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DON’T CRY FOR
ME GEORGE A. KELLY:
HUMAN INVOLVEMENT AND THE CONSTRUING OF PERSONAL CONSTRUCT PSYCHOLOGY
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Jonathan D. Raskin
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Department of Psychology, State University of New York at
New Paltz, NY, USA
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Abstract
This
paper uses Kelly’s typology of weeping to explore how remaining focused
on what
Kelly “really meant” often restricts creative and novel use of his
theory.
Arguing against particular interpretations of personal construct
psychology because
they fail to adhere to Kelly’s beliefs proves difficult because it is
impossible
to know for certain what Kelly “really meant.” Concepts from radical
constructivism and social constructionism are used to bolster this
argument. Then,
it is argued that the problem of discovering what Kelly “really meant”
can be
avoided by emphasizing our human involvement with particular ways of
understanding personal construct psychology (as opposed to emphasizing
some
kind of superior ability to know what Kelly actually intended).
Implications of
this position are briefly sketched.
Key words: constructivism, human, involvement,
personal construct psychology, weeling |
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DON’T CRY FOR ME GEORGE A.
KELLY
Since its original publication half a
century ago,
George Kelly’s (1955/1991a, 1955/1991b) personal construct psychology
(PCP) has
enjoyed a great deal of attention. Kelly’s work has produced a devoted
group of
theorists and researchers interested in exploring all aspects of his
unique and
groundbreaking theory. Professional organizations devoted to Kelly’s
ideas have
sprung up in North America, Europe, and Australasia. In addition to holding regular conferences, these
groups have been
integral in the founding of the Journal of Constructivist Psychology,
a
scholarly forum that—despite its name change from the International
Journal
of Personal Construct Psychology—has remained a medium for the
dissemination of research and theory grounded in Kelly’s PCP.
Notwithstanding the enthusiasm of a
diverse group of
personal construct psychologists from a variety of professional
backgrounds,
the rest of psychology has often remained relatively distant from the
PCP
community, with many psychologists generally unfamiliar with Kelly or
his
theory (Neimeyer, 1985). Much of this can be attributed to the very
different,
perhaps even revolutionary, new approach to psychological knowledge
that PCP
advances. PCP’s unique orientation, symbolized most clearly in its
emphasis on
constructive alternativism, may seem foreign enough to more traditional
psychologists that they simply have not paid much attention to Kelly.
On the
other hand, PCP has also remained somewhat aloof from other
meaning-based and
constructivist approaches. This is perhaps illustrated by noting some
disagreement over renaming the PCP journal as the Journal of
Constructivist
Psychology (Fransella, 1995). Such evidence suggests that there is
more to
PCP’s intellectual isolation than simply its non-traditional
orientation.
Whatever reasons are postulated for the marginalization of PCP within
psychology as a whole, one rather unfortunate outgrowth of it is the
tendency
for personal construct psychologists to be labeled as “Kelly
worshippers.” Of
course, the accusation of Kelly worship leveled at the PCP community is
something about which personal construct psychologists have long been
aware.
For example, a past issue of the newsletter of the North American
Personal
Construct Network (recently renamed the Constructivist Psychology
Network)
included an article directly addressing whether or not accusations of
Kelly
worship are justified (Desai, 1995).
The goal of this paper is to more fully
explore some
thorny issues surrounding Kelly worship and PCP’s status as a form of
constructivism by examining PCP’s typology of weeping, a part of
Kelly’s theory
that has not garnered much attention. First, I present and critique
Kelly’s typology
of weeping. Then, I discuss the weeping typology and its critique in
relation
to the general tendency of personal construct psychologists to rely on
Kelly
quotations as a means to forcefully delineate what Kelly really meant
about
various topics. In my view, a major problem with relying so heavily on
Kelly
quotes is that it produces a kind of accumulative fragmentalism with
regards to
PCP, one in which ultimate Kellian truths are uncovered through bits of
Kelly
quotations. Further, I contend that relying on Kelly quotes to build an
argument is problematic, especially because Kelly can be interpreted as
saying
different things in different parts of his work. If Kelly says
different things
in different places, what does this imply about relying on Kelly
quotations as
a strategy for forcefully delineating what Kelly really meant about
various
topics? In any given instance, how do we know which of Kelly’s
contradictory
statements are most in keeping with PCP? Reliance on Kelly quotes as a
mirror
into the mind of Kelly that reveals what he really
meant flies in the face of my construal of PCP as a variety of
constructivism,
one which emphasizes human involvement and elaboration as key to the
ongoing
process of human meaning creation.
