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BOOK REVIEW
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REFLECTIONS IN PERSONAL CONSTRUCT THEORY
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Richard J. Butler (Ed.)
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Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009, Hardcover, 425 pages,
£ 60 / € 72 / $ 104.95
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reviewed by Carmen Dell'Aversano
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University
of Pisa, Italy
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| | | | I
do not know if Sigmund Freud ever wrote a review. I am inclined to think he did
not, for otherwise he would have added reviewing, along with therapy, education
and government, to his notorious list of “impossible professions”. Like any
attempt to successfully construe another’s construing, reviewing is fraught with
practical difficulties, and of course theoretically impossible; and the
practical difficulties (even though, thankfully, not the theoretical
impossibility) are compounded if one is foolhardy enough to attempt to review
not a single work by a single author but a collection of essays. |
Richard Butler | If, after this
lengthy disclaimer, my readers should be wondering why I did not wisely elect
to leave this daunting task to someone better equipped to perform it (or, at
least, less inclined to complain…), the answer is that the subject of the
collection (as the editor defines it on the first page of the “Preface”, “What
is Reflexivity?”) proved irresistible. This fascination will provide a
rationale for the structure (if I may presume to call it so myself…) of this
review. I will start by briefly discussing the chapters in the various sections
of the book according to the way they approach the issue of reflexivity, which
is either by examining the structure and the implications of fundamental
concepts in PCT, or by explaining their relevance to the writer’s personal and professional
development; as will be clear from the discussion, some of the contributions
are relatively “pure” specimens of one of the two formats while some come
across as hybrids. I will close this review by outlining some theoretical
implications of reflexivity which I think are not obvious, but which, to my
mind, deserve to be discussed.
In
Section I, “Exploring personal construct theory”, Harry Procter’s “The
construct” is as pure (and as shining) an example of the first type as could be
conceived. In this chapter the central construct of PCT is subjected to a
painstaking and enlightening effort of definition and extension: the first part
deals with “the construct as envisaged by Kelly himself” (29), the second with
“further aspects [of the construct] which result from extending and elaborating
the theory to cope better with our social and relational nature” (29). Even
though the author adopts a modest, even self-effacing, stance which prevents
him from explicitly foregrounding his own personal experience as the object of
reflexivity, we get a very definite sense of the way his intellectual and
professional evolution was shaped, and in their turn contributed to shaping,
his commitment to PCT: “But from the beginning I was also reading sociology
[…], Marxism and the family systemic writers. […] These sources were presenting
material that severely challenged PCP, and indeed the basic individualistic
assumptions of the discipline of psychology itself. Do we therefore abandon
PCT, as so many did, or rally to the challenge in order to preserve [its]
insight and wisdom […]?” (29). His final proclamation of faith in PCT (“I have
wanted, however, to preserve the contribution of Kelly and PCP in this debate.
It seems to me that much is lost to psychology by de-emphasizing the central
importance of the person in constructing meanings and values” (35) sounds
completely honest and absolutely convincing because it comes from someone who
has made a serious and systematic effort to become familiar with a number of
alternative approaches, and to integrate them into his theoretical thinking and
clinical practice.
In
his final remarks the author also manages to address two profound and central
issues, one having to do with the respective merits of constructivism and constructionism
and the other with a fundamental aporia in Kellyan theory. I will deal with the
first one here, and address the second at the end of this review.
To
Procter’s mind, the reason why a constructivist approach cannot be dissolved
into, or subsumed by, a constructionist one has to do with the crucial issue of
cultural change and innovation: “And how are we then [in a social
constructionist framework] to understand the creativity of artists and writers,
who inject new ideas into the culture? […] PCP has always had the spirit that
this applies to everyone, children and adults, not just a few ‘great’ people”
(35). His argument can be extended by considering that, in fields as diverse as
philology, art history, linguistics and genetics, “copy” is synonymous with
“error”, that any attempt at reproduction, by whatever means, carries with it
the certainty of modification; in Kellyan terms, not only man but the whole
world is “a form of motion”; and this motion is invariably the result of individual processes which, even when
they are aimed at perfect conformity, never unfold according to plan: it is not
only in natural history but also in personal and cultural change, that
variation forms the bedrock of evolution; and just as biological evolution
cannot occur without a huge pool of variations to draw from, so cultural
evolution is dependent on “the creativity” of “not just a few ‘great’ people”
but of “everyone, children and adults”.
