Human Nature and Suffering

‘Human Nature and Suffering is a landmark work that sets the stage for decades
of research and practice of a psychotherapy better suited to the realities of evolved
human motivation and emotion. The re-release of this classic is a godsend for this
generation of psychologists and the next.’
Dennis Tirch, PhD, Founder, The Center for Compassion Focused Therapy

Human Nature and Suffering is a profound comment on the human condition,

from the perspective of evolutionary psychology. Paul Gilbert explores the impli-
cations of humans as evolved social animals, suggesting that evolution has given
rise to a varied set of social competencies, which form the basis of our personal
knowledge and understanding.
Gilbert shows how our primitive competencies become modified by experience –
both satisfactorily and unsatisfactorily. He highlights how cultural factors may
modify and activate many of these primitive competencies, leading to pathology
proneness and behaviours that are collectively survival threatening. These varied
themes are brought together to indicate how the social construction of self arises
from the organisation of knowledge encoded within the competencies.
This Classic Edition features a new introduction from the author, bringing Gil-
bert’s early work to a new audience. The book will be of interest to clinicians,
researchers and historians in the field of psychology.

Paul Gilbert, OBE, is Professor of Clinical Psychology at the University of Derby

and has been actively involved in research and treating people with shame-based
and mood disorders for over 30 years. He is a past President of the British Asso-
ciation for Cognitive and Behavioural Psychotherapy and a fellow of the Brit-
ish Psychological Society. He was awarded the OBE for contributions to mental
health in 2011.
Routledge Mental Health Classic Edition

The Routledge Mental Health Classic Edition series celebrates Routledge’s com-
mitment to excellence within the field of mental health. These books are recog-
nized as timeless classics covering a range of important issues, and continue to
be recommended as key reading for professionals and students in the area. With a
new introduction that explores what has changed since the books were first pub-
lished, and why these books are as relevant now as ever, the series presents key
ideas to a new generation.

The Plural Psyche (Classic Edition)

Personality, morality and the father
Andrew Samuels

Evolutionary Psychiatry (Classic Edition)

A new beginning, second edition
Anthony Stevens and John Price

The Wounded Healer (Classic Edition)

Countertransference from a Jungian perspective
David Sedgwick

Four Approaches to Counselling and Psychotherapy (Classic Edition)

Windy Dryden and Jill Mytton

The Therapeutic Use of Self (Classic Edition)

Counselling practice, research and supervision
Val Wosket

Depression (Classic Edition)

The evolution of powerlessness
Paul Gilbert

Human Nature and Suffering (Classic Edition)

Paul Gilbert
Human Nature and Suffering

Classic Edition

Paul Gilbert
Classic Edition published 2017
by Routledge
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First edition published in 1989 by Lawrence Erlbaum Associates
First edition reprinted in 1992 by Routledge
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Names: Gilbert, Paul, 1951 June 20– author.
Title: Human nature and suffering / Paul Gilbert.
Description: Classic edition. | Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon ;
New York, NY : Routledge, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016003340 | ISBN 9781138954755 (hbk) |
ISBN 9781138954762 (pbk) | ISBN 9781315564258 (ebk)
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Sociobiology. | Suffering.Classification: LCC RC454.4 .G54 2017 |
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To June with love and immense gratitude for without you this
would not have been possible
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Contents

Foreword xi
Acknowledgements xv
Introduction to the Classic Edition xviii

1 Introduction and overview 1

Outline 4

2 A legacy from the past: the role of human nature 6

Historical background 6
Evolution in the social context 10
Evolution of biosocial goals and social strategies 15
Biosocial goals 18
A rough classification 24
Models for the interaction of cognition, behaviour
and affect 30
Concluding comments 33

3 The mapping of human nature 36

Jung’s theory of archetypes 36
Ethological approaches to human nature 41
The evolution of social roles 56
Interpersonal approaches to human nature 59
The cognitive approach 71
Concluding comments 73

4 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 77

Defence 78
Safety 82
The neurobiology of go–stop processes 84
Neuropsychological aspects of defence and safety 91
Concluding comments 96
viii Contents

5 The psychobiology of peripheral systems 99

The endocrinology of defensive go states 99
Defensive stop states 102
The psychobiology of changing states 110
Concluding comments and the defensive drift hypothesis 113

6 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 117

Attachment theory 117
The importance of the infant’s experience of mediators 121
The psychobiology of separation 126
Conflict in early relationships 133
Concluding comments 134

7 Care eliciting and theories of psychopathology 138

Early interactions with mediators 138
Theories of vulnerability 144
Care eliciting and psychopathology 148
Developmental issues revisited 153
The relationship of personality disorder to depression
and anxiety 156
Concluding comments 159

8 Care giving and nurturance 162

Dimensions of care giving 162
Evolution 168
Affects related to care giving 172
Psychotherapeutic points 176
Concluding comments 180

9 Disorders of care giving 183

Child–adult interactions 183
Adult–adult relationships 192
Concluding comments 195

10 Co-operation 198
The importance of human co-operativeness 198
Evolution 201
Issues in co-operative relationships 203
Transaction in interpersonal relationships 216
Concluding comments: co-operating versus competing 221
 Contents ix

11 Co-operation: some blocks and pathologies 225

Deception 226
Guilt 235
The relationship of guilt to shame 243
Belief systems derived from co-operation
and reciprocal altruism 248
Concluding comments 251

12 Competition: status, power and dominance 256

Status 257
Power and dominance 261
Submission 268
The psychobiology of status, power and dominance 271
Gender: status, dominance and power 275
Competition and sibling rivalry 281
Concluding comments 284

13 Some psychopathologies of status, power and dominance 289

Theories of psychopathology 289
Type A personality 295
Narcissistic personality disorder 301
Concluding comments 308

14 Beyond the power of reason 312

Social mentalities 312
The self 322
The mind as a system 332
Psychotherapy implications 334
Concluding comments 339

15 Conclusions and reflections 341

An overview 341
Personal reflections 344

References 352
Appendix 1 375
The monoamine system 375
The distribution of monoamine pathways 379
Early neurochemical insights 379
Current ideas on neurobiological mechanisms 381
x Contents

Appendix 2 383
Homeostasis and beyond 383
Oscillating systems within the central nervous system 384
The psychobiology of ecological and climatic variation 386
Internal oscillators 389
Author index 393
Subject index 401
Foreword
Towards a basic science of
the clinical mental sciences

Clinical work proceeds best if guided by clarity in the clinician’s mind about
normal processes that would have existed if something hadn’t gone wrong. We
require a basic science of these processes as well as their correlated pathologies
for functioning best with our patients and clients. Such knowledge orients the
participants, provides rationale for procedures, gives direction and purpose for
the exchanges thereby countering demoralisation, and enhances the “meaning-
making” for which we, as living creatures, possess innate neural mechanisms
and, as humans, have particularly well-developed talents. We need a guiding
framework formed not idiosyncratically and perhaps on the spot, but stemming
from consensually derived concepts and procedures, and critical assessment of
the data. We need a science, in short, that renders our helpees less at risk from
our individual ignorance and personally derived communicative trends, some of
which may indeed be helpful, while others may not. We need to be “mediators”,
to use another term of Paul Gilbert’s with which you will become acquainted,
providing these “sufferers” with mediation between them and the outside world
of accumulated, systematic and valid – meaning useful – information about their
complicated psychologies and psychotherapeutic experiences.
Development of such a basic science for the clinician in the mental illness and
mental distress arenas comes with difficulty. Models for such disciplined col-
lections of information stem from domains that often seem remote from clinical
work with the psyche. For physician members of these clinical areas (such as
myself) the functional pathology course in medical school provided this type of
model. I learned there that disease in medicine results when this or that tube is
blocked or ruptured, when supplies consequently don’t get to an area, or waste
accumulates or pressure builds or other assorted regulated functions go awry and
can’t get easily realigned. What the patient says and exhibits is correlated with
what the pathologist describes after biopsy or death, the radiologist suggests from
computerised tomographic or magnetic resonancy outputs, or the chemical labo-
ratory indicates from quantified blood and urine constituents.
The clinical mental sciences don’t yet have such a model implemented although
many would like to see it formulated as soon as possible. Thus, the dexametha-
sone suppression test was fashionable for several years in psychiatry, imaging
xii Foreword

techniques are seen as popular “cutting edge” potential diagnostic tools for mental
disorders, and DSM-III (DSM-IIIR) has gained considerable ascendency as a tool
for clinicians despite its empirical origins, seemingly atheoretical.
Actually, there have been problems with the rigorous implementation of such
“basic sciences” within general medicine to which we should pay attention in our
(as yet) less-developed science. Though the prefix of “psych-” may not apply to
those specialties dealing with diseases of the liver, heart or bone, patients with
these disorders possess psyches still. To the extent that they become active receiv-
ers of information about the etiopathophysiology of their condition and “cooper-
ate” or “collaborate” with the “guidance” that the clinician provides, things may
go fine. But to the extent that the situation is less clear than some ideal-typical
model of their condition, that their psyche contributes to the complaint or the
behaviour, that demoralisation persists, that the person feels uncared for, that the
clinician experiences the person to be a “bad patient” – to these extents, the medi-
cal basic science has failed; complete models of the illness and of the person’s
distress have not yet been provided. Basic science knowledge limited to cellular-
molecular referents insufficiently orients the participants, rationale for procedures
attenuates, direction and purpose for clinician-potential helpee-exchanges goes
astray, and demoralisation piles up. This helps explain the reason that patients
have complained that US medicine (for example) has become dehumanised and
that large-scale movements toward “primary care” medicine have been underway
for several decades. They reject Shively’s “Damn It” differential (1987, p.449):

If it’s not
Degenerative
Anomalous
Metabolically imbalanced
Neoplastic
Infectious
or
Traumatic
Then it’s either healthy or dead.

How is it then, if what the patient feels is so important, that the psyche component
of human suffering has counted for so much less than the cellular correlates of
physical disarray? Part of it stems from all of us being experts. Each of us has felt
distress as a part of the human condition. No-one has been exempted from human
nature and the animal nature that gave rise to our humanness. Any of us snort
sceptically as we hear of the experts giving contradictory evidence in courts of
law, seemingly dependent upon which side is paying the fee? If the topic of psy-
chopathology is broad, conceptualisations of the normal psyche and the numerous
facets of brain function related to it range much more widely yet, as far as the
eye can see. Daily we read about the meaning-making of psychologists, histo-
rians, philosophers, anthropologists, religious leaders, politicians, archeologists,
 Foreword xiii

administrators, novelists, poets, painters, psychoanalysts, sociologists, psychia-

trists, neurologists, epidemiologists, public opinion pollsters, journalists and
whole varieties of others who consider the human condition in the pages of books,
journals, newsletters, magazines, newspapers, radio, television and notices posted
upon campus trees. Each of us feeling equal claim to personal experience feels
expert. The Greek historian Thucydides stated that “Of the Gods we believe, and
of men we know, that by a necessary law of their nature they rule whenever they
can.” Nowhere is this more the case than with the informational “territories” of
human nature.
And in this lies part of the problem with our basic science and why the patho-
physiologic model provided by organ pathology remains attractive: The micro-
scope and its successors constitute arbiters, deciders, about who will rule in this
opinion-making and theory-deciding and on what basis. Concrete evidence should
decide not whose basic science will prevail but how an eventual comprehensive
discipline will guide the clinical behaviours of most psyche-specialists – whatever
the specific designation of the individual practitioner. Of course, whatever we are
called, who among us dislikes being called an expert? The early Greeks in their
numerous city-states struggled with the concept of the rule by law rather than
through battle or under the tyranny of single individuals. They institutionalised
cooperation and rule of the many rather of the individual or group that somehow
triumphs. Our desire for a basic science to guide our work is parallel. Such disci-
pline is assisted by this book, as Paul Gilbert mediates among the numerous city-
states we inhabit. And assists our puzzled consumers in a media-driven culture
trying to decipher varied claims of expertise.
As you will see in reading Human Nature and Suffering, Paul Gilbert has a fit-
ting definition for expert: “When a therapist was once called an ‘expert’ on human
problems, he responded “Well, ‘x’ is an unknown quantity, and ‘spurt’ is a drip
under pressure.” This sense of perspective guides his writing. Gilbert recognises
clearly the interim nature of his presentation (and at the same time comments
wryly on the multiple starts that so many have made in trying to conceptualise
the field). Rather, this is a broadly informed, comprehensively viewed perspective
of our budding science. He is respectful of its varied subcomponents. But most
importantly, he writes from the perspective of one who deals immediately, daily
and compassionately with suffering human beings. While not over-awed by the
microscope and its instrumental relatives in providing information, he respects
them greatly. Perhaps his early training as an economist helped in his unusual
sense of overview and in knowing the importance of general laws as guides to
behaviour. Most of all, however, his training as a cognitive psychotherapist seems
to have enhanced his regular exercise of meaning-making not only for the cli-
ents or patients in his consulting room, but for those of us who would be better
“psyche-specialists” and who require an ever-improving basic science to guide
us ever more precisely and care-fully. Dr Gilbert orients us to things both that we
do know and that we need yet to learn, improves our rationale for a variety of our
procedures, and directs and gives purpose to not only our direct clinical work but
xiv Foreword

to our reading and to our collection of new information. Reading this book will
acquaint one with an exciting “meaning-making” experience.
Russell Gardner, Jr.
University of Texas Medical Branch, Galveston, Texas

References
Shively, M.J. (1987). The “damn it” differential. Perspectives in Biology and Medicine.
30, 449.
Thucydides (1910). (Trans.). History of the Pelopennesian War. Crawley, London and
Toronto: J.M. Dent and Sons Ltd. (p.397)
Acknowledgements

A book of this form has been in my mind for a number of years. It is not until
one sets for oneself the task of producing it that the fragmented themes and half
understood ideas become coherent and start to make sense. I cannot claim much
originality here since, as the reader will discover, much of what follows is a tap-
estry woven from the work and ideas of many. On my journey of articulating
a scheme of human nature which underpins suffering, many people have given
freely of their time and knowledge. They have guided me away from the darkness
and the ridiculous and unreserved thanks goes out to them.
John Teasdale, Chris Brewin, Meinrad Perrez, Shirley Reynolds and Shirley
Fisher have commented most helpfully on the various ideas and drafts. Thanks
also to Peter Trower for his immense support and for pointing out all kinds of
unnoticed implications. Tim Beck gave freely of his time when in England and
also read some sections and wrote letters covering important points. Special thanks
go to Russell Gardner for my early introduction to the importance of evolved
social roles. Russell not only read various sections but wrote many letters trying
to clarify my misty understanding of these matters. John Price commented help-
fully on an earlier version and saved me from some serious errors. Special thanks
go to Michael Chance who has tried (I hope reasonably successfully) to educate
me in ethology and has significantly influenced my ideas on social behaviour
and the formation of human mentalities. He also read various chapters and was
painstaking in his reviews and comments. Any errors of understanding, however,
obviously lie at my door alone.
In my work environment there would have been little insight without the shar-
ing of experience that many patients have provided. Their education is beyond
repayment. Thanks also to Bill Hughes, a most valuable and supportive colleague
of analytic persuasion and insight. Support also came from Catherine Lawrence
and Chris Reynolds and more recently in Derby Chris Gillespie. My close friend,
Elspeth McAdam has not only been her usual encouraging and supportive self,
commenting and inspiring, but has had a profound influence on the tones and
textures of my thinking with her knowledge of Maturana and systems analysis.
Regretfully, the need for editing loses some of that sophistication. Thanks also to
Brigitte Cole for her outstanding library services and making it possible to survey
xvi Acknowledgements

a wide literature. Also thanks must go to the energetic helpfulness at LEA, espe-
cially Michael Forster, Rohays Perry and Sue Wiszniewska.
The wives of those who choose to write often, for long hours, carry a heavy
burden, and deepest appreciation and love go to Jean for the tea and empathy; and
for understanding some of my ridiculous reasons for wanting to write; for help
with the references, the checking and the sharing and for helping me to let go.
Moveover, for allowing experiences of a deeper nature. The love of my children,
Hannah and James, has also been inspirational. Thanks for teaching me how to
be young again and that monsters, hide and seek and the Faraway Tree really are
great fun. And last, but not least, thanks to my sister June. When she discovered
my plans for the book, she immediately offered to type it on her wordprocessor.
Neither of us realised at the time what this would entail. Over and over again,
work was returned for re-editing and re-typing and June gave freely of her time
and energy. To her I owe a great debt.
I have no doubt that science is the way out of darkness, yet to help us, science
must not be a competitive enterprise but a co-operative one. It requires the genera-
tion of alternatives from which to choose and test; it requires cross fertilisation of
ideas and it requires humans to think creatively and to contribute to the process of
the application of knowledge. Whenever one paradigm is competitively defended,
it inevitably leads to stagnation. Science requires us to be compassionately scep-
tical, to encourage each other to take part in the journey of understanding, to
be ambitious in what we seek but cautious in what we affirm; for it is not the
mountain in the distance but the rock at our feet that will trip us up. This book is
ambitious, but science is no respecter of ambition. There are still many unknowns,
errors and falsehoods to be revealed.

All reasonable effort has been made to identify the copyright holders of the material reproduced in this
volume. If the editor has inadvertently failed to obtain permission, please contact the publisher so that
the necessary arrangements may be made.
Man is not determinate, clearly defined once and for all; he is
something in process of development, and experiment, an intimation
of the future, the quest and yearning of nature for new forms and
new possibilities.
Herman Hesse: Reflections
Introduction to the Classic Edition
Foreward, reflection and update

I’m delighted that Routledge has decided to reissue Human Nature and Suffering
(HN&S) (1989). This book took me six years to write and was the grounding for a
lot of what emerged subsequently, including the development of compassion focused
therapy (Gilbert 2000; 2010). I was also honoured when Dr Fraser Watts, then Presi-
dent of the British Psychological Society, having read the book, invited me to apply for
a fellowship of the society. That was one of the great joys of my professional career.
The journey towards HN&S was seeded long ago. As a late teenager and young
man I became fascinated by Jung’s concepts of archetypes, the evolution story
and the fact that we humans are part of the flow of life. We are a species amongst
many billions of others past and present, becoming what we are because of the
struggles of reproduction and survival. Our bodies and brains are built by our
genes and are shaped by our social life histories (Slavich and Cole 2013). Our
capacities for anger, anxiety, love and hate arise from evolved brain systems. We
choose very little of the way we experience ourselves and the world. Both Freud
and Jung, indeed the whole early psychodynamic movement, thought they were
working out the ways in which our evolved natures, with their different motives
for sex and power, operate through our newly evolved, self-aware and culture-
creating competencies. At the heart of this movement was the idea of the human
mind as one of multiple motives, desires, emotions and memories, derived for
earlier epochs, that could and often did conflict. Indeed, by 1986 prominent psy-
chologists like Robert Ornstein were arguing that:

The long progression in our self-understanding has been from a simple and
usually “intellectual” view to the view that the mind is a mixed structure, for
it contains a complex set of “talents,” “modules” and “policies” within. . . .
All these general components of the mind can act independently of each
other, they may well have different priorities.
The discovery of increased complexity and differentiation has occurred
in many different areas of research. . . ., in the study of brain functions and
localisation; in the conceptions of the nature of intelligence; in personality
testing; and in theories of the general characteristics of the mind.
(p.9)
 Introduction to the Classic Edition xix

And even in standard undergraduate textbooks, this idea of the multiplicity and
inherent conflicts of mind was well recognised. In 1992 Coon opened with:

You are a universe, a collection of worlds within worlds. Your brain is possi-
bly the most complicated and amazing device in existence. Through its action
you are capable of music, art, science, and war. Your potential for love and
compassion coexists with your potential for aggression, hatred . . . murder.
(p.1)

The importance of motivational conflicts was also prevalent in behavioural work

reaching back to Pavlov and the concept of experiential neurosis. Early cogni-
tive therapists such as Beck also had an interest in the evolutionary basis of mind
and psychopathology. In Beck et al’s. (1985) classic book on anxiety, the authors
spent the first third of the book discussing the evolutionary mechanisms upon
which cognitive processes operate, although they did not articulate the issue of
motivational and emotional conflicts that can be unconscious (Huang and Bargh
2014). Nonetheless, during the 70s, and 80s and even more so now, some schools
of psychotherapy have been moving away from a focus on how evolution shaped
the mind, particularly its conflictual motivational and emotional nature. Also
absent is that, as an evolved being, we have emotional needs. There are those
Bowlby (1969) noted for security, care and affection, and if these aren’t met,
particularly early in life, then the brain is affected; and we now know so are genes
(Slavich and Cole 2013). We can’t learn to speak unless others speak to us, and
our capacities for empathy can’t develop unless we experience the minds of others
in a certain way. We are a very socially needy species; we need the status to feel
valued included and connected, rather than marginalised and excluded.
Despite early cognitive interest in evolution, this did not influence the develop-
ment of therapy. Beck was clear that he derived his therapy from clinical observa-
tions of “streams of thinking” that individuals could capture/learn to observe, reflect
on and learn to alter. Albert Ellis, another leader in the cognitive movement, was
also clear that his approach was based on older philosophical concepts, especially
the Stoics. His focus was on reasoning and self-directed behaviours as mechanisms
for understanding emotion and emotion regulation, rather than psychological sci-
ence of say attachment and moral development, social contextualism or evolved
physiological mechanisms and their constraints and trade-offs. This was also a time
of computers and artificial intelligence, with metaphors and terms like “information
processing” used to imply “cognition”. Unfortunately, information processing can
be an unhelpful term, because computers are information processing devices, as is
our DNA, but these don’t have “cognitions” or “thoughts” in a meaningful sense.
So while, of course, the human brain is an information processing system par excel-
lence, information processing should not be equated with “cognition” and especially
conscious cognition or reasoning – which is a very special kind of processing.
Though the cognitive movement was and is a major advance, and I began my
therapuetic life here, I was always attracted to evolutionary psychology, which,
xx Introduction to the Classic Edition

during the 70s and 80s, was exploring some of the serious problems we have with
the way the human brain has evolved (Bailey, 1989; Gilbert 1998; Gilbert and
Bailey 2000). As Ornstein (1986) indicated so well, thinking was emerging around
the idea that we may have specialised processing systems to do specific jobs. These
include mechanisms for language acquisition, attachment, sexual behaviour, car-
ing behaviour and competitive behaviour. Crucially, these various psychological
processes could be seen as modular (Gazzaniga 1989); that is they could func-
tion independently of other modules in a way that I called “encapsulated” (see
Chapter 14, ‘Beyond the Power of Reason’). Encapsulation wasn’t just rooted in
biological constraints, but could also arise as a process of learning; people could
dissociate due to trauma or fail to integrate certain experiences, so they remained
split off and literally encapsulated. Part of therapy is creating the conditions for
increased awareness of these aspects of the self and their (safe) integration.
My first book was called Depression: From Psychology to Brain State (1984).
In it, I started to address evolutionary issues. Doing a PhD on an MRC unit in
Edinburgh in the 1970s and surrounded by (friendly) biologically orientated
psychiatrists, I became very keen on discussing how social and psychological
processes could have major impacts on physiological systems; it was always
a two-way street. They would talk to me about serotonin receptors and I would
talk to them about the impact of helplessness on those receptors. In Depression, I
tried to make the argument that we can understand depression against a backdrop
of the evolved motivational and emotional infrastructures upon which our “psy-
chology” operates. HN&S was an effort to develop these ideas further, not just for
depression but also to try to build a model of mind that could relate human suffer-
ing (and mental health difficulties) to processes arising from the evolution of our
brains. Basically human life is (as the Buddha also taught) one of intense suffering
a lot of the time (Gilbert 2009); hence, the somewhat grandiose title.
As I was starting to write HN&S, I developed some important mentoring
friendships. One was with Anthony Stevens a well-recognised Jungian therapist
who was also interested in linking Jung’s idea to modern evolution theory and
attachment theory (Stevens 1982). John Price another evolutionary theorist who
helped me focus on social rank and social competition as a separate motivational
system to that of attachment, became a good friend too (Price et al. 1994). In addi-
tion, Russell Gardner, a professor of Psychiatry in Texas, shared generously his
developing ideas about social communicative states that he called PSALICs. You
will see these discussed in Chapter 3 – all too briefly I now realise. He wrote a
more developed paper for me in a special edition of The British Journal of Medi-
cal Psychology (Gardner 1998). So the 80s was an opportunity for a young man
like me to talk to many colleagues and mentors, and the ideas I developed then
were very much reflections of some of those conversations, with much gratitude
for the sharing of their wisdoms. My idea was that we could consider archetypes in
terms of social mentalities, where a social mentality was a social motivation system
with processing competencies that guided animals to seek out and then to “know”
what kind of relationship they are in (say caring, sexual or competitive) and thus
 Introduction to the Classic Edition xxi

orientate them to behave accordingly, in moment-by-moment interactions played

out or fantasized as interactional dances. Again Chapter 14 articulates this. In this
way we could root archetypes in modern motivation and signal detection theory.
So in HN&S you will see how I tried to do that.
When HN&S was first published, we obviously knew rather less than we do now
about the fact that we have competencies and motives that stretch way back to our
reptilian ancestry (Bailey 1989); well, actually, a key ancestor of ours was a turtle.
My wife says I can still act like one! Our reptilian ancestors evolved brains capable
of food seeking, self-defence, territoriality, status-seeking, sexual pursuits and liv-
ing together in proximity, or as some say, the four F’s: feeding, fighting, fleeing and
intimacies. The brain mechanisms underpinning these life tasks are phylogenetically
well conserved. The evolution of warm-blooded mammals brought into the world
motives, emotions and competencies supporting live birth, kin-caring and alliance-
building. Mammals carry forward older reptilian motives and emotions (and the
four F’s) but in addition evolve certain prosocial motives, emotions and competen-
cies, particularly with the formation of caring for offspring, attachment and alliance
formation. Motives for caring for and responding to being cared for require brains
and bodies that create the physiological infrastructures for mammals to be sensitive
and competent performers of different social roles (e.g., as parents and infants).
These are discussed in Chapters 6 through 9 (see also, Gilbert 2013). In addition,
the mammalian evolutionary process laid the foundations for the evolution of affili-
ative motives and competencies for grooming, support, sharing, co-operation and a
whole range of other prosocial motives and competencies (Dunbar 2010). In HN&S
I brought these under the general concept of co-operation (Chapters 10 and 11). One
of the things I would change now is to highlight the fact that guilt is very different
from shame in terms of the social mentalities that underpin them. Guilt is linked to
care-focused motives and harm avoidance/repair, whereas shame is status regulation,
reputations, and self-evaluation (Gilbert 2007). In addition, of course, is the (older)
important social mentalities that allow us to compete in the world and engage in
the power dynamics and struggles for resources (where supportive relationships are
key resources), survival and the competitive, conflictual and sexual dynamics of
life. These are discussed in Chapters 12 and 13. It follows, then, that being able to
quickly identify what role relationship one is in with another would be essential for
the appropriate performance of that role and therefore its contribution to survival
and reproduction. Hence, processing competencies attuned to specific social signals
evolved to have specific impacts on physiological systems of interacting actors. So,
for example, signals of sexual displays activate very different physiological systems
than signals of distress that require caring, which in turn activate very different
physiological systems than signals of friendship or threat dominant displays.
In those early days, then, evolutionary psychologists tended to think of four
or five basic motivational systems (Buss 1991). It’s these motivational systems
that underpin our main social mentalities. The big five included: caregiving, care
eliciting/seeking, co-operating, competing and sexuality. Each of these requires
different types of attentional focusing and cognitive processing, different types of
xxii Introduction to the Classic Edition

physiological process and different types of behaviour. The key idea was to try to
roughly articulate certain types of self–other role relationships that had an innate
infrastructure underpinning them – and which would then mature and become pat-
terned by life experiences. Table 1 gives a brief overview of the big five, although
I didn’t address sexuality much in HN&S. The last thirty years have seen major
advances in this type of thinking (Huang and Bargh 2014).
To get a flavour of social mentality theory, consider that competitive motives are
linked to high self-monitoring, social comparison, drives to do as well as or better
than others, need for achievement and desires to undermine competitors; aspects
of narcissism are also linked to competitive motives. The threat system is attuned
to vulnerability to shame, self-criticism, social rejection and put down, or simply
being marginalised and ignored, along with narcissistic anger and/or depression
and complex regulation of the dopamine system. In contrast, caring motives are
linked to attention focused on the other, empathic engagement, desires to be help-
ful, desires to avoid causing harm and happiness in sharing and helping.
Obviously, things are more complex than simple encapsulated modules, because
these motivational systems can become enmeshed and integrated too. For example,
they could blend, and of course as noted above, they could conflict with each other.
They can also be context sensitive. So individuals who are highly competitive may
be less likely to access caregiving and compassionate motives in certain contexts –
and indeed there is now quite a lot of evidence that this is case (Van Kleef et al.
2008). Some individuals can be very competitive in one context (e.g., on the sports
playing field) but very caring in other contexts, such as family life. Other people

