that Mabel Luhan had laid in honour of the Lawrences - a plain piece of white concrete inscribed with their names and dates. It did at least identify the place. I discovered later that Frieda had buried David's ashes in the concrete, desiring to fight off what she thought were the predatory demands of Mabel to have a piece of Lawrence's memory. I lingered a while, took a few snaps, which never came out because I later discovered a fault in my camera. Memory added its own patina to the experience.

I am still not sure why I went, but I know that day was one of the most memorable of my life. The place returns again and again, with an insistence I cannot understand. It was not as far as it seemed - perhaps 17 miles as the crow flies. But perhaps because I was a stranger it seemed a long way.  There was an element of triumph in having made it, when it seemed as though I would have to turn back. Yet that was not my main reason for persisting along the mountain road. I think it might have been partly the desire to clothe those travel essays and poems of Lawrence's in a real landscape - to find out what attracted him there. The mountain air would have suited his tuberculosis, and like Luhan, he had long had aspirations to begin a Utopian society. Frieda pinned it down this way. She says of the wilderness setting, that 'it contains something special, that doesn't seem to change, as if nothing could tame it.' (Memoirs and Correspondence, p. 379) But Lawrence himself wrote: 'It is the ghosts one misses most, the ghosts there, of the Rocky Mountains, that never go beyond the timber. I know them, they know me: we get on well together.' He seems to hint at an archetypal landscape of the same kind that has stayed in my own memory - in which, perhaps for a brief while, we live as our long-ago ancestors did, complicit in the world around us, instead of separated - and made indifferent - by our interminably present consciousness, forever reshaping our experience.

Maynard Dixon, a painter, put it this way: "You can't argue with those desert mountains - and if you lie among them - as the Indian does - you don't want to. They have something for us much more real than some imported art style."

General elections and balance in the collective

 I liked this image on the left because it managed to convey the question of balance, not as something fixed and final, but rather, precarious at best. The top stones are balanced on a fine point of the stone below. It is solid enough, but a strong puff of wind might easily dislodge the whole edifice. And yet the individual stones have clearly always been around - someone has just rearranged them in a new pattern which presumably pleased him or her at that moment. And the whole setting is tranquil - lazy blue sky, calm seas - as though these shifts are quite usual and nothing to be having hysterics about.

I suspect this is the way we might best look at the apparent confusion on the surface right now. Nothing turned out to be as it seemed on the night of June 8th. The country we thought was this type of country turned out to be that type of country. Hardly anybody seems to have been what they appeared to be. I have carried for a long time a general idea of the collective - the community I live in - as a fairly conservative lot. With deep and seldom openly expressed yearnings for the world of fifty years ago, when Britain was top dog, or thought she was, and they could feel the basic satisfaction of knowing that they, too, were the top dogs of the world by extension - borrowed trappings, you might say, but nevertheless much valued. Pride - national pride - is a powerful thing, and not to be discounted by the unwary. It has led to major wars, even in our time, and while we laugh at the jokes of the comedians on this subject, we also need to be cautious about being too flip about it. Indeed, what had been deeply buried for generations came whistling to the surface during the election debates: the question of identity. In Jungian language, I would call this the question of Self.

Look at it this way: we now know a lot more than ever before about our heritage as primates who have adapted to live on two legs, with larger brains and a more sophisticated pre-frontal cortex than we have ever seen among the animal kind of this planet. It may exist elsewhere - we don't have the means to check out the question - but it sure does exist here. People who tell me we are 'just animals' or 'no better than the rest of the animal kingdom' are missing a big point here. We are profoundly different in one major respect at least because evolution has provided us with a pre-frontal cortex, whose primary function, it seems, is to enable us to choose a life ungoverned by pure impulse. We do not need to respond in a knee-jerk manner to whatever life throws at us - we have the option, at least, of pausing for thought - whether we choose to take this option or not. And this makes all the difference in the world. But alongside this remarkable evolutionary growth has been the development of a highly complex, sophisticated psyche - it is clearly a bi-product of evolution, but in its variety, its creativity and sensitivity, it outreaches the already remarkable developments of the human brain. Psychically we have grown way beyond what our bodies can achieve on their own because we have the power of imagination. You may be thinking, well, this is to state the obvious: but it is always worth restating the obvious, especially when we get bogged down in social and political arguments of a kind that may appear rational, but where rationality on its own has very little chance of succeeding.

What seems to have happened, in short, is the development of complex brain power combined with sophisticated psychological components - and here I want to point out the enormous value and power of the Self. According to Jung, the Self is the totality of the psyche, not just one mean little part of it, such as some psychodynamic theorists have proposed, on the one hand, or such as brain researchers seem to have on the other. We can see the neurones and their connexions under a microscope or scanner - we cannot see what the brain has made of itself, in terms of its ever-widening capacity for the uses of the imagination. We can only see that in the works of human beings - in the entire landscape of knowledge, understanding and creativity which our newborn children are now heir to. We are, Jung pointed, all of ourselves - and what is more, some bits are not more important than others! We are not only our self-important little egos but are capable of wider consciousness than that - with its ability to enter another person's inner world and see it from their point of view. And that is just the beginning. We are also our vast unconscious minds - a genetic inheritance, basically, encompassing the entire history of the human race from day one, with its unlimited ways of inventing stories about itself, which we now condescendingly call 'myths' and 'fairy tales', but which we might equally call poems, novels or Hollywood movies for that matter. In energy psychotherapy, we see the totality of the psyche as including consciousness, unconsciousness, the physical body, the karmic or soul level of experience, the auric field (known as the biofield in some quarters), and the powerful pulses of the meridians and chakras. So the psyche is a massive construct, is my main point. To which construct Jung gave the name Self. He gave it a capital letter, we think, to distinguish it from the self as today's particular identity, what we see when we look in the mirror, if you like.  The psyche also, and importantly, overlaps the psyche of everyone around us. So that sometimes we behave as though we were individuals and sometimes we behave as though we were a functioning part of a more collective whole. This he called 'the collective unconscious.'