In an effort to outline a solution to
these issues, I delve into
what I see as the prospects and potential pitfalls of an approach to
PCP and
constructivism that highlights human involvement in making meaning of
others’
work. While emphasizing human involvement frees personal construct
psychologists from the shackles of what Kelly really meant, it also can
be
experienced as a slide into relativism because construing Kelly’s work
in one
direction is just as good as doing so in another. In the spirit of
Butt’s
(2000) musings on pragmatism in constructivist ethics, I maintain that
the
benefits of a reflexive relativism regarding PCP are preferable to the
stifling
alternative of feeling beholden to what Kelly “really meant.” In
developing
this argument, I incorporate elements of radical constructivism and
social
constructionism and invite others to continue talking about what Kelly
“really
meant” while simultaneously viewing doing so as a linguistic strategy.
Such a
strategy helps to “warrant voice” for constructions that owe more to
their
authors’ personal investments than to anything that can be credited to
or
blamed on Kelly.
KELLY’S TYPOLOGY OF WEEPING
The typology
Kelly (1955/1991b) postulated ten types
of weeping as
techniques people use to control anxiety and guilt. He reportedly used
to
demonstrate the different styles of weeping for his psychotherapy
students,
acting out various types during class (Fransella, 1995). It is even
rumored
that during these demonstrations, Kelly shed real tears (Fransella,
1995).
Below I briefly describe each type of weeping, using Kelly’s colorful
phrasing
as much as possible.
Diffuse-inarticulate weeping is exemplified in the person who “cannot express himself
coherently
or even say what he is crying about” (Kelly, 1955/1991b, p. 388). The
diffuse-inarticulate weeper seems unable to verbalize specific fears or
guilty
feelings and such weeping is potentially indicative of—in Kelly’s
words—“a
‘decompensating neurotic’” insofar as “the weeping may be a sign of
rapid
deterioration in psychological structure” (p. 388). Therapists working
with
diffuse-inarticulate weepers may, according to Kelly, need to resort to
temporary institutionalization in order to stave off suicide attempts.
Infantile weeping, by
contrast, “seems to be an attempt to express oneself emphatically
without the
words to do so” (p. 388). Kelly described the hallmark of infantile
weeping as
“the familiar ‘organic cry’ which is sometimes mixed up with wailing
laughter”
(p. 388). Infantile weeping is purportedly associated with “thalamic
lesions”
and “intracranial distortions,” but also is common among the
feebleminded and
those with cerebral palsy. Kelly contended that, in its “animal-like
whimpering
quality,” infantile weeping is much like “hebephrenic” weeping and that
both
are indicative of “infantile levels of organization” (p. 388).
Regressive
weeping “is accompanied by childlike
overtures” (p.
388) such as baby talk, grimacing, and whining. Again, this weeping is
common
in “hebephrenics” and “represents an attempt to simulate childlike
distress
signals, but without the signs of neurological disturbance one notes in
infantile weeping” (p. 388). Clients displaying regressive weeping may
be
prepared to relate to their therapists, but only in “the role of an
infant” (p.
388).
Loose weeping “usually
involves ideational content which seems to be inappropriate to the
behaviour”
(p. 388). Ideas and behavior are “loose,” as in acute schizophrenia. In
the
short term, the clinician is usually unable to bring such weeping under
control; thus, the clinician may wish to simply “conserve the client’s
energy”
(p. 389).
Situational weeping
occurs when “the specific situation the client faces seems to define
the limits
of his area of disorganization” (p. 389). As an example, Kelly
(1955/1991b)
discussed a student faced with an exam who cries for hours on end, only
to cease
weeping immediately and become “ready to celebrate” as soon as he is
excused
from taking the exam. In other words, once the student is given
permission to
miss the exam “he seems to recover necessary structure” (p. 389). Kelly
alerted
clinicians that they need not stop situational weeping, but instead
should
employ it as a means to focus treatment.
Histrionic weeping,
according to Kelly (1955/1991b), is common in “conversion hysteria” and
“psychopathic personality” (p. 389). The histrionic weeper “is acting
out his
confusion in order to put on an exhibition,” but is “betrayed by his
use of
‘hammy’ devices and artistry” (p. 389). The client may play the martyr
role.
Histrionic weeping has the distinct disadvantage of distracting
therapist and
client from the therapeutic task.
Hostile weeping is
common in “conversion reaction” and “hypochondriasis” cases. With its
protest-like aspects, this weeping appears “designed to embarrass the
therapist” (p. 389). That is, “the client cries in such a manner as to
make it
clear that he is being misunderstood and abused by the therapist” (p.
389). As
examples, Kelly (1955/1991b) mentioned people who make sure bystanders
overhear
their complaints and hospitalized clients who make it known that their
therapists are “demons” (p. 389). Kelly further noted that many clients
combine
hostile and histrionic elements in their weeping and that hostile
weeping is a
generally poor way of aggressively approaching one’s difficulties.
