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February
Soldier's Heart: The Soul's Protest.
…but who is it now, in my ears, who hears my
voice?
Who says words with my mouth? Who looks out with my
eyes?
What is the soul? I can not stop
asking…Rumi
James Hillman tells us that the languages of
many so called “primitive” people have
“…elaborate concepts about animated
principles which ethnologists have translated as
‘soul.” Many of these peoples also
recognize a condition we could call “loss of
soul”, where a person is out of him or her
self and can not find the connections to others.
Better than anything detailed in our modern
diagnostic manuals, this describes the loneliness,
despair, addiction and loss of meaning that I
encounter each day in my psychotherapy office.
Of course, the “psyche” of
psychotherapy derives from the Greek word referring
to breath, soul and life, and “therapy”
from the word meaning to “minister, serve and
attend to.” While we may never answer the
question, “What is the soul?“, we know,
as Tomas Moore wrote, that soul “…is tied
to life in all of its particulars -- good food,
satisfying conversation, genuine friends, and
experiences that stay in the memory and touch the
heart”
What does it really mean for a psychotherapist
to minister to the soul? A person is usually driven
to psychotherapy by painful symptoms, hoping to
quickly eradicate these symptoms and become a
happier, more well-adjusted person. However,
Hillman warns us that “because symptoms lead
to soul, the cure of symptoms may also cure away
soul, get rid of just what is beginning to show, at
first tortured and crying for help, comfort and
love, but which is the soul…trying to make
itself heard…for the symptom is the first
herald of an awakening psyche that will not
tolerate any more abuse.”
A practitioner of “soul” psychotherapy
attends to symptoms and helps decipher the
soul’s message, not just for the individual,
but for the collective. The soul, that spark of
awareness that “looks out through my
eyes”, belongs to a larger, world soul.
Let’s apply this approach to the following
“case studies.”
According to an article in the January 17 San
Francisco Chronicle, 30% of the soldiers returning
from Iraq may need psychiatric care, to deal
symptoms of anxiety, panic, depression, anger,
nightmares, estrangement from loved ones, emotional
numbness and a variety of somatic complaints. The
article quoted Veteran’s Affairs workers
concerned about adequate funding for such
treatment. Certainly, we, as a nation, have a
responsibility to provide the best medical and
mental health care for veterans returning from war.
But I think we owe them far more that that.
If we really listen to what their symptoms are
telling us, we hear the cry of our collective soul.
As the Chronicle article points out, psychological
wounds of war have been chronicled since ancient
times, given names such as “Soldier’s
Heart,” during the Civil War, “Battle
Fatigue,” in World War II, and, since Vietnam,
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.” In this
progression we see both the ascendancy of the
psychiatric paradigm and the power of language.
Psychiatry’s ability to name a human state as
a “Disorder” gives its practitioners
awesome power. It defines a collective catastrophe
as an individual malady.
It is not a far stretch of imagination to feel
the impact of being in a war zone such as Iraq, in
near constant peril, unable to tell friend from
foe, witnessing death and suffering. What would a
“normal” reaction be? What we label as a
“Disorder” might be the natural human
response to inhuman conditions. It may be that
those who do not develop observable symptoms are in
greater psychological peril. What about the barely
perceptible damage done to the soul of the society
that sent them and those of us privileged to
distance ourselves from the trauma?
What the Chronicle article does not mention is
the high incidence of suicide. A Dayton Daily News
examination, published in October 2004, identified
21 returning soldiers who committed suicide,
although the actual number is likely much higher.
In several of the cases, family members say that
the horrific experience of war contributed the
deaths. Even more soldiers have committed suicide
while still in Iraq. That so many would chose
suicide, the permanent solution to a temporary
problem, shows how unbearable the emotional wound
of war can be.
Some of these suicides give us a window into a
rarely discussed psychological impact of war.
Killing other people is itself traumatic,
especially when the killing violates the
soldier’s moral values. Like in Vietnam,
American soldiers in Iraq cannot easily distinguish
“enemy combatant” from civilian, ally
from adversary, causing them to sometimes shoot
first and question later. Internally, this
questioning can go on for years and cause severe
spiritual and emotional distress. Even if commanded
to take part in an atrocity, the guilt can be
overwhelming.