What has struck me about the recent general election is how disturbing shifts in the collective can be and feel to us as individuals. I thought I was living in one kind of country and found I was living in another. Both beliefs are actually true, or as much of truth as I have been able to figure out for now. It's not that the country became different overnight, but rather that it has always had the capacity to be both 'this' and 'that', though, at any given time, one 'this' is more visible than 'that'. Some eruption, if you like, arrived on the surface which had been simmering quietly at a lower level for some time. We had been in more respects than one living in the past. Not only were we living on a national pride that was no longer well founded in reality, but we were clinging to the comforting stories we told ourselves about our tolerance, about our liberal values, about our compassion for those more vulnerable than ourselves. Clinging, in fact, to partial truths, at best, while the world moved on, and challenged us in a way that what we were capable of in 1945 soon got left behind the hurry and jostle of a nation without an Empire struggling to make ends meet. If you doubt me, look at the police evidence of eruptions of racism and hate crime which follows every assault by the Wahabi cult, who operate by fear, intimidation and violence. It happens every time, say the police - it cannot be dismissed as a temporary aberration. It has been a running sore in a reasonably orderly national life, in fact, taking many forms, for a  couple of generation and more. It is in the psyche of the nation and erupts every so often under some real or imagined provocation like the Manchester and London attacks. But provocations do not have to be this stark - it erupted at the time of the EU referendum, when many people, it would seem, voted with the fear of the stranger uppermost in their minds, and the insecurity and sense of having been devalued which seemed to them to have followed from EU membership.  

I had never doubted the existence of these darker aspects of the collective Shadow, but I think I had become less certain about the existence of the light - those who had not forgotten our sources of real national pride, not in the trappings of being top dog, but in the capacity of our people to be friendly and tolerant to the stranger, and to those in need, both among our own people and with those who come to us in distress for help. A price that could include being the only nation in the world who still has a mainly unarmed police force, that has a National Health Service owned by all and contributed to by all, so that no one need fear illness that has no recourse to treatment. All right, nobody said it was easy, for crying out loud! How easy is it ever to set aside your own woes for a while in the attempt to figure out whether somebody else needs something more? Of course it isn't easy. Far easier to look through the narrow prism of self-interest and an entrenched view of the economy as an engine for the betterment of the richer wealth creators, in the belief that somehow this will by osmosis enable the poor to prosper! Sometimes common sense is a more useful indicator of what is likely to work than the cleverest ideology. If your youngest child was in poor health, would you jump to the conclusion that the way to deal with this is to concentrate on the health of the older, healthy children, as this will then trickle down to the ailing youngster and make her better too? Somehow I doubt it. Common sense suggests the opposite - that you concentrate some energy on taking care of the one who needs your care the most, so that they may in due time become a fully functioning contributor to the whole family? But - and this is an important caveat - you do not neglect the older children, in the process, who may become envious and start to create problems of their own.

But let's not get carried away with too much optimism early on! It's not my job as a psychotherapist to tell people how to live - rather, to help them understand better the way they are actually living. People don't always notice, I find, unless you draw their attention to it. It is unconsciousness which makes cowards of us all - and Jung reminds us that our only true moral duty is not to be any more unconscious than we can possibly manage! And the way we have been living, I suggest, is in too much unconsciousness, in too swift a knee-jerk response to every up and down of the difficult world we live in. There has not been an adequate pause for thought - for the use of the prefrontal cortex. The Conservatives lost face, have become narcissistically wounded, and the Labour Party gained kudos but did not win. Notably, both sides are in a state of flux - it's not just that something else needs to happen, but that something else must happen on both sides and soon. 'Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold.'  A 'hung' parliament is what we dislike the most as a nation - we like decisiveness, we love clarity, we want to know who is in charge so we can get on and live our individual lives a bit more.

How do we construe this state of affairs? From a psychological perspective, the Self - the national identity - is in a state of ambivalence about the nature of its own identity.  Much analysis will follow - has indeed already begun - and mountains of words will be expended on the subject of the nature of this ambivalence. I would like, while there's time, to insert a brief reminder: that whoever tells you confidently that they have the answer will probably be proved wrong! Well, it's not so much that they're wrong, but in a situation like this the last thing we need is more splitting: more attempts to decide who is 'right' and who is 'wrong', what is 'good' and what is 'bad', what is the work of God, and what that of the Devil. They are all right a good deal of the time! There is seldom one final answer to anything that will hold through the aeons of time and change that the human race inevitably stumbles through. Equally, they are all very capable of being wrong a good deal of the time! And what seems right today may be profoundly wrong tomorrow. So loosen up, we Jungians like to think, get a life! Care, yes, have hysterics, no!    

Psychotherapists tend, in situations like this, to look for a third alternative. One thing we have learned for sure about the human psyche is that it often lacks a capacity to stand outside itself and see the wood for the trees. This is actually (no big secret) why we recommend psychotherapy at all. Because it offers the rare chance to be with someone who has a slightly better chance than average of seeing the wood and the trees - both at the same time! The joy and fear of waiting for the third to appear is that we have no idea at this moment what it might be. Could it be even worse than the options we seem to have right now? Well, yes, to be candid. But we often find that this is not the case - since the Third often seems to contain a possibly better solution proposed by the deeper layers of the Self, which has been working on this problem for much longer, and much more thoughtfully, than we have been capable of working on it by ourselves alone.

So let's not get too overwhelmed by the self-important demands of Left Brain for an instant solution to this mess. Yes, let it go forth and collect information, as it loves to do and does well. Let the number crunchers crunch and in due time let them let us know more in depth what the nation is/was thinking on June 8th. But then let us have a serious pause for thought. Looking back, I would say that this happened with the EU Referendum and has certainly happened, it would seem with the Scottish Referendum. What the Scots were thoroughly enthused about a brief two years ago, now appears to be lower down their list of priorities. They did not stop thinking because there had been an independence referendum! The same happened in a more confused and chaotic way with the EU Referendum (but then, there are a lot more of us). Some people didn't like what they saw and heard - a lot of people thinking, indeed second guessing themselves as well as others, was not what they wanted. Sorry to those who don't like it, who feel that a decision is a decision and that it cannot be rescinded. News is, we human beings do that sort of thing all the time! It's the only way we can possibly live, given our highly complex make-up, and our highly chaotic and contrary history. 'The best way forward' emerges - in due time. Meanwhile we all process as much as we can of where we are now. It may be painful and uncomfortable, it may make you feel insecure and as though your much vaunted stable identity has done a cartwheel, but look: it is what it means to be a human being.  How about thinking about it this way . . . .?  

