On reading ...

I’m impressed. You’ve opened a page that will require a five minute read. Most people wouldn’t.
    Social media has trained us to be snackers when it comes to reading. Posts and memes are like potato chips. We keep consuming one after another until they sicken us. Our craving for something significant remains unsatisfied. Political opinion is all tribal declarations now, not about the good of society and the wellbeing of others as well as ourselves. Opinions fed by other opinions corrode our ability to think for ourselves.
    But there is another sort of reading, reading to help us to think more deeply, add nuance, challenge existing beliefs and opinions. If you read my blog, you’re probably such a reader.
    Six years ago I decided I’d read to broaden my understanding of the world. It had gotten progressively narrowed with my life work as a psychologist. Back then I had to read to stay current with professional practice competency. What was “current” in the professional literature was ideologically constricted by the culture of the profession.
    And so in retirement my decision was to alternate fiction and non-fiction books. You can find the bookshelves of several dozen books and their reviews elsewhere on this website (Wilton’s Reads). I’ve been doing this for six years now, and then … suddenly … 
    My last non-fiction (actually it was a two book set) mentioned a novel that was also worth reading. Fiction and non-fiction could be connected, not separate pursuits but about the same thing. 
    Well, that’s interesting.
    I’d noticed the majority of readers stick to one or the other. There are fiction readers (often confined to a particular genre) and there are non-fiction readers (often confined to a particular discipline). For a writer of non-fiction (a professor of history, no less) to mention a worthwhile novel busts the barrier down.
    So here it is: Timothy Snyder, in his back pocket book On Tyranny mentioned the value of reading Milan Kundera’s Unbearable Lightness of Being.
    So I read it. 
    Oh, I should mention a friend had also recommended the novel to me, because a family member had recommended it to her and they’d both loved it. Such is the way with books that make one think. 
    As I dug more deeply into Snyder’s historical and philosophical analysis in his subsequent book On Freedom it was clear that Kundera’s powerful, provocative and disturbing story had influenced, perhaps even was a source for, the central theme in Snyder’s two books. Of course, there were other aspects of Snyder’s life experience and academic career as a historian stewed together in On Freedom. However …, well, I shall explain.     
    Snyder talks about two different ways of relating to others. One relational pattern is transactional and self-serving. Those relationships are predicable and constraining. They can lead to oppression and exploitation. Consider social media with its algorithms and misinformation. But then there’s another relational pattern, the empathy-driven acceptance of, and engagement with, others. For us to be truly free, all people need to have the self-same freedom we wish for ourselves. Within that freedom we act in solidarity with others to promote the wellbeing of all.
    The contrast of these two relational patterns is illustrated in Kundera’s novel written forty years before. The novel’s tragic plot takes us deeply into the subjective lives of its characters. The central character, Tomas, is trapped in a sexual addiction, iconic of the self-serving relationship pattern. He has glimmers within himself of the more fulfilling, other way of relating but can’t break his addictive behaviour. Tomas’ partner, Tereza, manifests a much deeper and more meaningful relationship pattern and engagement with the world around her.
    What strikes me is the publication order of these two books. The subjective depiction of the theme was written first in the Kundera’s novel (published 1984). Snyder’s objective analysis was published in 2024. Snyder adopts this as a template in On Freedom, reflecting on his experience of earlier times in his life as a foundation for the thought process later. Is there a fundamental rhythm here? Do we know through experiencing first, sensing that there is something there, then we seek to understand and explain it?
    This has taken me back to being a psychotherapist and the years I spent supervising psychologists coming into the practice. The culture of professional psychology devalues the subjective, endeavouring to make the whole process objective and transactional. Graduates in applied psychology come into the therapy room after years absorbing an objectified view of human adaptive dysfunction and emotional suffering. They’d learned diagnostic algorithms, theories of treatment and the protocols for applying them. 
    Then, alas, my unsuspecting supervisees got me! 
    I often asked the provocative question “how did you feel when you were with that client?” I intended the question to aid in understanding the subjective experience of the client with others, the ways others would react or respond to them. But the question itself took my supervisee out of the objective world of symptom and disorder into the interpersonal world, the real world in which the subjectivity of one person engages with the subjectivity of the other. 
    Over the course of my career I came to believe the subjective self of the psychotherapist bubbles forth from deeper processes of the human mind, the place of integration for knowledge and experience, the well-spring of creativity and intuition. Out of this subjective self comes exquisite awareness and genuine presence with the client.
    Of course, all of this is a matter of balance. Throughout my career I still valued the work of the science side of psychology, it’s just that it couldn’t stand alone. Standing alone it is objectifying and transactional. Likewise, when there is only subjectivity, judgmental attitudes and exploitive behaviours emerge. 
    When both are held in balance, knowledge emerges into the sphere of wisdom, empathy is fueled by compassion rather than being a therapy technique, and the therapy room becomes unpredictably rich in supporting the wellbeing of the client. 
    I will keep reading non-fiction because it tells me about the world. I will keep reading fiction because it tells me about what it is like to live in the world. And I’ll try to keep my snacking to a minimum.