Table 1 A brief guide to social mentalities

Self as Other as Threats

Care eliciting/ Needing input Source of: care, Unavailability,

seeking from other(s): nurturance, withdrawn,
care, protection, protection, safeness, withholding,
safeness, reassurance, reassurance, exploitation,
stimulation, guidance stimulation, guidance threatening, harmful
Care giving Provider of: care, Recipient of: care, Overwhelmed, unable
protection, safeness, protection, safeness, to provide, threat
reassurance, reassurance, focused, guilt
stimulation, guidance stimulation, guidance
Co-operation Of valued other, Valuing contribution, Cheating,
sharing, appreciating, sharing, reciprocating, nonappreciating
contributing, helping appreciating, affiliative or reciprocating,
rejecting/shaming
Competitive Inferior/superior, Inferior/superior, Involuntary
more-less powerful, more-less powerful, subordination, shame,
harmful/benevolent harmful/benevolent marginalisation,
abused
Sexual Attractive/desirable Attractive/desirable Unattractive, rejecting
the interest
 Introduction to the Classic Edition xxiii

can be very competitive and tyrannical within the family yet submissive outside
the family. Individuals can have a power relationship with carers (parents) and get
caught in resentful or fearful subordination strategies. They can be very frightened
to acknowledge hostility or rage at parents for example (à la Freud). Others can
close out care-seeking behaviours in favour of compulsive self-reliance and domi-
nant control. Sometimes psychotherapy requires not only a toning down of some
motives and strategies but a toning up of others. Indeed, I discussed these issues
with Anthony Stevens (who thought this was exactly Jung’s view) and also Tim
Beck during the 1980s. Beck, Freeman and Associates (1990) also talked about the
importance of personality disorders in terms of the under- and over-development
of certain evolved strategies and motives. So there was a zeitgeist for these ways of
thinking in those days that is sometimes forgotten now.
What was crucial to Jung’s view however, and was not captured well enough in
HN&S, is that these different motives mature, blend, integrate and can contribute
to “individuation” (Stevens 1982). The human capacity for integrating different
motives, emotions and dispositions becomes important for mental health and wis-
dom in contrast to a series of disconnected, competing and at times unconscious
processes (Huang and Bargh 2014). Today we see the capacity for increasing
awareness of inner states, our motives and drivers, along with competencies for
reflective functioning, as central to the process of integration and individuation
(Gildersleeve 2015). Compassionate self-training seeks to support integrative
functioning (Gilbert 2009, 2010; Gilbert and Choden 2013)

Emotions
Just as motives can be understood from an evolutionary functional analysis point
of view, so can emotions. For a long time psychological research made it clear that
we (like other animals) have (at least) two different types of emotion systems –
loosely noted for punishment and rewards (Gilbert 1993). First are emotions that
are associated with threat detection and defence; second are emotions that can
arise when animals are relatively safe from risk of harm, and are able to seek out
rewards, are explorative and are acquiring and enjoying resources. The way in
which threat and positive affect systems work, and how they link to “stop and go”
behavioural systems is outlined in Chapters 4 and 5. It’s interesting to see how
things have changed in this area since those chapters were written (Gilbert 2009).
We have known for many years that the threat system is organised to be “better
safe than sorry”, sensitive to threats to whatever motivational system is operat-
ing, but also survival and injury threats. We also know that there is a hierarchy
of threats. For example, if one is out walking with others but feeling socially
anxious and then hears the sound of a lion nearby, social anxiety has to be quickly
replaced by predator threat anxiety and the need to run. Indeed, this fundamental
“hierarchy of threats” turns up in clinical work all the time. Humans can also feel
threatened by internal cues and stimuli. Individuals can be fearful of their anger
for example if it risks rejection or counterattack. Classical conditioning theory
was very clear that one physiological state could be conditioned to another and
xxiv Introduction to the Classic Edition

block it. So, for example, a bell might be associated with food and become a con-
ditioned stimulus for saliva, but if the bell is also paired with a punishment (mild
electric shock), this causes conflict and seriously disrupts the animal response
systems, causing high distress arousal and disorganised states and suppression
of the salivation response. Compassion focused therapy was to go on and use,
and root itself heavily in, classical conditioning concepts like this (Gilbert 2010).
Individuals may become unaware of the cues that trigger anger because anger is
conditioned to anxiety (as in the case of a child who is repeatedly punished for
being angry or expressing emotion). Awareness of, and sensitivity to, addressing
the stimuli that triggered anger are suppressed in favour of addressing the threat
(punishment) that the (expression of) anger can cause. Clearly, even if one cannot
process anger, anger can still be triggered, but one doesn’t know how to be asser-
tive. The consequnce can be that one ends up feeling defenceless, out of control
and in a submissive position, vulnerable to anxieties and depressions.
Threats can also knock out positive emotions because pursuing positive
resources in the face of high threat is obviously maladaptive. This was to become
a crucial issue in compassion focused therapy, because individuals who are threat
dominant, self-critical and live life trying to stop bad things happening, often
struggle with allowing and experiencing positive emotions, particularly affilia-
tive emotions (Gilbert, McEwan, Matos, & Rivis 2011). The point here, though,
is that rather than thinking of anxiety systems or anger systems I focused on
the idea of a threat system “as a system”, because it’s the variety of the actual
defences that links evolved threat detection responses to the human experience
of emotion. Also, within the threat system there is a constant interplay of one
defence response such as anger suppressing another such as anxiety. Indeed,
I invited Keith Dixon (1998), a noted ethologist and researcher at the time, to
write a paper on this for a special edition of The British Journal of Medical Psy-
chology that I was editing. In HN&S I referred to threat processing as the defence
system (Gilbert 1993, 2001).
One of the core issues I focused on was the fact that some responses to threat are
active whereas others are passive. These are linked to different physiological systems.
Fight and flight are obviously active whereas fainting and freezing are more passive.
However, an important passive form of defence is the loss of positive emotion and
explorative drive – the “stop moving, hide and hunker down” response. Beck et al.
(1985) referred to this as demobilisation. Bowlby (1969) referred to it as despair
states and learned helplessness. Seligman (1975) described it as a helplessness state.
These states are associated with major changes in neurotransmitters, which can be
conditioned, and are common with anhedonic types of depression. These defences
are typical in situations where active defences are not going to work or could be
dangerous, such as actively searching alone for a lost parent/caregiver, making one
vulnerable to predation and dehydration, or coping with down-rank aggression (Gil-
bert 1992, 2006). Consequently, the “action” systems are switched off.
A second important emotional system relates to seeking out rewards and
resources conducive to survival and reproduction. In order to do that, animals
 Introduction to the Classic Edition xxv

have to sense a degree of safety, because without that safety, such seeking behav-
iour would be (defensively) blocked. I was interested in the emotions that we can
experience when we feel safe. While there is a menu of threat-based emotions
(anger/fight, anxiety/flight, anxiety/freeze) is there also a menu of emotions and
behavioural dispositions for when we feel safe (joyful, playful, excited, happy,
contented, peaceful)? Again, it seems there is an active, energised and energising
dimension of positive emotion, and a passive dimension to (what I called then)
safety. So when we are active and safe, we can explore and enjoy exploring –
running around and having a good time; whereas when we are safe and pas-
sive, we are more parasympathetic and in the rest and digest domain of safeness
(Gilbert 1993).
You will notice I have used the word “safeness” here, because actually “safe-
ness” is a better term than “safety”. The late ethologist Michael Chance read
HN&S and suggested that safeness and safety are different. Safety is focused on
becoming safe from threats. Safety focuses on stopping bad things happening,
whereas states of safeness are linked to freedom to act. This seemed to me an
important distinction but came some years after HN&S (Gilbert 1993, 2001). Cer-
tainly in therapy we have to make a distinction between the focus on preventing
bad things from happening (where one defence can block another) in contrast to
enjoying a sense of freedom and safeness. Freedom allows us to be active, have
fun and be joyful. It also creates a secure base (in Bowlby’s terms) from which
we may move out to explore more threatening things – gain confidence and grow.
Thus, the concept of feeling “safe enough to try”.
Today we can (based on evolutionary functional analysis) distinguish between
three types of emotion regulation systems. This is guided by the work of Depue
and Morrone-Strupinsky (2005), Ledoux (1998), Panksepp (2010) and Porges
(2007). What has become clearer since HN&S was first published is that positive
affect has two very different types of evolutionary function and is experienced in
two very different types of ways with very different impacts on the body. These
emotion regulation systems are given in Figure 1:

Threat and self-protection focused systems – enables detecting, attending

processing and responding to threats. There is a menu of threat-based
emotions such as anger, anxiety and disgust, and a menu of defensive
behaviours such as fight, flight, submission, freeze etc. Various subdivi-
sions have been suggested by Panksepp (2010).
Drive, seeking and acquisition focused system – enables the paying of attention
to and responding to stimuli indicating resources, and with some degree of
“activation”, an experience of pleasure in pursuing and securing them.
Contentment, soothing focused system – enables a state of contentment,
peacefulness and openness where individuals are not threat focused or
seeking resources, but are satisfied. Also linked to feelings of well-being.
This is linked to the parasympathetic system, which is sometimes called a
“rest and digest” system.
xxvi Introduction to the Classic Edition

Driven, excited, vitality Content, safe, connected

Non-wanting/
Incentive/resource- Affiliative-focused
focused
Wanting, pursuing, Safeness-kindness
achieving, consuming
Soothing
Activating Threat-focused

Protection and
safety-seeking

Activating/inhibiting

Anger, anxiety, disgust

Figure 1 Three types of affect regulation system

From Gilbert (2009) The Compassionate Mind, with kind permission from Constable Robinson.

The evolution of social behaviour was to have a major regulatory impact on all
of these systems. For example, threat systems can be stimulated by threats to others,
particularly one’s own offspring, loved ones or allies; joy and excitement states can
be stimulated by friends and the pleasure of doing things together; and importantly,
soothing and calming can be generated by comfort, support and helpfulness. Indeed,
a sense of social safeness is very important to well-being (Kelly et al. 2012).
In essence, we can separate out the passive and active elements of positive
affect. The active elements are linked to drive and sympathetic arousal, and the
more soothing sense of safeness is linked to the parasympathetic system, keeping
in mind that the relationship between the two is complex.
The idea of there being two different types of positive emotion that are linked
into active and passive and different degrees of sympathetic and parasympathetic
arousal became very important and was to underpin compassion focused therapy
(Gilbert 2000, 2010).
Compassion focused therapy notes that our drive emotions can be linked into
safety-seeking strategies, where we are constantly trying to do things to stop bad
things happening. We are rushing around doing this and that, and we can feel relief
when we do those things, but they are not necessarily a source of joyfulness or
freedom. We rush around at work not because it’s joyful necessarily, but because
we need to keep our jobs and pay the mortgage. But there is also an active form of
safeness that is pleasurable and allows us to be joyful, play and have fun, such as
when we share jokes at a party of friends or go on holiday. This kind of safeness
 Introduction to the Classic Edition xxvii

allows us to feel free to move, free to think, free to act. Safeness allows us to do
things. The passive forms of safeness give rise to a sense of contentment, the abil-
ity for just being as opposed to doing – for resting. We can just “be” experiencing
the present moment with out doing – although purposely focusing on the pres-
ent moment is a form of doing in a way. What’s important about “safe” passive
states is not only their “rest and digest” aspects, but also that when we are able to
slow down a little, we bring the parasympathetic system online. This is associated
with improved heart rate variability, which has a whole range of beneficial health
effects (Kemp and Quintana 2013; Porges 2007) and is associated with prosocial
behaviour (Kogan et al. 2014). Heart rate variability also facilitates better frontal
cortical functioning (Thayer et al. 2012). Human Nature and Suffering hinted at
these points, as you will see, but was not able to articulate them as clearly as we
can today with all of the new research.

Cognition
HN&S also touched on the nature and role of evolved human cognitive compe-
tencies, and their impact on suffering – and it is rather amazing, tragic and tricky
(Sapolsky 1994). The fact is that about 2 million years ago our ancestors (prob-
ably beginning around the time of Homo erectus) began to evolve a range of cog-
nitive competencies such as language, imagination, systemic thinking, conscious
awareness of self, self-identity formation and self-monitoring. Two million years
is actually a short time for such major competencies to evolve, and one of the
reasons for this runaway evolution is that these competencies – especially social
intelligence – had huge advantages (Dunbar 2010). However, it is only in the last
10,000 years or so that these “intelligences” impacted and changed the world
with the advent of agriculture, writing, culture and the sharing of knowledge.
These cognitive systems also produced completely new ways for human benefit
but also for suffering to emerge. We literally “brought stimuli inside our own
head”, responding to symbolic thoughts and images almost identically as if they
were happening in the outside world. A moment’s reflection will reveal that if we
lie in bed imagining or rehearsing an argument we’ve had, it will stimulate anger
physiological profiles, but these will be very different physiological patterns than
if we, on purpose, choose to create a sexual fantasy. Back to social mentalities.
What role are we in – or in this case imagining? The key here is that what comes
into consciousness, either deliberately or not, and how we deal with that, can play
our physiological systems – emotions and motives – like fingers on a piano.
Another example highlights how we can hold things in the mind, particularly
things that have upset us. Imagine a zebra that escapes from a lion. It will quickly
go back to the herd and graze, whereas humans are more likely to ruminate and
imagine the worst: “Can you imagine if I’d been caught? Imagine what it would
be like to be eaten alive!” And of course we can (under the direction of the threat
system) anticipate the worst: “What if there are two lions tomorrow? What if
I can’t get to the waterhole? What if my children wander out? What if . . . what
xxviii Introduction to the Classic Edition

if . . . what if . . .?” This is not deliberate recall, but once it enters the mind, it can
get stuck there constantly fuelling threat processing and physiological activation.
Another example is that we can go through a day where people are kind and help-
ful to us, but if we have an argument with somebody, then those kindly events
are easily forgotten, and we ruminate on the one person who really annoyed us.
Cognitive therapy has focused very clearly on this tendency to selectively abstract
and focus on threatening things but hasn’t always articulated that this is how the
threat actually works. It is not our fault that it does this. In fact, shortly after
HN&S was published, a wonderful book by a Stanford primatologist (look him up
on YouTube) came out with a book titled Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers in which
he outlined how our newly evolved cognitive competencies and the cultures they
have created combine to (potentially) drive us all crazy and make us sick.
So we now know that these ways of thinking play a really important role
in the stimulation and maintenance of mental health problems. And of course
there is a huge range of symbols that can stimulate anxiety, such as putting your
hand in your pocket and finding that you have been robbed of your credit card
or passport (credit cards and passports don’t exist in nature), or when someone
you want to care for you forgets to send you a birthday card. It is their symbolic
representation – the network of meanings that symbols are linked to – that links
them to threat system; it is the implicational network that is crucial. It is the same
with the self. As far as we know, animals don’t have a sense of self-identity or
symbolic representations of themselves, but humans clearly do, which makes us
vulnerable to shame on the one hand but also causes us to fiercely defend our self-
identity on the other. Again it is the implications of certain kinds of judgement that
are crucial, and of course at a deep level, it is the implications that are related to
survival and reproduction opportunities/threat that are the most emotionally dis-
turbing. For example, events that have implications for any form of social rejec-
tion in a desired relationship will have survival and reproductive implications – at
least as far as brain processing considers them.
Self-monitoring is also a hugely important evolved competency for human
mental functioning. No other animals, as far as we know, can monitor their heart
rates and worry about dying, or monitor their emotions and worry about what they
are feeling and fantasising. No other animal tries to monitor or anticipate what’s
going on in the minds of others, or worries about being disliked or rejected – at
least not in the detailed way humans can. Humans constantly self-monitor. While
this has advantages, it is also a source for judgements and projections and can be
a basis for our ongoing self-criticism.
And, of course, we are fantastically creative problem solvers and have developed
culture, science and medicine. It has made us the dominant species, but this same
brain, that is a creative developer of solutions, a bringer of medicines, can also
develop hideous tortures and the most horrendous cruelties. Humans are amongst
the cruellest of species that have existed on this planet – to ourselves, each other and
animals. We must always remember that these recently evolved cognitive compe-
tencies come with trade-offs, as well as extraordinary and important responsibilities
 Introduction to the Classic Edition xxix

for insight into and regulation of our actions that humans still struggle to take. These
new brain competencies are not the creators of emotions and motives that flow
through the body; they are elaborators and conductors. They are not the orchestra;
the actual orchestra is part of the evolved emotional motivational brain.
Learning how better to deal with the orchestra is part of the challenge of human-
ity. So clearly it’s the use of our intelligence that is going to help us to understand
our own brains and begin to gain deeper insights into the nature of human suffer-
ing and generate solutions to it. We are a questioning, seeking, restless species and
one of the questions all humans ask is: why do we suffer (Gilbert 2009)?

Summing up
Reflecting back over 30 years, it is interesting how some things have changed and
yet others remain the same. Our science of mind is clear that the human brain has
some very serious difficulties as a result of the way it evolved. It’s a tricky brain.
The great thing about science is that we can study things as they really are, not
just how they appear to be from the outside. As I often say to my students, “It is
(y)our responsibility to try to help us understand humanity, the human mind, and
the human predicament and the solutions for it; no one else is going to do it; not the
physicists, nor the chemists; not the geologists, nor the farmers. Sometimes, physi-
cal scientists make fun of psychological science and see it as “not real” science – or
sometimes call it soft science. But what many psychologists are concerned with
now is to really root our understanding of psychological processes in the systems
that give rise to them – the evolved and socially shaped body and brain.
The science of mind can dig deeply into the roots of our suffering and can
recognise that the way we treat each other is one of its causes and cures; suffer-
ing is created between us, not just in us. The more we understand how this comes
about (and of course it’s hardly a new insight), the more it becomes obvious how
important it is to use our science to work out how to promote prosocial values
and behaviours in our families, schools, workplaces, businesses and governments
(Gilbert 2009). The most profoundly important challenge of this century is to
promote human flourishing through prosocial behaviour and human compas-
sion. Nearly three decades after the publication of Human Nature and Suffering,
psychological science is taking the study of compassion and prosocial behaviour
seriously, and understanding their fundamental importance in humanity’s future.
For me, my personal journey into compassion focused therapy began more than
30 years ago here in a book called Human Nature and Suffering. I hope you enjoy
revisiting this with me.

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Chapter 1

Introduction and overview

Despite a radically different view of human psychology than existed in Freud’s

day, psychoanalytic theorising continues to exercise a powerful hold over west-
ern imagination. Why should this be? There appear to be many reasons, none of
which necessarily tells us of the truth or falseness of psychoanalytic formulation.
First, at least on the surface, it speaks to us in a familiar language; a language of
description which resonates with the personal. We may experience symptoms and
desires we cannot explain. We recognise the aggressive and vengeful in ourselves
and also the desires to be approved of, loved and respected. Second, it places these
personal propensities at its centre, to be explained systematically, and it attempts
to provide answers to the contradictory and paradoxical. Third, while it speaks
in terms of mental mechanisms as fragmented wishes, desires and fears, it nev-
ertheless offers some possibility for coherence and union. Fourth, it offers a new
principle of knowing, based on free association which requires the individual to
suspend moral and logical reasoning.
Psychoanalytic theory in common with some philosophical forms of enquiry
appeals to our sense of the mythic. We can analyse films and books in terms of
archetypal relations; e.g. the journey and trials of the hero, the search for truth, the
fight between good and evil, the lost anima (animus) object, treachery, deceit and
war. These are repetitious human themes of interaction. In these we find mirrors
to our own personal lives and those subjects and discourses revealed by the tellers
of fiction and myths. Perhaps, as some suggest, it was his talent for mythic story
telling and literary style that made Freud so popular.
And yet for all this, it is becoming increasingly clear that the cure of suffering
most often requires action. The behavioural and social learning sciences have
impressed on us the vital importance of behavioural confrontation with the feared;
the need to strengthen the will to act rather than the power of understanding or
insight alone. Indeed, the latter may at times depend on the former. Despite pow-
erful arguments (Wachtel 1977; Erdelyi 1985), these two procedures, the intro-
spective free associative, revelatory and the behavioural are not easily married.
Nevertheless, psychotherapeutic practice and theory are becoming more eclec-
tic, trying to pin down the crucial elements that facilitate change (Karasu 1986;
Beitman 1987).
2 Introduction and overview

At the time when psychoanalysis was getting bogged down in increasingly jar-
gonistic complexities of the human psyche, and the refining of technique (which
gradually evolved into increasing distance between patient and therapist) the
behaviourists offered new, simpler and more scientifically verifiable explanations
for suffering. In this sense the operant approach offered (at least superficially) a
rebuke to individualism and pointed the finger at external contingencies. Behav-
ioural therapists suggested that previous contingencies of reward and punishment
could result in neurosis. For example, Ferster (1973) argued that the suppression
of anger arose from a child’s early conditioning of external punitive consequences
to assertive and aggressive behaviour. In other words, the child came to fear the
consequences of its own assertive and aggressive behaviour. For these theorists,
neurosis was not a thwarting of instinctual drives, but the consequences (usually)
of a punitive environment. For them, there was no necessity to consider how a
punitive environment interacted with an evolved system of varied mental struc-
tures, the activity of which was (presumed) mostly unconscious. Neitzche’s will
to power and the existentialists’ will to meaning were rendered the products of
personal environmental history.
No theory can be fully understood without recourse to its historical culture
of embeddeness (Ellenberger 1970). It is from this source that any direction of
enquiry must commence. There would have been little medieval philosophy, no
St Augustine or Thomas Aquinas were it not for a set of religious and ethical
premises set up by Christianity. Whereas some religious healers saw suffering
as the result of transgression (Zilboorg and Henry 1941) Freud saw neurosis as
the fear of transgression, the result of a submissive will, fearful of knowing and
acknowledging. Thus, for Freud suffering arose from too much adherence to
authority, rather than too little. Hence, in his day, Freud became the focus for
the loss of prohibition, the liberation of the sexual, the release from guilt and the
preference for knowing over ignorance, prejudice and obedience. Up until the
1930s the BBC banned the broadcasting of talks on psychoanalysis and the estab-
lishment continued to see sexual desires as needing to be tamed by punishment or
cold showers. Homosexual acts were sins against God and worthy of punishment.
The institutions of power and the continuance of the culture of command were the
way of correct order.
But liberating or not, resonating or not and freeing or not, the psychoanalytic
method of understanding the psyche has always been in doubt, and its treatment of
suffering even more suspect. Maybe it was not free association and dream analy-
sis or even “the knowing” that cured, but rather the relationship between therapist
and patient. Maybe it was the recapture of a certain form of empathic intimacy
that made the difference as Rogers, and later Kohut, were to argue. Maybe the
Oedipus complex was rare or even irrelevant, as both Jung and Horney argued;
and maybe we do not need to have much insight into the structures of mentality
in order to work as therapists, as the behaviourists argued. What emerged was a
schism between the observed, the pulse that psychoanalysis had put its finger on,
and the theoretical monuments erected to explain it.
 Introduction and overview 3

More recently through the work of Neisser (1967, 1976) the behaviourist hold
over academic psychology has loosened. The result of this was called a cogni-
tive revolution (Mahoney 1974, 1984). At the same time, new movements in
psychotherapeutic endeavour have grown out of the post-behavioural and post-
egoanalytic period and are marked especially by the works of Beck and Ellis. The
post-cognitive revolution has now given rise to a new theoretical paradigm called
“cognitive constructionism”, and a recognition that cognition is a biological issue
(Maturana 1983; Dell 1985: Mahoney and Gabriel 1987).
However we wish to plot the history of the last fifty years, there seems to be
an increasing wish to return to the grappling with the ageless questions of under-
standing human beings as coming into the world in states of preparation. What
is born after nine months gestation is not a tabula rasa, but a potential human
being that, like any other species, be it plant or animal, will, given a genetic and
structural sufficiency, proceed to grow in a species-typical way. What we see in
maturation is as much an unfolding as it is a moulding. When we begin to see
this unfolding from an evolved perspective and are able to liken and distinguish
ourselves from our animal relatives then the full impact of what it is we need in
order to grow and flourish, both as individuals and as a species, is more easily
recognised.
Increasingly, we are beginning also to understand that the brain is consti-
tuted of a number of special-purpose units. These may be called small minds
(Ornstein 1986), modules (Fodor 1985) or special intelligences (Gardner 1985).
These individual, special functional units exert various effects on and through
consciousness. They are most easily revealed by experimental research and also
examination of the functioning of brain-damaged subjects. The human power of
reason is now seen as a special faculty which can operate relatively untainted by
personal needs (e.g. mathematical reasoning) or, alternatively can be recruited
to fill in the gaps of an already crudely formulated reality thrown up by smaller
functioning units for the interpretation of experience. Hence, the reasoning of
the successful is different from the reasoning of the defeated; the reasoning of
the loved is different from the reasoning of the abandoned; the reasoning of the
neurotic is different from the reasoning of the psychotic, and the therapist needs
to be schooled in these various ways reasoning is put to work. Additionally, the
state of the physiological relations pertaining within the brain at any point in time
profoundly affects our personal and social logics. This must be true otherwise no
psychotropic medication would work, not to mention the power of drugs like LSD
or alcohol.
Behaviourism is beginning to grapple with the problem of our innate capabili-
ties for knowing and behaving (Rescorla 1988). The study of facial expressions
(Tomkins 1981), innate sensory motor patterns (Leventhal 1984) and the study
of the prepared basis for phobia (McNally 1987; Trower and Gilbert 1989) are
also examples. It is no longer possible to regard humans as a tabula rasa without
a developmental process (Kegan 1982; Goldstein 1985; Mahoney and Gabriel
1987). Watson’s behavioural triumph over MacDougall’s instinct theories, won in
4 Introduction and overview

the 1920s, is coming to an end (Eysenck 1979; Goldstein 1985). We stand at one
of those moments in history where it is possible to integrate what scattered details
of knowledge of the human psyche we now possess. Sociobiology, ethology, biol-
ogy, philosophy and of course, psychology are all enticing us with new ideas that
demand an increasingly flexible theoretical structure capable of dealing with both
the evolved prepared basis of human mentality and its medium of modification
via the culture in which it comes to express itself. Hence, the complexities of
human psychic life stretch out in wondrous diversity as perhaps at no other time
in history.
This book is a personal journey through these complexities. It is an attempt
to articulate the basic strands of human nature that can both resonate with the
personal and yet be objective. In this I try to explain the basis of human suffering
as arising from maladaptive deviations in the expression of our individual human-
ness. Such a grandiose scheme can never fully achieve its aim and this book must
denounce any claims to be fully comprehensive. In casting such a wide net, it
is sadly the case but inevitable, that there are parts of the net where the mesh is
extremely fine and loosely woven. However, I hope this will not detract from the
overall sketch that is given.

Outline
Chapter 2 begins our journey by examining some of the general issues pertaining
to sociobiology and the implications some of these have for our understanding
of our evolved mental structures and capabilities. It is argued that there are four
main classes of biosocial competencies (called biosocial goals) which account
for much of our susceptibility to suffering. These are labelled as care eliciting,
care giving, co-operating and competing. In Chapter 3 different approaches to the
study of human nature are taken up. These include archetype theory, ethology,
interpersonal psychology and cognitive psychology. In exploring these themes,
we will note how the issue of dominance (captured by Neitzche’s concept of the
will to power) and also the role of affiliation versus hostility appear to be promi-
nent mental capabilities co-ordinating the personality. Chapter 3 also provides the
basis for the theoretical rationale for analysing systems of defence and systems of
safety (although in our discussion of defence systems, we are talking in ethologi-
cal rather than psychoanalytic terms).
In Chapter 4 we examine various subdivisions and psychobiological mecha-
nisms of the defence and safety systems, which have special-purpose capabilities
for dealing with different contexts. We will argue that there are different kinds
of threats that social animals have to deal with such as predators and conspecific
threats. We will also note how conspecifics can confer safety as well as threat.
We will try to illuminate the role of psychobiological factors, showing that the
mental and biological must be integrated to avoid our study of psychopathol-
ogy becoming either a brainless or mindless science (L. Eisenberg 1986). Chap-
ter 5 examines peripheral physiological systems and shows that the pre-existing
 Introduction and overview 5

physiological state of an animal has a major impact on the response it emits to

excitatory stimuli. Towards the end of this chapter I also present a view called the
defensive drift hypothesis which suggests how various symptoms tend to become
locked together. In Chapters 6 to 13, each biosocial goal is considered in turn.
This offers a detailed look at the biosocial goals of care eliciting, care giving,
co-operating and competing. These chapters are in pairs, the first looking at the
biosocial goal and the second examining the kinds of sufferings and disorders that
can relate to distortions in that goal. In our final chapters I will try to bring these
various threads together and use a systems analysis for the construction of the self
based upon the activity of these various aspects within the human psyche.
This then is the brief sketch of the book. At various times in the writing I have
been confronted with a profound sense of ignorance which has been so strong as
to make me wish I had never started the journey. However, in the end I have taken
the view that a sketch must only be a sketch and hopefully a focus by which oth-
ers may come to modify and also to appreciate the concepts and theories being
developed in other areas apart from their own. This book is, above all, an attempt
to illuminate Mind as an expression of evolution.