The
two chapters in Section II, “The men behind the theory”, “The George Kelly I
knew” by Jay Efran and “Don Bannister through the looking glass” by Fay
Fransella, being conceived as tributes to two key figures, stand somewhat apart
from the others, and from the book’s theme of reflexivity; however, the wealth
of quirky anecdotes and provocative quotations makes it clear that for both
Kelly and Bannister constructivism was not something they “did” in their
professional life as therapists and teachers, but a core construct. In this respect, it is particularly perceptive of Fay Fransella to recognize
Don Bannister’s last major endeavour, the writing of five novels in just eight
years, as an effort to “tell us about his life in a truly reflexive fashion” (73)
Among
the five chapters of Section III, “Construct theory as a meaningful alternative”,
Richard Butler’s “Encounters of the puzzling kind: the organisational corollary
in relation to self-construing” is a “hybrid” specimen, alternating as it does
autobiographical reminiscence and an exposition of the methodology of
Performance Profiling and of the tool of Self-Image Profiles.
Richard
Bell’s “Griddled with angst: a roller-coaster ride on the repertory grid”,
while featuring some details of intellectual biography, and ordered
chronologically, is an extended and methodologically rigorous reflection on the
potentials and limits of the most widely employed tool within PCP. In addition
to highlighting a number of serious issues which should be (but hardly ever
are) prominent in the consideration of all responsible grid users, Bell’s chapter
is important because it implicitly but constantly addresses a core
metamethodological point: in order to reflect on the use of repertory grids, we
need constructs beyond those of the theory within which the grid itself was
formulated (this is a major reason why PCT practicioners are normally not in a
position to do so – “The analysis was set out formally in mathematical terms
(which explains why no grid users could understand it)” (155) – and why most
reflections on the implications of grids for PCT fall, according to Bell, on
deaf ears: “Needless to say, these criticisms have not found their way into any
subsequent accounts of the theory” (150): reflexivity in this case is
definitely not simply a matter of “using a theory to account for itself”. I will
come back to this issue, and to some of its implications, in the conclusion.
The
other three chapters in the section, James Horley’s “Individuality, community
and criminal behaviour”, David Winter’s “Shaking hands with a serial killer”
and Sally Robbins’s “Sauce for the gander”, explore the role that PCT, or
specific constructs within the theory, played in the writers’ professional and
personal development. The issue (which I personally find fascinating) of
personal affinites with individual aspects of PCT (as of any theory) figures
implicitly but prominently in David Winter’s account of his lifelong love
affair with the credulous approach, whose potential he has been investigating
since his 1971 undergraduate dissertation (98) and which eventually led him to
the meeting from which the chapter title is derived. Winter perceptively
explores both threat and guilt as inseparable companions to the credulous
approach and to constructivism in general (104) and the existential “hazards of
credulity”; his description of the personal consequences of what Mahoney
labeled “the psychological demands of constructive metatheory” is both engaging
and enlightening. I was particularly intrigued by his humorous and profound
statement about the status of certainty in a credulously fragmented life: “At
times it feels that [sic] the only
certainty, apart from that of death, is in the words of a song sung in a
stadium that I regularly frequent, namely that the Queen’s Park Rangers are
‘the greatest football team the world has ever seen’”; this allowed me to make
sense of something I had always found perplexing: the fact that quite a few
self-reflexive and sophisticated intellectuals are loyal and enthusiastic
football supporters: football provides an opportunity for “place-binding” (if I
may be allowed the neologism) the construct of certainty, which can play no
role in the rest of their life, but which, for sentimental reasons, they may be
reluctant to dispose of entirely.