On changing one's mind II

I belong to a generation which does not come to social media naturally. Then again, I had written a blog about the importance of being able to change one's mind! If I had to say what my philosophy of life is, it would be something like: "Embrace change - don't be constantly terrified of it! Don't be a stick in the mud. And if you really want to know how the other half lives, try living like that for a while and see how the experience fits."

There are barrack-room lawyers a-plenty among us, who always have the answer to everything from a position of knowing very little about it. Some psychologists once did some interesting research on the best way to lose weight. They discovered that it had little to do with food and much more to do with one's mindset. If you cultivated the habit of thinking differently, of doing different things from those you habitually did before, it produced weight loss! Hey presto! Or 'expecto Patronum!' ' as Harry Potter would say.

I can make a rough guess about what happened - that addictive behaviours of all kinds are the result of being stuck in a rat-run of your own (unconscious) making. 'When I feel depressed I have to have something to lift my mood.' 'I cannot be expected to go into a pub and drink soda water,' 'It is impossible to feel good if I have not been able to do my run today.'

Actually, it is possible to be depressed and just live with it for a while. Self-acceptance will work miracles with all kinds of mental disorders. (I am not deriding useful treatments of which there are many. But they usually start with some sort of simple attempt at self-acceptance. 'I am a person who seems to have mood swings.') And moods do change. Similarly, it is possible to go into a pub and order any manner of things - and the only alternatives are not booze or soda water! There are enough varieties for you to drink something different every day. But choose something that satisfies your particular taste - do not settle for the soda water you hate as a kind of self-punishment. And as for running, I thought of running as an example because it can be extremely addictive, and is often a substitute for the addiction you are trying to recover from. In other words, addiction is far more widespread than we imagine among human behaviours, and they don't all look anti-social at first glance. Does it matter? No, in my opinion, though I think it helps if you are aware. Awareness will lead you to consider whether you are overdoing, for example, and whether it really is a matter of life and death that you did not get in your run today.  

Food is like that. Sometimes just eating differently will make a difference. It is death to the process of recovery from an eating disorder if you insist on drawing up rules of engagement of the 'no sugar', 'no fast eating', 'must use smaller plate' variety. First of all, these rules of engagement pit you against yourself, as though you were your own adversary. You are not. The way to make change happen is to work alongside yourself, as a friend with a kindly concern would. All the above are rules, not boundaries, and a rule of human nature is that all rules will be broken at some point - including this one. Boundaries, on the other hand, express our human understanding (so far) of our limitations. They involve us in cultivating good spiritual values like humility and self-acceptance. "I can only work for about six hours on the trot, I find, and then I have to have a break." That is to say, I would love to be Superwoman, but probably not today! This way, you get six good hours of work out of yourself, and the fact that it is not twelve is neither here nor there. Do what you can, not what you can't. Good boundaries will help with food and eating and weight issues. 'I seem to love my breakfast too much to give it up, but I perhaps don't need to eat so much at dinner time.' This type of thinking is an acknowledgement that your self is neither good nor bad, just accustomed to certain ways of living, some of which can change. Challenge it to a duel, though, and the self will always win - it is far stronger and more determined than your narrow little ego! It is also thinking which recognises that what works for you is not necessarily what worked for the population in some scientific test. Diets are like that. "We tested this on a hundred volunteers and expecto . . . . etc!" The population of this country alone is something like 60 million, and as for the planet, I have long since lost count. Any test that purports to tell you anything incontrovertible about human nature should be suspect automatically for that very reason. There ain't no such thing. Equally, diets involve reference, indeed genuflection, to 'authority' - the barrack room lawyers in the scientific community who just know! I am not against science, but it needs to be good science, and much of what has been written and said about food and eating and health is questionable at the very least. Eat the way you can and not the way you can't.

So I decided last year that instead of joining the anti-social media club I would at least first try it out and see what I made of it. Revised my Twitter page this week, and am working on my first attempt to penetrate Facebook. At the moment my mindset tells me that I can see no point whatever in giving an account of my doings every day and painting a marvellous (and incorrect) picture of them - my life is no different from anybody else's, and hardly worth the wear and tear on my keyboard.  Also, I have no interest whatever in what other people are thinking about my life. I'm confident they have better things to do with their time. Nonetheless, I think that by joining the club, if only for a while, I can be in a much better position to work with the client who comes along beset with acute anxieties about what is happening to them on Facebook. And these people do exist - they are not one in a hundred million any more, they are a real community in our midst who are driven to depression and even worse by their reactions to it.

Independence or autonomy?

The problems of funding, supporting and adequately organising social care are in the news, and with luck will form part of the current UK general election campaign. At the moment the issues are seen almost entirely as a matter of funding. It's all a lot more complicated than that, though funding is a significant issue. Carers UK estimates that 1 in 8 adults in the population has some kind of caring role. It estimates that 6.5 million people are involved, in some capacity, in caring. This does not include those whose caring is an incidental but vital aspect of their role - teachers, social workers, police, prison officers, home workers etc. If people directly involved in caring are on benefits, they get paid £1.77 per hour, thus saving the exchequer £132 billion per year. If employed, carers are likely to earn at or below the level of the current minimum wage, £7.50 per hour (this is only since April - it has been less than that.) 

And caring is a demanding occupation.  Those providing high levels of care are twice as likely to be permanently sick or disabled, compared with the rest of the population. (Survey by Carers UK 2016)  625,000 people suffer mental and physical ill health as a direct consequence of the stress and physical demands of caring. (op.cit) Over 1.3 million people provide over 50 hours of care per week!