We put much too narrow a definition on personality! Our personality, we

tend to believe, is only that part of ourselves which we regard as individual,
as deviating from the norm but we, each and all of us, contain within us the
entire history of the world, and just as our body records Man’s genealogy as
far back as the fish and then some, so our soul encompasses everything that
has ever lived in human souls. All gods and devils that have ever existed are
within us as possibilities, as desires, as solutions. If mankind were to die out
except for one halfway gifted child, who had been taught nothing, the child
would rediscover all history; it would create gods, demons, paradises, com-
mandments and prohibitions, the old and new testaments.
Hermann Hesse: Reflections, 1979 p.86
Chapter 2

A legacy from the past

The role of human nature

Historical background
Freud’s birth in 1853 preceded the publication of Darwin’s Origin of Species by
three years. From our present standpoint it is sometimes difficult to appreciate
how profoundly the acceptance of the idea that species are transformed through
time (evolve) was to change Western thought. This change in our conceptualisa-
tion of ourselves, our history and our relationship to other animals set the stage for
much of what was to come in modern psychology (Weiner 1972; Gilbert 1984).
Like all major shifts in meaning-making this one had been building for some time
by a gradual accumulation of threads of evidence from different directions.
Linnaeus (1707–1778) had noted certain uniformities in the structural forms
of many animals, which he regarded as evidence of God’s “ideal ground plans”.
The discovery of fossil evidence laid in rock strata, and questions concerning the
probability that some animals have become extinct were issues long pre-existent
to Darwin (Weiss and Mann 1975). In fact, the idea that species transform and
change through time can be traced back to early Greek philosophy and Tson-Tse,
a sixth-century Chinese philosopher who wrote: “All organisms are originated
from a single species. This single species has undergone many gradual and con-
tinual changes and then given rise to all organisms of different forms. Such organ-
isms were not differentiated immediately, but on the contrary they acquired their
differences through gradual change, generation after generation.” (Ellenberger
1970, pp.229–230).
This idea suggested 1200 years earlier, caught the scientific imagination and
became an acceptable paradigm because of a gradual accumulation of evidence
to support it. In this, Tson-Tse had not been so fortunate. For Darwin, the case for
evolution – species transformation – had to be argued against strong religious tra-
ditions of species fixedness as created by God. As Freud grew in this challenging
and changing intellectual atmosphere, Karl Marx had published his Communist
Manifesto and Frederick Nietzsche, among many others, had attacked Christian-
ity for its profound suppression of aspects of human nature, especially desire and
passion. Christian morality separated flesh and spirit and perpetuated the belief
that through struggle, the control of the former advanced the latter. Nietzsche
 A legacy from the past 7

had articulated the consequences of this split with its attempts to suppress innate
predispositions of human nature. One is impressed by Ellenberger’s (1970) depic-
tion of Nietzsche as a prominent predecessor to many psychoanalytical theories
(Gilbert 1984).
With hindsight, it is clear that Freud neither discovered the unconscious (it had
existed as an idea for many hundreds of years) nor was he the first to propose that
the repression of the evolved, primitive aspects of the mind was the source of
madness (Ellenberger 1970; Whyte 1960). Nevertheless, with the desperate wish
to be a discoverer, Freud set about developing a structural model of the mind
which both allowed and explained the operation of primitive predispositions
as products of earlier evolutionary stages (referred to collectively as id) within
unconscious mechanisms.
By 1890 neither the idea that psychological processes could occur outside con-
sciousness nor the theory of evolution were particularly controversial. Indeed,
Ellenberger claims that negative reactions to Freud’s early papers were primar-
ily because his ideas were not new. Many of the subsequent controversies over
Freudian theory lay with Freud’s attempt to integrate these two different concep-
tual aspects of human nature (evolution and unconscious) and his focus on fan-
tasy data as a method of exploration. Thus, it was in areas such as displacement,
symbolisation, mechanisms of libido, energy transfer and so on that his opponents
found most to criticise. Because the unconscious has become so identified with
Freudian analysis many critics of the concept of the unconscious have shown some
ignorance in not realising that they are generally criticising a particular model
only. Not surprisingly, the role of unconscious processes has made a comeback
(Dixon 1981, Mandler 1985, Brewin 1988). Although behaviourists have been
the most critical, there is nothing in classical conditioning theory that explicitly
rules out associations operating below or outside consciousness. Indeed, a rather
different view might be taken dependent upon the age at which associations occur
(Jacobs and Nadel 1985). Recently, Erdelyi (1985) made a fascinating attempt to
integrate analytical, cognitive and conditioning paradigms.
In the immediate post-Darwinian era, it is not surprising that the mechanisms
of species transformation reappeared as unconscious motives within psychoana-
lytic thinking. For Freud, the individual served two purposes: the preservation of
the species and the preservation of the individual. From the clash of these two
evolved directives, or rules (inherited and acquired), arose the predisposition for
psychopathology. Much has now been written on the way in which neurosis rep-
resents some kind of uneasy solution to the conflict of unconscious wishes with
those permitted in specific social environments, and we will not engage a detailed
treatise here.
Freud’s contemporaries took differing views on the importance of evolution-
ary mechanisms behind neurosis and the mechanisms of the unconscious. In
1909, Freud was invited to give a series of papers in America at Clarke Univer-
sity. (For an interesting discussion of Freud’s general approach to these lectures
see Efron 1985). Following this presentation William James wrote to his friend
8 A legacy from the past

Theodore Flournoy “I hope that Freud and his pupils will push their ideas to their
utmost limits, so that we may learn what they are. They cannot fail to throw light
on human nature”. (Evans and Koelsch 1985). Hence, there seems to have been a
general enthusiasm for Freud’s attempt to look at human nature through an evo-
lutionary lens. As to the specifics, and by this we may imagine James had Freud’s
view of the unconscious in mind, he said “I can make nothing in my own case of
his dream theories and obviously symbolism is a most dangerous method.” Later,
James was to say that the notion of the unconscious could be regarded as a “scien-
tific tumbling ground of whimsies”. Thus, on the issues of the evolved nature of
humanity and the question of the unconscious, James at least took differing views
on Freud’s psychoanalytic theory and its methods. Nevertheless, unconscious pro-
cesses (as distinct from the rarified entity of the unconscious) are clearly linked to
evolved CNS structure (Mandler 1985). If we are to progress in our understanding
of psychopathology, then Freud’s endeavour should be rekindled, but with a dif-
ferent methodology and in the light of new theories and evidence.
There is a further aspect to Freud’s thinking that we would be advised to seri-
ously reconsider. This was his concern to understand the psychobiology of neuro-
sis. Many theorists abandoned this effort and hence gave scant regard to symptom
clusters that are clearly the result of disturbed physiologies. Freud, until the age
of forty, was first and foremost a neurologist and it was from this direction that
the tone of psychoanalytic theory was set. Moreover, Freud had experimented
often with the use of cocaine and some, like Gillie (1981), have argued that it was
from Freud’s use of cocaine and his own introspective methods that many of his
ideas were developed. Indeed, in 1909, James is believed to have said “I strongly
suspect Freud, with his dream theory, of being a regular hallucine”. (Evans and
Koelsch 1985). Of course, Freud was not the first and not the last to erect complex
theories of the mind, and even the nature of reality from drug-induced experiences.
The use of LSD in the 1960s produced a multitude of books describing altered
states of consciousness and reality. Some continue in this field (Grof 1985). It is
undoubtedly the case, however, that it was Freud’s neurobiological concepts that
set the conceptual style of the psychoanalytic model.
It is notable that few of the early breakaways concerned themselves much with
the details of Freud’s neurophysiological axioms, even though many analytical the-
ories and ideas were based explicitly on them. Yet Freud was interested in how the
neurophysiological processes transformed evolved predispositions into the symp-
toms and syndromes of neurosis. Freud attempted to describe a comprehensive
model of these interactions and worked with haste on the Project for Scientific
Psychology in 1895. Although this was never completed to Freud’s satisfaction,
many scholars believe that it was this work and the ideas developed at this time that
were the well from which he drew many of his ideas (McCarley and Hobson 1977).
If the breakaways, especially Jung and Adler, did not concern themselves
with the neurophysiological side of Freudian thinking they certainly shared with
Freud the spirit of the times. This concerned the basic premise that psychopa-
thology had to be understood within an evolutionary context. For Jung, heavily
 A legacy from the past 9

influenced by Nietzsche’s philosophy, but suspicious of Freud’s libido theory,

there were the concepts of the collective unconscious with its archetypal compo-
nents. These were seen as evolved and inherited aspects of the human mind and
as such they were present and potentially active in every member of the species.
He made important distinctions between the collective unconscious (the contents
of which were totally inherited and need never have been conscious) and the per-
sonal unconscious, the contents of which, now repressed, had at one time been
conscious. More recently, sociobiologists (Wenegrat 1984) have recognised that
archetypes are useful and important ethological concepts. Stevens (1982) also
offers an ethological analysis to the concept of archetype.
In Adler we see the concern with competitive (often sibling) elements, the
struggle to overcome inferiority and for power and dominance; again arising from
a concern with the innate predispositions within humanity. Adler had a number
of evolutionary assumptions and models of human nature, although he was sig-
nificantly more interested in the importance of social interaction and education.
Adler’s individual psychology, through the work of people like Karen Horney
and Albert Ellis, has had a notable impact on interpersonal and cognitive psycho-
therapy developments.
A key issue on which the breakaways departed from Freud was related to the
issue of libido as a primary causal mechanism, or fuel of neurosis. Indeed, many
analysts would seem, perhaps erroneously, to have given short shrift to the sexual
aspects of analytic theory (see Efron 1985 for a comprehensive and fascinating
review). However, there was little disagreement on the importance of understand-
ing the evolution of human nature as a key to understanding psychopathology. But
time is a great destroyer of trails and with the passing of years, psychotherapeutic
practice became increasingly detached from the original assumptions and spirit of
the age from which they had grown. The central concern with how phylogenetic
influences operated in psychopathology was lost in more and more esoteric theo-
rising. There was a gradual but continual detachment from concern with both the
physical (and sexual) body (Efron 1985) and evolutionary structures of the mind.
Psychosomatic medicine became a poor relative to psychoanalysis. It has been
comparatively recently that mind–body interactions have again become an impor-
tant area of study, as for example in stress research and the role of attitudes to
heart disease and cancer. It is fair to say, however, that like Freud, Pavlov’s ideas
of classical conditioning were in the realm of psychosomatics and recent work on
the conditioning of immune response promises to be of considerable importance
(Ader and Cohen 1984; Engel 1986).
Nevertheless, most analytic theorists followed a path that seemed to lead fur-
ther and further away from consideration of psychobiology, with the unconscious
being the central focus of interest, theory and speculation. Scientific language,
almost incomprehensible to those not schooled in the jargon, became the order of
the day. Scientific study was by-passed or given up in exchange for a more eso-
teric and social process. Indeed, debates still rage as to whether psychoanalysis
is, or can be, a science. This disdain for science, in preference for case studies
10 A legacy from the past

used to expand theories, was a fatal mistake and opened the door for laboratory-
based psychologies of behaviourism to gain ascendancy in academia.1 Neverthe-
less, while the methodology and procedures of analysis may be unsatisfactory it
is erroneous to believe it has nothing to teach us. Today we find major schools
of psychotherapy erecting complex theories of psychopathology with no concern
whatsoever with the fact that humans are evolved animals with physical bod-
ies. Furthermore, many schools of psychotherapy are rather silent on issues of
the evolution of social behaviour and its relation to forms of psychopathology.
The idea that certain forms of cognitive appraisal relating to attachment or power
motives have a biological basis is absent from most cognitive models. Hence, the
fact that certain social behaviours represent the expression of evolutionary solu-
tions and have neurophysiological mediators and correlates is often ignored. The
body has been relegated to a machine operated by the punch codes of thoughts,
fantasies or behaviours. In fact, the birth of the computer has produced a cultural
schematic shift in our construction of mind–body relations.
Berman (1986) in an excellent paper has highlighted the not inconsiderable
dangers to this current cultural style of meaning-making. If the philosophy of
dualism led medicine to lose its mind, much psychotherapy has lost its body! The
essential tensions and paradoxes of mind and body, objective and subjective expe-
rience are not easily bridged. Many who have tried have ended up dissolving the
bridge with false models requiring evaporation (however sophisticatedly done) of
one or the other (Berman 1986).
In many schools of psychotherapy terms and ideas from an earlier age remain,
like “energy transfer”, “inferiority” and the like, but with a tendency for these
to flap in a theoretical breeze having lost the foundations from which they grew.
Recently, cognitive psychotherapy has become sufficiently robust to take up once
again the issue of the evolved structure of the mind and study the importance of
biological mechanisms and the various predispositions to disorder. (Beck et al.
1985; Gilbert 1984). Attachment theory, as we shall see, has also been one of the
few exceptions in that its theory is evolution-based and it has spawned consider-
able physiological research. Ethological theories are also beginning to bridge this
gap (Gardner 1988; Price 1988).
From a historic point of view, we are confronted with two central problems. First,
humans stand at the end of a long phylogenetic road where structural alteration has
occurred in relation to evolutionary processes. Second, the adaptive behaviours
that flow out of these evolutionary inventions are in large part co-ordinated and
controlled by biological processes designed to perform certain functions. In the
remaining part of this chapter attention is given to the first of these considerations.

Evolution in the social context

Why do certain personal constructions of the self and world produce depres-
sive or anxious states? In essence, I believe that it is simply because the brain
is structured – wired up that way. To proceed further and offer any specification
 A legacy from the past 11

to such states requires examination of how and why this structuring occurs. To
understand these issues in more detail is one of the aims of this book. Before we
proceed, a few general points on evolution are in order.
The principle of the transformation of species by evolution rests centrally on
the process of selection. But selection presupposes alternatives from which to
select. This means, of course, that the very basis of species transformation can
only proceed within a social domain, i.e. within populations of social organisms.
Evolution is, therefore, at its very core the study of the social – the processes by
which selections are made from the many, given that the many will be genetically
dissimilar in subtle but important ways (see Barash 1977, pp.10–11). Whether
we look at mating, competitive or caring behaviour, evolution is concerned with
the study of the advantages bestowed by tactics and strategies for intra-species
interaction (Buss 1984; Wenegrat 1984). As such, evolution advances via social
interactive tactics of organisms which confer advantage and it is primarily in
the interaction of organisms that evolution proceeds. This does not exclude the
most general tenet of evolution relating to adaptations for ecological exploita-
tion (e.g. by variations of physical forms). But here our concern is primarily with
the social adaptations. One of the main assumptions is that social adaptations
underlie many mental mechanisms (this is taken further in Chapter 14). It should
be noted that not all evolutionary advances are to the good. The expression of
certain evolutionary prepared capacities is very much context specific. Change
the context and a potential benefit can turn into a real liability. In a sense neurosis
may be something like this: context-inappropriate use of innate potential. A typi-
cal example might be the seasonal triggering of migratory or hibernation states
(see Appendix 2).
The nervous system is the principal organ for the execution of competent social
interactions. It is through the central nervous system (CNS) that the structural
organisation for the execution of social acts exists. It seems to me therefore that
the most salient constructions of reality which are capable of unlocking evolved
response patterns (e.g. anxiety, depression, paranoia) are those that carry informa-
tion about the social interactive competencies of the individual. This is why self-
evaluations, be they negative or positive, may have little effect on the CNS unless
they convey information about social competency and expectancy. Indeed self-
evaluation is principally a social phenomenon (Crook 1980; Baumeister 1982).
In other words, the information about the capacity to interact with other members
of the species in advantageous ways recruits brain processes evolved to deal with
such survival-relevant contingencies. Beck (1974a,b) points out that this “informa-
tion” may be derived from internal schemata rather than actual events in the world.

Linking and spacing

Looking at the basic dynamics of the evolution of social communication, Gardner
(1988) says this: “But reduced as much as possible, two basic messages are con-
veyed by all intraspecific communications: conspecifics tend to link themselves
12 A legacy from the past

or space themselves, in optimal ways in space and time.” Is it not possible that
these two basic messages are reflected in the struggle between assimilation ver-
sus autonomy as people seek optimal spacings, both inter- and intrapsychically?
Kegan (1982) has discussed this aspect in terms of a child’s growing need to
continually reassess these conflicting aspects of the psyche in the light of new
cognitively maturing competencies. The concept of there being two basic pro-
cesses giving rise to a variety of interpersonal behaviours for linking with others
or spacing from others seems to have clear reflections in conscious experience of
interpersonal relations. These are reflected in the dialectic processes of fears of get-
ting too close to others (fusion, assimilation) versus fears of being too distanced
(alone, cut off, isolated). Central to this issue is the degree to which individuals
“feel in control” as they link or space themselves from others.
Before proceeding it is useful to consider the degree to which spacing and link-
ing functions are modified by cultural and personal experiences. Weitz (1979) has
given a brief but succinct review of some of these issues. Using Hall’s analysis,
spacing relates to proximity-controlling behaviour. The dimensions of this control
are varied but include intimate, personal, social and public. Moreover, the rules
that determine under what conditions certain interpersonal acts become defined as
encroachment, violation, invasion or containment (safety providing versus safety
reducing or threatening) varies from dimension to dimension, person to person
and culture to culture. For example, Hall (1979, p.294) quoting from one of his
earlier works notes that: “Americans overseas were confronted with a variety of
difficulties because of the cultural differences in the handling of space. People
stood too close during conversations, and when the Americans backed away to a
comfortable, conventional distance, this was taken to mean that Americans were
cold, aloof, withdrawn and disinterested in the people of the country.”
In fact, my own experience of living in Dubai was a real education in how
different cultures use different dimensions of space. Among males, hand hold-
ing with overt physical demonstrations of affection were exceedingly common,
whereas females, following tradition, would cover their faces and bodies, often
in black, and have a completely different interpersonal behavioural style, and be
threatened by different degrees of spacings. Research has also shown how small
room size may be regarded as cozy and intimate in one culture, but positively
claustrophobic in another. Different cultures use and symbolise inner living quar-
ters differently. In mental health research, recent interest has focussed on the ecol-
ogy of living space. High-rise flats have been shown to inhibit preferred linking
and spacing functions of many, leading to difficulties in forming relationships
and obtaining a sense of place and security from interpersonal relations. These
particular organisations of living space are believed to contribute to social isola-
tion, drug abuse and crime. One of the positive outcomes of psychobiological and
evolutionary approaches (among others) to our study of human behaviour may be
greater concern to provide habitats for people that facilitate the development of
supportive rather than destructive spacings and linkings. In a recent newspaper
report there was growing concern that the increasing price of land was resulting
 A legacy from the past 13

in houses being built with smaller and smaller room sizes. We do not yet know the
consequences of such ecological changes.
The work of Hall and other researchers in this field opens up a dimension to
our study of psychopathology which we have yet to fully appreciate or exploit.
Yet by far the most salient concerns and themes in psychopathology do indeed
relate to interpersonal threats along the dimensions of intimate, personal, social
and public distancing. Threat may be constituted by being too distant or too close
in one or more of these dimensions. Interestingly, Beck (1983, p.274) has alluded
to this. As we shall see in later chapters, he distinguishes between two basic vul-
nerability types to depression: the autonomous type and the socially dependent
(sociotropic) type. He notes: “Just as the autonomous type relies on distancing to
facilitate his goals, so the sociotropic person seeks closeness. Thus, the dimension
of closeness–separateness may be a useful way to differentiate the dependent from
the autonomous type of depression just as fear of closeness as opposed to fear of
distancing distinguishes the claustrophobic from the agoraphobic personalities. In
fact, the autonomous personalities seem to go with claustrophobia and the depen-
dent with agoraphobia. Reda (personal communication) made this observation.”
The further consideration to be given to these points is that spacings occur in
a number of different dimensions. In my own experience, depressives respond
differently to helping behaviour from others. I have had patients who, when
depressed, are most concerned to escape and be alone. One patient said that she
hated people fussing over her and found it humiliating and all she wanted was to
be left alone. She had a great sense of shame. Sometimes family members need
to be advised of the nature of this because in trying to “do something” for the
depressed person, they may actually contribute to the distress by getting too close
and being too threatening. In other patients the reverse is the case. We need more
research on the optimal, beneficial spacing and linking levels for different types
of client.
It is becoming clear as therapists investigate the evolutionary mechanisms of
pathology that the constructions that arise in pathology are often constructions
of social distance, and social consequence. Sometimes the social implications
of self beliefs are not obvious in disturbed individuals but psychotherapy can
quickly reveal them. This makes the role of transference and counter-transference
an important one.

Return to the social

The central point of my thesis is that evaluations which throw light on many (but
not all) forms of psychopathology are those which convey social information to
the self and result in particular constructions of social opportunities. These relate
to the capacity to derive positive advantageous (evolutionarily relevant) social
outcomes such as care, protection and status, and avoid negative social outcomes
such as isolation, defeat, humiliation, attack. The biosocial goals of care/support,
status/prestige and others, are pursued with increasing levels of sophistication
14 A legacy from the past

with movement up the phylogenetic scale. Nevertheless, no matter how sophis-

ticated and elaborate these goal-achieving tactics may become, when goals are
seriously threatened, major disturbance of the CNS may result. It is the concept of
biosocial goals which links the physiological with the social (see pages 24–26 for
a classification of biosocial goals).
The idea that the evolution of mental mechanisms arises from social interac-
tive tactics implies that a principal organisational element in the pursuit of cer-
tain (biosocial) goals is to do with communication. Russell Gardner (personal
communication, 1988) has pointed out that many states of psychopathology are
communicative states, i.e. they are states about self/other spacings. Apart from
monosymptomatic phobias, the bulk of psychopathology involves expectations
and beliefs about how others are going to react to the self (e.g. reject, abandon,
ignore or love and admire). If such states are indeed about interpersonal commu-
nicative messages subserving evolutionary strategies, then it is entirely possible
for there to be open schemata allowing for social rules to be learned, to facilitate
the expressions of innately coded forms (messages) of communication. These
social schemata are tuned to attending to the behaviours and intentions of others
and modifying one’s own responses accordingly. In other words, there is an essen-
tial dialectic between self and others, each capable of modifying the response(s)
of each. A central dimension of this dialectic is spacings (Gardner 1988), i.e. link-
ing with other versus distancing.
The ability to evaluate the behaviour and intentions of others in advance, per-
haps by reading affective displays from facial or postural behaviours and selecting
specific responses to these, would be highly advantageous. Furthermore, the abil-
ity to deceive others of one’s intentions, to stop one’s biosocial goals for power/
control or dependency becoming obvious to others, would be a real step up. The
capacity for self-deception may even have evolved so that certain intentions and
motivations do not enter consciousness, i.e. the actor is himself deceived (Trivers
1976), making the deception far more effective. In fact, psychotherapy can often
be about helping patients understand their deceptions. Some patients fear ordi-
nariness because they secretly desire to be special and powerful (Yalom 1980),
although they may deny this.
Probably, the most significant advantages of intraspecies interactive tactics
are those that convey the power to influence others. This is achieved principally
through the control of social attention (Chance 1988). Tactics or social communi-
cations which have no power to influence others may not be particularly valuable.
Indeed human “display” behaviour is not only richly culturally amplified, but is
also governed by important innate rules (Morris 1977). Therefore, the capacity to
influence others as conveyed by communicative acts is central to the evolution of
social tactics. When the social environment does not respond to these efforts the
subject is either forced to change tactics, if possible, or is confronted with a real
sense of helplessness over others. Although some tactics (e.g. tearful care elicit-
ing) may involve much distress, it is highly dubious that we should see them as
illnesses in any biologically abnormal sense. What they may represent (to take
 A legacy from the past 15

tearful behaviour as an example), is efforts to mobilise help, to elicit something

of value from another, e.g. care, attention, protection or support. Hence, as Hill
(1968) has pointed out, depression may be regarded in terms of disease, reaction
or posture. However, as mentioned earlier, these activities may be context inap-
propriate, or others may not take much notice.

Evolution of biosocial goals and social strategies

At present, the important questions that face us are: (1) what are the principal
biosocial goals in social animals; (2) by what rules are the strategies and tactics
for securing them operated; (3) how are they modified or amplified; and (4) how
do these strategies and tactics operate within the CNS? At present, evolutionary
theory is engaged in debate on these aspects. To take the first issue, some argue
from kin selection theory that what these goals and evolved strategies are about is
not just the survival of the individual but more importantly, the survival of genetic
material (Barash 1977; Dawkins 1976; Trivers 1971, 1985; Crook 1980; Smith
1983; Wenegrat 1984). This principal or supraordinate goal can be broken down
into sub-goals and strategies (Wenegrat 1984). For sociobiologists, it is the genetic
representation in the next generation that is the prime mover of organic systems.
Buss (1987) outlines how Darwin came to suggest three types of selection:
(1) natural selection; related to the evolution of characteristics that benefitted
the animal in the struggle with the physical domain (e.g. climate, temperature,
predator avoidance, food finding etc.); (2) intrasexual competition, related to the
evolution of characteristics that benefitted the animal when in competition for
mates (e.g. size, strength, aggressiveness etc.); and (3) intersexual competition,
related to the evolution of characteristics that rendered an animal attractive to
the opposite sex as a breeding partner (e.g. colour, plumage, physique etc.; Buss
1988). Sometimes these selections could be in conflict as in the case of colour or
plumage which reduces anti-predator ability. The competencies in these domains
gave rise to individual reproductive success.
Darwinian strategies of sexual reproductive fitness which focussed on the indi-
vidual proved inadequate to explain many elements of animal behaviour, espe-
cially self sacrifice and various forms of altruism. Consequently, the notion of
reproductive inclusive fitness has come to replace sexual reproductive fitness. Of
importance is the survival of an individual’s genes rather than the survival of the
individual. It is suggested that reproductive inclusive fitness gives rise to many
strategies (response rules; Wenegrat 1984) for the execution of social behaviours
which advance the probability of gene survival: e.g. caring for children, helping
related others, status seeking, sharing, reciprocal altruism, co-operation and so
on. Sociobiologists point out that since humans lived and evolved for millions of
years in small groups where probably some genetic relationship existed between
all members, such strategies were nearly always directed towards kin.
It is argued that the importance of survival of one’s genes in addition to
the survival on one’s self, allows for the evolution of many kinds of (social)
16 A legacy from the past

behaviour. However, conflicts between these two concerns can arise such that
there is a kind of calculated cost/benefit analysis revolving around genetic
survival. Areas of conflict would include those related to altruistic acts, pref-
erences for sister offspring over brother offspring caring, incest taboo, mas-
culine-dominated relationships for fear of cuckoldry, and child-parent conflict
over time and energy invested. All these arise from efforts to maximise one’s
genetic representation (Crook 1980; Smith 1983; Wenegrat 1984). Others make
the argument that only individuals, not genes, can select each other and there-
fore it is the complete system and not its individual components that must be
entered into evolutionary theory. Moreover, knowing that biological processes
underlie many social behaviours does not of itself require recourse to specific
genes. In regard to the biosocial goals and strategies we will be discussing,
the argument of the primacy of genes is left as an open question. It is entirely
possible to utilise some of the ideas of sociobiology without specific recourse
to gene determinism.
One of the central ideas behind inclusive fitness theory, and why it is of some
interest to psychotherapists, especially the cognitive form, is that organisms are
viewed as capable of making various cost/benefit analyses in regard to specific
behaviours. The capacity to derive cost/benefit evaluations in respect to biosocial
goals suggests that at the heart of evolved social strategies are schemata which
perform such evaluative operations (see McGuire et al. 1981a, b, for a detailed
discussion of this aspect). These may be called evaluative competencies. This
suggests that these schemata or competencies are more like accountants than logi-
cians. Hence, different results can be obtained by varying the appraised costs and
benefits of certain behaviours. Such a procedure is precisely what cognitive-based
therapies are about, i.e. changing a patient’s tendency to catastrophise and think
in absolute terms.
Since there is more than one biosocial goal, there is more than one type of
schema. Moreover, these different schemata may have different rules for balanc-
ing the accounts which may result in conflict. Furthermore, the rules operating
these cost-balancing processes may be very open to social training, and as we
have seen, cultural variation of spacing and linking. Using an accountancy model
of human evaluative competencies rather than a logical model removes some
insistence on understanding psychotherapy and psychopathology as basically
a conflict between irrationality and rationality. Many neuroses may actually be
quite rational when looked at in terms of cost/benefit analysis.
The brain state approach (Gilbert 1984) takes the view that the human potential
and capacity for social behaviour has evolved over millions of years. Probably
(although not definitely) social behaviour can, in part, be understood in terms of
inclusive fitness strategies which use cost/benefit analyses as the method of mak-
ing evaluations for the emission of affective-behavioural responses. However, our
concern here is more with the biological potential for the construction of social
meaning than the issues of genetic reductionism.
 A legacy from the past 17

Relation of inclusive fitness to biosocial goals

Sociobiology is undoubtedly relevant to the study of human nature and psychopa-
thology. However, some caution should be exercised in the application of socio-
biological theory. In the first place, there is considerable controversy as to how
culture on the one hand and human psychology on the other introduced various
opportunities for social behaviours to depart from those predicted by inclusive
fitness theory (Hallpike 1984; Caton 1986; Fox 1986). Culture creates new con-
texts for the triggering and display of behaviour which did not exist during the
original programming of these predispositions. The advent of writing and reading
may be a case in point. People may gain status by what they write rather than by
any direct display of strength or power. Consciousness also introduces degrees of
flexibility in the pursuit of goals and incentives not seen in other species. Hence,
individuals will make conscious choices in regard to their social behaviour, sexual
or otherwise, which to a large degree are determined by learning history, social
attitudes and social context rather than inclusive fitness strategies per se. From
a psychobiological development point of view, Hofer (1981, p.302) points out
that: “Greater knowledge about the detailed processes of development helps put
sociobiology in perspective by casting genes as the conveyors of human potential
rather than as modern day equivalents of the Fates.”
Second, organisms are structured into various levels of organisation and the
interaction between these levels is complex (Plotkin and Odling-Smee 1981).
Fox (1986) has noted these issues well and has highlighted something of central
importance for sociobiological theory. He says:

. . . sociobiology speaks of organisms “maximising their reproductive suc-

cess” or inclusive fitness or whatever. It is not at all clear that this describes
the outcome of various of their activity. After all, it is commonplace that
animals do not know they are reproducing, much less maximizing, anything.
What they are doing is accumulating resources or power, for which they are
proximators motivated. If they get all these right, then maximum reproduc-
tive success should follow. But it is these intermediaries they are motivated to
achieve, not the success itself. This is no less true of humans. They will strive
to accrue resources of all kinds – wealth, power, access to sex – and normally
reproductive success (inclusive fitness) will follow. But it is equally possible
that a consideration such as the enormous expense involved in raising off-
spring to a point where they too can accrue these things might well lead them
to limit families . . . Again, there is no real discrepancy here since they are
not in this argument motivated to maximise reproductive success per se, but
those things that will, in the normal course of events, lead to it.
(p.193; italics added)

Fox goes on to add that this could lead individuals to be successful in the realms of
material dominance but less so in reproductive dominance. I take this argument as
18 A legacy from the past

central to our understanding of the role of human nature in the constructive opera-
tions of psychopathology. The primary motives and biosocial goals are not those of
inclusive fitness as such, but those which, within appropriate evolutionary contexts,
would lead to it. Moreover, I have yet to find any patient with concerns to maximise
genetic material in subsequent generations (nor would sociobiologists expect me to,
although religious educators can attempt to secure this end). What we do find are
patients with concerns to maximise proximate (motivational) biosocial goals; e.g.
gain power over others, avoid humiliation and defeat or gain control over nurturant
others, etc. For a pragmatic psychotherapeutic position it matters little that these
biosocial goals may themselves be derived from inclusive fitness strategies. How-
ever, serious threat to these goals will produce disturbances in CNS functioning
which may render the subject more vulnerable to disease, infection and predation,
i.e. reducing survival chances. We do have to consider how, at a time of stress, when
a social animal needs to mobilise all possible resources to sustain survival, we may
see disturbances in the CNS (e.g. immune system changes or the onset of depres-
sion) which do not exactly help matters. Nevertheless, it is threat to biosocial goals,
not reproduction as such, that causes serious changes in the CNS. Were this not
so then infertility would be the most serious of all life event stresses and the most
physiologically disruptive. Yet while it can happen, it is comparatively rare that seri-
ous illness or psychopathology results from discovering that one cannot reproduce.
Be this as it may, we can be fairly confident in focussing our attention on
biosocial goals rather than inclusive fitness strategies per se. (For those inter-
ested in the current sociobiological debates see Vining (1986) for a good air-
ing and referencing to these issues.) Hence, in the sections that follow we will
focus our attention on the level up from inclusive fitness – biosocial goals. As
we have noted, within evolutionary appropriate contexts these might lead to
reproductive success. But the CNS is not primarily disturbed by challenge to
reproductive success as such. It is in the challenge to the proximate mechanisms
that problems begin.

