 ‘Let’s set the world afire.’ (Francis Xavier) If you’re unfamiliar with Ash Wednesday, it’s a Christian ritual that marks the beginning of a season of preparing ourselves spiritually as we approach Easter. In some traditions, it’s marked by receiving a symbol of a cross of ash on the forehead: a sign of our own weakness and our need for God. It’s a time to face up to, in ourselves and in the world, what Francis Spufford calls the ‘human propensity to f*** things up’. Lent, the period that leads from Ash Wednesday to Easter, is an opportunity to do just that. It challenges us to speak truth to ourselves about our part in the mess; to look at God as if in a mirror and to see ourselves and the world through his eyes. It calls us to look beneath our daily distractions to Someone infinitely more important. On this theme, I loved reading Meghan Ashley’s reflections (below). With real honesty and a touch of light-hearted humour, she expresses the spirit of Ash Wednesday beautifully: ‘I STILL get excited to see what type of cross the priest gave me and if he gave me a good one. Last year, I got a really light one that looked like a smudge. I went to work, and a coworker informed me that I had something on my head. MAJOR FACE PALM. Why couldn’t I just get a good cross to match my coordinating outfit?! I was prepped and ready for a good one!! Ughhh. However, I learned a good lesson that day. The lesson totally makes me realize that I’m a little distracted by the facade and should focus on the crazy, mind-blowing meaning… right?! My ashes remind me to grieve my division from God because of my sinning. That is BIG stuff. Grande. We have such beautiful rich traditions and spirituality, that it’s so easy to take it at 'face' value.’ And today, more than ever, I remind myself: ‘In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.’ (George Orwell)
14 Comments
 ‘Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.’ (Franz Kafka) It felt painful to find myself nodding in agreement with some of the things J.D. Vance said at the Munich Security Conference last week. Painful to hear such a stinging critique of freedom of expression from a representative of a President that publicly and shamelessly hunts down his own opponents. Painful to hear the announcement of what sounded like the heralding of a potential ending of a special relationship (ironic, perhaps, on Valentines Day). Painful to see the shock and surprise of European leaders caught so off guard by such an entirely predictable US stance. Painful most of all, however, was the reality and truth in Vance's assertion that the biggest threat to Western democracy isn’t foreign aggression from outside, but the erosion of free speech from within. The UK is leading the charge in policing thought, with others in Europe following close behind. Although some of the finer details in Vance’s speech were to be rightly challenged by fact-checking, the thrust of his argument calls for careful and urgent consideration; not the defensive denials we witnessed from hurt leaders wringing their hands, as if misunderstood. [Are you concerned about defending free speech? See: Free Speech Union; Alumni for Free Speech]  ‘Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.' (Pema Chödrön) Sunday evening this week, a trip to Germany. I was taken aback by the curt responses I received from some airport staff when transferring between flights, and witnessed from some cabin crew members towards passengers on the plane. It was and felt unusual, very different to what I’d experienced and seen on my many visits to Germany before. It made me wonder what demands and stresses these staff are facing, especially perhaps with tightening pressures in Germany on immigration and border control as it approaches its general election this month. It reminded me of an appraisal workshop I ran with Sue Powell, a gifted coach and trainer who’d worked internationally too. We were exploring a human tendency to judge others by their actions and, by contrast, ourselves by our intentions. Sue invited participants, in 2s, simply to stand in the room facing each other. Then, in silence, she invited them to imagine vividly, ‘This person is a problem’, and to notice how they felt as they did so. Then, ‘This person has a problem.’ And finally, ‘This person is like me, trying to do their best, yet has their ups and downs.’ Participants fed back in plenary how their feelings towards the other person had changed as they made these shifts in what they were telling themselves about that person; with an increase in empathy as the activity progressed. They also reflected on how, if it had been an appraisal conversation, what they were saying to themselves about the other could well have influenced reactions and outcomes, without necessarily being aware of it. So, there’s something here about grace and truth, addressing issues honestly whilst taking a compassionate stance.  ‘For every fixed idea there is an absent idea: by interpreting experience in a particular way we inadvertently exclude alternative renditions.’ (Peter Senge) It’s tricky being human. We are so easily trapped by our assumptions. Imagine this scenario (mirroring Chris Argyris and Peter Senge’s Ladder of Inference): You arrange a meeting with a colleague from whom you need input and you race back from another appointment to ensure you arrive on time. To your frustration and dismay, the other person doesn’t turn up. You call them but there’s no answer. What sort of thing goes through your mind? It could be:
That reminds me of Stephen Covey’s observation that, often, ‘We judge others by their actions but ourselves by our intentions.’ If this happens, you’re likely to feel devalued and disrespected – and that will have a negative impact on your relationship. Yet how to challenge yourself to create a shift in perspective and, thereby, to open up fresh possibilities for moving things forward? Jean Latting and V. Jean Ramsey offer a useful ‘3 Hypotheses Technique’: The first step is to notice and take note of what you assume the person’s action or behaviour means – that is, if you like, your starting hypothesis. The second step is to assume the person has a positive intention – which would be, in this case, the reverse of your initial hypothesis. The third step is to assume the person is, for instance, being driven by external circumstances that are beyond their control – that is, to imagine or create an alternative explanation. Playing with hypotheses like this can help us loosen the grip that hidden, subconscious assumptions can hold over our thinking, how we feel and how we respond. It helps us recognise when we may be jumping to conclusions without realising it – especially when we’re feeling anxious, pressured or stressed – and it can evoke a constructive and healthy state of curiosity, allowing us to navigate situations and relationships with greater freedom, flexibility and truth.  ‘Tomorrow is the first blank page of a 365-page book. Write a good one.’ (Brad Paisley) It was my first time at a Greenbelt Festival in the UK and I remember wearing simple sandals made from recycled car tyres and a leather headband to keep my hair out of my face. I painted a cross on my forehead, carried a bamboo flute (which I couldn’t play) and walked with friends amidst the crowds towards the centre stage. Radical social activist, Jim Wallis, was the keynote and he spoke passionately about a place in the Bible where Jesus reveals who and what matters to him in this world. I felt spellbound. It resonated deeply with my own spiritual convictions – nothing to do with religious moralising and everything to do with a vision, an ethic, a possibility, a relationship. ‘I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ In this narrative, those to whom Jesus is speaking were puzzled and asked when they had done this. ‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ Jesus was sharing with astonishing clarity the lens through which he views our priorities and relationships. The way we treat others in need – the poor, the outsider, the sick, the oppressed – is the way that Jesus considers we reflect and treat him. Please God, as we enter this new year: shine your light of love, truth and hope through my life with ever-increasing brightness. ‘Truth is the first casualty of war, they say. In fact, it’s more often freedom and reason.’ (Brendan O’Neill) I was wrong. I didn’t imagine that Russia would actually launch a full-scale assault on Ukraine. I felt sick, shocked and dismayed as the news unfolded this week. I can only imagine how it must feel for Ukrainians to find their country under attack and for Russians to discover their country has started a war. I felt near-despair too as I listened to rhetoric in the UK Parliament and media in the immediate wake of the invasion, denouncing neo-fascist Russian nationalism and imperialism whilst, at the same time, silencing any voices of dissent here with words like ‘appeasement’ and ‘treason’. There are insights from various psychological fields that can help us, yet we know from arenas such as cognitive and human givens therapies that our receptivity and ability to reason is impacted profoundly when overwhelmed by feeling. Emotions like anger, resentment and fear are running high at the moment; and understandably so because this crisis and all that it could mean are very real and being experienced by real people, families and communities here-and-now – and that makes it hard to think clearly. Yet we must think, and pray, and act with wisdom, and quickly. I can only guess what’s in Putin’s mind. The geopolitical dimensions to this conflict are complex and well beyond my ability to know or understand. I can, however, speak as a citizen or the West. I spent many years working closely with an anti-Nazi activist in Germany. I learned that we need to pay very careful attention to the conditions in which otherwise insane decisions will appear and feel rational. Hitler and the Nazis were supported and elected in Germany by many with great enthusiasm against a specific contextual backdrop: in Gestalt psychology, the ‘ground’ that gives rise to a ‘figure’. The ’ground’ out of which the current crisis has developed is very complex indeed. It includes: a long cultural history in Russia of autocratic leadership; the brutal and devastating Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union from (geographically) the West; a loss of Russian power and self-esteem following the collapse of the Soviet Union; the subsequent expansion of the NATO military alliance eastwards towards Russia’s borders; the expansion of the EU economic block eastwards to (potentially) incorporate Ukraine; a corresponding and growing sense of vulnerability and resentment in Russia. Does this suggest that the West has somehow caused the war in Ukraine? No. Correlation of these factors does not mean causation. Putin has made his own decisions. Does it suggest that the West has contributed to creating the conditions under which Putin’s decision became more likely? That’s a question I believe, in the midst of our justifiable outrage at Russia’s unjustifiable actions, we would do well to consider with prayer, humility and critical reflexivity. We stand at the edge of a dangerous precipice and, to move forward, we need very different thinking to that which brought us here. How do you spot, address and avoid falling into the delusion trap?