This is just the political aspect of the problem. From an organisational point of view, caring (at the agency level) is a badly managed occupation, where staff are increasingly being asked to cover impossible amounts of work and geographical territory in less and less time, by people who do not understand the complex human nature of the work. Training in adult care has become the province of an organisation called Skills for Care, which offers vocational qualifications at a range of different levels and with differing specialisms. This framework (a term beloved of civil servants) is the end product of a generation of tinkering with the vocational qualifications system by successive governments who have completely failed to understand the needs of vocational education, and who have led us like the Gadarene swine down the road of reductive tick box training, with minimal associated education or personal development. Such organisations have an Orwellian capacity to talk endlessly about 'the regulation of quality' and 'the achievement of standards', with lots of fine sounding bodies to back up this newspeak, but who, it would seem to an observer like myself, would not know quality in a learning experience if it got up and bit their bums.

And to add to the general chaos of the situation, Skills for Care estimates that there is a need for more than a million additional workers, while the ones who already do the job are leaving in droves. The prognosis for what effect leaving the European Union will have, I leave to your imagination . . . . And does it follow, even if we could get these numbers of people into the occupation, that we have a million people with the right qualities to do the job well? Real (not fictional) quality in training and development could be a critical factor in this situation. 

I am not qualified to address all these contextual problems. I can only draw attention to them, but I am very interested in the actual business of being a carer, in what it means to be a carer, indeed what 'care' is - and I notice that almost nothing is said about this when the subject comes up. Being 'cared for' for some time recently after a major operation was an eye-opening experience. One thing that struck me pretty quickly was the way in which the interests of carer and cared-for could diverge quite markedly. My carer (who did an excellent job of looking after me, by the way) was often interested in discouraging me from doing things for myself - things which made her anxious. I suppose she didn't want to be held responsible if something went wrong and my physical health got worse. Put it another way: her estimate of what I could manage, shall we say, seemed lower than mine. And if your pay depends on the client remaining sick . . . . you can easily see how possible it is to hope that the patient will not be able to do certain jobs, perhaps for quite a long time!

I, on the other hand, was keen to start doing as much as I could for myself - I wanted to recover, not over-hastily, but as quickly as seemed reasonable to me. It might have been tempting to lie back and allow someone else to hand me the paper to read, but, actually, it was good for me to make the necessary stretch. At my age, I need to keep as mobile and active as possible in order to preserve my ability to live alone in a house I love, rather than becoming a charge on the state in a nursing home. And I was well aware of how a period of ill health can dramatically affect that ability - sometimes a capacity for independent living, once lost, is never recovered. From talking to many older people, including many with similar health problems, I'm pretty sure that the general wish of all of us is to remain as independent and capable as possible.

But to do that we do need to be active - not becoming marathon runners, not going to expensive exercise clubs, just keeping generally active around the house and in the garden. We need to do the shopping as long as we can, to go out for walks and coffees in town, to be able to enjoy local entertainments and sporting events, and to keep driving for as long as possible. Driving is a particularly interesting issue, where carers can have a lot of anxiety about older drivers. The majority of accidents, we are often told, involve young people, though older drivers come in for a lot of stick in the press and among the busy and irate middle-aged. But let us not pit the young against the old. How about driving under the influence of alcohol, which is no respecter of age? In a survey conducted by the charity Brake, 20% of drivers of all ages responded as having risked driving while over the limit by driving the morning after a night of heavy drinking. Risk is not a factor peculiar to the old!

In my desire to return to active living, I found the hospital and the consultant who did the medical care were at one with me in this - they had me out of bed and moving about with a zimmer frame as rapidly as possible, both to reduce the risk of thrombosis and also to kick-start the movements that would enable me to begin to return to a normal ability to walk as soon as possible. Sometimes they overdid it and it became rather a brutal process, but on the whole, it worked well. When I got home from hospital, however, I found that I had to educate my carer in the idea that I wanted to continue in this vein - did not want to spend my days being waited on hand and foot. If you are a carer you may want to say, yes, but not everyone is like that. Some people overestimate what they can manage, some are quite hard to get moving after a period of ill health. Yes, indeed, but the client knows much more about what they want and can do than the carer - they have lived with this person for much longer! I still think the majority of us are pretty keen to get back to independent living as soon as we can reasonably manage. One's being revolts against the idea of being permanently unable to look after oneself. The carer's anxiety may get in the way of this goal, rather than the client's. Over-caring can be a mixed blessing. And while caring should be adequately funded and supported, there is clearly a 'too much' side to some caring which shows in the amount of ill health experienced by carers. 

I found, also, that giving over one's home and way of life to another, though s/he may have the best of intentions, could be a depressing and even risky business. Quite a lot of elderly people are now victims of fraud and theft by so-called 'carers' who in fact see them as a soft touch. The carer is normally unsupervised to an unusually high degree in their day to day work. It matters what kind of person they are. In passing, have we learned the lessons of the appalling level of abuse of children in so-called care that has been uncovered in recent years? That positions of 'care' tend to attract those with a malign agenda of their own? The power relations are less than equal, sometimes considerably so. Abuse of the elderly and disabled is now a growing social problem. And while I am not in the business of blaming victims, is it our fault as clients as well as that of the perpetrators? How come the population is so financially gullible, is what I ask myself? Is it that the joy of being 'looked after' - perhaps for the first time in their lives - causes them to drop their usual alertness for signs that some people are untrustworthy? It is too easy to assume, in my opinion, that older people are mentally less able in some way, and therefore become easy victims. They have donkeys' years of experience of life behind them, after all, and not every older person has dementia or even a poor memory. I think there is more to it than that.

Where I'm leading up to is the idea that psychology is a key aspect of the caring business, and that is discussed hardly at all. It cannot be measured by ticking boxes - it has little to do with whether the carer can perform certain tasks like changing a dressing (helpful though this may be). The psychologies of both carer and cared-for are both engaged in the process of caring, often in a closely intimate, one-to-one relationship, which parallels to a degree the relationships among families - which are by the way notoriously unbalanced! - and does not anywhere nearly resemble the carefully trained, tutored and supported relationships which develop in counselling and psychotherapy.  