Biosocial goals
In line with the views expressed by Fox (1986), we can pursue the investigation of
biosocial goals as vehicles to inclusive fitness. In other words, sucess in the pursuit
of biosocial goals facilitates inclusive fitness. This being the case, biosocial goals
can be investigated as sources of motivational mechanisms in their own right. But
first a few words of caution. When we try to cut Nature at its joints we immedi-
ately run into trouble. This is because evolution tinkers with the system adapting
old and pre-existing structures and capabilities, rather than developing something
entirely new for each adaptation. Consequently, the pursuit of each biosocial goal
will be co-ordinated within general arousal systems which facilitate invigorated
goal behaviour or inhibitory-disengagement behaviour. But the behaviours, cog-
nitions and affects that are activated depend on the goal that is being pursued.
Furthermore, there can be conflict in the pursuit of different biosocial goals, or
indeed conflict over different strategies and tactics to secure the same goal.
 A legacy from the past 19

So far, evolution has been discussed as a process of social selection. This has
given rise to the propensity to exhibit various communicative states (Gardner
1988; Chapter 3, this volume) but people are motivated to behave in ways that
appear not directly social; the most obvious are the avoidance of pain and injury
in its various forms and the pursuit of food, warmth, shelter, etc. Some researchers
have suggested that biological goals or needs may be stacked up in some hierarchi-
cal fashion (Maslow 1971). These range from physiological needs (food, warmth,
shelter and so on) to social and self-actualising needs. But even for something as
apparently straightforward as the avoidance of pain, the social context may be
powerful enough to override this. In my own case, as a boarding school sufferer,
talking after lights out was a caneable offence. In some dormitories pupils would
take turns to own up to this appalling crime and get caned whether or not they had
offended. Much prestige was gained or lost by such a preparedness.
In this analysis the distinction between social and non-social goals is made
without any view being offered as to their hierarchical arrangement. In my view,
it is the biosocial goals that are the most important sources of much of human psy-
chopathology. Generally speaking, mental distress resides in navigating the social
challenges of life; in developing and articulating self constructs and behaviours
that are inherently relational. These are often more profoundly involved than dif-
ficulties in securing physiological goals or needs.2
This is by no means a watertight position. Various monosymptomatic phobias
need not be social. Moreover, insofar as panic disorder can arise from abnormal
physiological arousal, consequent to misinterpretations of physical sensation (e.g.
hyperventilation; Beck et al. 1985) a case can be made for non-social psychopathol-
ogy. But by and large, the vast majority of mental distress, from personality disorder
through to depression, social anxieties and various psychoses, may be viewed as
representing difficulties of self in relation to others. These difficulties may arise from
endogenous (biochemical) sources which mediate communicative states and/or from
cognitive or contextual sources which carry important information as to the short- or
long-term threat to the capacity to derive desired social outcomes (e.g. status, respect,
love, care, non-persecution and so on). Even in patients who fear death it is not
unusual to find that the common theme igniting most affect is related to a sense of
abandonment and isolation from loved others (the world carrying on without them).
In my view then, we can identify, in a crude form, four distinct types of bioso-
cial goal. These are care eliciting, care giving, competitive (power) seeking and
co-operating. Each biosocial goal will be looked at from a psychological point of
view in separate chapters in this book. Here, we wish to outline the idea of bioso-
cial goals in a limited form to provide a conceptual map for the rest of the book.

Evolution and the brain

In my view the brain evolved primarily as a meaning-making system with the
purpose of facilitating behaviour. Behaviour evolved solely for the purpose of
maximising survival and the execution of competent inclusive fitness strategies.
In other words the brain is an information processing organ capable of creating
20 A legacy from the past

meaning from stimulus arrays, but in such a way that appropriate survival and
inclusive fitness strategies can be selected and enacted. The basic structures of the
brain can therefore be investigated as a kind of phylogenetic history of meaning-
making and inclusive fitness enactments.
It is useful to note that the nervous system lies along the dorsal surface of the human
body because of evolution in the sea some 400 million years ago. This basic design
has never changed and is the design for just about all life forms with nervous systems.
Around 250 million years ago land-living reptiles appeared and this transition from
sea to land marks one of the important transitions to human evolution. As we shall
now note, any full understanding of human mental life must include consideration
of our reptilian beginnings. MacLean (1985) has presented some important ideas on
the basic mechanisms and behavioural patterns of the lizard in regard to inclusive fit-
ness behaviours. Many of these basic behaviours can be viewed as power-competitive
which facilitate advantageous control over resources by the acquisition of control via
power over conspecifics.3 Dominance is often the medium for the control of access to
preferred nest sites, food and sexual partners, i.e. control over survival and reproductive
opportunities. These include the establishment, guarding and marking of territory, ritu-
alistic display of challenge and threat, the guarding of mates and nest sites, and so on.4
MacLean notes that many of the ritualistic displays of the lizard are not dis-
similar from phenomena like the military goosestep of humans. It is as if there are
various phylogenetically old components of basic behavioural patterns which are
still operative in human behavioural repertoires. These phylogenetically old pat-
terns may well have been adapted and added to in order to meet the requirements
of evolutionary change but are still detectable and operative in humans. (See also
Morris 1977 for discussion on the consistency of display behaviour.)
Indeed, MacLean (1985), from his long series of research studies, has sug-
gested that the human brain is divided into three basic components (Fig. 2.1).
The oldest he refers to as the R-complex, or reptilian brain. This is the site of a
complex assembly of behavioural repertoires which serve the reptilian reproduc-
tive strategies. These strategies are mostly individualistically competitive. The
R-complex also exerts powerful control on attention and arousal. Recently, evi-
dence has been accumulating to suggest that our reptilian brain is the source of
many of our pathologies and destructive acts. Furthermore, that it is far more
involved in the construction of our personal and social meanings than we would
like to admit. A provocative and fascinating account of the implications of these
ideas has recently been given by Bailey (1987). He says, for example (p.63):

. . . We must acknowledge that our species possesses the neural hardware and
many of the motivational–emotional proclivities . . . of our reptilian ances-
tors, and, thus our drives, inner subjective feelings, fantasies and thoughts
are thoroughly conditioned by emanations from the R-complex. The reptilian
carry-overs provide the automatic, compulsive, urgency to much of human
behaviour, where free will steps aside and persons act as they have to act,
often despising themselves in the process for their hatreds, prejudices, com-
pulsions, conformity, deceptiveness, and guile.
 A legacy from the past 21

Fig. 2.1 Components of the human brain. The forebrain evolves and expands along lines of
three basic formations that anatomically and biochemically reflect ancestral com-
monalities with reptiles, early mammals and late mammals
(From MacLean 1985).

Some of these characteristics became inhibited by evolved inclusive fitness strate-

gies encoded in higher (limbic and cortical) brain areas. Nevertheless such inhibi-
tory control can be weak or easily overridden producing phylogenetic regression
(as Bailey 1987, calls it).
The evolution of new ways to secure gene advancement via live birth in mam-
mals was accomplished with the development of the limbic system. In this sec-
ond component is a complex pattern of structures which facilitate care eliciting
(distress vocalisation) and care giving. The complex patterns of emotion neces-
sary for such prosocial and attachment repertoires are to be found here. At the
same time, the limbic system exerts some inhibitory control over the R-complex.
The limbic system also facilitates play behaviour in siblings and limits serious
competitiveness. Nevertheless, this inhibition is not perfect and sibling rivalry,
especially for parental attention, does occur (see pages 281–284). The third major
development is the neomammalian brain. The enormous advantage for symbolic
representation, planning, foresight and linguistic communication resides here. As
MacLean (1985) suggests, the ability to plan for and have insight to the needs of
self and others provides a major leap forward.
22 A legacy from the past

Importantly however, the co-ordination of these complex repertoires and capac-

ities, laid down at different points in evolution, is not straightforward or always
easy. The power of higher centres to inhibit lower centres is important but vari-
ous combinations of behavioural patterns, arising from old and late evolutionary
adaptations are possible, indeed, likely. When spoken of in these terms it seems
we are not too far away from Jung’s concept of archetype, although we may wish
to investigate it rather differently.
It is of some interest that a number of psychiatric disorders may represent
maladaptive amplification of some of these phylogentically old dominance-type
behavioural patterns. Jealousy disorder, for example, may be considered in such
light. Individuals with this disorder have difficulties in allowing their “mates” to
wander. They are permanently on guard, so to speak. Considerable attentional
attunement (e.g. looking for evidence of cheating, checking up on the movements
and associations of mates) is directed by these mechanisms (i.e. a form of bot-
tom-up rather than top-down information processing). Most of the behavioural
patterns outlined by MacLean are social to the extent that they are designed to
be expressed for the purpose of intraspecies communication, i.e. to be exhibited
to members of the same species. Hence, a central propensity that runs through
the evolutionary process is one of “power” and control over others for (social)
advantage.

Competition
In this presentation I refer to competition primarily in terms of individualistic
behaviour (unless explicitly stated otherwise). Competition exists in at least
three major domains of social life: (1) competition for natural resources (food,
water, nest sites etc.); (2) intra-sexual competition for mates; and (3) inter-
sexual competition (see page 15). Individualistic competition in this book refers
to those situations in which one individual is in direct (personal) competition
with another for some resource or desired outcome, and where part of the strat-
egy is often to impede the other’s chances of acquiring these resources or out-
comes. That is, the aim is to gain (selective) survival advantages. In other words
I compete with others when I steal, cheat, attack, humiliate, or put down the
other; my success has negative consequences for the other. I increase my control
of access to desired outcomes and reduce those of the other. This is the domain
of hostile dominance (see pages 59–61). In addition to impeding the other, com-
petitive behaviour may be aimed to control the other (e.g. enforce compliance
to my desires, wishes, needs etc.). In the human arena where males and females
are pursuing similar goals, competition between members of different genders
may be just as likely as between members of the same gender. Finally within
some contexts (e.g. marriage) competitive behaviour to control the behaviours
of the spouse may be rife.
 A legacy from the past 23

Co-operation
Gradually however, individualistic competitiveness (dominance–power seeking)
appears to become adapted and modified in species that, to a limited extent, are
able to associate themselves for prosocial interactive behaviour. This has neces-
sitated the evolution of social signals (e.g. smiling) that indicate friendship and no
threat. These are both innately and culturally determined (Morris 1977; Chance
1980; Eibl-Eibesfeldt 1980). In Gardner’s (1988) terms there is a change in the
laws that govern spacing and linkages. The early prototype of mammalian co-
operative behaviour may be play (McLean 1985).
This is not the place to offer a phylogenetic history of the evolution of co-
operativeness (see Crook 1980) and it is discussed in more detail in Chapters 9 and
10. Here, we simply accept this as an evolutionary adaptation to primitive indi-
vidualistic competitive acts. Co-operation, when evolved to the level of providing
social rules, results in the division of labour. Hence, resource exploitation, for some
species, involves complex interplays of individualistic competitive behavioural
patterns and co-operative ones. The skills required to function co-operatively as
a member of a social group often require training and a preparedness to learn spe-
cies-specific co-operative practices and skills. This presents a new and important
concern since individualistic competitive (i.e. power) behaviour has to be modified
by the demands for co-operative action (e.g. group hunting). Lizards do not do this
but humans have built complex social systems and rules of justice to facilitate co-
operative action. Indeed, the role of law in human society is specifically designed
to inhibit exploitation by those with power over those without.
Many social-philosophical treaties have been written on this subject. Karl Marx,
who believed he was writing the social evolution of human culture, tried to con-
sider social contexts that would entirely override individualistic competitiveness
in preference to a fully co-operative and non-exploitative society. However, any
social system which does not allow for conflicts of interests, as communism for
example fails to do, will have difficulties. The essential dialectic and conflictual
process of individualistic competition (power) versus co-operation has engaged
many minds as one of the great problems of human nature yet to be resolved (Fou-
cault 1984). Any social theory of human social relations that stubbornly refuses to
see humans as evolved animals will come to grief.
It is of importance nevertheless to recognise that evolutionary adaptation pro-
ceeds with solutions that solve certain ecological challenges. Consequently, social
context will be a powerful co-ordinator and elicitor of different behavioural pat-
terns. It has been shown for example, that whether managers act competitively or
co-operatively with subordinates is significantly influenced by the social context
in which such action takes place (Tjosvold 1985).
In summary then, we can suggest that co-operativeness evolved as a strategy for a
particular kind of resource exploitation within social and ecological contexts. More
specifically, it can be viewed as an adaptation to individualistic competitiveness.
24 A legacy from the past

Care eliciting and care giving

The second major adaption to individualistic (power) competition has been the
evolution of nursing. As MacLean points out, many primitive species do not rec-
ognise their own young and are cannabalistic. Gene survival depends on the num-
bers produced. However, this strategy changes over evolutionary time in such a
way that there is a switch from quantity to quality.5 MacLean (1985) argues that
a quantum leap occurs with the evolution of infant–mother nursing; the genetic
offspring are recognised and their survival is facilitated through nursing and car-
ing. With the evolution of live birth and maternal care, a new set of complex social
behavioural patterns evolved. The advantage of this shift has been enormous,
allowing, among other things, for prolonged periods of dependency during which
an infant is afforded some protection from predators and, via suckling mother’s
milk, from infectious and other diseases. This period of dependency also allows
a safe exploration of the environment and interaction with peers to acquire social
skills and insight. The parent acts as a mediator and safety signal to the infant.
These issues are discussed in more detail in Chapters 6, 7, 8 and 9.

A rough classification
This very brief ordering of phylogenetic concerns suggests a rough nosology. We
can speculate that with the evolution of brain structures to accommodate increas-
ingly sophisticated patterns of social behaviour, there emerged at least four types
of biosocial goal which acted as proximate mechanisms for inclusive fitness. The
first of these is the biosocial goal of direct competitive advantage via the exhibition
of power (primitive Alpha PSALIC – see next chapter). During evolution, with
the capacity to exploit increasingly varied ecological contexts and social environ-
ments, this goal became modified and ritualised and was accommodated within
the propensity for co-operative action. Co-operative goals have been so successful
for human individuals that now many humans are highly motivated to join teams,
to belong to groups; to have a sense of identification through groups, to share
interests, to exchange information, pool ideas with others and so on. Hence, the
medium of the biosocial goal of co-operation is sharing. Good co-operators will be
advantaged in certain contexts, especially those related to the need for reciprocal
altruism as in the context of hunting or grooming (parasite removal) (Crook 1980).
The third biosocial goal is, in ontogenic terms, the first goal of life. This is the
goal of care eliciting. A mammalian infant invariably dies if it is not cared for
during the early part of its life. Hence, care eliciting (the ability to recruit help
and life-sustaining resources by various signals) must be the goal of early life.
The fourth goal therefore, arises conjointly. Adult individuals must be biologi-
cally motivated and prepared to care for their young, otherwise the care-eliciting
systems would be pointless.
This admittedly rough nosology is outlined in Tables 2.1 and 2.2. These tables
show how the various biosocial goals of competing and co-operating, care
 A legacy from the past 25

Table 2.1 Competing and Co-operating

Competing Co-operating

Biosocial Goal Dominance/power: Increase Increase resource availability &

access to resources and environmental exploitation
resource holding (RHP) through joint action
Social Strategy Interpersonal competition: Helping/sharing: preparedness
engage others directly or for division of labor; doing
indirectly in contest for different tasks to achieve
resources. In humans: seeking objective (e.g. by hunting);
symbols of power reciprocal altruism
Typical Affects Anger, resentment, shame, Evaluation anxiety, anger guilt,
(Negative) envy, humiliation, evaluation regret, remorse
anxiety through to defeat/
depression
(Positive) Assertive excitement from Friendly love (group), satisfaction,
winner’s elation (success) fun, trust, empathy
through to mania
Cognitive Focus on evaluation of threat Focus on evaluations of inability
(Negative) to or loss of power/control; to “play one’s part”, fear of
fear of defeat, attack, criticism punishment/exclusion from
group activities, letting others
down
(Positive) Focus on evaluation of Focus on evaluation of
having power/control; others good party member, loyalty,
following/listening to “me” confidence in following social
roles; can be replied upon;
having value to others (SAHP),
morality
Behaviour Submission, compliance, Withdrawal, refusal to give what
(Negative) appeasement hide, retreat; or would be helpful to others
attacking belittling
(Positive) Challenge, preparedness Helping, sharing, compromise:
to demonstrate aspects of planning jointly with others
competency from intellectual future projects, etc. Resource
to physical strength; assertive gathering for sharing; teaching,
displays reassurance, friendship displays
Typical Evolved Self/other contest for limited Self/other contest for limited
Social Context supplies supplies (parasite control?)

eliciting and care providing give rise to specific behavioural affective and cogni-
tive patterns. When any particular goal is activated there will be certain patterns
of behaviour, cognition and affect that will steer the organism along a path which
facilitates the acquisition of the goal. Hence, the activation of care-eliciting goals
will tend to activate behaviour directed towards finding a supportive or caring
other; the activation of dominance–power goals will activate a seeking for the
means to guard, defend and obtain power over others.
26 A legacy from the past

Table 2.2 Care-eliciting and Care-giving Goals

Care-eliciting Care-giving

Biosocial Goal Nurturance from significant Nurturance given to others

others
Social Strategy Proximity seeking/ Proximity/respondent seeking:
maintenance: elicit from preparedness to mediate the
others what is necessary to environment on behalf of others;
support, continue or advance provision of resources (e.g.
life; access to providers food, tactile and verbal comfort,
safety or information as context
requires)
Typical Affects Yearning, separation, anxiety, Mediated through sympathy
(Negative) anger, tearful dysphoria, mechanisms; anxiety, distress,
through to serious anger; inadequate
depression
(Positive) Secure, content, comfort, Secure, content, pleasure, joy,
pleasure, joy, intimacy, relief, intimacy, relief, compassion
gratitude, trust
Cognitive Aloneness, beyond help; Focus on what “I” can do to
(Negative) focus on need for others; relieve distress; attentional
attentional search for processes aimed at matching
proximity cues giving distress-reducing outputs
with effectiveness
(Positive) Help at hand; trusting to/ Focus on the sense of being a
in others. Have control over good provider, helper, comforter,
mediators; attend to other listener, etc.
goals
Behaviour Distress call, searching, Other approaching or seeking;
(Negative) agitated psychomotor activity invigorated activity of caring
through to retardation; but which is not required; over
verbal expression of distress; protection or caring intrusion
complaints, requests,
demands, etc.
(Positive) Behaviour liberated to secure Confident, nursing, caring;
other goals, explore attunement with recipient of care
Typical Evolved Infant/care giver Infant/care giver
Social Context

Biosocial goals and incentives

From this ordering of biosocial goals it can be suggested that individuals will
develop incentives that are associated with the varied goals. In fact, Klinger
(1977) has written a very informative book on incentive theory. In his approach,
incentives are simply defined in terms of whether they are positively or aversively
motivating. In my presentation, however, highly valued incentives often relate
to biosocial goals, although there are many other non social-biological goals not
 A legacy from the past 27

mentioned here (see, for example Plutchik 1984; McClelland 1985). In develop-
mental terms, incentives may be relatively unsophisticated. For example, not until
a child is well into maturity will he develop an incentive hierarchy which is able to
accommodate cultural rules, e.g. status via academic achievement is not noted for
the very young. Incentives are related to biosocial goals by a process of associa-
tion. This association is developed through complex learning experiences which,
over time, take into account the cultural rules in which status, co-operation, care
eliciting and care giving are defined and bestowed.
As a child grows, biological maturity brings new competencies which serve to
regulate overt behaviour. Becoming aware of the consequences of one’s action on
another will come to alter power or aggressive behaviour, care-eliciting behaviour
and so on. Until the child has this cognitive or empathic capacity (probably from
around the age of two; Kagan 1982, 1984) not much progress may be made in
sophisticated co-operative (e.g. play) behaviour. Hence, the unfolding of biologi-
cal maturity in relation to experiences of positive and negative reinforcement will
determine the kinds of incentives that people develop into an incentive hierarchy.
So far then, I have suggested that from the evolutionary context of attachment
and of competition we can describe four goals. Moreover, many of the incentives
of peoples’ lives will be differentially structured and co-ordinated in terms of
particular blends of goal pursuit.

Biosocial goals and affects

Emotions, like incentives, are major facets of biosocial goal pursuit. The study of
emotion over the last 20 years has expanded enormously and very productively.
In this section we can give only a very brief and admittedly sketchy overview. Just
as incentives are related to biosocial goals, so are emotions. In the approach put
forward here, affects are recruited into the service of biosocial goals. They serve
as one important bridge between biosocial goals and innate response repertoires.
They have several functions, a few of which are listed in the following.

Affects as incentive monitors

The presence of affective arousal prevents animals from acting as “out of sight,
out of mind”. An animal does not stop fleeing once a predator is out of the visual
field. Emotional states ensure that an animal continues its behaviour long after an
immediate threat is out of the sensory field. Emotional states tend to change more
slowly than cognitive processes. For example, following a near-miss car accident
we may remain in a shaken-up or anxious state long after we cognitively realise
that we have survived. Sometimes these kinds of experiences can ignite other
kinds of psychopathological difficulties (see Yalom’s (1980) personal example).
One patient revealed how a car accident had activated a fear of being alone and a
fear of the dark, something she had not had since a child. The biological response
to a stress (e.g. cortisol) may activate other fears coded in the stress state.
28 A legacy from the past

The capacity for emotions to maintain a behavioural pattern (e.g. running

away) lies partly6 with the physiological processes underlying the affect. The
arousal of affect involves complex neurophysiological and hormonal changes
and these take time to settle back to some homeostatic state. Following the death
of a loved one, individuals may continue to “search” for the lost other in spite
of logical recognition that the dead person is gone. In fact, new affects may be
required before highly valued incentives are disengaged (Klinger 1977). In other
words, affects help both in maintaining the pursuit of incentives and in the giving
up or the switching of incentives (Scheff 1985). Affects help then to (re)focus
many cognitive, attentional and behavioural processes that are relevant to incen-
tive pursuit.

Affects as amplifiers
Tomkins (1981) has suggested that: “the primary function of affect is urgency
via analogic and profiled amplification to make one care by feeling.” (p.322) He
suggests that this function should not be confused with attention or response, but
should be seen as an amplification of urgency: “without affect amplification noth-
ing matters and with its amplification anything can.” (p.322) He proposes that
affects can become co-assembled with various incentives and response profiles
to give urgency to responses. Although Tomkins provides a most comprehensive
analysis of the amplification function of affects, in its main thrust it is not dis-
similar to other analytical reviews. Freud, borrowing ideas from the philosopher
Brentano, suggested that perception was not a passive process, but was endowed
with psychic energy (Ellenberger 1970, p.542). More recently, Zajonc (1980) has
suggested that affective judgements are heavier on energy than are purely cogni-
tive judgements. Such a view is reminiscent of nineteenth-century concepts. The
role of affects as amplifiers is a very important function.

Affects as the road to value

Many theorists suggest that it is affect that provides us with a sense of value (Tom-
kins 1981). The manner in which incentives become valued relates to their affec-
tive properties or consequences (Klinger 1977; Plutchik 1984). Mandler (1985)
outlines three types of value: (1) innate value based on approach/avoidance ten-
dencies; (2) cultural and social values based on the acquisition of cultural rules
bestowing value on objects or relationships; and (3) structural values arising from
the cognitive evaluation and structuring of relationships and features of objects.
Affect is involved in all three types of value. MacLean (1985) suggests that much
of our capacity for affect arises from limbic system activity. Stimulation of vari-
ous parts of these brain areas can induce feelings ranging from fear and rage
to ecstasy. This presents us with a problem, since perceptions of what is “real”,
“true” or “important” may depend on activity in the limbic system. As he says: “It
is one thing to have such an animalistic brain to assure us of the authenticity of
 A legacy from the past 29

food or a mate, but where does confidence lie if we must rely on this same brain to
supply the feeling of belief and conviction in regard to our neocortically derived
ideas, concepts and theories?” (p.412)
It is in the paradoxical nature of things that those who are most seriously ill or
those for whom psychotherapy may have least to offer are those who appear the
most certain. The neomammalian structures may only come to our aid when we
allow room for manoeuvre, when we can doubt all things; otherwise we may hand
over control to lower brain centres and reasoning becomes no longer a matter of
problem solving but of faith and emotional commitment. Under these conditions,
logic is recruited to fill in the gaps, to back up a position already taken as fact.
Beware the true believers.7 It is, of course, as in all things in Nature, a question of
balance. Without affect would we have the energy to carry our beliefs through or,
maybe, be bothered with them overmuch?
We can also suggest that affects relate to different domains. They can be
recruited into task pursuit, maintaining behaviour according to moral belief sys-
tems and codes and can be self-evaluative.

Affects as social signals

Affective brain systems are wired up to facial and postural controlling muscles.
Just as a child will use the affective displays from its mother to approach or avoid
objects, so non-verbal communication uses the medium of affective display.
Many facial expressions are known to be innately based both for recognition and
expression (Tomkins 1981; see also Izard et al. 1984). So much has now been
written on this that we will not go into details here. Clearly however, as Gardner
(1988) points out, this function is essential for animals engaged in complex pat-
terns of social organisation. In fact, there are a number of theorists who believe
that the affective systems mediating social recognition and display are structured
as separable processes (Leventhal 1984; Buck 1985).

