In my twenties I had two undiagnosed mental illnesses – social anxiety and pure OCD. I lurched from one crisis to the next, underperforming at work, leaving jobs when they got too hard and moving into dodgy share houses. My judgement was poor and my thinking was immature. I was incapable of an intimate relationship. I knew I had some kind of ‘neurosis’, but if asked what it was I would have launched into a convoluted description of my hang-ups that would have left you open-mouthed with equal parts of boredom and bewilderment.
After reading Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life, I was convinced positive thinking was the
answer. If I repeated enough affirmations I would be healthy, rich and nestled
in a secure long-term relationship – all things that were singularly lacking in
my life.
For three years I was a cadet journalist with the Hastings Sun. On the weekends I stayed
with my parents in Melbourne, and on Sunday nights I would drive down to the Mornington
Peninsula, to the brick veneer house I shared with a fellow cadet with anger
management problems. She had thrown a coffee cup onto the floor in front of me
once during an argument; as it crashed into pieces on the vinyl, I knew our
friendship was over.
When I left my parents’ suburban home on Sunday nights my
father would come out and wave goodbye to me as I drove off in my white Mazda
1500, which was chronically on the verge of collapse. Filled with numb
desolation, I’d drive through sea squalls and lashing rain to the semi-wildness
where no friend waited. How brave and foolhardy I was in those days, crossing
the rural railway lines with a dodgy engine, a clutch that was about to fail.
Positive thinking kept me going on those Sunday night drives
home. I remember the bloody-mindedness with which I set off in that lonely car,
its interior a minimalist desert of brown vinyl and radio, which smelt of
petrol. Every week as I commenced the journey I set my teeth and wheeled out my
tray of positive thinking maxims. Carefully I recited all the things I was
manifesting right now – a great job
in a groovy workplace close to the city, supportive colleagues, a wonderful partner,
a new car that never broke down, an interesting group of feminist friends. The
list was Homeric in scope and grew longer every week. Reciting it probably got
me along Springvale Road and as far as the entrance to the Mornington Peninsula
Freeway. It no doubt included extended spells in exotic European locations, a year
living in a great share house in Sydney, enough money to buy my own house in
Fitzroy or Carlton, and an interesting left-wing cause to get my teeth into.
At the time I used positive thinking as a way of just carrying
on. On the pathetic wage of a cadet journalist working for a rural newspaper, I
was wretchedly poor. I had only a small number of friends in Melbourne, but I
was too insecure to let go and explore life in Mornington. I felt unmoored and
feared my youth was disappearing before my eyes, but I put my head down and
stuck at the journalism, as there wasn’t really an alternative. But at least I
had a job.
Fast
forward to 1992, when there was a serious economic downturn in Australia. I was
now working three days a week as information officer for a small community
group. I’d fled from journalism the year before, when the panic attacks had
started again; I figured that if I was too scared to talk to the CEO of the council
I was covering at the time, I couldn’t do my job.
I was
now in a more functional share house arrangement, living in a tiny house in inner
city Richmond with a playwright who was doing a Masters in philosophy.
Eventually her example would lead to the completion of my own Masters degree but
in the meantime I was still in thrall to the promises of the New Age.
Then
the community group that employed me lost their funding, and I lost my job.
With no savings to back me up, I was forced to eke out an existence on
unemployment benefit. I used to make vegetable patties from the okara – a waste
product in the making of tofu – that I got free from the Tofu Shop up the road.
Positive
thinking came in to fill the breach, but this time it wasn’t a willpower thing,
but a flight into fantasy. Whenever I walked home from a train station or tram stop
along the narrow footpaths of Richmond, past the rows of renovated workers
cottages and Victorian terraces, I kept my eyes on the ground in case God or
providence chose to put a two-dollar coin in my path among the trodden-over
dead leaves and gold bottle tops. Small, thick and gold-coloured, two-dollar
coins seemed to embody the fairytale idea of the pot of gold at the end of the
rainbow. This myth is more fitting than I realised at the time, because you can
never reach the rainbow – it appears to move further away when you walk towards
it.
The
memory of this time makes me sad. Could I really have set my sights so low? With
so little understanding of the world and my place in it, this faith in the
slim abundance of stray two-dollar coins seems disempowered, child-like,
embarrassingly unambitious.
The lure of the positive
The
positive thinking that I sought refuge in has been thoroughly denigrated by
science, and many of the people who espouse it have been exposed as shysters or
even criminals. Yet in the individualistic, materialistic climate of the
digital age it’s as popular as ever. The astonishing success of The Secret, the 2006 bestseller by
Rhonda Byrnes, was due to Byrnes’s brilliant repackaging of the Law of
Attraction, the idea that your thoughts alone can bring you unlimited
health, wealth and happiness – and their opposite, if you’re not careful.