Constrictive weeping is
characterized by withdrawal; as the client cries, an effort is made to
disengage from the world. The client “perceives everything as
dangerous,
himself as completely guilty, and no venture as either worthwhile or
safe” (p.
389-390). Even as such clients constrict their perceptual fields, they
find
little relief. This weeping often continues to the point of exhaustion
and,
like diffuse-inarticulate weeping, is often associated with
deterioration in
ability to verbalize one’s concerns. Kelly was quick to point out that
constrictive weeping is found “in ‘depressed’ cases, either psychotic
or
neurotic, and in ‘involutional melancholia’” (p. 390).
Agitated weeping is an
expression of efforts at “adventure and aggressive exploration. The
client
cries and tries” (p. 390). Constructs are formulated tightly as part of
some
movement through the C-P-C cycle, though they are often poorly
conceptualized
and tend to produce impulsive behavior. Such weeping is, as Kelly
described it,
a good sign because it suggests that “at last the client seems to be
‘getting
over the hump’” (p. 390). As an example, Kelly cited “the bride’s
mother who
cries at her successful culmination of several years’ surreptitious
efforts.
Instead of clapping her hands, jumping into the air, and clicking her
heels,
the mother cries” (p. 390).
Façade weeping is a lot
like histrionic and hostile weeping, but its purpose is to convince the
therapist and client that the client’s problems are “real.” That is,
“the
client magnifies his confusion in one area as a façade against
exploration in
another area” (p. 390). Kelly counseled clinicians to consider the
possibility
of façade weeping in cases where client complaints seem too
specific and appear
to continuously return to the same dead-end issues. In such cases,
Kelly
encouraged clinicians to “take bold steps to tear down the
façade” (p. 390).
In talking about weeping more generally,
Kelly
(1955/1991b) observed “weeping is best viewed as a device for avoiding
anxiety”
and “is often the expression of a childlike dependency construction”
(p. 237).
Kelly (1955/1991b) cautioned clinicians that allowing clients to weep
during
early sessions runs the risk of fostering a dependent relationship. A
therapist
who elicits hostile weeping from a client winds up in an even deeper
dilemma
because “he must validate all of the client’s bad bets—he must conform,
he must
appease” (p. 238). This speaks to the issue of whether weeping is
clinically
helpful. Kelly contended that if weeping allows the client to return to
childhood constructions and approach problems anew, then it could be of
therapeutic value. By contrast, unless the clinician is prepared to
“follow
through with an extended interview programme which is both patient and
realistic” (p. 239), hostile weeping is likely to be harmful.
In sum, Kelly’s typology of weeping
identifies ten
distinct types of weeping. Each type of weeping is identified in terms
of the
psychological meanings it expresses and the specific kinds of
comportment that
clients engaged in it overtly demonstrate.
A critique
Numerous strong arguments can be made
that Kelly’s typology
of weeping is at odds with more fundamental tenets of personal
construct
psychology. I critique Kelly’s typology of weeping on the grounds that
it
contradicts (1) PCP’s process orientation, (2) PCP’s idiographic
emphasis, (3)
the credulous approach to therapy, and (4) constructive alternativism.
I
contend that Kelly’s weeping typology reveals more about Kelly than it
does
about weeping. The basics of these arguments are summarized below.
PCP’s process orientation
PCP generally views people from a
process perspective.
In other words, Kelly’s theory is often seen as emphasizing the ongoing
evolution of peoples’ personal constructs as they successively test out
and
revise their constructions. This contrasts with more trait-based
approaches to
psychology, which often see people as possessing relatively stable
qualities
that drive their behavior. This conceptual difference perhaps explains
why
Kelly was wary of diagnostic labels, which tend to petrify peoples’
personalities by overlaying static labels on them (Faidley &
Leitner, 1993;
Honos-Webb & Leitner, 2001; Raskin & Epting, 1993). In
recalling his
early days as a therapist in Kansas, Kelly (1958/1969) sarcastically
remarked
that “we had even made up ‘differential diagnoses,’ a way of choosing
up sides
in the name-calling games commonly played in clinical staff meetings”
(p. 76).
Rather than seeing clients as afflicted with categorical disorders,
Kelly
(1958/1969) generally preferred to view clients as active construers
capable of
change: “Always the practicing psychotherapeutic solution turned out to
be a
reconstruing process, not a mere labeling of the client’s motives” (p.
78). In
other words, “efforts to assess human motives run into practical
difficulty
because they assume inherently static properties in human nature”
(Kelly,
1958/1969, p. 80). The contrast between these kinds of statements and
Kelly’s
statements about weeping is striking. Whereas Kelly generally objected
to
diagnostic labeling and pigeonholing of clients, when talking about
weeping he
readily referred to clients as hebephrenics, hypochondriacs, and
decompensating
neurotics. Additionally, whereas in the two previous quotes Kelly
demeaned the
practice of labeling clients and assuming an understanding of their
motives, in
his work on weeping he readily presupposed a variety of not very
admirable
motivations behind the different forms of weeping that clients display.