Motives and affects

So far we have suggested that biosocial goals evolved from inclusive fitness and
give rise to motivational systems necessary for interpersonal interaction. In an
important sense biosocial goals are similar if not identical to primary motives.
Just as the motive in many games is to score points, we can also say that the goal
(aim) of the game is to score points. In this book we are concerned with social
goals. It is important, however, to be clear of the distinctions between emotion
and motivation. Plutchik (1984, p.214) has outlined some of the salient differ-
ences. These are outlined in Table 2.3.
Emotions are in the service of motives (biosocial goals). They energise and
predispose to action. Emotions can co-assemble with motives in idiosyncratic
ways (Tomkins 1981). But without a motivational base, emotions would not be
aroused. The young infant experiences emotion to the presence or absence of
30 A legacy from the past

Table 2.3 Distinction Between Emotions and Motivations

Emotions Motivations

Aroused by external stimuli Aroused by changing internal states of the

organism
Aroused by the presence of a survival- Aroused by the absence of homeostatically
related event significant stimuli.
There are few “natural” objects in the There are specific “natural” objects towards
environment toward which emotions are which motives direct the organism (e.g. food
automatically directed and water)
Induced after an object is seen or Induced before process of search is begun
evaluated
Depend on events in environment which Tend to have a rhythmic character
may occur on a random basis

care givers because he is born motivated to target behaviours to others, elicit care
and interact with them. As Plutchik (1984) points out, learning can modify emo-
tion in a number of ways. First, individuals may learn to inhibit the expression
of emotion. Second, an individual’s day-to-day experience effects the arousal of
the emotions that he will become used to. Third, reinforcement history effects
the strength and stability of emotion and also the blending of emotion. Basic
emotions are not learned but reflect the genetic endowment of a species and
individuals.8

Models for the interaction of cognition,

behaviour and affect
Over the last ten years there has been debate in the literature over the indepen-
dence or otherwise of cognitive processes versus affective processes (Lazarus
1982; Rachman 1981, 1984a; Zajonc 1980, 1984; a good selection of papers cov-
ering these issues can be found in Scherer and Ekman 1984). Greenberg and Saf-
ran (1987) have explored the therapeutic implications of these debates in detail.
Recently, two interesting models have been proposed which attempt to outline the
interaction between cognitive and affective processes.
Buck (1985) has suggested that emotional systems can be viewed as serving
three basic functions. The first and most primitive he labels as Emotion I: this
is concerned with general homostatic and physiological adaption processes. As
such, it is essential to the functioning of various neurochemical and endocrine
processes. The second function of emotion, Emotion II, arises out of the evolu-
tionary requirement to negotiate a social world with communicative, affective dis-
plays. The third function of emotion, Emotion III, is to provide animals who have
cognitive capabilities, with information about motivational state. Emotion may
then become a source of information. Indeed in various forms of psychotherapy
 A legacy from the past 31

penetrating the meaning of affect (e.g. by trying to elicit images and pictures in
the mind) is a key process for change. Cognitive processes may inhibit or amplify
emotional states in line with long-term aims derived from the capacity for fore-
sight and planning.
Another fascinating and potentially highly productive approach to investi-
gating the interaction between affect, cognition and behaviour has been repre-
sented by Leventhal (e.g. 1984). He distinguishes between three kinds of affect
systems:

1 Sensory-motor. This is viewed as the “elementary core of emotional pro-

cessing”. It is an innate motor system which appears to function from birth.
Infants respond, even at 36 hours, to different adult facial expressions (sad,
happy) with different motor patterns which are accompanied by different
autonomic responses. Leventhal suggests that these major patterns are “a
basic vocabulary of emotional response and experience.”
2 Schematic emotional processes. The repeated stimulation of sensory-motor
patterns provides a set of non-verbal associations and memory structures
from episodic experiences. However, one should be slightly cautious here,
since there are various types of memory, some of which may not be fully
operative until certain stages of biological (e.g. hippocampal) develop-
ment (Jacobs and Nadel 1985). Nevertheless, the idea that schematic emo-
tional processing capacity arises out of innate sensory motor structures is
an important one. It may be that learning facilitates neuronal connections
between sensory-motor patterns and other limbic systems. These then add
to sensory-motor experiences degrees of affect amplification to stimuli
associated with sensory-motor activation. Leventhal believes that emo-
tional schemata are “tightly integrated structures of eliciting situations,
subjective feelings and expressive and autonomic activity.” He argues
that these kinds of schematic processes are rapid and automatic. He goes
on to suggest that: “It resembles recognition and intuitive preference,
not reasoning, because there is no need for the eliciting stimulus or the
choice process to enter conscious awareness. Attention is required only to
bring the eliciting stimulus into the receptor field. Once a component of
the schemata is activated, the other components are activated instantly.”
(1984, p.276)
3 Conceptual processing. This level relates to the ability to reflect on past
emotional experiences which are accessible to linguistic structures. It also
allows for the capacity of voluntary performance of emotional acts. This level
involves self-awareness and insight and conscious knowledge of predictable
consequences, i.e. it functions as a conscious and voluntary system. It can
activate emotional schemata but in so doing may become less voluntary in
the process, i.e. we may be able to “think” ourselves into emotional states, but
in so doing (i.e. once affect is strongly aroused) our voluntary control may be
weakened.
32 A legacy from the past

Complexes
This hierarchical system bridges evolutionary, conditioning and cognitive views
of affect interaction. (For a recent development of this theory see Leventhal and
Scherer 1987). It has been considered to have great potential in aiding our concep-
tualisations of psychopathology (Greenberg and Safran 1984, 1987). I would like
to add two ideas for further consideration. First, the concept of emotional sche-
mata may have some parallels with the Jung’s and Adler’s concept of a complex.
Complexes (taken at their simplest) were viewed to be collections of memories,
images and attitudes which were held together by affects. Complexes could func-
tion relatively autonomously and, when unconscious, gave rise to strong affects,
images and compulsions which the patient had difficulty in explaining or coping
with. The second point is that we might profitably give more time to parallel pro-
cessing, at which the brain, unlike the computer, is very good (Crick 1979). I shall
expand on this briefly at the risk of taking a digression.
It may be that there are innate sensory-motor patterns that are selectively attuned
to different configurations of stimulus information. The reader may guess that
I am going to propose certain classes of feature detectors related to the four bioso-
cial goals I have outlined. In other words, there are innate mechanisms sensitive to
cues signalling distress (care eliciting), care giving, competition and co-operation.
These mechanisms may work at preattentive or preconscious levels. These need
not all be available at birth but may come on line with biological maturity (e.g. as
with the recognition of strangers). Moreover, various elaborations of gestures
such as hand shaking and so on may be learned as culturally transmitted informa-
tion regarding an individual’s threat or non-threat (Morris 1977; Eibl-Eibesfeldt
1980). Voice tone may be another such stimulus. The innate feature detectors
will sample information in each of the biosocial domains to provide information
as to whether an individual is attempting to elicit care, is attempting to provide
it, is attempting to compete and exert power or is co-operating. For example,
when we form relationships, there may be complex sequences going on in parallel
which alert us to the potential attractiveness, competitiveness or caring qualities
of a person. In other words, social information processing is multi-channelled
and concerned with a variety of biosocial issues. We may be attracted to someone
because they appear confident and capable, but less sure of how caring they may
be. Sometimes people give us a sense of unease or discomfort without our exactly
knowing why. But in all probability, one of our biosocial goal feature detectors is
picking up on non-verbal communication which may be amplified by emotional
schemata (à la Leventhal). This means that different affects may be recruited into
different but parallel processes monitoring competitive threat, co-operative avail-
ability, caring and care eliciting. In consequence we may experience approach/
avoidance conflicts or dilemmas to the extent that we are attracted by, say, a per-
son’s knowledge and standing and would like to avail ourselves of his competen-
cies, but at the same time are concerned at his potential to be competitive and to
make us feel inferior.
 A legacy from the past 33

Hence, there is probably parallel processing covering a variety of different

biosocial concerns. Each circuit that monitors for competitiveness or co-
operativeness in other people may activate different emotional schemata resid-
ing in different brain areas. The most positive relationships we share with others
are probably those in which there is some degree of harmony between our main
biosocial concerns. But this is often not the case and different parallel processes
operating in the service of both social and non-social biological goals may come
up with different affective evaluations. Which we attend to most closely in con-
sciousness and base our action on is a complex matter. In other words, people may
be literally in two minds, or indeed, many.
Finally, combining a view of parallel processes with Leventhal’s original views
may help us to understand more about why some patients appear to have anxieties
that they regard as illogical. One of the problems here may be competition in par-
allel multi-channel processing. This can present many difficulties. Patients may
say they know it is illogical for them to feel anxious or to engage in the repetitive
behaviours that they do, but nevertheless they are compelled to do so. It took me
a little time to realise that the behavioural view that patients do not believe that
their anxieties are rational was incorrect. In fact, most patients are unsure and are
often in two minds about it, not fully convinced one way or the other. In therapy,
in the presence of a caring other it may be that voluntary control over emotional
schemata is more powerful, and they can see the irrationality of their behaviours,
but when these patients are alone fears of survival may be more powerfully disin-
hibited. Limbic activation is greater and the ideas do not now seem so irrational.
This is not the place to engage in a detailed discussion of these kinds of issues.
Suffice it to say here that we have examined some models of emotion which are
of great interest and which may be tied in with the theory of biosocial goals and
inclusive fitness.

Concluding comments
This chapter has spread a broad net. We began with an overview of Freud’s post-
Darwinian approach to mental mechanisms. In fact, all of the early analysts
grew up in a European climate heavy with the new theories and ideas of evolu-
tion, Marxian social economics and Nietzsche’s philosophy. These individuals
looked at human affairs on a grand scale. Counterposing this was a scientific
approach to human affairs based on positivism which selected, dissected, experi-
mented and recorded; this was the source from which behaviourism grew. The
former approach sought large-scale (macro) systems and answers. The latter pre-
ferred a piecemeal approach, limited to what could be (directly) observed and
gradually accumulating facts that would hopefully all fit together some day. Many
critiques for and against these differing approaches have been, and continue to be,
made. Some of these have been co-operative, seeking to refine, adapt and develop
insights from both sides. Others have been competitive, with the wish to smash
the opponent’s view out of sight.
34 A legacy from the past

There is little doubt that reinforcement is a powerful shaper of human beings.

Yet there are salient differences between the horse shoe crab, the rat and the
human being. Humans have evolved the capabilities for an enormously complex
social life, a fact that some place at the centre of theories of mind (see Farr 1987;
and Chapter 14 of this volume). In fact, this social evolution can be found in
many mammals of both land and sea. Humans are not a tabula rasa on which
environment is the only author of life’s scripts. The themes that concern us today
are echoes of the Greek tragedies where love, deceit, heroism, trust and loyalty
continue to dominate our personal and social lives. Culture changes the details
but not the themes. Consequently, the way love or power may be expressed in
one culture may be completely meaningless in another. Eskimo men lend their
wives as a form of co-operative relationship. A full American Indian head dress
would not signal much to my colleagues (except that I may need a little less
imipramine). But the flexibility and creativity of human beings do not alter the
fact that all human beings share the same nature. The blends may vary, but the
underlying deep structures do not. Some cultures amplify some aspects (e.g.
competitive individualism). Other cultures amplify different aspects. Since the
social life of humans is so overwhelmingly important to healthy functioning, we
would be advised to try as best we can to keep both the “approach on a grand
scale” and the “dissecting scientific” approach in some kind of partnership. Each
without the other renders either meaning without facts or facts without mean-
ing. Meaning resides within the person; facts reside within shared knowledge
(between individuals).
Keeping our attention on the evolution of social behaviour, it is possible to
posit the existence of biosocial goals which serve inclusive fitness. These goals in
turn are serviced by emotions (energisers) and incentives. Cutting through a great
deal of complexity and controversy, and at the risk of oversimplifying, it has been
suggested that the biosocial goals of human beings are of four types. These are
care eliciting, care giving, co-operating and competing. Although individuals may
co-operate within a group structured around a central theme or value (a shared
idea), we have been less successful in finding ways for groups to co-operate,
especially when values are not shared. Unless we solve this difficulty, we may not
last long enough to see how things might have worked out or to learn about the
evolution of intelligence in other parts of the Universe. As Sperry (1986) points
out, human values are linked to goals, and the science of human values is very
much called for in our new age, confronted as we are by immense socio-economic
inequalities and conflicts. He articulates how such a science may commence. In
one sense, I hope this book aids this endeavour in some small way by showing
that at root we are all more similar than different. What evolution has done to
bring us to our current position is the road to human salvation. The development
of attachment and co-operative capabilities giving rise to empathy, compassion
and friendship is our ticket to continued success. The obstacle seems to be the cul-
tural amplification of shadow, the intoxication with old, reptilian power struggles
as solutions to conflict.
 A legacy from the past 35

Notes
1 Gardner (personal communication) has suggested that the analytical movement did not
so much “disdain” scientific method, but rather failed to acknowledge that different
groups must agree on what constitutes “evidence”. It was this lack of consensus about
evidence that provoked so much controversy. Moreover, many analytic theories were
formulated and articulated in a manner which makes their scientific testability and refut-
ability difficult, if not impossible. Nevertheless, many branches of science are able to
infer the presence of phenomena long before the technology exists to directly observe or
experimentally test for them.
2 This should not be taken to mean we can ignore the serious consequences of poverty,
malnutrition and the intense anxieties and depressions related to economic hardship. How-
ever, these seem self-evident and a deliberate focus on the social dynamics of life does not
mean that economics are in any way unimportant (see for example Conger 1988).
3 The term “competitive” is used here (unless otherwise stated) to refer to the psycho-
logical meaning, not the biological meaning. In other words, “competitive” refers to the
action of individuals who are engaged in direct struggle to win status or dominance over
others. These terms however, remain vague (see Ellyson and Dovidio 1985).
4 Of course, many primitive (especially aquatic) species do not adhere rigidly to territorial
boundaries, but evolution adaptation needs to be viewed as a ladder or chain which, for
humans, begins with land-based reptilian life forms.
5 This adaptation is controlled by what are called R-selective factors, “intrinsic rate of nat-
ural increase” and K-selective factors, “caring capacity of an environment” (see Crook
1980, p.45 for a more detailed discussion).
6 I say “partly” here because it is known that a fair degree of desynchrony can occur in
cognitive, behavioural and affect systems (e.g. see Weiner 1985).
7 In cognitive therapy patients are often asked to rate degree of belief in any particular
idea. The strength of a belief may (especially in the presence of high arousal) relate to an
attitude’s amplification by limbic activity. Drugs which work on the limbic system may
reduce “certainty” of beliefs.
8 For further information on the psychobiology of affect see Pribram (1980). Also at the
time of going to press Frijda (1988) has published “The laws of emotion” which gives a
different approach to the conceptualisation of emotion to that outlined here.
Chapter 3

The mapping of human nature

In the previous chapter, it was suggested that biosocial goals were vehicles to
inclusive fitness. Furthermore, these goals give rise to motivational systems and
are involved in the structuring of the CNS (Fox 1986). This chapter examines var-
ious approaches to the study of human nature. Each of these approaches, in their
different ways, attempts to map out some basic ground rules of human nature; to
answer the question “What has evolution made of us?” From the start I should dis-
claim any attempt to be comprehensive but rather I offer something of a personal
bias to this exploration.
We begin with one of the theorists who has had an important although often
unrecognised impact on many. This is the work of Carl Gustav Jung (1875–1961).
Jung’s introverted interests in mysticism, the soul, life after death and so on were
the target of ridicule by the scientific community. This is unfortunate, since many
of Jung’s ideas are most useful, even though we may wish to reconceptualise them
in the light of modern data and concepts. Following this, some recent ethological
models are considered, followed by Leary’s (1957) model, and lastly, a cognitive
approach.

Jung’s theory of archetypes

Jung believed that the human mind is made up of different constituent parts. These
he labelled “archetypes”. For Jung, humans inherit a nervous system designed by
evolution to function according to the evolutionary strategies of the species. That
is, humans respond and make meaning from certain kinds of experience; being
mothered, joining a peer group, selecting a mate, becoming a parent, growing old,
and dying. Although Jung was erroneously Lamarkian in some of his ideas, as
Hall and Nordby (1973) point out, Jung’s theory is entirely consistent with Dar-
winian theory. Just as humans are biologically prepared to learn, use and under-
stand language, so other attributes of human social behaviour are prepared for.
In these ideas Jung was following the philosophical traditions of Plato and Kant.
Although exact definition of “archetype” remains unclear (Ellenberger 1970;
Hall and Nordby 1973; Stevens 1982; Samuels 1985), approximate definitions can
be made. In my understanding, the concept of archetype suggests the existence of
 The mapping of human nature 37

special-purpose, data processing capabilities, for making meaningful interpreta-

tions out of certain kinds of input. They represent a potential ability, a potential
for the construction of meaning; like a computer program waiting for instructions
(data) which will then perform certain operations on the data to provide mean-
ingful responses. These programs are wired into the system from birth, ready
to unfold and become articulated by life’s experiences. Jung (1972, pp.13–14)
himself puts it this way:

. . . . The archetype in itself is empty and purely formal, nothing but a fac-
ultas praeformandi, a possibility of representation which is given a priori.
The representations themselves are not inherited, only the forms, and in that
respect they correspond in every way to the instincts, which are also deter-
mined in form only. The existence of instincts can no more be proved than
the existence of the archetypes, so long as they do not manifest themselves
concretely. With regard to the definiteness of the form, our comparison with
the crystal is illuminating inasmuch as the axial system determines only the
stereometric structure but not the concrete form of the individual crystal. This
may be either large or small, and it may vary endlessly by reason of the dif-
ferent size of its planes or by the growing together of two crystals. The only
thing that remains constant is the axial system, or rather, the invariable geo-
metric proportions underlying it. The same is true of the archetype. In prin-
ciple, it can be named and has an invariable nucleus of meaning – but always
only in principle, never as regards its concrete manifestation. . . .

One of the problems with archetype theory, as Samuels (1985) points out, is that
there has been a tendency to make archetypes into entities. Just as the ancient
Greeks made gods out of interpersonal processes (hence, they worshipped the
god of war, the goddess of love and saw deities controlling many human inter-
actions) so archetypes (which actually co-ordinate construct systems mediating
meaning-interpretative, affect and behaviour) were personified. To some degree
this tendency to personify has been to provide explanatory systems for patients
rather than to convey meaning about the nature of archetypes. Hence, individuals
may more easily understand and gain insight into their own dynamics by labelling
certain processes “persona”, “shadow” or “hero”, but this should not be taken to
mean that these sub-personalities actually exist in any rarefied form. The degree
to which these functional properties of the mind might be located in specific brain
areas is unknown. In my view, archetypes relate to biosocial goals and strategies
and modes of social interaction (e.g. dominance, nurturance, etc.). To make enti-
ties of them would involve making the same errors as the Greeks who personified
war, love and so on via the construction of gods.
Among the most central archetypes are those related to: (1) the persona – the
predisposition to form a social role model for self which finds acceptability in the
eyes of others; (2) the anima (or female characteristics of the male) and the ani-
mus (male characteristics of the female) which relate to the predisposition to be
38 The mapping of human nature

capable of behaviours typical of the opposite gender. This idea mirrors the Hindu
view that each personality contains a masculine and feminine aspect. Hence,
men, via the mobilisation of their anima would be capable of nurturing and com-
passionate behaviour, and women, via the mobilisation of the animus, would be
capable of competitive and heroic behaviour. In fact Jung used these terms in
two different ways. The first was to describe psychological attributes of gender
contained within the opposite sex, as described above. The second referred to the
“ideal images” that individuals have of the opposite sex (i.e. the characteristics
of one’s ideal man or woman). This latter usage may fit with the findings that
suggest there are indeed innate aspects to mate selection (Buss 1988); and (3) the
shadow – the predisposition to conceal (sometimes even from the ego) the less
pro-social or persona-threatening qualities of the personality. Archetypes then, are
ways of “knowing” and responding to the world and are also internal generators
of fantasy (e.g. fantasising being a very famous rock star relates to the hero arche-
type; fantasies of one’s ideal woman or ideal man to the anima and animus, etc.).
Jung believed that each archetype had a positive and negative pole. That is, it
could function positively and creatively in a system of social relationships or it
could function negatively and be destructive.1 Hence, the mother archetype for
example, functioning positively facilitates growth and development in the elicit-
ing object (e.g. the infant). When this archetype functions negatively, nurturance
is withheld, leading to problems in the infant’s development.
In fact, the way archetypes operate in social interactions and are developed by
experience, can be illuminated by considering the child–mother situation. Sup-
pose that an explorative child interacts with an anxious, overprotective mother.
The interactive style arises from the temperamental exchange of both parties. If
the explorative child comes to experience his mother as inhibiting, constraining
and confining of his own explorative nature then the mothering experience may
be internalised as that – inhibiting, constraining, confining. Given that there may
(or may not be) a mother archetype (or special-purpose processing capacity for
structuring care-giving experiences) then what is activated in the child is a rep-
resentation of mother which is inhibiting. Later in life, should this archetype (or
special-purpose processing capacity) be invoked by, say, relationships with other
women (or times when nurturance becomes necessary), then the activated aspects
of the mother archetype will be the filter through which the relationships are struc-
tured and evaluated.
Note that the interactive styles of each – mother and child – feed each other. If
the child protests against his mother’s overprotective caring, this may be evalu-
ated as a rebuff, igniting evaluations of self as a bad or rejectable mother. The
mother may then resort to all kinds of tactics, like guilt induction, to have her
child conform with her own image of how a child should be in order to confirm
herself as a good mother; i.e. the child can elicit the negative pole of mothering
from the mother. Thus, we may imagine that out of the interactional style grow
various self-evaluations for both parties. Furthermore, it is from interaction that
complexes are formed (Hall 1986 gives a clear insight into these processes).
 The mapping of human nature 39

The child, when adult, may succeed in finding culturally accepted outlets for his
explorative temperament, but still be caught in some confusion in close relation-
ships. This is because the experience of being mothered affects the child’s anima
and his perceptions and appraisal of other women. Closeness (or dependency) may
again activate fears of confinement and the individual swings between searching
for close relationships and disengaging or becoming highly controlling when they
are found. In such a case it may be found that the fear relates to assimilation ver-
sus autonomy. Closeness seems to threaten with assimilation and constraint, when
the individual cannot be free without feeling guilty or losing control to the other.
Being autonomous, however, threatens aloneness. A neurotic strategy may be to
find spouses who are easily controlled. The only problem here is that such spouses
do not rescue the patient from his dilemma but usually maintain it. These kinds of
conflict would relate to a mother complex (see also Jung 1972 for further discus-
sion of the mother complex and its relation to psychopathology).
Needless to say, a child of different temperament may experience an overpro-
tective mother quite differently. On the other hand, a more temperamentally inhib-
ited child may find an easygoing mother problematic for all kinds of reasons to do
with security, and as a result develop a different set of neurotic problems. Hence,
the temperament of both child and mother affect the interactional style, but it is
the interactional style that is incorporated and puts the flesh on the archetypal
skeleton, and builds complexes.
What emerges from this analysis of interactional style with archetypal develop-
ment is that it may be the “goodness of fit” between care giver and child that deter-
mines what he subsequently finds acceptable about himself and what he does not.
The goodness of fit therefore places the blame (if there be such) on the interactional
style (goodness of fit) rather than either the individual mother or the individual
child. A good fit of care giver and child may provide few opportunities for conflict
(Stevens 1982). The less conflict, the less the child may come to regard aspects
of himself (or the other) as unacceptable, or threatening or bad. This may help to
explain why different children in one family may have different problems (Plomin
and Daniels 1987). The goodness of fit depends critically upon the child’s innate
temperament which the parent tries to mould (Crook 1980). Goodness of fit may
also be affected by factors such as birth order, the timing of certain traumas and
separations, how different temperaments react to these traumas and separations,
how parents react to their children’s reactions and so on. Therapy offers a new
opportunity for acceptance of the forbidden or feared aspects of self by encouraging
exploration in a safe and acceptable relationship (Mackie 1982). Hence, the way in
which therapist and patient match up may have an important bearing on the therapy.

Archetypes and biosocial goals

Many of the archetypes Jung speaks of appear to be blends of different interper-
sonal biosocial goals, incentives and strategies. For example, the hero may rep-
resent the orientation to excel (compete) in a way that is socially recognised, and
40 The mapping of human nature

to which status is bestowed. The more competitively oriented a person, the more
the hero archetype may come to dominate achievement striving in both fantasy
and reality. Hence, many of the archetypal forms that Jung described can be con-
sidered as options arising out of the four biosocial goals. In effect, they represent
blends of biological potential which have been knitted together in particular ways
by life’s experience.
Although Jung’s ideas have been extensively criticised, sociobiologists (e.g.
Wenegrat 1984) do see the concept of archetypes as having ecological value.
Indeed, Stevens (1982) has looked at archetypal theory from an ethological per-
spective. Moreover, Jung’s ideas capture some essential aspects. These are:

1 The predisposition for the structure of mind that goes beyond the drive theo-
ries of Freud and other analysts, and an emphasis on special-purpose process-
ing capabilities for the construction of meaning.
2 The enormous flexibility for the expression of archetypal potential via expe-
rience but without losing the innate predispositional component.
3 The way archetypes do not exist or function in isolation (unless split off) but
blend in various ways and form complexes. This blending changes as a func-
tion of growth and development.
4 The way stress mobilises different components of archetypal potential and
how stress can be an opportunity for growth and development of archetypal
resources.
5 The way human relationships can be expressed as an interaction between
archetypal based discourses (e.g. Young-Eisendrath 1985).
6 Ways of understanding and perceiving the world relate to the pattern of
archetypal development. In some individuals some archetypal possibilities of
“knowing” or experiencing the world are never fully activated or used.
7 Maturity relates to the increasing complexity, integration and blending of
archetypal potential (see Chapter 14).

Jung was aware that archetype theory would appeal more to the introvert than the
extrovert because introverts have a different orientation to inner experience and
inner meanings. Possibly for this reason, Jungian theory has rarely appealed to
the obsessional and extrovert wing of science. Nevertheless, although one may
not agree with the classification of archetypes that Jung put forward, his ideas
have been a major source of inspiration to many thinkers and theorists including
myself. Leary (1957) in particular notes his debt to Jung. For literature, Hermann
Hesse believed that Jung was articulating something that had been known to the
literary mind for many centuries. This is related to the recurring themes and myths
used by a story teller and which are universal (e.g. heroism, love, sacrifice, tyr-
anny, deceit, etc.). Others have looked to Jung for a deeper sense of religious
understanding.
The dimensions of human nature explored in this book may not be as Jung sug-
gested, but the idea of there being innate (potential) construct systems waiting for
 The mapping of human nature 41

activation and expression remains an important idea. In a way Jung was attempt-
ing to put forward sociobiological concepts before the idea of inclusive fitness
had been suggested.

Ethological approaches to human nature

Ethologists have long been in the business of trying to identify fundamental rules
which underlie animal behaviour. Unlike laboratory-based psychologists, etholo-
gists study animals in their natural habitats and gain insight into the nature and
function of various behavioural repertoires as expressed within these environ-
ments (Morris 1977; Crook 1980; Hinde 1982; Chance 1980, 1988). From the
long years of study, various systems of classification of function have been pro-
posed. These relate to major classes of behaviour such as bonding, mating, flock-
ing, competing and so on. As Hinde (1982) points out, unlike those interested in
immediate causation of particular responses, ethology is more concerned with
the observation and description of forms of behaviour in regard to function and
survival relatedness. It was from ethology and not Jung that Bowlby (1969, 1973)
developed many of his concepts of attachment behaviour. But attachment is only
one class of interpersonal behaviour. For a full understanding of human nature
one would need a theory which was much more encompassing and broad. For
this one must look for underlying mechanisms controlling social behaviour. As
Gardner (1988) points out, brought down to the basics, social behaviour is about
linking and distancing.
It is not possible to cover all the fascinating ideas provided by the ethologists
in this short chapter. Rather, I will focus on what, to me, are important attempts
to systematise a broad description of social interaction according to the various
classes of behaviour and which have special relevance to understanding human
suffering. Psychopathologists who have approached human suffering from this
direction note the overlap with Jungian notions of archetypes (e.g. Ohman 1986).
In a series of papers, the ethologist Michael Chance (1980, 1984, 1986, 1988)
has reviewed evidence suggestive of the idea that human mentality consists of two
basic systems. These he calls agonic and hedonic. They represent the outcome
of evolution working on both individual and group-interactional processes. To
understand these systems they need to be outlined separately. I will argue that the
agonic and hedonic modes are expressions of particular subsystems of defence
and safety. Following this we will look at the implications of these two systems
for the structure of social attention.

The defence system

The defence system is essentially concerned with the avoidance of all forms of
threat, injury and attack. It is a self-protective system with attentional, evaluative,
affective and behavioral components designed to protect the animal. The defence
system has a number of subsystems which Chance (1984) divides into individual
42 The mapping of human nature

and breeding. Here I have divided them into non-social and social. The social
defence systems are referred to as territorial and agonic.

The non-social defence system

This evolved to facilitate defence against predators. It is a primitive escape sys-
tem consisting of anti-predatory devices. Included here are: (1) hypersensitivity
to sensory data; (2) rapid increases in arousal – startle, alertedness; and (3) rapid,
non-predictable discharges of arousal and movement, as in rapid flight, zigzag-
ging, freezing, bouncing, automatic aggression and catalepsy. Chance (1984, and
personal communication) suggests that this system is associated with convulsive
discharges in the CNS facilitating rapid flight and erratic behaviour. Once trig-
gered, it tends to be internally controlled rather than dependent on sensory cues.
The anti-predator defence system is a short-term rapidly activated (arousal) sys-
tem, triggering defensive action (Ohman et al. 1985). Ohman (1986) suggests this
system lies behind animal and non-social phobias. However, key elements of this
system may also be present in other disorders (see McNally 1987).
The psychobiology of the anti-predator system bears a special interest in regard
to panic disorder. This is because while these rapid discharges of energy and
arousal in behaviour are designed to confuse predators, they may also confuse the
subject. They also tend to be associated with rapid runs for cover, especially in
open ground living animals. It may be this system rather than distress call (Klein
1981), which mediates panic, especially since panic is often associated with cog-
nitions of intense danger. However, as argued later, early attachment relations
evolved (in part) as a defence against predation, hence distress call may be related
to this kind of danger arousal. Today, humans have no major predators, hence
they may wrongly explain sudden physiological changes as due to internal (e.g.
heart attack) factors, but the perception of “physical danger” may be a clue here.
Chance believes that the control of the individual anti-predatory-escape systems
lies within MacLean’s description of the R-complex.

The social defence system

The territorial system

When animals come together to breed they engage in species-typical patterns
of social organisation. Two distinct forms are recognisable, these being territo-
rial and group living. (See Appendix 2 for discussion of the effects of season on
breeding behaviour.) The territorial forms of social organisation (e.g. in birds and
reptiles) involve the obtaining and guarding of a home base. Potential mates are
attracted to the home base by the display behaviour of the territory holder; in an
area where potential mates are likely to gather, individuals engage in intersexual
displays (e.g. showing plumage etc.) and intrasexual competitive contests (Barash
1977). The form these contests take is called ritualistic agonistic behaviour (RAB)
 The mapping of human nature 43

(Price and Sloman 1987). Dominance hierarchies are formed on the basis of the
territory held and the degree of display behaviour.
During RAB, and at other times, animals display important aspects of their
capacity to take or defend the territory. They display what has been called their
resource holding potential/power (RHP) (Parker 1974; Price and Sloman 1987;
Price 1988); that is, they display their strength and fighting ability. The social
signals that emanate from those displaying their RHP provide important sources
of information to potential and actual contestants and also potential mates. Those
signals that are directed to a conspecific with the intent of attacking, reducing or
confirming a low RHP in the recipient of the signal are called catathetic signals
(Price 1988). So strong may be the tendency to attack intruders into an animal’s
territory that courtship displays are essential to inhibit RAB between the sexes,
but even these can be fraught (Hinde 1982).
Price (1988) has pointed out that in order for this form of display behaviour
(display of RHP and RAB) to become a stable evolutionary strategy, animals must
not only be able to evaluate the RHP of a contestant, but also their own. Fur-
thermore, they must be able to compare these two sources of information. This
means that the individual animal has to be able to generate an estimate of its own
relative/comparative RHP. This estimate or evaluation informs the animal of the
likely outcome if it came to a serious fight. It is this estimate that then guides
subsequent behaviour and the various defensive or offensive psychobiological
routines of the animal (Parker 1974). If the estimate is favourable, then the animal
may engage in confident display and be prepared to engage hostile dominance
behaviour (RAB). If the estimate of comparative RHP is unfavourable then the
animal must either vacate the territory (flee) or yield to the other. In latter case
there is a marked change in the display behaviour of the loser.
The origins of this evaluative competency (generating an estimate of compara-
tive RHP) is almost certainly part of the competencies of the reptilian brain. How
it is done, however, is something of a puzzle since although an animal can see
the behaviour of the contestant, it cannot see its own behaviour but must rely on
internal sensory data in some way. In other words, the manner by which input and
output signals are matched to generate an estimate of relative RHP is a mystery
since data are compared in different sensory modalities.
Defensive social behaviour arises from the evaluation of relative RHP. First a
poor estimate of relative RHP inhibits challenge and confident display behaviour,
and attention is focussed on those that have greater RHP. Such individuals do not
gain prime breeding sites or attract prime mates. Second, in limited territory, indi-
viduals that lose their dominant position show a major change in their physical
state. This has been noted especially in birds. Schjelderup-Ebb (1935) (quoted by
Price and Sloman 1987) describes the outcome of a defeated bird:

its behaviour becomes entirely changed. Deeply depressed in spirit, humble,

with dropping wings and head in the dust, it is – at any rate, directly upon
being vanquished – overcome with paralysis, although one cannot detect any
44 The mapping of human nature

physical injury. The bird’s resistance now seems broken, and in some cases
the effects of the psychological conditions are so strong that the bird sooner
or later comes to grief. . . .

