Smile now, cry later

Britain has bought in to America’s positive thinking and is heavily pushing the “science of happines

During the late 1950s, the psychologist Abraham Maslow coined the term "positive psychology". The "major mistake of psychology is that it has a pessimistic, negative and limited conception of what people can attain", he concluded. Accordingly, he formulated "a system" for individual growth that he believed could bring happiness to the American people and lead to the overthrow of the Soviet Union.

“The way in which the cold war will be won or will tip one way or the other will be in terms of the human products turned out by the
Russian society and the American society," he wrote. "If Americans can turn out a better type of human being than the Russians then this will ultimately do the trick."

Although the unpalatable language of "human products" has no place in contemporary discourse, an updated version of Maslow's message has quietly become the dominant force in psychology in Britain today. That our government is taking an interest in happiness is surely a good thing, reflecting the idea that there is more to life than GDP. Why, then, are most therapists, psychiatrists and psychoanalysts up in arms about it?

Today, Maslow is best known for his "hierarchy of needs" - a staple of every management manual. His "positive psychology" was dismissed as unscientific by his contemporaries. But in 1996, the psychologist Martin Seligman was elected president of the American Psychological Association and, echoing Maslow, proposed a focus on healthy individuals rather than "the disease model", which only looks at neurosis and suffering. Seligman reinvented positive psychology, opening up a new field of research into the "science of happiness" from his base at the University of Pennsylvania's Positive Psychology Centre and spawning hundreds of university-level courses throughout the United States.

Since Seligman founded his centre in 2000, positive psychology, which relies on cognitive therapy to treat depression, has revolutionised approaches to mental health in the US, galvanising support because it is believed to work. Rooted in conscious thought, rather than the unconscious motivations that interest psychoanalysts, its guiding principle is that self-defeating and negative thoughts are responsible for mental health problems and that depression can be overcome by monitoring and correcting them. Seligman's "learned optimism" is not only taught in schools, colleges and offices, but has been taken up by the US army, which has introduced a $117m "Resilience" programme based on his courses.

Seligman proposes an equation for happiness: H = S + C + V, where happiness (H) is the combination of S, an individual's set range; C, their circumstances; and V, the factors under their voluntary control. His approach is based mainly on the importance of voluntary factors - such as signing up to courses - and the premise that circumstances (even the realities of war) are of more limited significance.

Don't look back in anger

In Britain, the same approach has been spearheaded by the government's "happiness tsar", the economist Richard Layard. In 2005, Layard published Happiness: Lessons from a New Science, which drew on positive psychology. In the past, psychology had been "focused heavily on what had gone wrong with people", he wrote. "Human beings have largely conquered nature but they have yet to conquer themselves."

The impact of this thinking in Britain has been as widespread as it was in the US. Before Layard, cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) - which is based on short-term treatments of between six and eight sessions - was one of many therapies offered by the NHS. Now it is almost the only one. Last year, funding for training thousands of new cognitive behavioural therapists was announced and guidelines were published by Nice, the government's health advisory body, recommending it as the treatment of choice for all common mental health problems. The other plank of the programme is the teaching of happiness in schools. Following a government-sponsored visit to Seligman's centre by teachers and council officials, his courses are being taught in 22 schools across the north of England. The explosion in parenting classes, particularly in deprived areas, is based on similar thinking.

But while the general mood is upbeat, not everyone is happy - least of all those who work in mental health. Andrew Samuels, chair of the United Kingdom Council for Psychotherapy, describes the policy about-turn as a "putsch". Del Loewenthal, professor in psychotherapy at Roehampton University, wonders: "Is it science or ideology?" And the psychoanalyst Darian Leader goes as far as to draw a comparison with China's Cultural Revolution, which taught that depression is just "wrong thinking".

Rights and responsibilities

Although the controversy is substantial, it has been drowned out by the main defence that positive psychology "works", with evidence, including randomised controlled trials, giving credibility to the claim that it is a science. With depression and anxiety costing the government roughly £12bn a year, a solution that equips individuals with a simple formula for turning their lives around at just £750 a head seems like a good deal. The other big attraction for a government so committed to "rights and respon­sibilities" is the emphasis it places on personal responsibility to turn things around.

But the evidence that this conflation of positive thinking and CBT works is at best very mixed. Studies show that positive thinking can help with depression in the short term, and the techniques taught are effective with specific problems, such as phobias. However, there is no evidence that it has beneficial effects on depression in the longer term; indeed, a number of studies, including a multimillion-dollar trial in the US, show that it does not. So, abandoning all other approaches in the NHS is causing uproar among therapists. Others claim that suppressing negative thoughts, rather than addressing their real causes, fuels anger and violence.

Perhaps most worrying is the accusation that positive psychology promotes unrealistic thinking by fostering a permanently positive spin. In her recent book Smile or Die, the American writer Barbara Ehrenreich posits the idea that the culture of positive thinking is responsible for the global financial collapse. Market fundamentalism was based, she argues, on little more than the delusion that the only way was up for property prices and soaring salaries.

Boom has turned to bust and the belief in continuous economic growth has been exposed as a delusion. Yet the cult of positive psychology and personal growth continues unabated, even though rates of mental illness in the US are double those in continental Europe, where positive psychology has not caught on to anything like the same extent. Seen in that light, the outlook for happiness in Britain, slavishly copying a discredited permanent growth model, is glum indeed.

Anna Minton is the author of "Ground Control: Fear and Happiness in the 21st-Century City" (Penguin, £9.99)

Maslow motion

Abraham Maslow, born in Brooklyn in 1908, described his childhood as "isolated and unhappy". After a false start studying law, he rebelled against his parents by marrying his cousin Bertha Goodman and moving to Wisconsin to pursue postgraduate studies in psychology. In 1935 he returned to New York, where he served on the faculty of Brooklyn College from 1937 until 1951.

During these years, Maslow came into contact with many European intellectuals who migrated to America as Nazism spread across Europe. During the 1940s, he began to develop what would be his life's work, his theory of human motivation, and in 1945 he came to international attention when he published a paper on the hierarchy of needs.

Maslow moved to Brandeis University, Massachusetts, in 1951 and three years later published Motivation and Personality, which rejected the determinism of both the psychoanalytic and the behaviourist approaches to psychology, taking dynamic and successful figures as its model, rather than those with negative pathology.

Maslow referred to humanism as a "third force" behind these two schools of thought, and became known internationally as the founding father and leader of this emergent branch of psychology.

Samira Shackle

This article first appeared in the 15 March 2010 issue of the New Statesman, Falklands II

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An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State