For
example, he claimed that regressive weepers are only prepared to relate
to
their therapists in the role of an infant, while situational weepers
are
motivated to get out of something unpleasant such as an exam. In both
instances, it sounds like Kelly was offering motivations for why these
clients
were weeping, something he elsewhere criticized other personality
theorists for
doing.
PCP’s
idiographic emphasis
Kelly is usually credited with
presenting a theory
that prefers idiographic understandings of the client at hand to
nomothetic
proclamations that apply to all people. In other words, personal
meanings are
emphasized over general psychological principles that are pertinent to
everyone. Kelly’s typology of weeping seems to assert that (1) there
are
universal meanings attributable to types of weeping, and that (2) types
of
weeping can often be identified based on how they sound. These
assertions are
surprising when compared to statements Kelly made elsewhere about the
centrality of personal meaning in understanding any particular client.
Kelly
generally was skeptical of universal interpretations that failed to
take into
account the specific person at hand:
Much of the
reform proposed by the psychology of personal constructs
is directed towards the tendency for psychologists to impose preemptive
constructions upon human behavior. . . . [T]he psychology of personal
constructs . . . registers its protest against nosological diagnosis
and all
the forms of thinking which distract our attention from the fact that
life does
go on and on. (Kelly, 1955/1991b, p. 154)
Thus, a strong argument can be advanced
that Kelly’s typology of
weeping seems to violate the idiographic spirit of PCP.
The
credulous approach to therapy
Kelly claimed that clinicians should
credulously
accept the utterances of their clients in an effort to understand
client
construction processes. Even when a clinician’s account is at odds with
a
client’s, the clinician should be “careful to lay out both versions
side by
side and not erase the client’s version in order to replace it with the
‘true’
version” (1955/1991a, p. 241). One can easily argue that Kelly
(1955/1991b), in
talking so definitively about the meaning—and even the acoustic
specifics
(e.g., “the familiar ‘organic cry’” [p. 388])—of types of weeping,
violated the
spirit of the credulous approach. Instead of attempting to understand
the
unique relevance of weeping to each client’s personal experience, Kelly
provided global categories of weeping and then proceeded to pigeonhole
clients
with these categories. In its disregard for the credulous approach,
Kelly’s typology
of weeping apparently runs counter to the larger theory of which it is
a part.
Constructive
alternativism
With the idea of constructive
alternativism, Kelly
asserted that “all of our present interpretations of the universe are
subject
to revision or replacement” (Kelly, 1955/1991a, p. 11). There are an
endless
number of possible ways to construe events. The only thing that limits
people
is their willingness to consider new constructive possibilities.
Constructive
alternativism owes a lot to both idealism and pragmatism. Idealism
suggests
that the world we experience is known only thorough our constructions
of it
rather than directly (Landfield & Leitner, 1980), while pragmatism
goads us
into toying with the notion that our constructed understandings of
events are
better viewed in terms of their workability than their correspondence
with
reality (Butt, 2000). Constructive alternativism is idealistic in its
assertion
that there are an infinite number of constructions of the world, while
also
being pragmatic in its optimistic emphasis on the primacy of how well
people’s
constructions hold up in the course of everyday life. Kelly’s typology
of
weeping strikes me as neither idealistic nor pragmatic. It fails to be
idealistic by presuming there are specific types of weeping with
precise
meanings. It fails to be pragmatic by discouraging alternative
constructions of
weeping beyond those Kelly presented.
The preceding arguments suggest that
Kelly’s weeping typology
errs by presuming to carve nature (or at least weeping) at its joints.
Diffuse-inarticulate weeping is presented as a readily identifiable
clinical
entity, just like the “decompensating compulsive neurotic” who
demonstrates it.
Histrionic weeping, in all its exhibitionistic drama, is equated with
having a
martyr complex, as if both things were discovered and unquestionable
realities.
Because elsewhere Kelly tended to reject the kind of mechanistic,
pathologizing, and global meanings he bandied about in talking about
weeping
(Kelly, 1955/1991b, 1958/1969), reading his weeping typology can be
jarring. It
is difficult to reconcile Kelly’s rather definite and directive writing
about
the etiology of weeping with the more playful and client-centered
approach he
takes throughout most of his psychology of personal constructs.
Insights
into Kelly?
Another persuasive argument about
Kelly’s weeping typology
is that it is more a reflection of Kelly’s own core structure than a
justifiable typology that sheds light on the underlying rhyme and
reason of why
people cry. In informal conversations, people who knew Kelly have
suggested to
me that his weeping typology may have been a colossal spoof or
practical joke
designed to make fun of the categorical diagnostic tendencies of
psychologists.