All this led me to think more about what good quality care actually is. The word comes from Old English carian, cearian "to be anxious, to grieve; to feel concern or interest," and beyond that from proto-Germanic ‘karo’ meaning “to lament.”  Caring is closely related to sadness, and also to the anxiety that goes with having a concern about another person. Caring is about feeling the needs or the suffering of another person, and perhaps implies being able to respond to those needs. Doing the washing up because you want your kitchen to be clean is not in itself a caring activity. Doing it because you can see that another human being is struggling with it is the caring part. In other words, it's in the motivation of feeling the needs of another and responding to them that something becomes a caring activity. I very much doubt whether you can tick-box the existence of such a response. It is in the same ball park as concepts like ‘empathy’ and ‘relatedness’, which enable us to be alongside another human being and go beyond our own immediate needs in response to theirs. If you question this, think about the opposite of caring - i.e. not caring a bit. At that extreme, we place psychopathic behaviour as that which is unable to feel or respond to the needs of another, and we see this as sick and sometimes inhuman behaviour. It gets into the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) with very little argument. 

Of course this type of 'caring' response - feeling the other's needs - has not always been fashionable. There was quite a long period when it was regarded as 'unmanly' or at best sentimental 'fussiness', and to be discouraged. It is easy to make the mistake of imagining that people of another generation, whose lives were nasty, brutish and short, could not have had the feeling responses that we have today. However, brain studies strongly contradict the idea that caring is somehow a ‘modern’ state, and that those of another generation did not have to feel as we do.  Professor Mark Solms (Professor of Neuropsychonalyis in Cape Town University) comments:

There are several classifications of the basic emotions [found in the brain].The best-known taxonomy is that of Jaak Panksepp(1998), which recognizes (1) appetitive foraging,(2) consummatory reward, (3) freezing and flight, (4)angry attack, (5) nurturant care, (6) separation distress, and (7) rough-and-tumble play. The basic-emotion systems are given capitalized names—SEEKING, LUST, FEAR, RAGE, CARE, GRIEF, PLAY—to distinguish them from the equivalent colloquial usages. It is important to note that each of these circuits generates not only stereotyped actions, but also specific feelings and motivations, such as curiosity, sensuality, trepidation, anger, affection, sorrow, and joy. The brain circuits for the basic emotions are conserved across the mammalian series, and they admit of considerable chemical specificity.
(The Conscious Id   Mark Solms   Neuropsychoanalysis Vol. 15 , Iss. 1,2013   Bolds are mine.)

In other words:  1. these are the oldest emotion systems in the human neurobiology, belonging to the mammalian brain (we are talking millions of years old here), and 2. CARE is definitely one of them! We share these systems with all other mammals. ‘Basic emotions’ are in fact what we sometimes call ‘instincts’ or drives. They are systems because they involve both actions and feelings,  generated by the activation of these systems, which are triggered chemically, with specific chemistry attaching to each of the systems.

It is not hard to speculate why care is so deeply embedded in human psychology, given its obvious importance for our survival. Nurturance (caring) is what parents have done for their offspring for millions of years. If they had not, if they could not respond with feeling to their offspring's needs, we would not have survived as a species. Modern infant studies have shown how vitally important mother love and care is for the thriving of infants, and how they can fail to thrive – can indeed die - without it. It is not the food deprivation alone which causes death, but the care that goes with it. And we can see from Panksepp’s classification how equally deeply embedded are grief, separation distress and loss. All seven systems are best thought of as functioning at the same time – they are not to be envisaged as separate packages, though the chemistry that associates to each system is probably specific to that system. We can lose what we care for, and the grief of loss can be extreme. Observe a dog or a horse grieving over a dead offspring, and you will appreciate how profound these feelings can be – and how physical and active they are. The basic emotion of CARE generates ‘stereotyped actions’ as well as feelings and motivations. We show caring in specific and recognisable ways.

It is nice to note that play is also deeply embedded in the human psychology – which explains why we can joke, even at a moment of intense sadness or suffering. And that play is conceived as physical and not merely mental. Hence, art is a form of play and goes back to the very beginning of human culture. It could be that the activation of these touchstones of feeling in others from time to time gives us assurance that we are in fact dealing with another human being. People who do not display these touchstones are harder to relate to. In extreme cases, they are the province of our most famous serial killers, and we call these 'inhuman.' There is nothing so scary as an emotionless android in the movies!

Care and grief as actions persisted for centuries in standard human behaviour. Grief and rage had to be a public display, as in the Old Testament, when mourners rent their garments to display their sorrow or rage. Jesus Christ questioned whether such display was always rooted in 'real' feeling - a sophisticated thought for his time. Christantiy absorbed much older philosophies such as stoicism, and one way and another, for a long time, feelings were not for public display. Our Anglo-Saxon ancestors prided themselves on suffering in silence. This tradition obviously had some strength in it, judging by the length of time it endured as a philosophy of life, punctuated by intermezzos of display and self-ornamentation such as happened during the Elizabethan period. The silence of the sufferer became associated with the 'manly' or 'saintly' virtues such as courage and endurance, and probably had an important function to play when much of life was nasty, brutish and short. After all, there was a lot you could not do much about. Nowadays, because we can do more, we tend to think that what we can do we should do. We like to see ourselves as fixers – that, indeed, there ‘should be’ something we can do about almost anything. Anything that could have been done that has not been done is therefore viewed as unpardonable neglect. It does not, of course, follow that this is the case. For us, post two devastating world wars, the preservation of life has become so sacred a philosophy that we are becoming over-concerned to preserve it, even in those who would in fact like the choice of ending it.

The mammalian emotion systems we have been discussing gave way quite recently (in the perspective of human history) to the development of the pre-frontal cortex – that which probably distinguishes us from most other mammals. Among its many sophistications, this part of the brain enables thinking to become an adequate substitute for action, allowing us to pause and reflect, in situations where, at one time, action would have been the only option. Nowadays we have the option of thinking about whether care is the right way to proceed: and if so what kind of care? As opposed to jumping into the middle of a problem, with action governed by an ancient imperative that drives us to do something! At such moments, we are sure we know what the other person wants/needs. And indeed, if they don't want it, we still know better what is good for them!