The problem with being deluded is that, when we’re in a deluded state, we don’t know we’re deluded. The word delusion comes from the same Latin root as deceived. If we knew we were being deceived when we are being deceived, we wouldn’t believe that which deceives us. So delusion can be something about being deceived and about deceiving ourselves too. It carries negative connotations of being firmly convinced of something that doesn’t correspond with reality or truth. The recent UK referendum on EU membership drew this phenomenon into sharp focus. After the results were announced, people on both sides of the debate commented that they were completely bemused that people on the other side had voted differently. Given that, in each side’s view, the ‘correct’ decision was clear, unambiguous and self-evident, they concluded that the most plausible explanation for the difference was that people on the other side had somehow been deceived. This begs interesting questions about who was deluded in making such claims and how we could know for sure what the reality and truth were in order to decide. Is there a definitive, unequivocal truth to be unearthed in such circumstances? Or is what appears to us as truth a reflection of how we construe complex and ambiguous ‘facts’ psychologically and culturally to create a coherent narrative that resonates with our beliefs and feelings and provides a sense of meaning for us? There are two important signals I have found it useful to look out for. If a person states an opinion as fact, I will challenge and invite them to personalise it: e.g. ‘This meeting is boring’ to, ‘I’m feeling bored in this meeting.’ If a person uses a word or phrase like, ‘Clearly’ or, ‘Obviously’, I will challenge them to reframe and personalise it too: e.g. ‘Clearly’ to, ‘It seems clear to me that’. This simple, practical technique can create a very significant shift in awareness, perspective – and choice. ‘I’m overweight because I’m heavier than I should be.’ ‘It’s pitch dark in here because there is no light.’ ‘My laptop isn’t working because it’s broken.’ What’s wrong with these statements? On the face of it, they have a ring of truth about them, a sense of plausibility. However, they’re all illustrations of circular reasoning or, if you like, of stating two things that are essentially descriptions of the same phenomenon - yet asserting a causal relationship between them. In each case, it’s as if one thing is sufficient to explain the other.
There are at least 3 problems with this kind of reasoning. Firstly, it is erroneous thinking, a distortion of truth. Secondly, we can use it as a rationalisation to ourselves and to others for issues we don’t want to face, want to avoid or are unwilling to take responsibility for. ‘I do this…or I can’t do that…because…’ Thirdly, it can trap us in its own logic – or at least in its apparent logic. If there’s a reason why I am doing or not doing X, a feasible explanation for what is causing me to do it or not do it, it can appear to lay beyond my ability to change. It’s as if I have no options or alternatives. Now apply this insight to organisational life: ‘The reason we have low levels of engagement at the moment is that staff are unmotivated and uncommitted.’ ‘Our profits are higher than usual because we made better net financial gains this time than in previous quarters.’ ‘X is underperforming because he’s not doing his job well.’ Jim Collins talks about facing the brutal facts. As leaders, OD and coaches, we can look out for examples of circles in our own language and that of others. We can hold up a proverbial mirror, raise awareness and be willing to face, challenge and reframe it. And remember: if you don’t agree with me on this point, it’s because you disagree. It’s Christmas Day and I could have better used the title Christmas mess-edge for this short piece. The story of Jesus Christ isn’t just a sweet and sentimental account of a baby boy born in Bethlehem 2000+ years ago. If it’s true, it’s about God entering the very real messiness of our lives and world and offering the potential to transform them into something completely new. Something beyond our wildest dreams, hopes or expectations. Something that stretches and transcends the boundaries of all human existence and experience.