In this line of analysis, Kelly’s goal was to shame those who initially
took
his typology seriously by leading them down a ridiculous path until
they
realized the preposterousness of such a nomothetic nosology. Regardless
of
whether it was meant as a spoof, Kelly’s typology of weeping may tell
us more
about the particular “hang ups” of Kelly the man than it does about the
genuine
nature of weeping. For example, Fransella (1995) recounts recollections
of
Kelly as aloof and distant. Students saw him as very much in control of
himself
at all times and not especially good at letting down his façade
and showing his
emotions. Might Kelly have felt disdain for those who wept openly, as
evidenced
by his referring to them using terms like “infantile” and
“disorganized?” Regardless
of whether this hypothesis about Kelly is accepted, in offering
universal
interpretations of what each type of weeping means, Kelly seemed to be
contradicting what he wrote elsewhere about the personal nature of
meaning. For
example, Kelly (1958/1969) wrote about his tenure in Kansas,
when he
collaborated with teachers who referred their “lazy” students to him as
clients. He often had to use a teacher’s complaints about a student’s
“laziness” as a “point of departure for reorienting the teacher”
because “it
usually happened that there was more to be done with her than with the
child”
(p. 77). In other words, “complaints about motivation told us much more
about
the complainants than it did about their pupils” (p. 77). This
statement is
interesting when compared to Kelly’s assertions about
diffuse-inarticulate
weeping as a sign of rapid deterioration or about hostile weeping as a
client
strategy for communicating negative things about the therapist. In both
these
instances, Kelly appeared to be voicing criticism of clients instead of
encouraging understanding of each client’s personal constructs.
YES, BUT WHAT DID KELLY REALLY MEAN?
In discussing both Kelly’s weeping
typology and my
ensuing critique, I hope to elaborate the limitations of PCP approaches
mired
in a “what did Kelly really mean” orientation. I claim that as long as
PCP’ers
remain transfixed by a “here’s what Kelly really said” approach, they
limit
themselves and make accusations of Kelly worship more difficult to
refute. My
argument is that what Kelly really meant is not only impossible to
know,
but—more importantly, is by and large irrelevant in expounding PCP. The
typology
of weeping and my critiques of it will be employed in developing this
argument.
Kelly quoting
as
accumulative fragmentalism
The direct quotation is one of the
primary tools that
scholars, including personal construct psychologists, employ in
constructing
their arguments. For example, as I developed the various critiques of
Kelly’s
weeping typology, I wanted to make sure that each argument was not only
well
developed and convincingly stated, but also “on the mark.” That is, I
wanted
each argument to seem accurate and justified. A powerful way to support
my
argument was to quote Kelly. It was not enough simply to say that PCP
is
disinclined towards diagnostic labeling. It was much more convincing if
I had
some hard data to support my contention. Thus, I quoted Kelly: “Always
the
practicing psychotherapeutic solution turned out to be a reconstruing
process,
not a mere labeling of the client’s motives” (1958/1969, p. 78). I used
the
same strategy again when arguing that Kelly (1955/1991b) violated his
process-oriented, idiographic approach by presenting generalized types
of
weeping that could be associated with specific sounds such as “the
familiar
‘organic cry’” (p. 388). Quoting the phrase “familiar ‘organic cry’”
served the
purpose of highlighting the inaccuracy of Kelly’s typology of weeping,
or at
least its incompatibility with Kelly’s thinking through the rest of
PCP. The point
of my argument was that the typology of weeping is not compatible with
the rest
of Kellian thought and that it violates the basic tenor of what Kelly
tried to
say elsewhere. So, in keeping with an accumulative fragmentalist
orientation in
which pieces of truth are gathered bit by bit, I piled one Kelly quote
upon the
next in order to ostensibly demonstrate my position’s legitimacy.
However, this begs a larger question,
namely how we
know that it is Kelly’s ideas about weeping that deviated from his
broader
message and intentions. Is it not possible that Kelly’s non-weeping
writings
are the ones that actually strayed from what he really tried to convey?
One
solution to this is scurrying about locating as many Kelly quotes as
possible
that seem to speak in favor of idiographic, anti-labeling,
anti-essentialist
approaches to psychology. However, this presumes that if Kelly wrote
more often
in favor of idiographic and anti-labeling perspectives, then this is
what he
really meant. Of course, writing something more often does not
necessarily
indicate that what was written more was meant more. Certainly, lovers
who have
broken up may leave behind more love letters than letters expressing
their
mutual disdain for one another, but this in no way means that their
love
letters best reflect their predominant viewpoints. Quoting Kelly, or
any other
scholar for that matter, is not so much a matter of conveying the truth
about
what was really meant. Rather, it is a discursive strategy with a
persuasive
purpose. By channeling the spirit of Kelly himself through use of his
own
words, I hoped to more effectively convince readers that the points I
made rest
on solid ground. In discussing the typology of weeping, my use of Kelly
quotations was meant to suggest that Kelly’s views on the subject were
inconsistent with PCP at best, regressive at worst. My effectiveness
hinged not
so much on whether what I said is or ever was true in some kind of real
way,
but more so on how convincing an argument I made and whether the
implications
of my argument were deemed generative by readers.