Among
the chapters in Section IV, “Construct Theory as an Elaborative Choice”,
Jonathan D. Raskin’s “Living aggressively” is a reflection on the role of
aggressiveness (particularly of aggressive testing of the “real vs. made-up”
construct) in the author’s intellectual biography, and ends with a survey of his
current “hypotheses” in his present area of aggression, “how does one integrate
the seemingly contradictory assumptions of PCP, radical constructivism and
social constructionism?” (171).
Peter
Cummins’s “The guilty choice: reflections on dislodgement, extension and
definition”, blends reflections on the author’s Catholic Irish youth and on his
clinical practice into a comprehensive and enlightening consideration of guilt,
made more compelling by the consideration that “while personal guilt is a
fairly well-recognised idea, I do not think that there has been enough focus on
clinical guilt” (177); starting from Kelly’s definition, he singles out three
central questions: “So if I am dislodged, then what from? What is the nature of
this dislodgement? What led to this change?” (182); this leads him to state
that “Guilt, in a Kellyan sense, is an integral part of any change” (182) and
to affirm “the courage to choose to make ‘the guilty choice’” in therapy,
knowing that “guilt is a process to work with, to understand what is being
dislodged ant to work on the development of my core role to the extent that
allows me to resolve the guilt” (187).
Trevor
Butt’s chapter, “Different readings of personal construct theory”, while
featuring some references to the author’s first experiences as a clinical
psychologist and to his fateful encounter with Don Bannister, focuses on the
topic on which he has been reflecting since his PhD thesis, a phenomenological
reading of PCT. Having had a very partial and superficial exposure to
phenomenology, Kelly was not in a position to appreciate its many and profound
points of contact with PCT. To someone well versed in it, like Butt,
phenomenology provides a refreshing and enlightening way to free PCP from its
apparent cognitivistic bias and locate it back in the “lived world”, and its
“internal relations”, where subject and object are not separate and “one
feature […] cannot be specified without implying the others” (202). Kelly’s
credulous approach “precisely mirrors Husserl’s phenomenological attitude […]
one of openness to new possibilities and constructions” (204).
Trevor
Butt also features as a prominent character in Vivian Burr’s “The teacher, the
singer and the personal construct theorist: an unlikely but fruitful dialogue”;
it was Butt who first introduced Burr to PCT, which was to prove such a
fruitful influence in both her personal and in her professional development,
and the way this introduction took place tells a lot about what distinguishes
PCP from other psychological approaches: the friendship between the two
scholars (which continues to this day) began with Burr “reveal[ing her]
insecurities” about her new professional role to Butt; she was prompted to this
disclosure by “his role as a psychotherapist”, and he reacted by “asking some
good questions” and by subsequently “stepp[ing] up by bringing in some
structured PCT techniques” (212). I do not believe I am alone in feeling both
that such a relationship between two colleagues in another theoretical
framework would have been disastrously inappropriate (imagine a senior
colleague volunteering to psychoanalyze a junior fellow of his department!),
and that, on the other hand, this was a natural, and a very beneficial,
development of a friendly involvement within a PCT framework; the difference
is, of course, reflexivity. In asking Burr his questions and using his
structured techniques, Butt was not concealing any aspect of either the theory
or of his construal from her; instead, he was proposing that they both use the
theory as a tool to reflect both on her situation and on their respective
construals of it. The life-changing potential of reflexivity (with,
significantly, no distinction between “personal” and “professional” life) is aptly
summarized by Burr: “My very introduction to PCT came about through reflecting
on my personal experience; it was the capacity for constructivism to make sense
of my problems that led me further into it as an academic” (213).
In
“Reflexivity: what in the ‘GAK’ is that?”, the last chapter of the section,
Desley Hennessy writes about the impact of reflexivity both on her research
about the personal meanings of tattoos and on her own experience as a tattoee.
Section
V, “No one need be a victim of their biography”, starts with Jerald R.
