Psychology and the Fathers
Psychology and mental health are much talked about today. Even as the definition of psychological normality becomes increasingly nebulous, there is a genuine desire to encourage those with mental illness to get the help they need without shame. As salutary as this is, the Catholic is confronted with the question, to what extent is modern psychology compatible with Catholicism? Not all psychological theories are made equal. If Thomas Kuhn has shown that there are no brute facts in the hard sciences, there are none a fortiori in the study of psychological phenomena, wherein our self-interpretation of our own experience is packaged in social, cultural, and intellectual wrappings, to the point that these factors can transform psychological experience itself. “To understand at all is to interpret,” as David Tracy concisely put it.
Since the 1960s critics have noted the importance of such “wrappings” for the field of psychiatry. From opposite ends of the political spectrum both Michel Foucault1 and Thomas Szasz2 critiqued the orthodoxies of the psychiatric field, arguing that concepts like “mental illness” mask ethical judgments with scientific rhetoric. In reality, they argue, psychiatry serves to enshrine the values of the educated elite of a given time and place as objective science that is beyond question—trust the science. Neither Szasz nor Foucault applied their argument to the re-vitalization of pre-modern approaches to psychotherapy. Rather, they held that the field of psychology must become non-dogmatic, prioritizing the patient’s goals and consent. In reaction to the golden age of coercive and invasive psychiatry—which employed such techniques as lobotomies and electroshock therapy on unwilling patients—such an open-ended, relativistic view of psychiatry is reasonable. Nonetheless, one could just as well take their critiques as justification for establishing psychiatry on sound philosophic grounds. Indeed, since the 1970s, the psychiatric profession has become less hostile to the spiritual realm, even if it is only at the level of acquiring cultural sensitivity and a facility with religious concepts for those patients who desire it.
Although modern psychology has developed since the nineteenth century, there is a great deal of psychological insight in the Catholic tradition, especially in monastic literature. As in so many areas of theology, the patristic age is foundational. For an overview of the Fathers’ approach, we turn to Jean-Claude Larchet’s excellent Thérapeutique des Maladies Mentales (its English translation has been published as Mental Disorders & Spiritual Healing: Teachings from the Early Christian East [Angelico, 2005]).
The Fathers’ View of Human Psychology
First we must understand the Fathers’ fundamental anthropological presuppositions. Whereas much of our modern attitudes towards the mind is heavily affected by the Cartesian split between mind and body, the Fathers generally held to a hylomorphic view of the relationship between body and soul. The interweaving of material and immaterial elements brings forth concrete, experiential reality. Whence, even though the human being qua human being is logikos—that is, capable of knowing and communicating his experience of reality through a network of symbols—the human being experiences reality as a composite whole that can be analyzed into vegetative, sensitive, and intellectual elements. Vegetative perception is, analogously speaking, said to be shared with plants. Sensitive perception is likewise shared with animals. Intellectual or rational perception, however, is particular to human beings. In turn, the Fathers tend to divide man’s rational power into various levels. The highest is denoted by nous (mens in Latin). The nous is the imago Dei created and implanted in man, obscured by sin, but capable, by grace, of total communion with God. Though fully present in man as a material being, the nous is the faculty by which man is able to perceive immaterial realities: “that which the eyes are for the body, so the nous is for the soul,” says John Damascene.3
Since these different elements of the soul are interwoven, man’s rational faculty re-shapes man’s experience of vegetative and sensitive perception, but likewise the vegetative and sensitive can affect the intellectual. As Gregory of Nyssa states, “The soul, even if it does not manifest itself openly by certain activities, is not thereby less present in the embryo…it is present but invisible…The activities of the soul develop in correlation with the formation and perfection of the body that receives it.”4 Likewise he compares the body to a wind instrument through which the spirit “blows”: just as a faulty instrument produces sour notes, so lack of care for the body impedes the soul’s expression.5 Sleep deprivation and nutritional deficiencies, for example, can give rise to intense psychological symptoms. In turn, the body can be the locus of treatment: diet, bathing, fasting, exercise, physical postures in prayer, music (as a physical phenomenon), etc. are all tools available for spiritual healing. At the same time, we might have experienced psychosomatic symptoms, wherein a mental error might produce anxiety and therefore physical symptoms. Therefore, given this anthropological background, one must take care to determine whether a given manifestation of mental illness, such as depression, has its origin in the vegetative (such as malnutrition), sensitive (such as the fight or flight instinct), or intellectual (such as dread).