Radical constructivism,
social constructionism, and whether what Kelly meant matters
In some respects, what I have been
saying owes a great
deal to other “constructivisms” besides PCP. Granted there has been a
good deal
of controversy within the PCP community as to whether PCP is or is not
best
considered a form of constructivism (Butt, 2006; Chiari, 2000;
Fransella, 1995,
2006; Raskin, 2004; Warren, 1998). The issue reared its head most
recently in the
responses of Trevor Butt (2006) and Fay Fransella (2006) to Studies
in Meaning 2: Bridging the Personal
and Social in Constructivist Psychology (Raskin
& Bridges, 2004), a volume I co-edited that
highlights connections between PCP and other constructivist
psychological
theories. Butt (2006) and Fransella (2006) both found a lot to like in
the
volume but expressed some typical hesitations about “constructivism.”
They
lamented that constructivism is often theoretically ill defined,
especially
compared to the more fully fleshed out PCP. Butt (2006) reasonably
observed
that constructivist scholars should more fully include in their
constructivism
philosophical approaches such as those proffered by pragmatists and
social
interactionists like Mead and Dewey.
At the same time, Butt’s and Fransella’s
reservations
about constructivism-as-ill-defined philosophy strike me as
much-ado-about-nothing because they simply reiterate the increasingly
forlorn
complaint that too many PCP’ers are abandoning PCP and adopting
something more
vague and general, namely constructivism. This is a common lament, one
so
understandably compelling to PCP’ers worried about the future of PCP
that
perhaps a central point is overlooked—specifically, that those of us
construed
to be abandoning the PCP ship typically use the term “constructivism”
not to
refer to an explicit and precise theory unto itself that we believe
should
supplant PCP, but instead as a broad moniker encapsulating a number of
diverse
theories sharing an emphasis on how people create and live according to
their
own constructed meanings (Raskin, 2006). Thus, we retain PCP as a
comprehensive
theory in its own right. However, we also toss radical constructivism
and
social constructionism (among other approaches) into the fray for
consideration
and possible cross-pollination. Another way to think about this is that
we use
“constructivism” in a similarly general way as those who use the term
“existentialism.” Surely the existential philosophers had differences
among
themselves, but many people have found enough in common across these
philosophies to continue applying to them the broad (and, like
“constructivism,” equally wide-ranging) term “existentialism.”
Constructivism,
in this way of thinking, is not a hodge-podge of eclectic concepts
drawn from a
number of different freestanding theories (as Butt and Fransella
bemoan).
Instead, it is an organizing principle for finding commonalities across
these
theories. As such, constructivist scholars can work from within the
confines of
different theories themselves (PCP, radical constructivism, social
constructionism, etc.) while also attending to possible interrelations
between
them.
Adopting this mind-set, I am intimating
that
considering radical constructivism and social constructionism
potentially
enriches analysis of PCP (in this case, its typology of weeping).
Radical
constructivism advances the idea of people as closed systems. That is,
the only
thing a person ever knows is his or her own internal experience, from
which
mental schemes are developed that guide the person through everyday
life
(Efran, 1985; Maturana & Poerksen, 2002/2004; Maturana &
Varela, 1992;
von Glasersfeld, 1984, 1995). Consequently, one’s personal constructions
of PCP
are more than just personal. They are forever private. Each person
reading a
passage from Kelly construes it in a unique manner that can never be
fully
communicated to someone else. Radical constructivism’s metaphor of the
“person-as-private-knower” precludes the possibility of shared meaning.
Like reader
response theory popular in literature departments (Fish, 1980), all one
ever
has is one’s own interpretation of a text. Author intentions and expert
interpretations are no more or less correct and valuable than anyone
else’s.
From this perspective, what Kelly really meant becomes a moot question,
replaced instead with, “What do you personally make of Kelly’s words?”
While
this question is germane to radical constructivists, there is no final
answer
because our responses to this query continuously evolve as we discuss
them with
one another. As we do so, we inevitably refine our own private meanings
as a
reaction to any internal disequilibrium we encounter as a consequence
of said
discussions.