Forster’s “Differentiating the I from
the ME”, a reflection on Mead’s
dichotomous construct of the “self-as-subject” vs. the “self-as-object” through
the lens of Hofstadter’s “strange loop”, according to which “perceptions of the
ME by the I change the I, which then changes the way the I comes to perceive
the ME during the next loop” (245). The final part of the essay hinges around
the very interesting question “Can my I intentionally change my ME?, but
unfortunately does not attempt to enlist any PCP or PCT constructs to address
it.
In
“Mirror man” David Green tries to make sense of two central constructs of the
theory, the credulous attitude and the choice corollary in relation to his
professional life and to the personal issue of retirement.
Finn
Tschudi’s “Landmarks on a personal odyssey” reflects on the wider implications
of some central concepts of PCP; his plea to apply the Sociality corollary and
the credulous attitude to psychological theories commonly despised by Kellyans,
such as behaviourism, is a healthy provocation, and potentially very
enlightening.
Jörn
Scheer’s “Reconstructing after a change in health status” starts with a
momentous event in the author’s biography, a heart attack, and traces his
attempts to make sense of it through a variety of PCP resources, from Kelly’s
biographical account of a similar experience to Scheer’s own work about the
coping strategies of myocardial infarction patients in ICUs to Linda Viney’s
model of reactions to illness.The author is somewhat disappointed in all of
these resources, and sets about construing his own experience starting from the
most evidently relevant part of his construct system, the one pertaining to
health vs. illness. I could not help but emphathize both with his attempt to
seek guidance in the PCP literature and with his having to face the limits of
scholarship with respect to first-person lived (and traumatic) experience: in
the way he goes about trying to make sense of what happened to him Scheer
reenacts the biography of every intellectual, first turning to landmarks of his
culture to get his bearings, and then realizing he has no choice but strike out
on his own.
“When
my father died on the eve of my twelfth birthday, one world ended and another
began”: Robert Neimeyer’s “Constructions of death and loss: a personal and
professional evolution” traces back the origin of the “network of enterprise”
(Gruber) which has been sustaining a major part of the author’s creative and
productive scientific career over the last thirty years to a single traumatic
experience. Neimeyer’s work in thanatology emphasizes three main foci: death
threat and anxiety, suicide intervention and grief and loss (296); the paper
presents a well-structured and helpful review of the literature, spanning
several decades and dispersed among innumerable publications.
Dennis
Hinkle’s “Reflections on the creation of a dissertation” opens with powerful
memories of Kelly: “He expressed frustration with the multitudes of people who
live unexamined lives” (319); “He advised me to do research that had personal
significance and relevance. That way, he said, you won’t lose interest so
quickly. He said the best research has personal significance, unlike so much
psychological research” (320). Hinkle’s own retrospection shows that he took
his advisor’s words seriously: “I thought of laddering as what I normally did
as a therapist and as a friend: I am very nosy and probing; I don’t simply take
things at face value; I am interested in the latent meaning […]. When I don’t
deeply understand another, I feel lonely.” Through these insights his
world-renowned research in constructivist psychometry is revealed as an attempt
to (in the words of a colleague of Robert Neimeyer, 310) “put his practice into
theory”, to analyze and systematize what worked in his human relationships and
in his therapeutic practice and to draw far-reaching and enlightening
conclusions from it. The depth of Hinkle’s commitment to reflexivity can be
gauged not only by the fact that his dissertation ended with a section called
“A brief autobiography of the present research” (reprinted in this paper) but
by his statement that “Since the conception [of my research project] was
self-reflexive, I became my most useful subject.” For me (as for too many
people in PCP) these few pages in the book were the first direct exposure to
what may well be the most quoted unpublished dissertation in the history of
psychology, and I enjoyed them immensely. Consequently, I was
thrilled to learn that an electronic version of Hinkle’s dissertation had been
made available by Fay Fransella. I am sure every reader of this review will
want to experience Hinkle’s reasoning at first hand.
In Section
VI “The Client as an Active Participant”, Naoimh
O’Connor’s “Enculturing reflexivity: non-PC lessons from study abroad” links
her experiences as an Irish teacher of American students in Italy to concepts
from cross-cultural psychology, cultural anthropology and PCP; as a native
speaker of one of the languages in which this very cross-cultural experience
took place, I am a little puzzled by the only example pertaining to Italian
which appears in the paper: “sciuro” (342) is not an Italian word, and there is
no word in Italian which even vaguely sounds or looks like it which means
“clear” as applied to a colour (whatever that in itself may mean…).