Through Origen and Evagrius, the Fathers drew from Stoic psychology as well.6 The Stoics analyze cognition into three components: one must distinguish between sign (tò sēmaînon, res significans), signification (tò sēmainómenon, res significata), and the existing thing itself (tò phántasma,7 res). “Sign” refers principally to words or symbols, such as the name “Socrates”; “signification” denotes the concept that is communicated by the sign, such as the person and character of Socrates; the existing thing would, in this case, be the living, breathing, and concrete human being—Socrates in the flesh. Error can arise from any one of these. One might employ the wrong sign, one might misapprehend a concept or misuse a concept, and likewise one might misapprehend his concrete experience. Moreover, misuse of signs and significations might cloud one’s perception of existing reality. The inveterate Marxist might struggle to “see” the transcendental beauty of a cathedral, for he can only see in such a work of art the ideological superstructure that justifies the oppression of the lower classes. Likewise the chronically depressed individual might be unable to “see” all of the positive qualities of his life because he has unconsciously habituated his perception to do otherwise. Thus the human being is construed as engaged in constant interaction with his environment. On the one hand, existing objects constantly radiate phenomena to be grasped by the human mind, and, on the other hand, the human mind is constantly “reaching out” to grasp such phenomena. The objects that radiate such phenomena are not limited to concrete items, such as persons, animals, and things. A memory, word, or concept can be such an object. Moreover, thoughts may originate in one’s own body, or one’s own mind, as well as in external sources.
For this reason, the Fathers counsel vigilance (nēpsis) with regard to “the passions” (tà páthē) and “thoughts” or “calculations” (logismoi). Logismoi arise both from our constant self-interpretation of our experience—the stream of consciousness—and from demonic activity (of which, more anon). Vigilance calls for one to cultivate awareness of his constant inner monologue and unconscious actions; moreover one must dissociate oneself from his thoughts, analyzing them and testing them in light of reality. By definition, the passions are psychological phenomena that assault us from the outside, as it were. Without taking care, we may unthinkingly cooperate with these suggestive thoughts, further distorting our perception of reality. Evagrius’ list of the generic passionate logismoi, better known as the seven deadly sins, could be better understood as suggestions to embrace the unreal, and therefore death: gluttony, impurity, avarice, sadness, anger, acedia, vanity, and pride. In turn, the process of testing and refuting these passions requires dialogue, both through prayer and conversation with one’s spiritual father (or mother). Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy is arguably such an exercise in nēpsis, wherein the imprisoned saint dialogues with Lady Wisdom herself. Here, Wisdom dismantles Boethius’ thoughts both by analyzing their irrational content and by presenting to Boethius a broader, healthier, and truer vision of reality than that conveyed by his passionate thoughts.
Even if the originating cause of a passion is, say, a traumatic memory that stimulates logismoi of self-hatred, one must take care to note that this thought does not originate in the core of one’s personality—the imago Dei. The truth of oneself, as intentionally created by God, cannot but be good and beautiful, yet the passions alienate us from ourselves. Whence the goal of the Christian life is to acquire dispassion, apatheia through the grace of Christ. This is not to be confused with “apathy”—listlessness and quietism. Rather, dispassion denotes a state of tranquility, peace, and joy. Just as a still pond reflects the light of the sun more perfectly than perturbed water, so the soul that has acquired stillness (hēsychía) more perfectly reflects the light, love, and grace of God. Through communion with God one comes to commune with his true self and vice versa.
What of demonic activity? Films like The Exorcist dramatize the most extreme form of demonic influence, namely corporeal possession. Most demonic activity, however, is far more subtle. As disembodied, immaterial minds, demons work primarily through the working of the imagination as well as our memory, producing the aforementioned “passionate thoughts.” (logismoi). While experience and mastery in the spiritual realm are necessary to discern the spirits, Larchet opines that, in a general manner, inasmuch as one gives way to the passions, one could say that demonic activity has been given a foothold.8 Baptism is a powerful barrier to the workings of demons, for it “grants us the freedom from unwilling submission to the tyranny of the devil”9 but sin, especially mortal sin, weakens one’s defenses against the demons. St. Diadochus of Photice says that “The destruction that comes when one turns from God bears the soul that refuses to possess God unto the demons like a prisoner.”10
In general, prayer and the sacraments are sufficient to ward off the attacks of demons. Origen states that invoking the name of Jesus is particularly effective: “The name of Jesus chases away the confusions of the mind, the demons, and illnesses.”11 Likewise the sign of the cross can be effective means of warding off demons, as Callinicus reports of St. Hypatius: “the Lord had given him the grace of healing to such a degree that by his prayer and by the seal of Christ (i.e., the sign of the cross), he would chase away even the most terrible demons.”12 For more severe cases of demon-induced madness, an exorcist would be necessary.