Social constructionism (Burr, 1995;
Gergen, 1985,
1991, 1994) offers a significantly different, but perhaps just as
useful, take
on what Kelly really meant. From the social constructionist’s point of
view,
what Kelly really meant is shaped not by Kelly’s words so much as the
way a
community of observers decides what such words mean. Over the years,
members of
the PCP community have engaged one another across a range of relational
contexts—via conferences, collaborative research endeavors, informal
visits
with one another, discussions on the PCP e-mail list, reviewing one
another’s
work for publication, and so forth. Such relational engagement produces
a
variety of shared social constructions about PCP. Of course, as in any
community, there are as many relational contexts as there are
combinations of
people in relationship. Even identifiable communities contain an
assortment of
sub-communities and—in the case of the community that has developed
around PCP
over the past fifty years—these sub-communities have formulated their
own ideas
about the proper ways to interpret Kelly’s texts. A community’s
leaders, by
virtue of their prominent social positions, influence which views are
considered most appropriate and correct. In the PCP community this
often means
that what the most respected and prominent scholars think about what
Kelly
“really meant” warrants the most voice. Thus, their views are typically
considered most correct and valuable.
Whether one prefers the radical
constructivist or
social constructionist take on how PCP’ers settle on what Kelly really
meant,
both perspectives provide some interesting ways of thinking about how
intellectual communities reach consensus about truth. Though one
emphasizes
knowledge as private and personal while the other stresses the socially
negotiated aspects of human understandings, when it comes to what Kelly
“really
meant,” both radical constructivism and social constructionism can be
appropriated to argue that we can never be certain. And does what Kelly
meant
matter? When I outlined an argument against Kelly’s typology of
weeping, I found
myself asking whether I did so by “calling it the way it really is” or
by
adopting one among an infinite number of possible positions and then
trying to
convince readers to abide by my stance. I prefer the latter
explanation. In the
final section of this paper, I outline some ideas about what I call human involvement and what I see as its
utility in thinking about Kelly, weeping, constructivism, and
relativism.
HUMAN INVOLVEMENT IN
CONSTRUING KELLY AND WEEPING
Human involvement
Spencer McWilliams (1996) wrote a
remarkable book
chapter titled “Accepting the Invitational.” In it, he encouraged
PCP’ers to
take responsibility for the constructions they hold. He stated: “I
believe that
to acknowledge further our active role in construing we must use a
language
that requires us to take conscious responsibility for our personal
participation in creating meaning” (McWilliams, 1996, p. 70). In other
words,
McWilliams construed PCP as a theory that requires people to
acknowledge their human
involvement in how they make sense of things. Human involvement
“can be
used as a way to encourage people to think about the respective parts
they play
in creating means for understanding all areas of life, which might
otherwise
simply be seen as objective representations of how things are” (Raskin,
2004,
p. 335). Elsewhere, I have begun relying upon Donald Campbell’s (1974)
evolutionary epistemology to develop the idea that human construction
(and, by
implication, human involvement) arises out of mutually interacting and
influencing
evolutionary processes occurring at biological, personal, and social
levels
(Raskin, in press). While a more thorough discussion of the
relationship
between human involvement and evolutionary epistemology is beyond the
scope of
this paper, suffice to say that in further explorations, I hope to more
fully
articulate how human involvement and investment in personal and social
constructions ideally serves the adaptive purpose of enhancing and
maximizing
lived experience. For now, it is enough to simply make clear that human
involvement means that all constructions come from people committed to
particular points of view. Rather than merely a neutral picture of
objective
reality, knowledge is always about the pragmatic viability of humanly
created
understandings that help people productively live their lives.
It’s my paper and
I’ll cry if I want to: human involvement and weeping
When I examined Kelly’s typology of
weeping, I did so
from a point of view. My involvement with that point of view inevitably
means
that I understand Kelly’s weeping typology through my own set of
lenses, which
I myself crafted! Truth becomes personal, albeit sometimes fluid and
slippery.
This suggests that the (personal) truth of the matter regarding what
Kelly
meant when writing about weeping lies in my constructions of his words
rather
than his words, themselves. Surely I should feel free to quote his
words to
build my argument. However, I do so not because I believe his words
hold a
final and invariant meaning, but as a discursive strategy designed to
sway
others to my perspective. Perhaps arguments about what Kelly really
meant can
be usefully reformulated using his notion of the invitational mood
(Kelly,
1964/1969). Doing so transforms them. They become invitations to
consider PCP
“as if” certain presumptions held steady. For example, elsewhere I
invited
personal construct psychologists to anticipate what might ensue should
they
subsume PCP under a constructivist rubric (Raskin, 2004). Likewise,
herein I am
asking readers to explore the implications of proceeding “as if”
Kelly’s typology
of weeping is out of step with his broader theorizing.
The beauty of human involvement and the
invitational
mood is that they open possibilities for looking at things in new ways.
