April 10, 2008
Hello everyone,
Most of you who have been on this mailing list for any period have surely noticed that I have become rather remiss about getting newsletters written in a timely fashion. There are several factors that explain this trend, most of which are explainable by three overlapping points: (1) I have been perhaps busier this semester than I have in a long time, (2) my schedule this semester is set up in such a way that it has drastically interrupted the previous cycle of writing newsletters, and (3) I have been going through personal changes that have caused me to re-evaluate many of my ideas and beliefs. The latter is the most accurate explanation for my prolonged release dates, but it is surely helped along by the former as well, particularly as I have spent the last two weeks resuscitating two computers. Changes in our thoughts and beliefs are not particularly uncommon during certain seasons of life, and they ideally require time and care to process. However, a busy schedule does not leave adequate time for this sort of reflection, and thus I have often felt out of touch with myself, my thoughts, and my feelings. But I am definitely changing as well, and busyness does not sufficiently answer to that observation. Old questions have lingered even as new ideas have been introduced, and the resulting synthesis has called for more private introspection. Writing newsletters as I have been doing now faithfully since 2001 is not exactly a private enterprise, and a break from their more public nature has been in order
I do think that the changes have, by and large, been good ones. I am very optimistic that what lies on the other side of this transition is greater self-awareness and a sense of being much more comfortable in my own skin, owning my own opinions more, and finding within myself greater transparency, authenticity, and honesty. I make no apologies for these things; in fact, I consider such a process vital to growth, for without it we stagnate and die. Such seasons are generally not particularly pleasant to undergo, because new growth almost always involves the atrophy and ultimate death of the old. Put differently, growth involves change, and change can and often does involve growth
I have plans at the moment to continue writing newsletters, though they will likely continue to be more sporadic, at least as I pass through this season in my life. And whereas the newsletters have become more scarce, in other ways I have become more public, not least of which in the classes I teach. This semester has been a rewarding and pleasurable one, and a great deal of my attention and energy has been directed toward it
With teaching in view, many of you may recall that back in November of 2006, I sent out a newsletter that formed an introduction to the so-called “Rogerian argument.” That newsletter, entitled To Argue with Delicacy and Grace, was the textbook introduction to the thought of American psychoanalyst Carl Rogers, the man who supplies the argument with its name. There was a second half that went along with the 2006 introduction as well, which was an essay written by Carl Rogers. I did not then include it in the interest of length. However, this semester I have been teaching what is known as the Diplomat’s Essay, which follows a model of argumentation similar to this one, albeit somewhat less sophisticated. Now, as we are leaving this unit of the course, I shared with my students the entire essay, both the chapter that formed To Argue with Delicacy and Grace as well as Carl Roger’s own thoughts. As I have re-read it again, it seems very relevant to these newsletters
As a brief refresher, we should note that the textbook was written in the 70s, which suggests that Roger’s essay was written earlier still. For that reason, it is a bit antiquated in its references, drawing many examples from the Cold War and the totality of the so-called McCarthy era. Put differently, it is written by an American psychoanalyst very much caught up in his country’s concern over communism and in particular with its Russian opponents. Far from detracting from the content of the essay, I think these allusions only add relevance. For one thing, such references are far enough removed from the political debates of our time that it is not likely to rouse political indignation. Further, because it was written in a bygone era, it invites comparisons to our own time that in themselves prove interesting, casting unforeseen and unexpected rays on the situations that dominate our own political world
On the whole, however, the essay is not “political” in the negative sense many ascribe to politics, disillusioned by or tired of the inflated rhetorics, ridiculous posturings, and questionable decisions made by public figures. Rather, Roger’s essay has ultimately to do with communication and therapy, therapy and communication. In a phrase, Roger’s essay deals with fundamental humanity. In the words of the textbook introduction featured in To Argue with Delicacy and Grace: “Rogerian argument rests on the assumption that out of a need to preserve the stability of his image, a person will refuse to consider alternatives that he feels are threatening, and hence, that changing a person’s image depends on eliminating this sense of threat.” That is, communication involves far more than both persuasion and the transmission of ideas, it involves the fundamental aspects of being alive and aware as a living, breathing human being. What we all long for, perhaps more than anything else, is to be appreciated and understood. Understanding, then, is at the heart of Rogerian argumentation
God bless,
Eric
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