Application to Modern Problems
Having laid out in a very sketchy way the rudiments of the Fathers’ approach to psychology, perhaps it might be possible to apply their method to a current problem. Just recently Fr. James Martin, SJ, has sponsored a conference for LGBT Catholics at Georgetown University, honored by the presence of Cardinal Gregory as well as the endorsement of Pope Francis. The general tenor of the conference was that of accommodation: the mental states of the LGBT are accepted as unchangeable and unchallengeable. The Church must make room for them, just as a previously segregated parish must make room for parishioners of different ethnic groups. What might the Fathers say about this argument? What might they say about transgenderism and homosexuality? In brief, it is never rational to override reality for the sake of the passions, though the careful physician might need to be creative when nursing a particular soul back to health. On the one hand, the Fathers tend to emphasize compassion, gentleness, sensitivity, and personal care of the soul, especially for those who are afflicted with chronic maladies: whence the importance of spiritual fatherhood and the cultivation of fellowship with other Christians. On the other hand, the utter reality of Christ and the Christian life is so palpable to the Fathers, that the radical re-working of it required by the LGBT movement would not be possible. Both homosexuality and transgenderism are manifestations of passionate self-alienation—perhaps, in certain cases, intensified by demonic activity. In both cases the expression of one’s sexual desire masks a deeper, yet frustrated, existential desire that must be teased out. Likewise, both are motivated by the notion that wholeness can only be found in the acquisition of certain earthly goods, such as a loving relationship. Hope in earthly things, however, fuels both sadness and anger. As St. John Climacus says, “the man who has come to detest the world has escaped sadness, but he who is attached to whatsoever is visible is not yet delivered from sadness. For how can one not be saddened if one is deprived of that which one loves?”13 As with many addictions—or, perhaps more similar, co-dependency—the compulsive drive for the “fix” is rooted in a thwarting of desire, which is misdirected from its proper end—ultimately God—to a lesser object, now become the repository of all of one’s hopes. Thus a sort of patristic psychotherapy would focus on re-presenting the Christian vision of reality through concrete encounters with loving relationships in Christ—in liturgy, in prayer, and in others (especially, again, one’s spiritual father). Likewise relational participation in the Christian vision of reality—most especially in the liturgy—might serve to “re-calibrate” the eros of one suffering from passions of homosexuality or transgenderism (or, for that matter, sexual addiction and co-dependency, which are similar passions, even if expressed heterosexually).
In conclusion, the Fathers provide us with a rich groundwork for considering psychological questions today. The astute psychologist would not find it troublesome, I believe, to marry the particular findings of contemporary psychological research with the Fathers’ metaphysical foundations, as well as their practical suggestions. Overall, however, we must keep in mind that it is Christ who is the master physician and the prime healer. I will close with an anonymous anecdote from a fifth century collection of the Desert Fathers. Here an apparition of Christ speaks to a monk afflicted with shame, self-hatred, and compunction. Upon stretching out his hand and anointing the monk’s heart, Christ says “Do not be distressed, do not be distressed. God will help you in the future. Because you were grieved, I am not grieving over you anymore. I gave my blood for you; how much more so, then, [shall I give] my loving-kindness to each soul that repents?”14
Endnotes
1 cf. Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason (1961)
2 cf. The Myth of Mental Illness (1961)
3 Larchet, 39.
4 Larchet, 32.
5 Larchet, 47.
6 Cf. Ron Hall, Secundum Naturam (Farmington, CT: Stoic Therapy, 2020).
7 I.e., that which shows itself or presents phenomena (“appearances”).
8 Larchet, 63.
9 Larchet, 64, citing St. Symeon the New Theologian.
10 Larchet, 61.
11 Larchet, 78.
12 Larchet, 79.
13 Larchet, 118.
14 John Wortley, tr., The Book of the Elders: Sayings of the Desert Fathers (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2012), 297.
TITLE IMAGE: St. Jerome, Workshop of Marinus van Reymerswaele (1490–).
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