Defeated lizards may loose their colour following defeat and die shortly thereafter
(MacLean 1985). In humans also defeat can have very similar effects on display
behaviour as, for example, the behaviour of defeated armies. This change in state
consequent to defeat has been called the yielding subroutine of RAB (Price and
Sloman 1987). It is defensive to the extent that this state of defeat now signals to
the more dominant that the vanquished is no longer a major threat. In this state
it can neither attract mates nor mount any serious challenge for territory. Usually
this display of defeat terminates further serious fighting, although in limited space
the loser may be seriously harassed. Nevertheless the yielding subroutine can be
regarded as part of the defence system. The most important point to make, how-
ever, is that this is not a short-acting state or some individual response, but rather
is a whole change in the organism that can last considerable time; indeed a loser
may never fully recover.
So the estimate of comparative RHP has major effects on the animal’s social
behaviour and psychobiological state. But it is important to note that what is at
stake is social control. As mentioned in Chapter 2, it is the ability to exert control
over conspecifics that is selected for in evolution. In this context, it is control
over breeding resources; that is, control over other individuals that are going after
the same resources, and the ability to attract mates (i.e. inter- and intrasexual
competition).
It will be recalled from Chapter 2 that humans continue to have a reptilian brain
and that many of the psychobiological routines that evolved at that time in our
evolution continue to be available as potential responses for humans. Of course
many other competencies have evolved in primates; not least the fact that they are
not territorial in the same way as fish, reptiles and birds. Hence group-living pri-
mates have a host of new response options for their respective lifestyles. Never-
theless, the importance of the display of RHP, the ability of conspecifics to be able
to evaluate their relative RHP, and co-ordinate their social behaviour accordingly,
remain of major importance to the social structures of these groups. This is the
focus of the next section. The group structures of primates are called agonic rather
than agonistic because many of the defensive behaviours of the subordinates are
specifically designed to inhibit RAB in more dominant animals.

The agonic mode

The agonic mode evolved in group-living animals and involves inhibition of
ritualistic agonistic behaviour, and the discharge of arousal associated with it
(Chance 1980, 1984, 1988). This facilitates group living rather than dispersant
territorial breeding organisations. The agonic mode takes on special importance
in the primates. Here, groups of subordinate individuals are not located in isolated
 The mapping of human nature 45

territories (or are chased out of a home range), but are organised around a central
social focus, usually around the dominant male or pair of males. In order for this
group organisation to have evolved, two special kinds of defensive behaviour
are necessary. The first is the defensive response of submission. In order for a
lower-ranking animal not to be chased away, injured or even killed, the lower
rank must to be able to send signals of submission which inhibit the attack of the
more dominant animal. Mice have no submission posture, so Chance (personal
communication) suggests that these animals do not form status hierarchies in the
true sense, but rather form “a league of fighting mice”. The rat, however, is able to
turn on its back to dominant attack and in this way curtail attack without escaping
( fleeing) the confines of the group. In fact, submission is the opposite of normal
escape since the animal stays put but engages in a particular postural display and
in this way escapes injury. Submission postures to a predator would not be a good
idea. The importance of submission is profound for it allows for a form of spe-
cies organisation in close proximity which is quite at variance to the territorial
organisation.
It should also be considered that there is a difference between “defeat states”
which are probably involved in depression (Price and Sloman 1987) and submis-
sive acts which are more related to social anxieties (Trower and Gilbert 1989).
Once a submissive act has been accepted by the dominant, then arousal in both
dominant and subordinate may fall. The animal does not need to switch into a
“defeat state” but can control the encounter by the use of specific behaviours
designed to terminate dominant threat (e.g. presenting, gaze avoidance, backing
off, etc.). These acts may also be labelled “appeasement”. If however, a submis-
sive act is taken as resulting in a change or loss of status (or if in humans a sub-
missive act is evaluated to be a mark of inferiority) then a “defeat state” might
be triggered. Furthermore, submissive acts may have an accumulative effect such
that there is a change of state over time. For example, if an autocratic husband
succeeds over time in inducing his wife to behave like a subordinate, she may
become depressed. The relationship between submissive acts and defeat states is
complex and requires further research. However, it can be suggested that “defeat
states” relate to primitive territorial breeding (brain) mechanisms, whereas sub-
missive acts relate to agonic (brain) mechanisms. To put this another way, the
greater the (sense of) loss of control over important social incentives, the greater
the chance that a major global and invasive whole-organism yielding subroutine
gets activated. Different types of depression may relate to the degree and form of
an activated yielding subroutine.
In regard to threats coming from within the group, i.e. from dominant animals,
Chance also notes a form of escape behaviour which he calls “reverted escape”.
Unlike escape from predators, escape from dominant animals means that the sub-
ordinate animal cannot simply flee. At some point, to remain a group-living ani-
mal, it must return and become part of the group, and so remain in some proximity
to or even return to the source of the threat. Returning to the source of the threat
is a most important aspect of this form of social organisation. To be allowed to
46 The mapping of human nature

return the animal must signal appeasement and no threat. This capability has a
most important effect on the control and discharge of arousal for both dominant
and subordinate animals. It also plays an important role in the control of attention.
We cannot go into the details here but the interested reader is referred to Chance
(1988). We will also look at the issue of submission in more detail in Chapter 12.
Subordinates tend to occupy the peripheral positions of the group and are espe-
cially predisposed to exhibiting submissive displays. Furthermore, because sub-
ordinates are so located and because predators tend to select peripheral animals,
both the non-social defence system routines (fight, flight, freeze and faint as Beck
et al. 1985 call it), and the social defence system routines (submission, reverted
escape) may be sensitised or attuned by holding a subordinate position. In other
words, the defensive behaviours need to be continuously “at the ready” to facili-
tate rapid escape and injury avoidance. The tense postures and anxious vigilance
of subordinates suggest they are in a state of braced readiness; a state of high but
undischarged arousal. This fact may explain various sleep disorders especially
in depression because predators are especially active during the twilight hours.
Hence, becoming more subordinate (and hence taking up a peripheral position in
the group) may disrupt sleep activity and also sensitise the primitive anti-predator
defence system, perhaps suggesting why some patients wake in the early hours in
states of panic. This could be partly tested by seeing if subordinates, existing on
the periphery of the group, do indeed wake earlier.
The important components of the non-social and social defence systems are
summarised in Table 3.1. (The author would like to point out that Ohman has
earlier developed very similar ideas on these issues.)

Self-esteem and RHP

It was argued previously that the estimate of comparative RHP has major effects
on the animal’s social behaviour and psychobiological state. But it is important to
note that what is at stake is control. As mentioned in Chapter 2, it is the ability to
exert control over conspecifics that is selected for (among other things) by evolu-
tion. In this context, it is control over breeding resources, that is control over other
individuals that are going after the same resources.
Throughout much of human behaviour we see the same basic evaluation com-
pentencies coming into play. That is humans tend to generate estimates of what is
required to obtain a certain goal and then match this with an estimate of their own
ability. In social learning theory this is called self-efficacy expectations (Bandura
1977). It is as if this process of matching estimates of relative ability were a basic
evaluative competency which has been incorporated into many decision-making
processes. When biosocial goals and their related incentives have particular impor-
tance to an individual, a poor estimate of some equivalent of RHP leads to the acti-
vation of yielding. Consequently access to the yielding subroutine may come via
different routes in which control is strongly desired but appears not to be possible.
In these contexts then, yielding acts to terminate effort in a situation which appears
Table 3.1 The Subsystems of the Defence System

Anti-predator and Non-social Threat(s)

Involves: Hypersensitivity to sensory data (sights, sounds, smells)
Facilitates: Rapid changes of arousal; startle, alert, orientation, interrupt (cease)
ongoing activity
Outputs: Short-term escape behaviours; fight, flight (involving zigzagging),
freeze, faint, camouflage
Comment: This is the system that most common animal conditioning
experiments, using nonsocial noxious events, are tapping into
(see Ohman 1986). In humans, sensory data activating this fast
arousal system may arise from within (e.g. heart racing, etc.)
Territorial Breeding System
Involves: Hypersensitivity to conspecific holding signals; power, dominance
and resource-holding power (RHP)
Facilitates: Changes in arousal for conspecific contests; primes comparative
analytic processes, matching of contestant’s strength with one’s own.
(Courtship both attracts a mate and inhibits dominance fighting)
Outputs: Ritualistic agonistic behaviour; hostile dominance and yielding; also
involves withdrawal, fleeing (but not faint), dispersion into home-
based territories; hence, reduces proximity; ownership, guarding and
marking of home range
Comment: This system is of early phylogenetic origin and lies in the lower brain.
It is observed in fish and reptiles. When involved to a significant
degree in psychopathology tends to cause severe disorders (Ohman
1986; Price and Sloman 1987; Gardner 1988; Price 1988)
Group–Living Breeding Systems (Agonic)
Involves: Hypersensitivity to conspecific signals of power and submission but
in contexts where conspecifics are constantly present, within the
same environment, no individual home range. Agonic mode inhibits
expression of ritualistic agonistic behaviour; hence, allowing group
living.
Facilitates: Changes in arousal related to proximity; braced readiness to
challenge or send appeasement signals. Attention is directed up the
hierarchy.
Outputs: Social behaviours (postural and facial displays) appropriate to
the maintenance of the dominance hierarchy; inhibits ritualistic
antagonistic behaviour when relevant signals present, but to
approach a dominant (or resources) without giving appropriate
appeasement may invoke threats or attacks from dominant;
undischarged arousal, reverted escape and submissive acts.
Comment: Agonic systems are involved in many of the less severe forms of
social anxiety, low assertiveness, neurotic depression and dominance
behaviour (e.g. Type A). If major tendencies to territorial isolation
also exist then a more primitive breeding system is also involved.
Various elements of disturbed breeding behaviour may be noted in
sexual jealousy, territorial guarding paranoia, loss of libido, etc.
48 The mapping of human nature

beyond control. It should also be noted that self-esteem relates to social compari-
son. This is especially true in depression. Recent research on depression (Swallow
and Kuiper 1988) may offer a direct link with the concept of relative RHP.
In the human situation the most obvious link with relative RHP is self-esteem
(Wenegrat 1984). In humans self-esteem is generated in various complex ways
(Brewin 1988), but nevertheless the perceived ability to control desired (espe-
cially social) outcomes is paramount. This perception is influenced by many fac-
tors, for example, previous success or cultural factors. However, a salient issue
is that some people are particularly prone to linking behaviour (what they do or
achieve) to a global estimate of themselves. For example, “only if I am successful
am I a worthy person”. This leads to the dictate that “I have to or must succeed”
(Ellis and Grieger 1977). In other words activity (success) is linked to some global
estimate of self-esteem. It may be suggested that this kind of thinking links the
individual into those brain mechanisms that control the RHP systems of evalu-
ation. Such styles of thinking show a lack of diversity in the way self-esteem is
calculated and this may be assumed to be akin to allowing the reptilian brain to
control the evaluation of the self.
If the dominance position (which reflects evaluations of relative RHP) does act
as a sensitising or attuning mechanism, then there is an intriguing link between an
individual’s self-esteem and the predisposition towards accessing various forms
of defensive responding. This may offer some insight into why self-esteem is
so consistently related to many forms of psychopathology. Put simply, low self-
esteem or a fall in self-esteem acts as an equivalent form of low RHP. This has
the effect of bringing on line various components of the defence system, making
them available for rapid use. In consequence there would be a change in the psy-
chobiological state of the individual which switches attention to defensive con-
cerns together with a greater readiness for the arousal of different kinds of affect,
cognition and behaviour. In other words, self-esteem via RHP control systems has
psychobiological state-modulating effects.
Low self-esteem in effect renders the individual as a subordinate. Hence those
patterns of psychobiological activity that appear to go with subordinate status
(Henry and Stephens 1977; Leshner 1978; and Chapter 12 of this volume) may
be associated also with low self-esteem. The agonic mode of social organisa-
tion involves a hierarchical structure of social relations such that each member
below the dominant is engaged in self-monitoring (self-protective) activity. This
involves elevated defensive arousal but is not expressed directly unless some
transgression occurs. This means that at all times subordinates are alert and are
attentionally sensitive to a host of possible dangers. This aspect of arousal control
may shed light on the important issues of rumination and preoccupation. In this
view preoccupation and rumination are forms of checking, derived from a need
to constantly anticipate punitive events. In some obsessionals there is a need to
be perfect (to enact the flawless performance) that is beyond attack or rebuke. We
may assume that at some level the individual would experience mistakes as allow-
ing a possible overwhelming attack on RHP.
 The mapping of human nature 49

Hopefully the above offers an evolutionary link to the mechanisms involved in

psychopathology; especially the manner by which self-esteem has state-modulating
effects. Furthermore, it gives some insight as to why many (supposedly differ-
ent) forms of psychopathology go together (e.g. anxiety and depression). Such an
approach also suggests that we need a major rethink of our current approach to the
classification of mental disorder.
In the last sections we have focussed on a rather limited version of how RHP
and self-esteem are controlled. In primates things are much more complex. For
example, primates form alliances. These alliances have a major effect on the rela-
tive RHP of participating members. Members of an alliance behave much more
confidently in the presence of an ally and may even gang up to gain a harem
(Crook 1980). However, with the removal of the ally a more subordinate and
generally tense presentation appears. In other words, RHP in primates is not deter-
mined solely by individual action or ability. This is a crucial factor in human
behaviour. Indeed, as discussed in Chapter 7, some people place considerable
reliance on a dominant other to maintain self-esteem. Humans are able to boost
their self-esteem (and RHP) by supportive alliances on the one hand, and by being
able to use evaluative competencies that allow us to view our social world as one
of potential pleasure and enjoyment. Hence it is necessary to propose the exis-
tence of a safety system which in higher animals facilitates very different forms of
social behaviour to those outlined above; this is the concern of the next sections.
However, no matter how supportive we may have become during our evolution
this does not mean that the options for evaluation and response laid down at ear-
lier evolutionary times are removed. Phylogenetic regressions may in fact be quite
common (Bailey 1987).

The safety system

Many psychopathologists who use ethological and evolutionary theories tend
to be narrow in their focus by selecting one system for special study. In so far
as one is interested in specific questions, e.g. those arising from learning theory
(Ohman et al. 1985; Ohman 1986; McNally 1987), this may seem fair enough.
But I doubt that they will be able provide comprehensive insights unless we take
the human being as a whole. As we have seen, there are three forms of defence,
but there are also three forms of safety. Hence, anxiety and other forms of psy-
chopathology relate not just to the degree of threat in the environment but also
to the degree of safety.

The non-social safety system

The non-social safety system relates to non-social cues in the environment that
signal “no threat”. Animals emerging out of their burrows, for example, may
look, listen and smell the local domain to search for threat (i.e. predator) cues. In
the absence of any cues of threat then exploration, food searching and gathering,
50 The mapping of human nature

sexual behaviour, nest building and so on may proceed. The non-social safety sys-
tem then is one which facilitates various innate reproductive and positively rein-
forced behaviours. The presence of a threat cue immediately increases arousal and
turns off the safety system; hence, all behaviours (such as exploration and food
gathering) in which the animal was engaging, are inhibited. It does not matter
which specific positive behaviour was being carried out, they are all suppressed
by the activation of the defence system. Clearly, there will be some interaction
between physical state and anxiety in that the more hungry an animal is, the more
risks it may be prepared to take.

The attachment system

The attachment system evolved to reduce aversive arousal in the defence system in
species where infants could not defend themselves. The presence of an attachment
(parental) object mediates between the environment and the infant. Food, shelter,
warmth and protection are afforded by the parent. We shall look at the attachment
system in greater detail in Chapters 6–9. Here however, we simply bring to the read-
er’s attention the fact that the parent acts (among other things) as an agent of safety.
In his/her presence the infant is able to explore the environment without major shifts
of defensive arousal. In this way, attention is liberated away from defensive con-
cerns. This facilitates the possibility of rapid learning during which protection is
given. Under threat, there is an innate switch of attention to calling and searching for
the object of safety, e.g. the parent. Reunion, under normal conditions, is positively
reinforcing (relief), reduces arousal and, after a period of time, infant exploration
recommences. Hence, in most mammals, threat to the infant not only involves rapid
shifts of arousal but also we see a new defensive response – safety seeking from
another social object (parent). Hence, the attachment system is basically one for
the provision of safety, and the control and termination of defence system arousal.
This leads to an interesting hypothesis. The attachment system evolved in part
as protection against predation. The anti-predator system involves rapid shifts of
arousal related to immediate threat and physical danger to the infant. The parent
acts to reduce all major physical dangers to the infant. If this is true then maybe
we have a way of explaining why some conditions, which involve rapid shifts of
arousal (possibly related to cognitive misinterpretation), will activate the distress
call and safe-other seeking. What could be suggested here is that the increases
of arousal that are associated with disorders such as panic are due to the activa-
tion of a rapid short-term escape system. This system is activated by either low
thresholds for activation and/or by interpretations of physical dangers to the self.
The response to this shift of arousal would activate the distress call because in
evolutionary terms these two input–output systems are biologically co-assembled.
In other words, the distress call evolved as the response to the fast arousal anti-
predator system of the infant. It is also the case that panics can increase in con-
texts of aloneness (i.e. absence of attachment objects). Aloneness seems to reduce
an individual’s sense of safety.
 The mapping of human nature 51

Agoraphobia in this scheme relates to the failure of the safety system to con-
trol explorative behaviour. Agoraphobics suffer from anxiety related to travelling
away from the home base, which is usually accentuated by the presence of strang-
ers and/or high density (proximity) of others. Various situations which block
access for escape reliably activate anxiety in these people. As for the infant, so for
the adult; safe (attachment) objects may be sufficient to provide cues of a modi-
cum of safety. The main focus for the agoraphobic is access to the home base.
Other safe objects may include cars or even bicycles. Agoraphobia often proceeds
from panic where the individual fears becoming incapacitated by anxiety (e.g. of
having another panic) which may provoke an unsuccessful dash for home (at least
in fantasy). However, avoidance behaviour need not necessarily relate to high
arousal (Rachman and Hodgson 1974; Weiner 1985).
Enough has been said to provide the reader with a flavour of the interactive
nature between defence and safety. Anxiety can be triggered by either an increase
of fear (external physical danger) or a loss of safety (which at one level are oppo-
site sides of the same coin). Hence, we can see how the person who is punished
for exploration (e.g. by parents or spouse) may find exploration no longer a safe
activity. Most clinicians will have come across agoraphobic patients whose hid-
den anxiety is in leaving a spouse or partner. There are two fears here: (1) what
will happen while they are away – will the house be damaged or attachment object
leave or die?; and (2) possible aversive consequences, e.g. anger from another
for exploring. In these contexts, inhibition of change and exploration relate to
anticipated possible aversive consequences of change and leaving the home base
or what might happen on the person’s return. Behaviour therapy that does not deal
with the anticipated aversive consequences of exploration may be less successful
than when fear is only of external danger. In the former case, it is not unknown for
assertiveness training, dealing with marital and separation issues (combined with
a behavioral exposure programme) to be effective. These cases however, tend to
be more chronic and difficult to treat because separation anxiety and relation-
ship difficulties often play an important role. In other words, some agoraphobic
conditions are to do with the loss of the ability to explore safely and this in turn
may relate to many factors which produce anticipated aversive consequences to
exploration.

The hedonic mode

The hedonic mode is marked by reassurance signals given between conspecifics
(Chance 1988). The social structure is one of mutual dependence rather (as in the
agonic mode) mutual defensiveness. Whereas in the agonic mode arousal tends to
be high (e.g. with braced readiness) and priming of self-protective behaviours, the
hedonic mode is arousal reducing, and maintains arousal at lower levels. It facili-
tates increased proximity to social others and deactivates the defensive behav-
iours which would otherwise be aroused by close proximity. This allows for a
safer exploration of the social environment without a major preoccupation with
52 The mapping of human nature

potential threat from within the social domain. Perhaps the earlier forms of this
mode of social transaction occur in mother–child interactions. Under threat the
child seeks out the mother who, under normal conditions, is able to reduce arousal
by stroking, holding and cuddling (see Chapter 6).
Chance (1980) has shown that in some primates, especially chimpanzees, the
hedonic mode of social communication predominates group interactions. In these
transactions, there is the capacity to send various signals indicating “no threat.”
But these signals are reassurance signals, not submissive appeasement. This is
marked by much physical contact, stroking, hugging, lip smacking and sharing.
The social interactions are more relaxed, as are the individual members of the
group, and there is much focus on physical contact. This is in marked contrast to
other more primitive primates, where the agonic mode dominates social behav-
iour. Associated with the hedonic mode of social interaction is an accentuation of
co-operative behaviour especially exploration and problem solving. Chimpanzees
often split up into small groups for foraging (Power 1986, 1988). Hence, the social
behaviours arising from the hedonic mode are basically those of confidence giv-
ing, mutual support and reassurance. These are quite different, indeed the exact
opposite, of those of the agonic mode in which the structure of the social organisa-
tion is basically based on dominance and defence. These three subsystems of the
safety system are summarised in Table 3.2.

The structure of attention and mental mechanisms

A crucial aspect of Chance’s (1988) theory is his analysis of the patterns and
structures of social attention and the development of mental mechanisms arising
out of the different systems (agonic and hedonic). In the agonic mode, the focus
of attention is towards the centre, the dominance hierarchy and to those animals
from whom threat may come. Any new approach behaviour must include some
awareness of the whereabouts of these animals. In other words, the pre-attentive
mechanisms are threat sensitive. This limits both capacity and time that can be
allocated to attend to other explorative ventures. Chance (personal communica-
tion) suggests that when the agonic mode dominates attentive processes (i.e. the
individual is in an agonic state), it does not allow just any information to come
in but is rather focussed on cues signalling threat. In humans, where this mode is
dominant in the personality there tends to be reduced flexibility and limited change
over the lifespan. Rather, the person is restricted to habitual (usually defensive)
forms of behaviour and to cling to old values. Furthermore, arousal tends to be
high. Given the increasing experimental interest in the relationship between neu-
roticism and attention (Matthews and MacLeod 1987; Eysenck 1988), the pos-
sibility that neurotics more easily recruit defensive and agonic mental processes
becomes fascinating.
The structure and patterns of attention in the hedonic mode are quite different
to those of the agonic mode. The absence of threat signals and the presence of
reassurance signals given between conspecifics, act to reduce the arousal of the
 The mapping of human nature 53

Table 3.2 The Subsystems of the Safety System

Environmental Safety System

Involves: Sensitivity to safety cues (familiar environment) and sensory information
(sight, sounds, smells) indicating the absence of danger/threat
Facilitates: Controlled arousal, exploration, attention liberated to other tasks and
away from defence and threat
Outputs: All positive behaviours not directly involved with threat avoidance
(e.g. food gathering, sexual behaviour, nest building)
Comment: Can be highly activated in explorers and maybe sensation seekers; the
desire to make safe, explore, easily assured or arousal controlled in
circumstances of potential danger (can lead to unwise risks)
Attachment System
Involves: Sensitivity to specific conspecifics and responsiveness to them
(e.g. parent–infant). Capability to reduce defensive (threat) arousal
Facilitates: Infant’s exploration. A movable safe object which encourages infant to
move with the mother (also parent can come to infant’s aid when called);
care giving and care eliciting. Interpersonal activity is rewarding; trust
Outputs: Infant–mother (specific) interactional behaviour; feeding, exploration,
play, attentional control; distress call; protest–despair response
repertoire, crying (in parent love and sympathy)
Comment: This system is often accessed in times of physical danger, and distress
call accessed via loss of safe object, i.e. removal of safe (social) stimuli
activates defensive arousal, and primes searching for the lost object.
When attachment system works well attention is liberated to maximise
the integration of new information; trust and affection are developed
Hedonic System
Involves: Sensitivity to reassurance signals from conspecifics who might otherwise
engage in agonistic behaviours; reduces arousal in defensive systems
Facilitates: The extension of attachment-like behaviours to conspecifics, allows
joint exploration, co-operative enterprise, mutual support of status and
increased proximity. Seek “value to” others (SAHP)
Outputs: Affiliative behaviour, positively reinforced sociability, compassionate
empathy, co-operative behaviour, friendship
Comment: The evolution of the hedonic mode provides for a radical departure
to social systems organised around threat and dominance position.
The hedonic mode allows conspecifics to be positively reinforced for
close proximity co-operative behaviour (whereas in the agonic mode
proximity behaviour triggers threats). It is also a mode in which defence
arousal is low since the social environment itself is supportive rather
than potentially threatening (as in the agonic mode)

defensive systems and maintain arousal at a lower level than in the agonic mode.
Basically, animals are able to trust each other and know they will not be attacked
if they encroach on the space of the other or turn their back on the other. The
result of this is to liberate attention away from the centre and potential sources
54 The mapping of human nature

of harm, towards mutually reinforcing social and environmental exploration. In

other words, social others function more in the role of safety conferring. Further-
more, the response to predator threat is a group response rather than an individual
response. Chance (1980, pp.89–90) puts this distinction this way:

. . . the essential properties of the hedonic mode arise from the periodic nature
of the social cohesion, which enables attention to be organised in relation
to the exploration of objects in the physical environment without the envi-
ronment itself being regarded as a source of danger. The difference between
the agonic and hedonic modes is evident in a simple mammal’s reaction to
danger, in which the individual employs defensive strategies on its own. As
an illustration, the response of a group of hedonic chimpanzees may be cited.
They gather together as a group, making body contact, slapping and hugging
each other, from which activity each member gathers confidence to attack the
predator on its own. The group is not the source of common defense as in the
agonic mode, but a source of mutual confidence from which the individual
makes individual assaults, significantly harassing the predator before it is in
the mood to attack. Hence, the statement that all activity is rewarded in the
hedonic mode applies also to defensive strategies.
Hedonic behaviour is therefore a reflection of a brain mechanism that supports
flexible attention and hence, diverse types of awareness. Hedonic behaviour is
capable of controlling attention. It also rewards experience, especially social rela-
tions, and maintains through frequent body contact a fluctuating, predominantly
low arousal. Such arousal, later in life, is often controlled by facial gestures, by
voice modulation, and, in humans by restricted linguistic codes . . . (italics added).

Chance believes that it is the hedonic mode which has been the spur to human cre-
ative intelligence. In the hedonic mode, the attentional capacity is more open and
flexible and allows for different inputs to be integrated. In so far as co-operative
behaviour requires that individuals are often in close proximity and find co-operative
enterprises mutually reinforcing, then this would only be possible in hedonic
states. Furthermore, in terms of psychotherapy, Chance suggests that it is only
by operating in the hedonic mode (which involves reducing arousal) that change
and growth of the personality can take place. All the time a person remains in an
agonic (defensive) state, there is a restriction of attention and a limited capacity
for integrating new information. Perhaps it is not surprising therefore, that trust is
cited by most psychotherapy patients as the most important ingredient of therapy.
There is now overwhelming evidence that sociability is positively correlated
with happiness and well being (Argyle 1987). There may be a clue to this in that
those individuals who get on well with others are able to send and receive and be
reinforced by friendship signals, tend to operate primarily in hedonic states which
are capable of reducing aversive arousal. Those individuals who are constantly
on the defensive and have attentive and pre-attentive mechanisms focussed on
potential threat tend to be in a higher arousal state, e.g. the agonic mode. Hence,
 The mapping of human nature 55

the implications for this ethological work to the study and understanding of psy-
chopathology and its treatment are important.