At the
same time, a commonly observed drawback is that in addition to inviting
possibility, they seem to invite relativism. The straw figure of
relativism is
often raised to discredit constructivism (Gillett, 1998; Held, 1995;
Mackay,
2003a, 2003b; Parker, 1999). The commonly sketched argument generally
goes
something like this:
Constructivism,
in contending that all knowledge
systems are human creations, loses the ability to discern which
constructions
are true and which are false. This, in turn, generates a nihilistic
“anything
goes” attitude that is anathema to intellectual inquiry.
Constructivists are
seen as contradictory and incoherent because (1) they feel that all
truths are
constructions and therefore relative, but (2) simultaneously hold that
constructivist constructions are true.
I move beyond
constructivism-as-relativism arguments
by adopting a human involvement approach to constructivism. Human
involvement
presumes that all truths are constructed and therefore relative, but
maintains
that constructivist theories are experientially true to constructivists
from their humanly involved perspective.
That is, constructivists do believe that truth is relative to one’s
point of
view, but also believe that approaching the world from a point of view
is
inevitable and unavoidable. Using Polanyi’s (1958) language, we all
dwell
within a perspective. Therefore, truth is a function of human
involvement—what
seems true is experienced as such because one operates from a
perspective
producing particular beliefs. That is why constructivists believe their
own
constructions. However, constructivists maintain that believing
something is
not simply or primarily a product of
external occurrences. It is also a product
of one’s personally and socially
created assumptions. When
it comes to evaluating the utility of one’s
constructions, personal and social negotiation are required. When
people argue
that they are right, they are essentially claiming that their
constructions are
more viable and generative than alternative constructions. “Anything
goes”
arguments against constructivism become little more than empty scare
tactics
because what “goes” is a product of the constructions one dwells within
and is
committed to based on lived experience (Edwards, Asmore, & Potter,
1995;
Polanyi, 1958). Such constructions cannot be readily dismissed and are
experienced as true, even if constructivists question the universal and
eternal
prospects of such experienced truths.
Human involvement requires people to
take
responsibility for their assumptions. In this respect, human
involvement is
something of an existential concept. For example, Nietzsche’s
(1883/1978)
existential “overmen” take responsibility for the meaningful beliefs
they
create. Rather than justifying their actions via reference to truths
handed
down from on high by religion or science, “overmen” justify their
behavior
according to human involvement in the beliefs they invent and choose to
live by.
Similarly, as a constructivist, I need not justify my theoretical
beliefs by
claiming special access to the intentions of Kelly, Maturana, Gergen,
or
others. Rather, I take responsibility for appropriating the writing of
Kelly,
Gergen, and Maturana for my own purposes. From this perspective, I must
take
responsibility for opposing Kelly’s typology of weeping and using Kelly
quotes
to build my argument. And just as human involvement requires me to
accept
responsibility for my repudiation of Kelly’s weeping typology, it also
demands
that all PCP’ers tread carefully and reflexively when relying on Kelly
quotes
to support their arguments—regardless of what these arguments might be.
CODA
I appropriated Kelly’s typology of
weeping to develop my own ideas
about human involvement and accepting responsibility for one’s
constructions of
constructivism. Quoting Kelly is a discursive strategy scholars readily
employ
as they try to persuade others to entertain their point of view.
However, in
using Kelly quotes as a discursive strategy, I urge caution so as to
avoid the
trap of believing that these quotes offer fragments of Kellian truth
that
justify the correctness of one’s position. While Kelly quotes can be
useful in
building one’s scholarly arguments, in the end I attribute
responsibility for
particular arguments to those advancing them. I do so because I
conceptualize
the use of Kelly quotes as a discursive strategy rather than a
revelation of
fundamental meanings housed in Kelly’s writing. This allows for many
generative
possibilities in considering Kelly’s work because, though it sometimes
induces
weeping of my own, I doubt that anyone has yet to corner the market on
what
Kelly “really meant.” |
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ABOUT THE
AUTHOR
Jonathan
D. Raskin, Ph.D., is professor and graduate coordinator in
the psychology department at the State University of New York at New
Paltz. His
scholarship generally focuses on integrating aspects of personal
construct
psychology, radical constructivism, and social constructionism as they
apply to
psychological theory, research, and practice. He is licensed as a
psychologist
in New York, where he maintains a small private practice.
Correspondence
regarding this article should be addressed to Jonathan D. Raskin,
Department of
Psychology-JFT 314, State University of New York at New Paltz, 600 Hawk Drive,
New Paltz, New York 12561-2440, USA.
Email: raskinj@newpaltz.edu.
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The
version of the article being published is indebted to comments by two
anonymous reviewers.
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REFERENCE
Raskin, J. D.
(2006). Don't cry for me George A. Kelly: Human involvement and the
construing of personal construct psychology. Personal
Construct Theory & Practice, 3, 50-61.
(Retrieved from http://www.pcp-net.org/journal/pctp06/raskin06.html)
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Received: 5 July 2006 – Accepted: 26 November 2006 –
Published: 31 December 2006
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