Despite
its title, Dina Pekkala’s “The icing on the sausage: the emancipation of
constructive alternativism” is not an exercise in deconstructionist cuisine,
but an exploration of the author’s experiences with clients in her anger
management practice. However, Pekkala’s kitchen figures prominently in one very
enlightening episode: the first time the author found herself living as the
only adult in a household, and thus able to make her own rules, a friend coming
to visit reacted unfavourably to her cats being allowed on the kitchen
worktops; on her second visit, seeing that the cats were there again, she
remarked that she guessed they didn’t bother Pekkala, who replied “No, it doesn’t
mean that at all, it just means I haven’t worked it out yet” (351). We have of
course all read about “suspending judgment of our present reality long enough
for new possibilities to become apparent” (351), and those of us who are
therapists have probably also relayed this to their patients as a useful piece
of advice; but I can’t help wondering how many of us are able to suspend
judgement about something that they experience several times a day for six months; I, for one, know that I am
not; and yet I also realize that change is unlikely to happen unless one is. I
have been deeply struck by this episode, and only wish the author had included
instructions on how to emulate her admirable judgement-suspending feat.
Larry
M. Leitner’s “Theory, therapy and life: experiential personal construct
psychology and the ‘desert places’ of a therapist” explores the development of
Experiential Personal Construct Psychotherapy. The author’s life work, this can
be seen, just like Harry Procter’s, as an attempt to break out of the relative
isolation in which the individual and his construing processes are viewed in
Kelly 1955 to take the constructivist idea of relationality seriously in making
sense of a reality which is by definition social. I found what Leitner reports
about his supervisors advising him “not to ‘be so sensitive’ with regard to
clients and warn[ing him] that [his] ‘sensitivity’ would empower clients to
manipulate [him] in pathological ways” (364) both frightening and revealing:
frightening because one can only shudder in horror considering what happened to
the trainee therapists who took this kind of advice seriously (and, most
importantly, to their clients…); revealing because it shows how, in a
profession purportedly devoted to exploring and honouring emotion, “sensitive”
is not a term of praise but is used as abuse to repress deviant behaviour; I am
used to vivisectionists ridiculing the “sensitivity” of students reluctant to
torture animals to death, but I was suprised (and more than a little alarmed)
in discovering that the same rhetorical weapons (and thus the same underlying
worldview) are shared by therapy supervisors, who are supposed to be training
their students not in the callous and sadistic exploitation of sentient beings
but in the professional exercise of responsible empathy.
In
the following paper, “Reflexivity, research and practice: explorations in
experiential personal construct psychology”, by Alexandra L. Adame, Anthony J.
Pavlo, Brendon M. Smith, Hugo J. Schielke, & Larry M. Leitner, some of
Leitner’s PhD students join him in discussing tapes of a therapy and discuss
the impact of EPCP on their way of thinking and of doing therapy.
I
have devoted a sizable part of my own career to the application of PCT to the
teaching of creativity in research and scholarly argument;
as a consequence I was intensely interested in the experiences Beverly M.
Walker recounts in “The joint experiment of research supervision”. I have a
deep respect for Walker’s approach, especially since she has had to face
problems with which I have never been confronted, and which I would have found
it very difficult to solve: “The overwhelming majority of the postgraduate
students I have supervised for their doctorates had begun supervision of their
thesis with someone else. […] In some cases the students had already collected
their data. Not infrequently these were data I might not have let them collect
if I had had input into the design. Here I had to help the students create a
plausible case even though I was uncomfortable with the approach” (394); this
kind of situation calls for a creative use of constructive alternativism which
would probably stretch the professional competences of most of us. Walker’s
overview of “Techniques to overcome impasses” (394-398) and the refreshingly
honest section about “My failures as supervisor” (398-400) also make for
interesting reading.