This is where I came in, I think, when I began to sense the complexities and conflicts of interest in being cared for. And it is where the tick box approach to training of care workers is so inadequate. It seems to bypass the whole question of how to proceed, whether to proceed at all, and, if so, what is the right kind of care. Thinking, shall we say, is to be discouraged, in favour of learned procedures. What needs to be thought about, I suggest, as a first base, is whether it is independence that the client/patient needs, or more personal autonomy.

The two terms are not synonymous, though they are used as though they were. 'Independence' is rooted in the doings and claims of states and populations - French 'independence' being typical. It is closely connected with having enough money to live - i.e. not being a dependent relative or one supported by the state. And it often shades into 'not influenced by others in one's opinions or conduct - thinking for oneself' (OED) As such independence has had a good innings as a quality to be admired. We all like to think we are not influenced by others. We will vote as we think fit, won't we, in the forthcoming general election? (though it is hard to see what the point is of having a political debate if we are not going to be open to being influenced!) The problem with independence as a life goal is that it isn't always a practical possibility. But also, it ignores the fact that close relating involves dependence by definition. If we are to be able to love, we need to place ourselves in a position of some vulnerability - including that of (potentially) being hurt. Trauma prevents some people from being able to tolerate this risk. But until they can find a way to do so, the traumatised find it hard to make close relationships. 'Feeling the other's needs' and responding appropriately is central to our idea of a good relationship. You cannot really have intimacy without a basic empathy like this. If you are never going to be influenced by your partner, you can quickly end up in a pathological relationship where all the power is on one side. Good parenting involves seeing the difference in one's children and trying to respond - rather than trying to get the children to conform more closely to us.

Autonomy, on the other hand, is Greek in origin, meaning 'having its own laws'. In Kantian thinking, it is all about having an inner law - a state or capacity to consult inwardly, that we can and do invoke when it is needed - something that Kant identified as a serious moral virtue. It is about being able to act in accord with one's moral sense, rather than one's desires (one's instincts or basic emotions?) In a word, it is about having a mind of one's own. Here is where the mammalian brain response is not enough. We also need the capacity to pause and think conferred by the pre-frontal cortex. We may or may not be entirely independent, in this sense - we all have to depend on others to a greater or lesser extent - but even in the closest relationship, we can still retain a sense of doing what we think is best or right for us, whatever our circumstances. 'Doing the right thing'  has had a poor press, compared with 'independence' - it seems we feel we can demand that people get things right, and not just 'try to do the right thing'! I am doubtful about this. But that's another argument.

So 'independence' can make us feel good and strong and unbending before others - an independence which may be more fictional than actual - as evidenced by the way in which instant hysteria breaks out, should there be a petrol shortage or a concern about the safety of food. Meanwhile, we may not actually have much personal autonomy - because the fact is we do what is expected of us most of the time! We become fixers - we rely in actuality on the mammalian brain's belief that CARE requires automatic action and feelings - stereotyped action/feelings for the most part. Instinctive care is a knee-jerk response: there is the need, and I am required to respond. In this situation, one quickly becomes a compulsive carer.

I wonder whether the option of pausing for thought is less readily available to some people? I notice that for some people, the knee-jerk response to meeting a need is ‘I must respond’ at once. As opposed to, “I must think about what is the best way to go here.” Do we really need more publicly provided care is a question worth asking? Should we restructure the whole of our public finances to do greater justice to the work these many careers do? Surely there is a cost benefit, and not just a cost, to the work of caring? Without doubt, when it is well done, quality caring enhances lives and saves us a lot of public money. More importantly, it enables that stage of a person’s life to demand less of the allied services than they would otherwise.  And there are knock-on consequences of a lack of care – as we know too well, now that we see how hospital beds can become unavailable for the next unwell persons who could use them. There is always a price on what we don’t do or provide, as well as what we do. On the other hand, are we becoming hooked on the whole idea that somebody ought to be caring for us? Are there, in other words, expectations which have been raised in the modern world which simply cannot be met? The fact that we pay for care so poorly suggests we value it at the most basic level, if at all. Or has it been consigned to that type of work which is held to be vocational? The sort where the workers should be content with getting very little pay since their reward is the joy of doing the work?

There are few straight-forward answers to these questions, but they all matter. As a starting point I want to suggest that we need to get much straighter in our minds about what services the state should offer. When that has been cleared a little, we need to focus much more on the psychology of the caring relationship in order to improve our selection and training of carers. If we can only manage to find fewer, better paid and qualified people with some standing in the community in the same way as teachers, nurses and social workers are valued,  who can really do this job, that may be a better compromise than spending more public money on creating fresh opportunities for clients to be badly served or even defrauded or abused. A good starting point for employers looking for carers, and trainers working with them, might be to concentrate on an understanding of the value of autonomy and how to encourage it in carers and their clients. They might also in their programmes provide spaces to think on the de-merits of a false independence, in which we proudly claim that we need nobody, but actually demand all kinds of things of others without even noticing it!

Recovering from an operation

I am now back at work after major knee surgery,  and so there is a gap since the last post. It has been a thought-provoking experience. I had not felt so vulnerable for a long time - very dependent on the surrounding people to make things happen, from the trivial: "Could you bring in the post?" to the major concern like getting to the hospital on time, despite traffic, for an outpatient appointment - of which there seemed many.  The first one came so soon after discharge that I wondered why they had bothered to send me home.

I had at one level too much time on my hands - fortunately after three weeks convalescing at home I no longer felt ill - and, at another level I had no time to do what I wanted to do because there was always something intervening, like doing exercises, taking the endless pills, eating at the time convenient to the carers, etc. I had an enormous sense of relief to take back the management of my own life. But this did not seem real until around six or seven weeks after the operation, which is the longest time I can remember since childhood in which I so depended on others for basic things like help to put my shoes on.

It seemed real when I could finally decide how I would spend my time that day, when I would eat, when I would pop out to the shops. Driving was almost the last thing to return. I was advised by the medics not to drive before six weeks of recovery had elapsed, and I took this advice. But driving gives me a huge sense of freedom which I had almost forgotten because I had so taken it for granted for years and years. For a while I recaptured that delightful state in which every small thing gives pleasure - deciding what to eat for lunch, sliding into a convenient space in Sainsbury's car park. I kept wanting to behave like a kid and say, "Look, mum, I  can do it!"