Jeffrey Lucey, a 21 year-old reservist from
Belchertown, Massachusetts, returned from Iraq and
descended into depression, alcohol abuse, and
hallucinations. After two admissions and discharges
from a VA psychiatric hospital, he hung himself in
his parents’ basement, pictures of his Marine
unit on the floor below him. Shortly before his
death, he had shouted at his sister, "Don't you
understand?" Your brother is a murderer." He then
showed the dog tags he said that he took off the
necks of the two Iraqi soldiers he was forced to
shoot, one in the eye, the other in the back of the
neck.
In perhaps the most dramatic “case,”
Andres Raya, a decorated US Marine of Mexican
decent, came home from Fallujah for the holidays
and brought the war to his hometown of Ceres,
California, making casualties of himself and two
local police officers (one dead, one wounded). "It
was premeditated, planned, an ambush," according to
Ceres Police Chief Art de Werk, "It was a suicide
by cop." De Werk said “investigators
…believe that Raya, a Marine who had served
seven months in Iraq, was concerned about the
possibility of going back into combat.” Julia
Cortez Raya said that her son served in Fallujah:
"He came back different.” While we can only
speculate about what drove Raya to kill and be
killed, we know that the assault on Fallujah was
particularly bloody, with many civilian casualties.
Participation in such an event could certainly
change someone profoundly.
There is no justification for Mr. Raya’s
horrific actions. To understand is not to condone.
To look for the soul’s message in the
symptoms, no matter how severe, is not to diminish
the suffering of the victims of his assault, who
were decent men doing their jobs. Perhaps the
soul’s message can be found simply in the fact
that Mr. Raya brought the war and its suffering
home, to his home town, so that we could not so
comfortably avoid it. Perhaps the soul is telling
us that home is where the real problem lives and
the real enemy resides. Psychotherapists are always
urging clients to look inside to find the source of
their troubles. Couldn’t we say the same to
our nation?
Many of my comrades would chasten me for being
“political.” Psychotherapy has always
been political. Although many therapists consider
themselves liberals, the history or our profession
has been far from progressive. It was not until
1973, under pressure from gay rights groups, that
we finally removed homosexuality from our list of
psychiatric disorders. Psychotherapists still
sometimes argue that white people, who date or
marry outside their race, are suffering from low
self-esteem. Black men are still misdiagnosed on a
regular basis, being much more likely to be labeled
“paranoid” than their white counterparts.
To define a social problem as an individual
pathology is a political act and psychotherapists
do it every day.
Certainly, it could be true that some troubled
veterans are mentally ill, and were so before
entering the service. Others may have had an
underlying psychiatric condition that war
experiences exacerbated. To refuse to explore
beyond the boundaries of individual psychopathology
is gross negligence. Supporting our troops takes a
lot more than bumper stickers, flag decals and
yellow ribbons. We need to listen to what they say,
and, equally importantly, what their symptoms say.
Not only must we listen, we must take the message
into our hearts, to see them as part of us and not
separate.
I am not suggesting that waging war is never
justified or necessary. That is for all of us, as
citizens, to decide. As psychotherapists, our job
is to help our clients gain awareness of their
motivations, and clearly understand the
consequences of their actions. Often, we must break
through walls of denial. If, as a nation, we choose
to send our soldiers into war, let’s be honest
about how the trauma impacts them, and above all,
let’s not blame them for their suffering
©2005, Gary
Hoeber
* * *
Psychology has a long past, but only a short
history. - Hermann Ebbinghaus
Gary
Hoeber has been working as a psychotherapist since
1976, helping a broad range of people successfully
deal with a wide variety of life challenges. He is
a leading practitioner and teacher of group
psychotherapy. An Instructor at John F. Kennedy
University since 1988, he offers classes on "The
Practice of Group Psychotherapy." His approach to
group therapy is highly interpersonal, assisting in
the development of effective communication and
relationship skills and increasing the capacity for
intimacy, friendship and community. His work with
individuals focuses less on pathology, and more on
the unfolding of one's life purpose, using a depth
psychology informed by poetry, story and mythology.
Gary is licensed as a Marriage and Family Therapist
and has offices in Berkeley and San Rafael,
California. garyhoeber.com
or gmhoeber@comcast.net.
Gary will also be reviewing important
new
books on
psychotherap
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