Section
VII “And finally… reflections on reflexivity” contains only one chapter, Bill
Warren’s “Critical consciousness in action: reflections on reflection in, from
and beyond personal construct psychology”. Most of it is devoted to “Relevant key
ideas from other philosophers” (408-415); coming from a very different cultural
tradition from that of the author (who in several cases seems to derive his
knowledge of the authors he discusses from secondary literature which is
neither up-to-date nor particularly enlightening) I was surprised, not to say
shocked, at the way some key figures from the history of Western philosophy are
characterized. To maintain, for example, that the Sophists “were paid to pass
on information and […] had an uncritical attitude to the information they did
pass on” (409) is to completely misunderstand the first serious and systematic
proponents of constructivism in the history of Western thought. Further,
Warren’s statement that “real knowledge is based on sound principles that are
accepted and upheld because the individual grasps their significance and truth”
(409) seems to this reviewer very hard to reconcile with a constructivist
position, in which “real knowledge” (that is, direct complete knowledge of
reality as it is independently of any personal construction of it) can by
definition never be attained by any finite subject and “principles” (constructs
in PCP parlance) are personal and can therefore never be based on universal
“truth”. This part is the one in which the overwhelming Anglocentric bias of
the volume (out of 28 contributors only two, Finn Tschudi and Jörn Scheer, do
not work in an Anglo-Saxon context) has the most evident negative impact on the
quality of the work presented: if at least two prominent theorists (and
experienced practitioners) who are often referred to in the other
contributions, Gabriele Chiari and Dušan Stojnov, had been asked to contribute
to this ambitious final theoretical section, the result would have been
considerably improved.
I
chose to defer the treatment of the two editorial contributions which open the
book because of the broader issues with which they are concerned, and which
deserve an extended discussion.
In
Chapter 1, “Coming to Terms with Personal Construct Theory”, the editor of the
volume attempts to provide, in glossary and outline form, a comprehensive
introduction to PCP as Kelly conceived of it and to its later theoretical and
clinical developments. This is of course a daunting task, and the results are
necessarily so compressed as to only be (barely!) comprehensible to readers
already thoroughly coversant with the material covered. Since this is, in my
experience, far from an isolated occurrence, it might be worthwhile to discuss
the assumption, prevalent throughout the PCT-PCP community, that introductions
and explanations should always be provided even for the most basic concepts and
formulations of the theory. I can’t help wondering if this habit could not be
interpreted as an attempt to react to the still relatively insular status of
PCT (a state of things we all find – and with good reason – absolutely
deplorable) by attempting to make PCT publications as “accessible” and as
“user-friendly” as possible. This is, of course a laudable effort; however, we
should also bear in mind that the reason why writings in the psychodynamic,
systemic or CBT traditions are perceived as more accessible is not their lack
of technical terminology but the amount of exposure readers have had to that
terminology through their education and through social discourse in general; I
do not think I am the only one to anticipate that long and systematic (and
almost illegible) introductory chapters to PCT works will not prove
particularly effective in setting that imbalance right.
An
additional problem with the first chapter is the erratic use of references in
the text: for example one is given for the theory that serial invalidation may
lead to schizophrenic thought disorder, but none are provided for the notion
that “constriction is regarded as central to depression” (p.15). Since one main
purpose for an introductory chapter conceived in this way is to provide a
systematic and comprehensive introduction to the literature, this lack of
documentation is a serious impediment.
This
is probably the best place to mention that I found the editorial policy
regarding references to be a sore point throughout the book. The normal format
of citations (author – year – page number) has been modified with the omission
of page numbers; it should be evident to anyone who ever used a reference in a
scholarly work for its intended purpose of verifying the author’s use of
another scholar’s material that this flies in the face of, and ultimately
defeats, this very aim: informing readers that a particular idea or quote comes
from “Kelly 1955”, and then leaving them to sort out its precise location in
the two volumes we are all familiar with, can only be construed as either an
inept joke or a form of abuse.