A few feelings and ideas remain that came out of that period. One was the fairly obvious realisation that I am much more dependent on the surrounding community than I care to admit. Less obvious, but striking for me, was realising how much my concentration improved when I was forced into not trying to do so much. When spread-eagled on a sofa you have limited choices - can't butterfly your way through a day, doing this, that and the other, often all at the same time. It doesn't work. If a decent book is available, you had better read it, especially if the only other option is daytime TV, the last resort of the hopeless. I realised I quite often 'read' while doing two or three other things at the same time. Or 'watch TV' while keeping my eye on the laptop, etc. This has to stop! I enjoyed things so much more when I was focussing on one thing at a time. Got some nourishment from them.  In my present state of much-improved mobility and fitness, I can feel the old bad habits creeping in - and I don't like it much. Some self-discipline will be involved, but I need to get back my sense of mindfulness, as the exponents of this practice like to call it. I suspect that we all suffer from the illusion that if we 'multi-task', we will somehow get more done in a shorter space of time. The women's movement made a virtue of multi-tasking for women and did us no favours. This is pure baloney, actually, since what really happens is that we half-do everything - skim over the surface of life - leaving a task to be completed some other time, which will just take time another day, or more likely be abandoned. Or we get used to being sloppy with everything, and thus quietly lower our standards and do nothing that gives us real satisfaction. Worst of all, we decide it takes too much time to think in any depth, and have no opinion about anything at all - which we are then obliged to rationalise as the virtue of a peace-loving mind. Which brings me to a more subtle point: what is the point of doing anything anyway? If it is not to achieve the pleasure and self-nourishment that comes from doing it. 

And if there is no reward involved, why am I doing it? "It has to be done by somebody," is a common response. Well, maybe - but does it have to be done by you? This comes up, frequently,
in psychotherapy sessions. Women especially seem to feel that they cannot possibly leave a job alone that a partner refuses to notice. If the partner has reneged on 'their job', they feel they have no choice but to do it for them.  This is simply untrue. You can leave the bins unemptied until somebody complains! And then refer the complainant to your partner! It's hard at first, but it gets easier with time, trust me.  "I get paid for doing it" seems to me to be an alibi for a doing a job you hate, rather than a reason. You have two options which are being discounted: one is to get another job, and the other is to find out what is likeable about the job you are doing. Getting another job may involve upheaval and sacrifice. Jobs may be thin on the ground in your field. But sometimes life requires you to take a risk, take the hit and move on. If that's impossible, then it is possible to find something interesting or at least tolerable about the job you are doing. My sister once told me that early in married life she realised that she would have to do a lot of washing up, which was not her favourite chore, but she decided that this being the case, she would learn to enjoy washing up. I thought this heroic at the time - have never achieved it myself - but it makes good sense if you can do it. Even then there are options - save up for a dishwasher, hire your partner for the task, or the kids. I notice my sister eventually took the second option - and good luck to her.

What mindfulness has taught me, though, is that there is magic in every moment, if I can bear to pause and consider it. And this is what I miss when I lose my concentration and start butterflying my way through life - trying desperately to do everything my brain tells me to do and failing to pause and reflect on what I really want to do, or how I really want to do it. 

How do people change their minds?

The New Year has blown in bursting with more contributions to the 'post-truth' debate. It seems as though the liberal intellectual world has finally discovered Freud! And his fellow founders of depth psychology. A very long time ago we learned from these thinkers that people engage in varieties of rationalisation, projection and denial all the time. And this means all of us! Sadly, it is not a characteristic confined to a few muddle headed types, and nothing to do with us. It is the way in which a human being functions. And these characteristics have now found a label, which is 'post-truth.' It does not make us bad people, just people. So let's start by trying to get the value judgements at least temporarily postponed.

Now, it seems to me, we are socially in a place to consider whether people in fact truly base their opinions on fact, whether they really, really engage brain before opening mouth (as all those mugs used to say.) Psychologists of all persuasions have suggested that unbiased weighing of fact and opinion is a rare activity. The problem is that the psyche is so full of stuff already - as I like to say, it got there before we had a chance to form a mind of our own at all! It had a head start in the hundred metre dash - where even a split second can make all the difference between winning and losing. By the time we wake up to ourselves - the self we discover we possess, usually with some glee - our psyche is well formed with material. Trauma studies suggest that psychological wounds can derive from the earliest experience of birth and before birth. There is now a whole field called transgenerational trauma which harks back to generations ago, and what we may or may not have brought away from those experiences. Epigenetics is showing us just how the brain adapts and doesn't, to all kinds of tiny shifts in our biochemistry. So let's pause in our long-held convictions, to wonder, at least, whether our openness is as great as we imagine it to be.

If the question of 'truth' is on the table at length, at least enough to put it in quotation marks, what attitude ought we to adopt to this discovery? BBC Radio 4 is floating a new series of programmes for the new year called 'The New World' (http://bbc.in/2hx950T) and is worth listening to. I recommend it. Listening this morning my attention was caught by the word 'bubble' - the way we all live, it seems, in bubbles of our own making or choosing. There was anger among Brexiteers about the supposed liberal 'bubble' or the 'Westminster bubble' which they felt had left them outside of the debate. But it turns out that we all live in bubbles - it's just that we don't know about the bubble we actually live in. We spot others' bubbles easier than our own. The bubble is a neat image of the surrounding networks in which we function, within which we get mirroring feedback of the type which helps us to feel that we are the ones in the 'right.'  This is true politically and helps to reinforced our political beliefs. Some researchers even suggested that we tend to move geographically into areas where people of like political mind tend to live - this is called psychological geography.

It struck me that it had been common at one time to disparage the way in which immigrants tend to collect in particular areas of the country, as though this were a uniquely negative characteristic of our friends from Pakistan or the Caribbean. Of course, it is a human tendency all over the world, where groups of ex-patriots commonly collect in specific areas of like individuals. The British Raj was a classic example of the expatriate British living in India and doing everything they could to make it as much like home as possible. Racism is not being able to recognise this tendency without reference to ethnic origin, it seems to me. It isn't 'them', it's all of us! Whether it is right or wrong is a separate matter. The wrong, I think, may well be that of the Westminster bubble, who did not think intelligently enough about this human tendency, and its consequences for the differing impacts of large groups of immigrants in areas that once experienced themselves as a typical British 'bubble.'