Resource holding versus social attention holding potential

Price (1988) has suggested that the control of status and dominance is mediated
via ritualistic agonistic behaviour. Depression represents the yielding subroutine,
especially noted in defeated animals. Ritualistic agonistic behaviour involves
each contestant’s evaluating and weighing up the “fighting capacity” of the other
in relation to his own. Various signals are sent back and forth in efforts to evaluate
relative resource holding potential (RHP).
In humans, however, resource holding potential is only relevant to hostile inter-
actions, yet status can be obtained via prestige. Prestige does not depend on “fight
capacity” (unless agonic) but can be obtained via altruistic acts (Hill 1984) or
skills indicating a person has something of value (skill, talent, etc.) for the other.
In my view, especially in the hedonic mode, prestige depends on the ability to
control positive rather than defensive attention of others, and indeed prestige is
sought by gaining positive social attention and control over others. Hence, pres-
tige may be measured by the amount of positive social attention others direct to
the individual. I would therefore suggest that behind those efforts to gain value,
appreciation and prestige, are intercommunicative acts designed to “hold” the
attention of others. As with many other forms of social behaviour the key outputs
are the social displays (e.g. roles and performances; Morris 1977).
During development this relates to what Kohut (1977) has called the exhi-
bitionist stage where the child attempts to direct admiring attention to the self
(i.e. the child “shows off”). If this is achieved satisfactorily, the child develops a
healthy self-esteem (internalises a sense of social attention holding potential) and
the more agonic and hostile forms of needs for power and dominance are modified
(see Chapter 12 for a further discussion). Indeed, one of the benefits of depending
on a parent is that the positive attention and love given to the child act to modify
deeper, more innate hostile struggles for dominance.
The sociotropic or socially dependent personality (see Chapter 7) gains resource
holding potential, not by fighting but via control and access to a dominant other. If
or when this is lost, a modified yielding subroutine may unfold because with loss
of the dominant other, the individual accesses psychobiological routines related to
low self-esteem (low status). Indeed, grief seems to produce depression when the
loss of the significant other reinstates old unresolved self-doubts (Horowitz et al.
1980; Gilbert 1984, especially p.155).
In summary, resource holding potential is only relevant to status won or lost in
hostile competitive interactions. Social attention holding potential (SAHP) relates
to later adaptations whereby prestige is acquired via the control of social atten-
tion. Price (personal communication) suggests that resource holding potential is
relevant to those acting in the agonistic and agonic modes whereas social atten-
tion holding potential based on prestige and altruism relates to hedonic modes. In
56 The mapping of human nature

these modes the individual looks for ways to be helpful (i.e. one wants to be seen
as competent and able rather than powerful or potentially injurious). If one cannot
attract positive attention by helpful or supportive acts, then one might fall back to
more primitive hostile attentional control options. In children, positive mirroring
(admiring the child) provides an internalised construct system of self which, if
developed with moral and co-operative capabilities, inhibits status via power in
preference to status via appreciation (see Chapter 9).

The evolution of social roles

In line with most theorists, Gardner (1982, 1988) argues that social behaviour is
concerned with communicating and receiving messages from conspecifics. This
communication enables conspecifics to organise themselves into relationships
according to role. For Gardner, roles represent states of communication which
are understandable and readable in other conspecifics. As such, they are respon-
sible for signalling intent and need, and guiding and co-ordinating the behaviour
of the animal in a manner recognisable to (and hence allowing, facilitating or
calling forth a response from) conspecifics. The origin of these communicative
states can be traced back to times preceding language in human social evolution
and is manifested in non-human primates. Because these communicative states
existed before the evolution of language, they rely on visual–auditory and olfac-
tory displays. Gardner (1988) has labelled these communicative states PSALICs.
This term derives from Programmed Spacings and Linkages in Conspecifics and
from Propensity States Antidating Language in Communication. Gardner (1988,
pp. 210–211) suggests a definition of PSALIC as follows:

a primitive communication state mediated by a deeply homologous neural

structure, which, when stimulated and activated, causes the organism to dem-
onstrate unusual readiness to assume distinctive roles relating to functional
activities involving one or more of its conspecifics.

An example of a PSALIC is the alpha, or top ranking role (as in animals with
dominance hierarchies). Alpha animals demonstrate characteristic patterns of
activity with other members involving vigilance to subordinate intrusions: upright
posture, challenge behaviour, gaze non-avoidance and increases in approach
behaviour to various biologically relevant resources (e.g. food, territory, mates –
see also Harper 1985). There are also neurotransmitter and neurohormone dif-
ferences between dominant and subordinate members. Hormonal baseline states
may “prepare” animals to express certain PSALICs, i.e. make certain PSALICs
more readily elicited (Leshner 1979).
In some cases a preparedness to intervene in conflicts of lower-ranking indi-
viduals is also noted for alpha animals, especially primates (Crook 1980). In other
words, a PSALIC provides an expressive pattern readable in many domains (visual,
auditory, etc.) mediated by physiological, affective and behavioral components. In
 The mapping of human nature 57

humans, this probably extends to cognitive and attitudinal aspects. These expres-
sive patterns (which are principally via behavioral, emotive displays) not only act
as messages to others, but also operate context-appropriate behaviour and affect
in the animal expressing it. In other words, PSALICs provide for the expression
of social roles. It may also be that various cognitions are organised through the
activation of underlying PSALICs. There is evidence for example, that attribu-
tional processes may be secondary to the perception of non-verbal cues of status,
dominance and submission (Ellyson and Dovidio 1985). PSALICs appear to have
much in common with Jung’s concept of archetype.
Gardner has provisionally listed eight possible (distinguishable) PSALIC patterns.
These are shown in Table 3.3. In general, this classification of role behaviours, which
reflect the underlying individual psychobiological state(s), can be sub-classified in
the following way. First, in terms of the dominance hierarchy, Gardner regards three

Table 3.3 Eight PSALICs

PSALIC Abnormal Human Normal Human Non-human Animal

Nurturant (N) Kidnapping without Parenting Parenting

financial aims Caretaking Nest-tending
Nurturant Dependency. Normal offspring Normal care-seeking
Recipience (NR) Anaclitic behaviour with behaviours
depression parents (and other
caretakers)
Alpha (A) Mania. (?) Early High profile normal. Dominant member of
stages of alcohol Charismatic leader a social grouping
intoxication
Sexual (S) Perversions. Rape Being in love. Oestrous behaviour.
Sexual intercourse Male sexual behaviour
Alpha-Reciprocal Loss of values as Followers Audiences. Non-omega
(AR) in a mob or with Hypnotic trance subordinates in a
an inappropriate grouping
leader. Conversion
disorder
Ingroup Omega Melancholic Very low ranker Lowest ranker in a
(IGO) depression who exhibits social hierarchy
submissive
behaviours to others
in the group
Outgroup Omega Paranoia delusions. Persecuted member Persecuted member
(OGO) Persecutory of an outgroup of an outgroup
delusions (non-member of an
ingroup)
Spacing (Avoidant) Schizoid behaviour. Hermit Avoidant behaviour
(SA) Autism Isolated living towards conspecifics

Source: Gardner (1988). With kind permission Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Ltd.
58 The mapping of human nature

roles as relevant: (1) the alpha role – the role of top rank; (2) the alpha reciprocal role
expressed by middle ranks – those existing in the state of following rather than leading;
and (3) the ingroup omega role – the low-ranking individuals showing high submission
and avoidant behaviours. Context, especially for humans, may play a part here in that in
one context individuals may manifest alpha roles and in another context alpha recipro-
cal. Presumably there will be some mechanisms that tend to turn these potential roles
into traits, e.g. individuals who always aspire to be leaders. Various forms of the alpha
role can be observed in politicians, comedians, actors, etc., and all those individuals
who wish to display and direct (and control) social attention towards the self.
For attachment, Gardner suggests the traditional roles of nurturant and nur-
turant recipience. The activation of the nurturant role may relate to caring in gen-
eral with affects such as sympathy (see Chapters 6 and 8).
In addition, unlike my approach or Leary’s (1957 – discussed in a later section),
Gardner postulates a separate role, the sexual role relating to love and sexual
intercourse. This role is probably the least satisfactory since, while love does
play an important role in human sexual behaviour, it relates to complex forms of
attachment. One can have love without sex and sex without love.
Gardner, like Wenegrat (1984) also distinguishes between communication
between conspecifics of the same group and those involving outgroup members.
The outgroup animal is usually treated like a low ranker and attacked, hence, the
outgroup omega. The final role – spacing – is probably also an outgroup role but
one in which the subject removes himself rather than being driven out.
Unlike other theorists (e.g. Leary 1957; Chance 1984, 1988), Gardner does not
see these classes of behaviour as arising out of two dimensions. Nor does he distin-
guish between hostile or friendly forms. For example, alpha roles may be enacted
with hostility or friendliness (Leary 1957). Nevertheless, it seems that as men-
tioned above, at least three roles can be related to dominance–submissive interac-
tions and two roles to nuturant, attachment interactions. Gardner does not articulate
the importance of co-operation and this would seem to constitute a most important
interactional role (see Chapters 9 and 10). It remains for future research to decide
whether Leary’s, Gardner’s or my proposals better advance our understanding.
A model that combined these different approaches would be highly productive
since they address slightly different questions. However, in common with other
theorists, Gardner believes that different roles (PSALICs) can be blended together
and this may be a mark of maturity and health. A blending of alpha and nurturant
roles may underlie friendly dominance and co-operation. A failure to blend nur-
turant roles with alpha roles might lead to more hostile forms of dominance.

PSALICs and psychopathology

Where PSALIC theory comes into its own is in organising the data it was
designed for, that is, abnormal “states” of mind. Gardner’s biological expertise
and insight in this area represent a fresh and highly productive avenue to the study
of psychopathology.
 The mapping of human nature 59

It will be noted, therefore, that abnormal variants of these roles can exist. The
reason for PSALICs being labelled abnormal is that usually they are highly ampli-
fied and often context inappropriate and unblended (somewhat raw or archetypal,
to put it another way). Mania for example, may be seen as an amplified and con-
text-inappropriate alpha state (Gardner 1982). Depression represents an amplified
omega state. Paranoia may represent an outgroup state. An understanding as to
why such a state should have become so amplified within the animal’s reper-
toire can be sought in both the animal’s biological or psychosocial sensitivity and/
or sensitising processes operating before and after birth (Hofer 1981). Whether
abnormal variants of PSALICs should be considered dimensionally or categori-
cally remains a research question which parallels all classification nosologies
(Gilbert 1984). But in any event, this approach makes a major effort to look at
psychopathology in evolutionary terms. It moves us away from thinking of psy-
chiatric disorders in terms of mood, behaviour or physiology (i.e. disjointed bits
and pieces) and points instead to a better systems analysis of disorder. Further-
more, one would expect this approach to have great appeal to family therapists
for obvious reasons.
Gardner has provided something of a missing link between the pursuit of
biosocial goals and the means of achieving then within a social (other exist-
ing) context. It offers a way of conceptualising a link between biosocial goals
(and motivational processes) and social roles. We can see how social roles
are enacted with particular patterns of behavioral–emotional displays (e.g.
gestures, gaze, etc.) (see also Morris 1977). I believe PSALIC theory may
offer a major advance in evolutionary theorising on the structure of the human
mind. PSALICs are descriptive clusters of syndromes of communicative acts
involving changes in behaviour, emotion, physiology and probably cogni-
tion. Because PSALICs are regulated as expressive patterns activated through
“deeply homologous neural structures” and function to co-ordinate behaviour
and affect, they have a particular bearing on our understanding of the neuro-
physiology of mental disorder. However, while these expressive modes are
probably essential for understanding psychiatric and normal patterns of inter-
action there still exists the question of what exactly are the social goals being
pursued? In other words, a PSALIC (just as a social role) must have a goal or
aim behind it.
Finally, one should point out that there may be states, like hibernation or migra-
tion, which are not about communication but relate to an animal’s interaction with
its physical environment. These states may also lie behind some forms of psycho-
pathology (see Appendix 2).

Interpersonal approaches to human nature

In 1957 Leary published an outstanding text on interpersonal behaviour called
Interpersonal diagnosis of personality. Leary did not derive his model from etho-
logical or biological work, but he does acknowledge the influence of Jung and
60 The mapping of human nature

other analysts, notably Sullivan and Karen Horney. Leary’s approach is derived
primarily from psychometrics, the application of statistical procedures to derive
basic constructs of personality. From this work he derived two orthogonal con-
structs labelled dominance–submission and love–hate. The love–hate dimen-
sion may also be labelled in different ways such as linking–distancing. These
orthogonal dimensions produce what is called a circumplex model as illustrated
in Fig. 3.1.
The reason for using a circumplex model relates to the pattern of correlations
obtained whereby ratings of different behavioral traits are highly correlated to
their immediate neighbours but with movement around the circle the degree of
correlation falls. In this system, the model suggests four basic classes of behav-
iour: friendly-dominance, friendly-submission, hostile-submission and hostile-
dominance. These in turn can be subdivided into eight further categories and have
been labelled as: managerial-autocratic, responsive-hypernormal and so on, as
represented by the outer circle in Fig. 3.2.
Fig. 3.2 is taken from Carson (1969), who extended Leary’s work. Looking
from the perimeter inwards, the second circle suggests the types of behaviour
associated with the various subdivisions. The circle nearest the centre suggests
the least extreme versions of these classes of behaviour. Hence, the model has
built into it a strength of arousal component measured via the radius of the cir-
cle. The central circle suggests the complementary behaviour that is provoked
in others.

Fig. 3.1 Circumplex model of status and solidarity in interpersonal behaviour

From Crook 1980; reproduced with kind permission of Oxford University Press
 The mapping of human nature 61

Fig. 3.2 The circumplex model of Fig. 3.1 divided into 16 behaviour categories. Circle
segments define qualitative contrasts in behaviour and distance from centre sug-
gests strengths. In the outer ring the 16 categories have been reduced to 8 names
defining overall dispositional traits; the first word indicates the less extreme form
of the type
From Crook 1980; reproduced with kind permission of Oxford University Press.

Leary and biosocial goals

This scheme is immediately recognisable as having some important overlaps (but
also differences) with the view of biosocial goals and PSALICs. Its closest rela-
tionship is to PSALIC theory in that both models are concerned with interper-
sonal communicative states, styles and behaviours. Gardner’s (1988) model is
more influenced by biological theory and derived from ethological research than
is Leary’s and is more categorical in its presentation. Leary’s is based on psycho-
metric analysis of human personality profiles. Each model suggests that there are
(relative) communicative styles that may be regarded as archetypal potentials.
These are prepared and derived from deeply homologous neural patterns arising
62 The mapping of human nature

from evolution; that is, a relative preparedness to assume particular roles in intra-
species communicative acts. The theory of biosocial goals, however, is one level
down, so to speak, such that it is the activation of a biosocial goal that makes
necessary the expression of these various communicative states.
Much of Leary’s theory relates to the idea of interaction between social oth-
ers. Duke and Nowicki (1982) have examined the degrees of complementar-
ity in the sender’s and respondent’s behaviour. For example, in the love–hate
affiliative dimension friendliness in one gives rise to friendliness in the other.
On the other hand, hostility in one gives rise to hostility in the other. How-
ever, in the dominance–submission dimension the reaction of the individual
to whom the behaviour is targetted gives rise to the opposite. Taken together,
this means that friendly submissive responses tend to give rise to or provoke
the social role of friendly dominant in the targetted other. Hostile submissive
responses on the other hand tend to provoke hostile dominance in the target-
ted other. However, anti-complementarity and non-complementarity also exist
between sender and respondent. (For a detailed discussion of these issues and
a more up-to-date and redeveloped interpersonal circle, see Kiesler 1983 and
Orford 1986.)
This book is less concerned with the social dynamics of interaction and more
with an “individual’s” human nature. I do not wish to suggest the former is unim-
portant, only that for our purpose we will leave aside the complexities of how
this model predicts social-reciprocal behaviour (see also Argyle 1983). Hence, we
focus on the individual and turn now to Leary’s depiction of personality which is
often a neglected aspect of his approach.

The theory of personal adjustment

From Leary’s work it is possible to derive eight sets of possible styles for
eliciting and maintaining a particular interpersonal style between sender and
respondent. The sender chooses a particular style because of possible advan-
tages. We look briefly at these to offer a flavour of the model and because
these aspects bear centrally on our investigation on how different potentials of
human nature become developed in individual persons. Furthermore, different
psychopathologies tend to be associated with different positions on the circum-
plex model. Leary calls these “preferences for adjustment”. This is because
the individual has come to adjust himself to the social world (dealing with its
threats, fears and reinforcers) by adopting and amplifying particular aspects of
a potential nature. In other words, they represent forms of social coping strate-
gies to deal with or avoid social conflict(s), or to promote positive (reinforcing)
interactions.
Using Leary’s ordering these are presented below. (I have used a slightly more
cognitive slant here but one that does not change the basic descriptions.) In my
view Leary’s model provides an excellent, but as yet untapped source for research
on personality disorders.
 The mapping of human nature 63

Adjustment through rebellion: the distrustful personality

These individuals “compulsively askew closeness with others; they are trauma-
tized and threatened by positive feelings.” (Leary 1957, p.269). They seem to
evaluate interpersonal closeness as potentially reducing highly valued autonomy,
freedom and individuality through closeness, nurturing and co-operation. In their
extreme activation they actually provoke the distrust and rejection they feel them-
selves. This leads to a vicious circle of more distrust and rejection in both sender
and respondent. Not only do they distrust the nurturing and co-operative behav-
iour of others, they are prone to distrust the same feelings in themselves. It is
likely that they are poor empathisers (as indeed all those on the hostile dimension
may be).2 They can be cynical, wary, uncompromising and, in the extreme, para-
noid and prone to schizophrenia and psychosomatic complaints. In the theory of
biosocial goals these individuals would be regarded as highly competitive in the
dimension of autonomy and power and be very sensitive to power displays and
possible loss of control, i.e. they engage in spacing from others and have difficul-
ties in linking with and trusting others.

Adjustment through self-effacement: the masochistic personality

These individuals have more acutely amplified submissive tendencies. They
respond to interpersonal difficulties and dilemmas with submissive gestures:
“I am a weak, inferior person.” These individuals ward off anxiety of interper-
sonal threat by submission. There is experimental evidence that this may indeed
be so (Forrest and Hockanson 1975). In terms of the theory of biosocial goals
these would be individuals who tend to construe interpersonal conflict in terms of
competition for power but are also easily overwhelmed. There seems to be a fear
or taboo on assertive responses; hence, submission is the solution to avoid inter-
personal threats, injuries and losses (much as ethological models suggest). These
behavioural styles tend to provoke arrogant, punitive and leadership behaviours in
others. This style is highly represented in depressive conditions and is marked by
low assertiveness with a tendency to suppress the open expression of anger/rage,
and a harbouring of secret grievances.

Adjustment through docility: the dependent personality

This style is also submissive but less hostile, and there is generally a more
open and affiliative component. They give out responses such as: “I am a meek,
admiring person in need of your help.” Hence, nurturance seeking rather than
the avoidance of interpersonal attack is more of a central concern here. Auton-
omy and competitive competency may be inhibited because of self doubt and
the fear that a demonstration (display) of autonomy would threaten help provi-
sion from others. These individuals believe that a degree of self humility and
admiration of the other is required to secure help. (A religious style?) Whereas
64 The mapping of human nature

when the masochist tends to get depressed there is a good deal of self cas-
tigation, the dependent personality is more tearful, pleading and reassurance
seeking. He does not endear himself to those personalities on the more hostile
dimension but may provoke caring, helpful, nurturing responses from those on
the more friendly side of the dimension. Carson (1969, p.109) suggests: “The
extreme of this form of behaviour is a clinging, ingratiating dependency that
may become very sticky indeed for the person towards whom it is directed.”
According to Leary, these individuals are more prone to diffuse anxieties, pho-
bias and obsessions. As with other submissive postures there is a tendency to
inhibit competitive assertiveness.

Adjustment through co-operation: the over-conventional personality

The strategy for solving interpersonal dilemmas and conflicts here is primar-
ily one of co-operation. In the extreme, these individuals are inappropriately
and excessively agreeable, striving to maintain harmony in their interpersonal
domains. They are easily influenced by others but are uncomfortable in the pres-
ence of hostile, unhappy, or power-oriented feelings in both themselves and oth-
ers and avoid these if possible. They tend to be self-sacrificing. Brotherly love
is preferred together with the avoidance of aggression. They tend to provoke
friendliness and openness in others since they pose no competitive threat, nor
threaten to become dependent on or needy of others. Anxiety is aroused by situ-
ations which call for assertive, non co-operative responses. They run the risk
of being seen as kind but bland and unforceful people. In some cases they can
activate aggressive responses in people who are looking for some definite view-
point or positive reaction from them. Although they co-operate they may have
difficulty in co-operating with others when there is an intra-group aggressive
dispute. They may not like to take sides.

Adjustment through responsibility: the hypernormal personality

Of these, Leary says: “Here we deal with the individual who attempts to present
himself with a ‘normal’ persona. He presents himself as strong, but his power and
self-confident independence are used in an affiliative way. He strives to be close
to others – to help, counsel, support and sympathise. He wants to be tender with
his intimates, reasonable and responsible with his acquaintances.” (p.315) These
behaviours tend to invite others to lean on him and foster dependency. In the
extreme this may manifest as inappropriate overprotectiveness. They may need
to be needed to fend off their own anxieties and helplessness or fears of loss of
importance. In Leary’s view the majority of these individuals do not self-refer
but are referred by physicians for psychosomatic complaints. These patients may
repress and deny a good deal of inner conflict in their efforts to maintain the
hypernormal persona.
 The mapping of human nature 65

Adjustment through power: the autocratic personality

These are individuals with highly developed competitive goals; they use status,
respect and prestige to secure and maintain self-esteem. In today’s arena some of
these may fall into the category of people labelled Type A (see Chapter 12). These
individuals in the extreme are prone to be energetic, compulsive, perfectionist and
prone to mania. There is an avoidance of anxiety related to inferiority, weakness
and helplessness via striving. Like the masochist, their interpersonal activity tends
to be basically one of social competition but unlike the masochist who surrenders
quickly, the autocrat challenges and pushes for success. They can be overly con-
trolling and demanding of respect from others and attribute weakness or incom-
petence to subordinates; usually in the emotional domain. That is they may see
in others what they fear in themselves. These individuals may be poor therapy
clients in the normal course of events manifesting distress through psychosomatic
difficulties and overactive autonomic systems. They have a tendency to abandon
therapeutic methods quickly. It may also be noted that these individuals, insofar
as they relate to Type A personalities, are prone to defeat depression and cardiac
disorder.

Adjustment through competition: the narcissistic personality

These individuals are also a status seekers but as the model suggests are rather
more hostile, arrogant and smug. They may be boastful in words rather than deeds
although also inappropriately exhibitionist. They are prone to focus on their out-
ward appearance, dress, physical beauty or superior talents. “These individuals
feel most secure when they are independent of other people or feel they are tri-
umphing over them.” (Leary p.332). There is a greater tendency than with the
autocratic personality to use people for selfish ends (boost self-esteem) and a
significant lack of empathy. They tend to be envious and disdainful of others,
instilling resentment. They tend to provoke in others more passive, hostile and
negative submissive responses. They are prone to break down with anxiety about
weakness, shame and humiliation. They describe their parents as sadistic.

Adjustment through aggression: the sadistic personality

These individuals are the most destructive of all the personality types so far con-
sidered. Self security is based on the wielding of power through threat, physi-
cal and verbal abuse. Leary includes all those who maintain dominance through
the humiliation of others. Although the narcissist uses other people primarily
for his own ends, the purpose may not be primarily to humiliate but to acquire
independence, admiration and prestige. To strike humiliation, fear or guilt is not
the primary purpose of the narcissistic type but is so of the sadistic personal-
ity. Leary says: “We think here, for example, of the stern unforgiving father, the
bad-tempered wife, the moralistic guilt-provoking mother, the sharp-tongued
66 The mapping of human nature

mocking husband, the grim-faced punitive official, the truculent fiery-natured

colleague, the disciplinarian. We include all those law-abiding, often pious and
self-righteous individuals who maintain a role for potential insult, degradation or
punishment.” (p.342). As Leary points out, these styles are by no means confined
to the delinquent few but can be found to various degrees in the ruling classes of
many societies and subgroups. These individuals do not, interestingly, come to
the clinics for phobic anxieties or depressive problems but primarily for marital
and interpersonal difficulties. Delinquency, bed wetting and phobias often appear
in the offspring of these patients. (p.347) As with the distrusting personality that
we met earlier, these individuals fear intimate, loving and nurturing responses
in themselves. Sometimes they are in states of vengeful retaliation to cruel early
parental experiences. Again, there is a lack of empathy.

Developments of the interpersonal model

Each of these personality styles represented in different personality acts “is an
attempt to establish the emotional relationship of the actor towards himself and
towards the other, as well as to establish the social relationship of the self and
the other with respect to a larger reference group. . . . Each behaviour serves
the purpose of giving or denying love and status to the self and to the other.”
(from Foa, as quoted by Carson 1969, p.113). Carson suggests therefore, that
dominance–submission and love–hate present three dimensions: (1) acceptance
vs rejection; (2) self vs other; and (3) emotional vs social. Thus, for example, the
co-operative behavioral style offers love to both self and other, but is rejecting of
hostile, status-seeking, competitive responses in both self and other. The masoch-
ist denies status to the self but amplifies it in the other. In other adjustment styles
amplified emotional needs of the self may be denied because these might make
them ineffective as helpers, and so on. In effect therefore, each style has implica-
tions to both self and other in the domain of acceptance–rejection in regard to
social (status) vs emotional needs.3
As Carson (1969) points out, social context may recruit these various pat-
terns to greater or lesser degrees. The same style may not be seen in all con-
texts. An autocrat may be quite loving and docile at home. A co-operative
individual may be quite loving of the world at large (e.g. religious) but rather
neglectful of his close relationships or deliberately avoid aspects of intimacy
(e.g. as in celibacy). Hence, both in terms of the relationship between these
different personality types and the severity to which they manifest they should
be regarded as a dimensional rather than a categorical concern. The role of
context is crucial; for example, in Chapter 2 we explored the distinction of
intimate, personal, social and public. Someone who behaves as an autocrat
with his intimates may behave as a submissive type in a public and socially
unfamiliar environment. People who show brotherly love in public may farm
their children out to others as they rush around doing good works (i.e. there can
be an avoidance of intimate loving).
 The mapping of human nature 67

Some recent developments

Leary was of the view that high self-esteem related to the ability to co-ordinate
the complex repertoire of social displays in context appropriate ways, i.e. an
individual can nurture and trust when appropriate, distrust when appropriate,
submit, follow or lead when appropriate, and so on. The knowledge that one
can enact these roles provides some security for self-esteem. In social learning
theory, this ability to respond according to context might be called self-efficacy
(Bandura 1982). In this sense, it is like a sports person who can play all the
shots and is therefore able to treat each one on its merit. This is in contrast to the
player who has a limited repertoire and must continually navigate himself into a
position that enables him to play his limited range (sometimes quite awkwardly).
Furthermore, this is close to Jung’s concept of individuation, i.e. the individual
who has articulated and mastered and blended the full keyboard of his human
archetypal nature.
In a recent new approach to personality, Paulhus and Martin (1987) provide
some evidence for this view. They found that self-esteem does indeed relate to
mixed capabilities. For example, people who are capable of being nurturant are
also capable of being hostile. Hence, high self-esteem individuals are not fixed in
any one interpersonal style. These authors also highlight important distinctions
relating personality to social behaviour. These are: (1) ability – related to knowl-
edge and degree of skill for enacting certain social behaviours; (2) capability –
related to the ease of enacting particular social repertoires; and (3) traits – relating
to index-typical behaviour.
In their view, capability, i.e. the ease by which certain social repertoires are
expressed, may be important to self-esteem. Capability may be significantly influ-
enced by anxiety. Anxiety will not only lower the probability of attempting the
behaviour, but will also disrupt the performance if it is attempted. In this regard,
anxiety does not affect the ability, since individuals may know what to do, but it
does affect capability; i.e. there is a distinction between knowing what to do and
actually being able to do it. This mirrors Bandura’s (1977) distinction between out-
come expectations and efficacy expectations.4 In regard to the disruptive effects of
anxiety, however, it may be that any strongly aroused emotion, be it anger, anxiety
or even sympathy, may disrupt performance. For example, some individuals may
be so overcome by their own emotions while caring for others that they are unable
to perform the necessary nurturant response. Hence, underlying capability may be
a general dimension of emotional arousal such that when an individual engages
certain archetypal social repertoires, he experiences (or feels he will experience)
an inability to control it. In Jungian terms we might say the archetype takes him
over. Hence, when considering the adjustment theory of Leary, this idea of capa-
bility seems to be a crucial concern. Moreover, individuals may inhibit certain
classes of behaviour for all kinds of reasons, e.g. fear of becoming too angry or
anxious (losing control), catastrophising the counter-response (i.e. fear of being
overwhelmed), moral beliefs related to self-esteem, and so on.
68 The mapping of human nature

The interpersonal approach has generated much research and many ideas,
although its impact on psychotherapeutic practice has been disappointingly lim-
ited. Many of these ideas have been expanded and well articulated in a classic
paper by Kiesler (1983). The interested reader is also referred to the work of
Horowitz and Vitkus (1986).5 These authors have articulated some important
ideas on the value of using interpersonal theories to study pathological behav-
iour and also psychotherapeutic processes. In regard to this chapter however,
enough has been said to simply introduce the ideas and work supportive of clas-
sifying systems of human behaviour which can be mapped against evolutionary
strategies, and ultimately, biological processes. To recapture its essence, these
social dimensions relate to dominance–submission and love–hate. These com-
bined to produce various combinations of linking and distancing in interpersonal
behaviour.