I
shall now turn to the other editorial contribution, the “Preface”, which is
largely devoted to a discussion of the theme of the volume, reflexivity. It
seems to me that the term is used to refer not to one but to two quite
different constructs between which the editor, however, does not draw a
distinction. Since I believe this to be a very important point, I will attempt
to do so here by referring to two exemplary quotes:
Reflexivity
may be understood as an act of self-reference whereby a person examines the
nature of their own actions, beliefs, idiosyncrasies and emotions – an
exploration, as it were, of one’s psychological stance. (xv)
In
concert with reflexivity, helpful psychological accounts ought to be able to
explain the construing of the theorist, as well as the people he or she is
theorising about. The notion of reflexivity assumes that the models, ideas,
methods and thinking that variously evolve should be able to subsume the
thinking which led to them. In essence, the generalizations made about other
people should be equally valid for the psychologist who makes such statements.
As the creation of any theory is a facet of human behaviour, reflexivity
demands that the theory account for its own construction. […] Reflexivity can
thus be understood as “the ability of a theory to account for the theorizing of
the theorist”
(Dunnet and Miyaguchi, 1993). (xvii)
Not
only are these two meanings of reflexivity not synonymous but, moreover
(whatever Butler says, “In concert with reflexivity”), the first one in no way
implies the second. For instance, a theory of language and a metatheory of
language (a theory of theories of language) do not have to be couched in and
accounted for in the same terms (indeed, it is impossible that this will be the
case). The second instance of reflexivity is an added requirement based not, as
Butler puts it (xv-xvi), on the “compellingly implie[d] […] dualism” between
the “self-as-I” and the “self-as-me” (the subject and object of the theory, respectively),
but, quite on the contrary, on the assumption that both “selves” work in
exactly the same way (in Kellyan terms, that they both construe, and that they
do nothing else). This, of course, is not a necessary and indispensabile
requirement of any sound and viable psychological theory but only of monistic psychological theories: the
reason why Kelly’s justly famous first and last question in his debate with
Skinner proved so devastating a blow to his opponent is that behaviourism is, just
like PCP, a monistic theory, that is, a theory which assumes that all of a
person’s processes are to be explained by a single underlying principle.
Indeed, one of the many merits of Harry Procter’s outstanding paper in this
collection is that it dares to spell out the fundamentally monistic nature of
PCP’s most basic theoretical construct, a nature which of course flies in the
face of the theory’s assertions about dichotomy.
(Of course I can hear the readers of this journal protesting in unison that
behaviourism is a form of reductionism while PCP isn’t; well, just as
“relativism” has no independent existence as a philosophical entity but is
simply what realists call constructivism because they don’t like it,
“reductionism” is simply what we all – realists and constructivists alike –
call forms of monism we don’t like.) If Kelly had asked Freud how
psychoanalytic theory was to be explained in terms of Freud’s own unconscious
processes and fantasies, Freud would have been completely justified in replying
that a scientific theory is – or should be – the product of conscious ego
processes, and that its roots in the proponent’s unconscious should play no
role in a discussion of its intellectual merits.
Because of its allowing – indeed,
demanding – that a theory comply with the requirements of both brands of
reflexivity, monism may seem like a very good idea. However, some of its
practical shortcomings should also be considered, especially since these
shortcomings are implicitly and obliquely addressed by some of the most
methodologically thorny parts of Kelly’s indications for clinical practice.
When Kelly writes that therapists use professional constructs to construe
patients and implies that they use nothing else
– a fantastic claim which makes it possible for him to formulate the equally
fantastic claim that in dealing with clients the therapist should use a
“subsuming construct system” which is “primarily methodological” (thus refusing
to acknowledge the role of the therapist’s personal construct system in his construing
of the client, Kelly, 1955, II 595) – what he is doing is nothing more nor less
than trying to deal with a potentially paralyzing consequence of monism:
infinite regress. It is always possible to construe any construction of any
construction, and so on ad infinitum;
however, therapy, as a practical endeavour, must decide that it has hit rock
bottom somewhere, and that somewhere had better not be too much out of the
therapist’s depth. I am perfectly aware of the huge practical import of these
considerations, and of the consequent temptation not to deal with them lest
this open up a methodological can of worms which might have paralyzing
consequences both on the training of therapists and on professional practice;
however, to my mind this should rather be a reason to devote much more
attention, in a much more systematic way, to therapists’ personal constructs
than has so far been the case at least in PCP literature, if not in training
practice.