But the question that we now need to address much more forcefully, I think, is this: given our tendency to congregate in bubbles, whether geographical, intellectual, spiritual or whatever, how can people be brought to change their minds? How do you get out of the bubble you are in? Is it possible to get out of it? Or are we all, Matrix-like, stuck in a virtual programme world where there is no escape? This is a far more difficult question to answer. The radio programme above suggested various ways - one professor thought that ten minutes a day of pausing for doubt would help, for example. I liked the suggestion that we need to seek out opinions contrary to our own - and actually listen to them! The listening part is really hard. I like to read the London Times when I can manage it, not because it is my favourite newspaper, but because a) it still holds claim to some measure of reason and objectivity (this I know is also open to question, but at least news and opinion are kept separate to a degree), and b) because it keeps me in touch with how the 'Establishment Bubble' thinks!  The contribution however that I liked the most came from a Southern Senator in the United States, who had changed his highly conservative mind on the subject of the environment. He comes from a place where climate scepticism is the norm, and 'expert' opinion is automatically wrong. He said, speaking about trying to persuade others of his change of attitude, "It's very important to use the language of the tribe in reaching the tribe."

This seems to me a powerful observation from an experienced political campaigner. The Senator was saying, as he elaborated, that in trying to reach climate change conservatives, it was useless to talk in terms of 'scientific opinion' (the dreaded expert) or the need to save the planet for future generations (the liberal conviction of responsibility for others, which seems to leave out 'us' - those who suffer now!). What the sceptics needed to know was how business could benefit from dealing with climate change, how the free market could be engaged to rally to the cause, and so on. And perhaps (remembering the God-fearing nature of some of those constituencies) how God had gifted the world to us to use but not to destroy?  These points are not 'wrong', it seems to me, simply viewing the issue from another perspective. This practice used to be called 'rhetoric', and was taught in schools and higher education, with no idea that it was a disgraceful or unethical practice. The brief those generations started from was that persuasion was an art and a skill that everyone needed at their finger-tips - because the world consisted of other people who did not think as we did. The bubble mentality is quite the reverse, it seems to me: it believes that persuasion is beneath one's dignity, that conversations with the undead (namely all those who disagree with me) are not at all desirable but a waste of time. Persuasion, indeed, may be a source of angst - fear that hearing the other's opinion may show me that I am not always right. In the recent EU referendum, the campaigns on both sides seemed to me to be based on failures to grasp these important lessons of rhetoric. They were full of expert opinion, which only revealed how conflicted so-called expert opinion can be. Neither party seemed to have given much thought to what language the opposing tribe could hear. It seems that the 'gut instinct' approach to politics is the norm among the populists, and certainly the gut instinct seemed to prevail on this occasion. I must say I am in favour of gut instincts - they have often led me to a better more sane place than a dozen learned books. But the gut is not the only seat of wisdom in the human body. The gut - the solar plexus chakra - is often the seat of anxiety, of neurotic doubts and depressions. Which is why we get so much indigestion when we are worried. J.R.R. Tolkien liked to use the phrase, "What does your heart tell you?" which seems even better to me than the gut. For the heart chakra contains our broader feelings, making space for our finer feelings of hope, trust and the desire to do right by all our people. Too often the heart has been cut out of our politics - as though we think political questions can be decided by numbers alone. I think I wanted somebody to tell me that being a European meant espousing a set of values and a way of life that suited me. That it represented hope for peaceful co-operation and the healing virtues of community, of sharing, of communal solving of problems, of noticing what we had in common, instead of what divided us. Sceptics will of course scoff that the EU could never deliver such high ideals, and they may be right. But the anti-EU bubble contained its own improbabilities too - of more money in the national coffers which we would personally feel the benefit of, of the limiting of the population to those who looked more like us, of rolling back the tides of globalisation and the restoration of national power and glory. On these ideals too, the jury is still out. Let us wait and see.

The question has been raised, 'what happens when the high ideals with which we vote are disappointed?' There is a fear here that something very dark enters the national psyche. My news is that it was already there, from long ago, and only surges to the surface at certain times and places for complex reasons. I have a worse fear still, which is that evidence has little effect on the 'bubble.' On the contrary, it tends to reinforce the attitudes and beliefs of those in the bubble. Almost any opinion, idea, concept, experience can be dragged into the service of 'what I believe.' What I believe then becomes 'truth.' Jerome Bruner, the American educational psychologist, once said, "The fish will be the last to discover water.' Which I think sums up the bubble mentality only too well. What is always there cannot be seen.

I don't exempt psychology from this truism, by the way. It has its own bubble, a wondrous work of mutual self-mirroring at times, where great work on the human psyche can only be described and explained in the most obscure language, full of the kind of technical language that cannot ever be shared with the population at large. A few years of embedding, and like the fish, we totally lose sight of the water. I personally have not much time for obfuscation in any field, still less in my own. Bruner also said, " . . .  any subject can be taught effectively in some intellectually honest form to any child at any stage of development." This seems to me to be the most important truth about communication in any field, and does not just apply to children. Only it poses a major challenge, because we have to find the right language in which to achieve this, and that is not easy - requires serious effort and thought, and may well be misunderstood or be castigated as the dreaded 'dumbing down.' The question arises, moreover, as to how far we want to be understood? Or to understand others? Openness does not come easy. Being right is critically part of our self-image.

Yet good minds through the centuries have been able to acknowledge they were wrong. Easy to say, "Einstein could do it, but I'm not Einstein." No, but it was not at all easy for Einstein either! When you have become the possessor a fearsome international reputation, then is the worst possible time to find out you are wrong. The point is, I think, that if the truth you aver seems of overarching importance - more important than your personal pride or self-worth - then and only then can you be openly wrong. Then, maybe, you can find out where your true values lie.