I’ve known something about this notion of stretching boundaries over this past year, about extending the edges of my own experience. I bought a new bike in the spring, challenged myself to cycle over 1000 miles in 6 months and over 50 miles in a single ride. I had never done anything like that before and yet I did it. I also challenged myself to swim 1 mile 3 times in the same week. And I did it. It felt like I had crossed over an important physical and psychological line, achieving things that had previously felt impossible for me. I wrote and had published my first article with the British Association for Counselling and Psychology (BACP). I’d written lots of articles for different publications before but this felt like the next step up in a professional field that sits close to my heart. The editor of Coaching Today invited me to write on spirituality and I jumped at the chance. To top it off, I did my first ever series of radio interviews on spirituality too. It was a great opportunity and a novel experience so sit in a recording studio and to share my beliefs openly on air. And if that was the end of the story, there would be no need for a Jesus, at least for me. But it’s far from the end. I’ve struggled and failed on so many fronts. Sometimes, I haven’t even struggled when I have known I should. I’ve known deeply and personally what Francis Spufford aptly calls the universal ‘human propensity to f* things up’ (Unapologetic, 2013). At times, I’ve failed in relationships, made mistakes at work, fallen short of my own standards, spoken when I should have kept quiet and kept quiet when I should have spoken. What’s more, one of my closest friends has fought courageously with terminal illness. I’ve felt hopeful and helpless, trying to offer support where I could yet knowing I can’t make it OK. I’ve yearned to take the anxiety away but known that I can’t. I’ve watched Syria in the news, the damage that human beings are able to inflict on each others’ lives, on whole countries and regions. I’ve felt impotent and confused. Not all the time, but enough to know that redeeming the world is something I can take part in yet, ultimately, lies well beyond me. And so as I reflect on Christmas, I know what it is to be an aspiring yet fragile human being. I’ve felt exciting moments on the edge of success and have known what it is to screw up and need forgiveness. I have felt the amazing love of others, often undeserved yet tangible all the same. At that first nativity, I believe God himself entered the messy complexity of our lives and world with the most profound message of love and hope possible. Not just in words but in a life well-lived and a promise of presence and eternal life. Merry Christ-mas! What is real, what is true, how can we know? These are questions that have vexed philosophers for centuries. In more recent times, we have seen an increasing convergence between philosophy and psychology in fields such as social constructionism and existential therapy. How we experience and make sense of being, meaning and purpose is inextricably linked to how we behave, what we choose and what stance we take in the world. As a Christian and psychological coach, I’m intrigued by how these fundamental issues, perspectives and actions intertwine with my beliefs, spirituality and practice. Descartes once wrote, ‘If you would be a real seeker after truth, you must at least once in your life doubt, as far as possible, all things.’ It’s as if we must be prepared to suspend all assumptions about ‘what is’, to explore all possibilities and dare to think the unthinkable in order to grow and make our best contribution. Things are not always as they at first appear. There are sometimes multiple explanations for the same phenomenon, depending on the frame of reference we or others use to interpret it (see, for instance, Gareth Morgan’s seminal work, Images of Organisation, 1986). We are sometimes blinded to what’s in front of us by our prejudices, preconceptions, cultural constraints or rigid views of the world. It can be hard to maintain healthy scepticism without cynicism. I see it with clients, sometimes in myself too. A sense of being trapped by a fixed Gestalt, a cognitive distortion, an inherited or learned belief system. An inability to see, to recognise the box that we’re in, never mind to see or think outside of it. An avoidance of deep, difficult questions because of the discomfort, confusion or anxiety they may evoke. If we’re not careful, if we can’t find the right help when we need it, it may limit our lives and our learning. I think this is where coaching can play a very important role, helping pose and address some deep questions. Nick Bolton commented insightfully in Coaching Today that, ‘To explore a coaching issue existentially is to understand the relationship that the presenting problem has to the human condition to which it is a response, and to remain focused on enabling a change of perspective that allows the client to move past their current challenge.’ He also provided some helpful examples: ‘For instance, how is a client’s procrastination around something that seems to matter to her a failure to remember that life comes to an end? How is a client’s need to be unconditionally loved by his partner an attempt to deal with existential rather than interpersonal isolation? (And the solutions are very different things). How is someone’s lethargy simply a part of their fear of taking responsibility for their life?’ (July 2013, p17) A metaphysical, existential or theological dimension can shift the entire paradigm of the coaching conversation. The question of whether a client should apply for this or that job is influenced by her sense of purpose. If she is willing to consider that God may exist and have a plan for her life, the whole situational context will change. It can be a dizzying and exciting experience, yet it’s really a question of how courageous and radical we and the client are prepared to be. |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
Like what you read? Simply enter your email address below to receive regular blog updates!
|
RSS Feed