Endnotes
Whose relatively late
appearance in Bannister’s life took the form of a conversion or epiphany:
Fransella relates “While watching television that night [after spending the
afternoon in the library reading Kelly for the first time] he [Bannister] found
that he was making sense of what was happening on the screen in personal
construct terms” (58). I find this anecdote particularly moving because of the
way it resonates not only with my own experience but with that of a number of
people who have entrusted me with their memories of their first encounters with
PCT, which are reminiscent of nothing so much as the experience of sudden and
definitive religious conversion (or, in less ideologically loaded terms, of the
discovery of one’s sexual identity). I firmly believe that the forms and
results of PCTers’ encounters with PCP should be investigated systematically.
The main outcome of this
effort is a hefty volume (unfortunately written in Italian), Carmen
Dell’Aversano & Alessandro Grilli, La
scrittura argomentativa. Dal saggio breve alla tesi di dottorato, Firenze,
Le Monnier 2005, which outlines and demonstrates a PCT-based step-by-step
procedure which leads from the first observations on an object of study to the
final revision of a scholarly paper in the humanities and social sciences.
According to an
unconfirmed anecdote, Kelly asked Skinner what stimulus behaviorist theory was
a response to.
His
speculations about the submerged pole of the construct, informed by many
decades of meditation practice (37), are just as daring, and every bit as
interesting.
But the psychologist is himself a person; hence, his psychological
processes follow his own personal constructs. Other psychologists are persons
too. If there is to be a common understanding of the client, there must be
commonality in the way he is construed. If there is to be a constructive social
process involving the client – for example, therapy – the person who is to play
the role of therapist must subsume the constructs of the subject rather than
merely interpret his overt behavior. All this means that we cannot consider the
psychology of personal constructs a phenomenological theory, if that means
ignoring the personal constructs of the psychologist who does the observing.
What the personal construct
psychologist does is first attempt to describe accurately the highest level of
abstraction in his subject’s system at the lowest level of abstraction in his
own. […] Data, when considered as such by the psychologist, are relatively
concrete elements awaiting some sort of construction. (Kelly, 1955, I 174)
What I find fascinating
in the first paragraph is that the last sentence does not follow in any
intelligible way from what has been said before: the attitude we are being
warned against, “ignoring the personal constructs of the psychologist who does
the observing”, is exactly what makes it possible to be optimistic about the possibility
of commonality and subsuming, which are presented as unproblematic steps in the
understanding of the client immediately before.
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ABOUT THE
AUTHOR
Carmen Dell'Aversano: I teach at the
Facoltà di Lettere e filosofia of Pisa University and in several psychotherapy
training institues of various orientations in Italy. I am an animal
rights activist (http://www.icare-worldwide.org) and an artist (http://www.shadowsoftheworld.com).
My main research
interests are literary theory and criticism, rhetorics, animal studies, radical
constructivism, personal construct psychology, and the epistemology of the
human and social sciences.
The most
fundamental driving force in what I do, both as a scholar and as an activist,
is the questioning, critiqueing and crossing of boundaries between disciplines,
theoretical orientations, and social roles (academic/activist, artist/critic,
professor/student...).
Email: aversano@angl.unipi.it Correspondence address: Dipartimento di
Anglistica, Via S. Maria 76, 56126 Pisa, Italy Home Page: http://pisa.academia.edu/CarmenDellAversano
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REFERENCE
Dell'Aversano. Review of Butler, R. J. (Ed.): Reflections in personal construct theory. (2009).
Personal
Construct Theory & Practice, 7, 65-73, 2010 (Retrieved from http://www.pcp-net.org/journal/pctp10/dellaversano-butler10.html)
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Received: 9 August 2010 - Accepted: 10 August 2010 -
Published: 12 August 2010 |
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