In 2009,
Forbes estimated that the book and accompanying film had made $300 million. According
to Wikipedia the book has sold 19 million copies and been translated into 46
languages; the DVD has sold more than 2 million copies. The book stayed on the New York Times bestseller list for 146
consecutive weeks and was named by USA
Today as one of the top 20 bestselling books of the past 15 years. The Secret is above all a triumph of
marketing.
Not everything that positive thinking promotes is harmful. The
realisation that your thoughts are not you, and that they are spitting out a
constant static of negative commentary, is actually a valuable discovery. It’s
the antidote that positive-thinking-based books like The Secret get wrong. There are plenty of thought-based treatments
that don’t require you to make believe everything’s fine when it’s not, including
mindfulness-based cognitive therapy, and acceptance and commitment therapy.
Below are just some of the reasons why The
Secret, the Law of Attraction and positive thinking in general may be harmful
to your mental health.
Repression of
emotions
Books such as The Secret
scare readers about the effects of negative thoughts. One of its many precursors,
a bestseller in the 1990s, was actually titled You Can’t Afford the Luxury of a Negative Thought. The suggestion
is that negative thoughts will attract illness, bad luck in work and
relationships, and ultimately death. The Secret counsels: ‘Your life right now
is a reflection of your past thoughts’ and ‘Your thoughts become things’.
Louise Hay insists that ‘You are the power in your world! You get to have
whatever you choose to think!’
This kind of advice is tantamount to emotional fascism. If
you become scared of your negative thoughts, you’ll naturally try to repress
them, and the emotions that go with them. Your psyche will start to rebel, and
you’ll feel angry and unbalanced.
Carl Jung developed a concept of the shadow – everything
that we consign to our unconscious mind because it’s inappropriate, not socially
sanctioned or just childish. The shadow is the naughty self, which will not
submit to culture or socialisation. It’s a very loose concept and it changes along
with shifting cultural mores, but it can easily be applied to affirmations. If
you recite positive affirmations all day long, your Jungian shadow will feel
ignored and repressed and will try to get your attention!
If you have OCD or anxiety, you might develop an obsessive
fear of negative thoughts and the consequences they could bring.
Narcissism
Books like The Secret
tell people that their thoughts have a vibrational energy that the universe
will respond to, magically delivering whatever they use their thoughts to
envisage. This encourages a reversion to the childhood stage of narcissism, to
the mentality of two-year-olds who believe they are omniscient and can have
whatever they want.
While narcissism is a natural stage for children, it is a destructive
worldview when carried through to adulthood. In fact, the very definition of
maturity might be the understanding that we do not have ultimate control over
anything except our own behaviour. The world may respond to a change in our
attitude and behaviour, or it may not. We can’t control other people and we can’t
control the ultimate consequences of what we think and do.
Learned helplessness
Back in the early nineties, as I wandered along the footpath
in search of two dollar coins, I was wasting time I could have spent dreaming
up ways to make money in a depressed economy. From this vantage point I am
astounded by my lack of imagination. I see now that the abundant universe of
the positive thinking books was actually a kind of parent figure and a
substitute for the Christian god that I no longer believed in. My vivid
imagination had gotten married to my learned helplessness, and together they
made a formidable pair.
The need for challenge
In recent years neuroscientists have discovered that the
brain actually thrives on challenges and novelty rather than pleasure alone. Our
brains enjoy solving problems and achieving mastery of a skill. A world in which
we could have whatever we wanted just by wishing for it would have been bad in
an evolutionary sense; perhaps this is why the mythical Adam and Eve had to
leave the Garden of Eden. Positive thinking doesn’t take these needs into
account, instead preaching that the brain has to merely imagine something and
it will appear.
Conclusion
All of the above doesn’t mean that motivation, optimism and
idealism are bad things. Not at all. What could be called realistic or natural
positive thinking has been around as long as cliches such as ‘Look on the
bright side’. However, optimism should not be used to avoid rigorous planning. When
embarking on a large project, you have more chance of success if you take into
account the potential obstacles and work out how you will deal with them.
Nor should optimism be used as a way to avoid reality. There
are times when sitting with unpleasant emotions and accepting unpleasant truths
is the only sane response to a situation.
With all its mixed emotions, its difficulties and challenges,
the real world is infinitely more compelling and worth exploring than a
universe in which we manifest whatever our childish egos dream up.
If you’d like to read more on this theme, I’ve published a book on the subject, Why The Secret Is Wrong. You can sample the book here, or on Amazon UK here.
If you’d like to read more on this theme, I’ve published a book on the subject, Why The Secret Is Wrong. You can sample the book here, or on Amazon UK here.