Leary’s concept of levels

In the theory of biosocial goals it was suggested that the potential to activate each
goal and the relevant social strategy associated with it is given a priori; they are
embedded biological potentials in all humans. This is very close to Jung’s concept
of archetypes. Individuation arises from the integration and mature development
and harmonisation of the potential competencies for being in the world. It is the
vigorous pursuit of a limited range of innate possibilities which detract from per-
sonal growth and lead to vulnerability. In these cases, the person avoids elements
of his own personal nature. The masochist avoids (denies) his own competitive,
assertive and aggressive control over resources (although it may appear in fantasy
or dreams). The sadist avoids (denies) or fails to develop his empathic, nurtur-
ing, loving capacity. They remain undeveloped, primitive and unarticulated com-
ponents within the psyche.6 In cognitive terms there is a developmental arrest.
Important schemata for integrating these potential functions into higher, mean-
ingful structures are absent. If these primitive, unarticulated processes threaten
to break through via context-triggered crises, they are experienced as potentially
powerful, overwhelming, non-integrated elements of the psyche. This may invoke
even more strongly a desire to adjust to these inner crises with well tried and prac-
tised methods (i.e. interpersonal coping responses). Alternatively various forms
of regression may occur (Bailey 1987)7 which significantly disrupt and disorga-
nise a person’s sense of self (Horowitz and Zilberg 1983; and Chapter 14 of this
volume).
Leary offers a discussion of these kinds of issues in a most fascinating way. He
suggests that there are various levels of psychological activity. These are:

Level I. The Level of Public Communication. This is the level of the actual
behaviours that the person emits; but such evaluations are made by the
outside perceiver. Recent evidence suggest that people are often inaccu-
rate in judging the impressions they make on others (DePaulo et al. 1987).
 The mapping of human nature 69

Level II. The Level of Conscious Communication. This level relates to the
conscious reported beliefs (the individual’s perceptions) of himself and
the world of (social) objects. These are conscious reports and may be dif-
ferent from both Level I (how others see him) and Level III.
Level III. The Level of Private Communication. This “comprises the expres-
sions that an individual makes, not directly about his real self and his
real world but indirectly about his imagined self in his preconscious or
symbolic world.” (Leary 1957, p.154). Leary sees these as potentially
conscious to the subject but sometimes not. An actual vs ideal self-
conceptualisation may apply. For example, an individual may aspire to
high standards (status), report feeling superior, talented and even be seen
as such, but at Level III there may be fantasies of weakness, helplessness
and inferiority. These beliefs may not be fully acknowledged or articulated
until crises emerge which are evaluated as overpowering the competent
view of self. This level seems closely in tune with Beck’s (1967) concept
of latent cognitive schemata. According to Leary this level uses a more
symbolic language and is active in fantasies and dreams.
Level IV. The Level of the Unexpressed. “This level comprises those interper-
sonal themes which the patient consistently, significantly and specifically
omits in the other three Levels.” (p.192). These themes do not exist in
preconsciousness as may an inferior view of self in the above example.
As Leary says: “It must be shown that he has been exposed to a situation
in which he is naturally or consensually expected to perceive, react to or
express these themes and that he refuses to do so.” (p.193). Leary associ-
ates this level with the level of repression. In Jungian terms this level tends
to be the level of the repressed and unactivated aspects of the collective
unconscious. The refusal to acknowledge or deal with potentially serious
or overwhelming aspects of one’s own potential nature or that of others
is what is at issue here. As Carson (1969) says: “This is the level of the
‘not me’.”
Level V. The Level of Values. Leary calls this level the level of ego ideals.
These are the values of goodness and rightness held by the person; a kind
of moral belief system. It is the level of idealisation of both aspired to
goals and the idealisation of others. I am not sure, however, whether this
level requires specific separation from Level III.

Evaluation of the other

To understand and predict how an individual will act and respond to behaviours
of others, depends critically on accurate decoding of the interpersonal message.
There is no reason to assume, except in the most gross and obvious cases, that
different individuals will perceive the same interpersonal act in exactly the same
way. At this juncture, we must engage the person’s appraisal and evaluative
system. For example, if a businessman gives a thousand pounds to charity, one
70 The mapping of human nature

observer may perceive this as an altruistic act which leads him to feel favour-
ably towards the businessman, whereas another may explain it cynically as an
act to buy favour and put on a good image. In other words styles of personal
adjustment will also reflect attributional style. The point is that individuals tend
to respond socially to their appraisal of the motivation of behaviour and not just
to the surface appearance of the behaviour as the interpersonal model may imply.
A considerable amount of work has been done in this regard in the area of helping
behaviour (N. Eisenberg 1986).
The way construct systems are developed for explaining another’s motivation
is an important area of consideration. Although much attributional research has
examined how individuals explain their own behaviour and the reasons for adver-
sity or good events befalling them (Brewin 1985, 1988), rather less is known of
how attributions work in regard to explaining other peoples’ motivation (but see
N. Eisenberg 1986; Brewin and Furnham 1986; Brewin 1988). One of the con-
founding factors here is that individuals may distort both the attention-perception
processes to cues (in other words they selectively attend to specific aspects of
interpersonal behaviour), and from this derive attributions of intent. In regard to
the latter, projection seems to be a problem. The capacity for empathy may be one
process that allows accurate appraisal of intent and motivation in other people,
whereas projection may work against empathy and accurate appraisal. In fact,
Dymond as long ago as 1950 was aware of this. She suggested: “Projection seems
to be an antithetical process to empathy since projection involves the attribution
of one’s own wishes, attitudes and behaviour to something, or someone other
than the self. If projection is involved, therefore, the thoughts and feelings of the
self are attributed to the other rather than (as in empathy) those of the other being
experienced.” (as quoted by Goldstein and Michaels 1985, p.8)
This issue raises a number of important questions. First, suppose an individual
tries to act in a caring way (Level II) but secretly believes that he is not caring and
secretly feels angry and resentful. Then it may be that what is conceptualised at
Level III is attributed to others. Maybe individuals tend to see in others what they
conceptualise in themselves at Level III. For example, if I deceive others maybe
others deceive me. Hence, if I secretly perceive myself as a deceiver maybe I am
more likely to suspect others of deceptions. Put another way, projection may
relate to perceiving others in the modes of the private self – or in Jung’s terms “the
shadow”. Hence, as Jung says, the shadow is the most easily projected of all the
archetypes. The second point is that in (group) psychotherapy, individuals may
be able to reveal their Level III constructs and so have empathy for others who
reveal similar ideas and feelings. From here may begin a journey to more accurate
empathy in general and opportunities for re-evaluating and integrating Level III
or latent schemata. This, of course, is a speculative view. Moreover, this process
may quickly break down if groups start to become highly structured in a domi-
nance hierarchy. Thirdly, be it projection or not, how we explain other peoples’
intent may relate to what Bowlby (1980) calls defensive exclusion. Here, explana-
tions of intent are handed to the child, e.g. if the parent punishes the child this may
 The mapping of human nature 71

go along with the explanation that the punishment was due to the bad behaviour
of the child and not the aggression of the parent. Subsequently, when adult he
will tend to evaluate the motives of others according to early parental labelling
practices. This may make it difficult for him to accurately gain insight into the
motives and intents of others. He may miss-attribute aggressive responses or lov-
ing responses. For example, nurturing responses may be seen as no more than an
attempt to manipulate him. Hence, a nurturant response would be miss-explained
as a dominant response. Whatever the true case, the point is a central one that
people react to others according to how they explain the motives and intentions of
others and not simply the surface behaviour though both are involved.

The cognitive approach

The cognitive approach to psychopathology, like the behavioural approach, has,
until recently (Beck et al. 1985; Beck 1987) found it unnecessary to articulate a
theory of human nature. Dissatisfied with what the analysts made of evolutionary
ideas, behaviourists have preferred a more empirical approach based on learn-
ing theory derived from experimentation in the laboratory. While there can be
no doubt of the enormous benefits that this has brought, there is overwhelming
evidence that individuals respond to the world in terms of inner constructions.8
These in turn serve attentional, expectancy and attributional processes. Moreover,
these constructions of the world are not created out of the blue but are based upon
innate capabilities for knowledge organisation. For example, without some theory
about the evolution of dominance hierarchies various forms of pathology such as
Type A behaviour or depressive submissive behaviour would simply be related to
behavioral reinforcement history. The focus of this book, however, is the idea that
our constructions of ourselves and others relate to ways of knowing and respond-
ing to a social world which are built upon species-specific meaning-making sys-
tems. Children do not learn either language or fear of strangers by reinforcement
contingencies alone. Rather, they are innate potentials which unfold and are then
shaped by external experience.
Beck (1976) suggested that from early relationships individuals are predis-
posed to articulate schemata about the self and about others. These schemata form
the basis from which individuals come to predict and attribute outcomes. Con-
sequently, such schemata can be positive (predicting positive reward outcomes)
or negative (predicting punishment or loss of reward outcomes). At the level of
cognition, self and others are constructed in such a way that they are endowed
with certain properties or characteristics. This approach can be represented as in
Table 3.4.
From Leary’s (1957) model, these schemata arise according to the degree to
which status and love are bestowed on others and self. Beck (personal commu-
nication) suggests that people have various degrees of articulation of their posi-
tive and negative self and other schemata. The greater the degree of personality
disorder, the less robust or developed are the positive schemata. For those without
72 The mapping of human nature

Table 3.4 Formation of Cognitive Schemata

Early Relationship History

1. Nuclear family (parents and siblings)
2. External individuals (peers, teachers etc.)
3. Traumatic experience (physical/psychological injury)

Self Other(s)

Positive Friendly, popular, worthy, Friendly, supportive, strong,

strong, effective, able, etc. effective, able, accepting, etc.
Negative Unwanted, inferior, weak, Hostile, unfriendly, controlling,
inadequate, selfish, bad, etc. rejecting, etc.

significant personality disorder, psychopathology may arise from a switch from

positive to negative schemata. The negative schemata are normally latent in such
individuals (Beck 1967). Switching off psychopathological states is easier if the
individual is able to reactivate positive schemata.
These schemata need not be used equally in each domain of intimate, personal,
social and public (see Beck et al. 1985, pp. 78–81). Furthermore, various mixtures
of positive and negative schemata may exist. For example, individuals may have
negative schemata of themselves but not of others, a common finding in some
depressive conditions. Alternatively, individuals may have positive schemata of
themselves but not of others which may lead to exploitative and arrogant behav-
iour. Schemata relate to role relationships and expectancies which are stored in
long-term memory and are recruited according to social cues.
The activity in these schemata significantly influences how individuals inter-
nally monitor their ongoing behaviour and social transactions. This self-monitoring
gives rise to what Beck (1967, 1976) calls automatic (self-evaluative) thoughts.
Automatic thoughts tend to be schema specific. For example, if I have a strongly
articulated self schema such as, “I am inferior”, then my automatic thoughts
will tend to monitor my social behaviour in terms of its inferiority (e.g. when
swimming on a beach, I would tend to think how much better other people can
swim than me). In this way, automatic thoughts act as a positive feedback process
retaining and strengthening the schemata being used.
Recently, there has been increasing research into the relationship between
depression proneness and neuroticism. For example, vulnerability to depression
and neuroticism may have a common focus in that these individuals are selec-
tively attentive to negatively toned information (Teasdale and Dent 1987). There
is increasing evidence then, that proneness to neuroticism may, in part, relate
to the way individuals construct themselves and others and the degree to which
attentional mechanisms are focussed on negatively toned information (Argyle
1987; Matthews and MacLeod 1987; Eysenck 1988). It would seem to me that
this suggests the possibility that neurosis prone individuals are more reliant on
 The mapping of human nature 73

the evaluation/appraisal of information derived from construct systems located

within the agonic and defence systems.
The other aspect that cognitive theorists need to consider is the idea first sug-
gested by object relations theory. This is that some people tend to construe other
people not as a whole but in terms of constituent parts (part objects). Thus, some
individuals will tend to relate to others primarily in terms of how the other can
satisfy their own personal needs or threaten those needs. Part object construing
mediates against empathy and may distort evaluation of the motives and intents
of others.

Concluding comments
This chapter has been concerned with various approaches that have attempted to
understand human nature as the product of evolution. Evolution does not ensure
that one adaptation necessarily operates smoothly with another. MacLean (1985)
has shown this to be the case in regard to brain structures.
We began our exploration on the products of evolution with a brief consid-
eration of Jung’s concept of archetype. It was suggested that archetypes could
be considered as special-purpose processing competencies that facilitate the con-
struction of meaning. These are inherited and allow for the unfolding of spe-
cies-typical patterns of social behaviour; e.g. being parented over a long period,
becoming a member of a peer group, seeking a mate, becoming a parent, nurturing
offspring, growing old and dying.
With this as the background canvas we then looked at mechanisms that were of
major importance in conspecific competitive behaviour. Discussion centred on the
abilities of primitive animals to gain and hold breeding territory and attract mates.
This provided the view that many psychobiological response options are con-
trolled by intraspecies comparative, evaluative competencies; that is, even reptiles
and birds are able to generate estimates of their relative resource-holding poten-
tial/power and respond according to this estimate. This competency may well
have originated in the reptilian brain and may be a core evaluative competency
that underlies self-esteem. Many of our human dispositions to suffering may be
due to a poor or threatened evaluation of self-esteem and the degree to which this
calls forth primitive programs of response and state modulation (Bailey 1987).
Work on primate social organisation suggests that although there are some
major differences in group living as opposed to territorial breeding behaviour,
nevertheless the structure of the social group is still a dominance hierarchy. In
group-living primates subordinates are able to send signals that convey infor-
mation that they recognise their subordinate status; these are submissive and
appeasement gestures. This social competency acts to give coherence to the
group structure and stops it flying apart from continual agonistic encounters.
The social mode that exists between conspecifics with the intent of controlling
agonistic encounters is called the agonic mode. Individuals that evaluate others
primarily in relation to their ability to attack or reduce RHP (self-esteem) are in
74 The mapping of human nature

an agonic (psychobiological) state. In this state various options including anxiety

and submissiveness are primed (Gilbert and Trower 1990; Trower and Gilbert
1989).
In distinction to the agonistic and agonic modes are the attachment and hedonic
modes. The attachment mode evolved as an inclusive fitness strategy that facil-
itated the survival of offspring. The hedonic mode represents a different form
of conspecific relating. There is suspension of agonistic and agonic behaviours
which allows conspecifics to come together in a mutually supportive and enjoy-
able manner. This mode of social behaviour is especially noted in chimpanzees
with their relaxed social style to each other and mutual enjoyment of physical
contact. In this presentation these ideas were embedded in the notion of there
being a defence and safety system that relates to punishment and reward areas of
the brain (see Chapters 4 and 5).
Out of the different options for social relating (both phylogenetically old and
late) it is possible to describe a typology of social roles. These have been labelled
PSALICs by Gardner (1988). To enact any social role correctly requires compe-
tencies for the decoding and emission of the appropriate social signals/behaviour.
These competencies may be the basis for a new understanding of archetypes or
innate mentalities (see Chapter 14). They may also have important implications
for current work on sensory-motor patterns (Leventhal 1984).
The work of Leary and the interpersonal theorists has also been concerned with
the basic social behaviours of humans, although their models lack any close link
with evolution theory. In a sense this has been attempted here. Of special impor-
tance is their notion of the interpersonal circle and the idea that certain behav-
iours have eliciting properties on the recipient. Leary’s concept of patterns of
adjustment is of importance because it suggests that different people adjust to life
with a varied combination of phylogenetically late and early options. Some are
preoccupied with dominance and personal control, and are somewhat agonic and
agonistic in their social relations; others are more co-operative and friendly. The
style of adjustment presumably influences psychobiological state, accounting for
the differences in proneness to types of pathologies.
The cognitive theorists have articulated a theory that places considerable
emphasis on the construction of self and others. However, we should emphasise
that these are not independent since how I evaluate others will significantly effect
whether I need to defend against possible humiliation or can be more open and
friendly in my behaviour. If I evaluate that others will try to punish any signs of
weakness then I must make sure that my presentation either conceals it or domi-
nates them and in this way inhibit their attacks on my self-esteem. However, the
most important point here is a Jungian one. People are not a tabula rasa. Infor-
mation comes into the person and is structured and encoded in line with innate
information-decoding competencies. Self concepts are grown on a seed bed of
archetypal potential. Hence the propensity to evaluate ourselves as inferior or
superior to others comes from the fact that we have innate encoding competencies
 The mapping of human nature 75

that facilitate ranking behaviour in all mammals. Indeed, we may spend much of
our lives trying to get over this biological preference!
There are many other implications to this sort of approach that can not be
outlined here. One that should be mentioned, however, is that the evaluation
processes suggested by the object relations theorists, especially those of the para-
noid-schizoid position, may represent a greater involvement of reptilian-like com-
petencies in the person. In the paranoid-schizoid position the individual seems
especially concerned with boundaries; inner and outer. The schizoid individual
seems uninterested in relationships and appears distant and cold in his behaviour.
Gardner (1988) has suggested that this kind of difficulty may relate to spacing as
a preferred response option.
The next chapters attempt to build on these brief outlines. In my view a sci-
ence of human nature should attempt to integrate what is known of our evolution
and we should be cautious of theories that are not comprehensive in this regard.
For all the great advances made in our understanding by attachment theory, this
theory does not grapple with the essential issues of power which have dominated
philosophical enquiry over many centuries. Nor does it grapple with the human
problems posed by our sense of moral dilemmas. Attachment, love and trust may
well have evolved as new opportunities to organise ourselves (both inter- and
intrapersonally) differently from the more agonistic species, but this does not
mean that potentials for construing our selves and others in agonistic roles is now
dissolved. Indeed, without the adequate inputs from our fellow human beings, be
these parents, friends or lovers, these more aggressive, submissive, anxious and
depressive response options may be easily (re)invoked.

Notes
1 To see how this system of thinking can be used therapeutically to understand disturbed
relationships see Young-Eisendrath (1985).
2 Those in whom adjustment to the social world is mediated by hostile defence may also
find it difficult to act on developed moral beliefs (see Chapter 9).
3 It would be inappropriate here to articulate these issues in more detail. The interested
reader can pursue them in Carson (1969); Anchin and Kiesler (1982); Kiesler (1983);
Orford (1986). Orford (1986) has reviewed the evidence in favour of some recent adapta-
tions of Leary’s model. He points out, however, that hostile dominance tends to provoke
hostile dominance which is not predicted by any of the current theories. Hence, the issue
of status defence is of importance in understanding the social dynamics of this model.
4 The reader will find a similar distinction between knowing and doing discussed in rela-
tion to moral behaviour in Chapter 9.
5 This paper appeared in Clinical Psychology Review in a special issue dedicated to the
discussion of issues pertaining to personality assessment. Individuals interested in per-
sonality will find a number interesting of papers here.
6 Of course, it may be that constitutional genetic or other biological aspects make these
human capabilities very weakly encoded. We cannot assume that every individual has
the same biological capability, just as individuals vary in terms of innate strength, poten-
tial and so on. But probably the greatest block to prosocial functioning resides in the
76 The mapping of human nature

social history of the individual. And even for those who find empathetic skills difficult,
specific re-education may be a significant help.
7 This may mean that certain forms of limbic activation are not well co-ordinated with
cortical processes.
8 At the time of going to press, Rescorla (1988) has published a review of recent findings
which helps to connect evolutionary theory with conditioning theory. In his view much
classical conditioning concerns the provision of information by processes of associa-
tion. He makes a convincing claim that many advocates and critics of behaviour theory
cling to a theory of conditioning that is twenty years out of date!
Chapter 4

The psychobiology of some

basic mechanisms

One of the central ideas of this book is that much of what is regarded as psycho-
pathology is not equivalent to medical notions of disease or illness. For example,
are subordinate animals, who show high levels of fear and defensive arousal, ill
or diseased? Does the yielding subroutine constitute an illness? Of course, much
depends on the definitions of disease and illness (Kendell 1975). What we some-
times regard as pathology may represent the activation of brain states that have
evolved as potential states; i.e. they are part of various psychobiological prepared
options. This leads us to Hill’s (1968) distinction of the differences between pos-
ture, reaction and disease.
We cannot engage these important debates here, but we can suggest that a bet-
ter understanding of evolution’s designs will help us formulate answers (Gardner
1988). The second complication to our science of psychopathology comes from
mind–body dualism, which L. Eisenberg (1986) has aptly called “brainlessness”
and “mindlessness”. Such confusions lie behind disputes between the hard versus
the soft approach in psychiatry (Akiskal and McKinney 1973).
We are a long way from resolving these issues, but a science of human nature
would be helpful in this endeavour. In this chapter, it will be argued that we can
profitably advance our science with recourse to the concepts of defence and
safety. Furthermore, all life forms are equipped to defend against threat and also
to advance their own life form. We take as our starting point the fact that living
systems have various forms of recognition-response capabilities for doing just
that. In Maturana’s (1983) terms all living systems know how to exist in their
domain of existence. In other words there are species-specific (innately given)
forms of construing which are essential for that member to live as an example of
the species. Although we cannot explore this here, recognition–response systems
operate at a multitude of levels; for example, the immune system is an example
of a biological defence system based on recognition–response. In this chapter we
will assume some familiarity with neurochemistry but for the unfamiliar reader,
Appendix 1 is offered to illuminate some of the main processes. We begin our
exploration with a discussion of defence and safety and a more detailed investiga-
tion into their function.
78 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

Defence
Stimulus detection and recognition appear to be organised in two fundamen-
tal ways. First, animals need to be sensitive to and to recognise cues signalling
threat, injury and harm. Second, animals need to be sensitive to (recognise) cues
signalling positive reinforcers and safety. The defence signal detection system
is built upon simple reflexes and sensory-motor patterns. A chick, for example,
will crouch in the nest when a hawk-like stimulus passes overhead. In humans,
some of these recognition systems are also innate (Eibl-Eibesfeldt 1980; Tomkins
1981) and bear on the recognition of social signals (e.g. the baring of teeth). There
appear to be specific brain areas that are responsible for carrying out this function.
Damage to these areas reduces capability for facial discrimination.
Threat requires defensive, self-protective action, and cues signalling threat
trigger avoidance behaviour (Gray 1971). This behaviour is designed either to
remove the animal from the threat (flight) or to reduce the signals being emitted
(freeze, faint, camouflage). The general descriptive term that is given to this sys-
tem, concerned with the appraisal of threat, is the defence system. The use of this
term implies the behaviour that must follow, i.e. defensive action. In Chapter 3
we noted three systems of defence: (1) anti-predator; (2) territorial breeding; and
(3) group living. We should emphasise that these are in no way comprehensive.
For example, there are other systems which involve defence against noxious sub-
stances and involve the affects of disgust (Rozin et al. 1986; Rozin and Fallon
1987) and probably involve various specific responses like the vomiting reflex.
Rozin’s work provides fascinating insights into the development of contamination
beliefs which might be of value in understanding certain obsessional disorders.
Another important defensive reflex is that of falling, and losing balance. This
sensory information elicits arousal and motor behaviours to restore balance. Fear
of falling, tipping forward, is noted in some agoraphobics. The idea of a defense
system is important because then it becomes possible to understand how various
responses of the defence system (e.g. vomiting) may be activated via routes which
do not necessarily involve the perception of (say) noxious substances.
Beck et al. (1985) have outlined three major forms of anxious reactions:

1 Mobilisation: involving active behaviours; this may be anxiety but could also
be aggression, i.e. fight/flight (cognitive imagery impels action).
2 Inhibition: involving interference with normal functioning (e.g. freeze); mind
going blank; cognitive inhibition.
3 Demobilisation: involving weakness and faintness; lowering of blood pressure.

Input and output

The output and psychomotor components of the defence and safety systems bear
careful consideration. I shall argue that the psychomotor system of defence is
organised around go–stop, whereas the outputs of the safety system do not have
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 79

a stop component but are regulated by increments or decrements in arousal act-

ing through the positive reinforcement system. In other words, the outputs of the
safety system can be regarded as either “go” or “no-go”. “Go” is simply a descrip-
tive term for various forms of invigorated activity which can be observed in vari-
ous domains (for example running, jumping, playing). “Stop” refers to various
forms of braking, suppression, withholding or defensive closing down. For the
most part, stop is usefully considered in regard to the psychomotor system. For
example, freeze represents a high state of arousal but is not discharged due to
psychomotor braking. Other forms of stop behaviour may be regarded in terms
of parasympathetic nervous system activity which involve bringing about various
shutdowns in energy expenditure or reducing the probability of displaying certain
classes of behaviour. In other words, stop is only relevant to the defence system.
Beginning with the anti-predator system, we can observe that following
an increase in arousal, behaviour may be discharged in psychomotor activity,
e.g. flight. This constitutes “defensive go”. Another form of defensive go would
be a distress call. In this case, defensive arousal is channelled into calling to and
seeking a nurturant other. In contrast, other forms of defensive behaviour may
be under significant braking control, for example “freeze”. Freeze involves high
arousal but with tense musculature. Another form of stop is “faint”. In faint, the
musculature is relaxed and not tensed as in freeze. This is a form of demobilisa-
tion response. However, both freeze and faint involve defensive reactions which
inhibit the discharge of psychomotor activity (e.g. fleeing, moving and so on).
Hence, freeze and faint represent different forms of stop; the former but not the
latter working through a psychomotor braking system. Although there are species
differences in the propensity to exhibit these responses (e.g. rabbits always freeze
to threat), in humans an array of possible defensive responses may be primed by
aversive stimulation and cognition (Beck et al. 1985).
In terms of neuropsychology, the concept of braking is of major significance.
Carlton (1969), for example, has pointed out that freeze may be the first response
in active avoidance conditioning trials. He suggests that acetylcholine, especially
in hippocampal structures, is important to this response pattern. Altman et al.
(1973) have suggested that the hippocampus acts as a form of central nervous
system braking and that little effective action is discharged as long as the brakes
are on. Gray (1982), as we shall discuss shortly, has identified the hippocampus as
part of a behavioural inhibition system.
The anti-predator system evolved to deal with short-term, immediate threat,
and therefore, responses tend to be short term with quick recovery. When we look
at social behaviour however, the defence system operates in rather different ways.
We begin to see the capacity for the defence system to produce major changes in
state, recovery from which may take considerable time, if it occurs at all. John
Price (personal communication) gives a fascinating example. Mimic cleaner fish
are highly territorial, for unlike real cleaner fish, they bite chunks out of larger
fish instead of cleaning them. The need to maintain a very low percentage of
mimics to real cleaners in any locale is therefore obvious. When two mimics fight
80 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

for territory, the loser loses his colour, no longer looks like a real cleaner and is
preyed upon. Hence, defeat for a mimic produces significant biological changes
which are not part of the fish’s own predatory system; indeed, defeat severely
compromises his anti-predator ability.
Such fascinating examples illustrate the biological differences in responses to
social and non-social threat. Furthermore, it is not only fish that behave this way.
Defeated male lizards may die shortly after a defeat (MacLean 1985). The study
of defeated birds from which the term “pecking order” originally arose shows
serious changes in presentation and behaviour following defeat (Price and Slo-
man 1987). Importantly, losers in such contests lose their ability to retaliate and
show major reductions in various survival and reproductive promoting behav-
iours. (See Chapters 3 and 12.)
These changes of state, which have long-lasting effects and alter many psycho-
biological responses, have been studied by a non-evolutionary paradigm. Chronic
stress over which the animal has no control results in a state of helplessness (Selig-
man 1975). We shall be looking at this more closely in a later section. Suffice to
say here, one plausible hypothesis is that chronic uncontrollable stress recruits the
psychobiological pattern of yielding. After all, in Nature, predators are unlikely to
be a source of prolonged uncontrollable trauma, whereas conspecifics may be. For
the moment therefore, we simply wish to make the distinction between short-lived
defensive responses and those that involve a more radical change of state and take
considerably longer to extinguish.
In many group-living animals (e.g. rats but not mice) we see variations to the
yielding subroutine. In group living, animals do not disperse if they have lower
relative RHP. Instead, subordinates signal “no threat” to dominants and are at the
ready to engage submissive acts should they be challenged. Occupancy of low
rank in agonic groups results in high states of arousal which are not discharged in
activity. They are “at the ready” to take defensive action, are watchful and atten-
tive to possible sources of attack and are generally timid. They appear apprehen-
sive, even when engaging in positive reinforced behaviours. Subordinates may
also be more susceptible to separation depression (Rasmussen and Reite 1982;
Gilbert 1984). The full yielding subroutine may be easily activated in subordi-
nates in part because of the biological state associated with low status, and in part
because subordinates have very little control over social positive reinforcements.
Being at the ready to take defensive action and showing less ease and confi-
dence than more dominant animals, we may consider the subordinates to be in a
state of “braced readiness”. Chance (1988) has pointed out that braced readiness
may result from the conflicting tendencies of the reverted escape response. In this
situation, the animal is motivated to approach, or remain within some proxim-
ity to more dominant animals (i.e. not exist as an isolate) yet at the same time
is motivated to avoid the possible aversive consequences of invoking ritualistic,
agonistic behaviour in the dominant. As a result of this conflict of motivation, the
prevailing state is one of braced readiness. Positive reinforcers are pursued in the
face of high defensive arousal.
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 81

To summarise we can outline three forms of stop:

1 Demobilisation and braking of psychomotor activity which is characteristic

of the anti-predator system. This is a short term, but usually intense response,
e.g. freeze, faint or camouflage.
2 More general inhibitory processes of psychomotor activity and biological
functions which are the result of a major change of state, as in the case of
yielding in defeat and/or exposure to chronic uncontrollable stress.
3 Inhibition applied to the psychomotor system which is a form of braced read-
iness. This is characteristic of conflict when two competing motivations and
action tendencies are being held in check.

At the present time, the degree to which these three forms of inhibition (stop) are
related is unknown.1 At this point, my main concern is to raise questions regarding
different kinds of stop that have evolved as part of the defence system. A sum-
mary of these response options is given in Table 4.1.

Table 4.1 The Defence System

Function: To alert animal to danger. Designed to defend ‘and/or’ protect. Involves

the focus of signal analysers on sensory information and passing on to
various appraisal systems for evaluating “meaning” of sensory data.
Forms: 1. Non-social (predator and non-social, physical injury)
2. Social (breeding); territorial and group living.
Psychobiology 1. Increase in arousal (e.g. startle, alert), priming go-stop options.
2. Increased activity in various psychobiological systems (e.g.
sympathetic/parasympathetic HPAC, hippocampus in control mode)
to mobilise resources for defence and protection activity.

Response (Psychomotor) Options

Go Stop/Demobilise

Anti-predator, Fight/Flight. Active Freeze/Faint. Camouflage. Passive

non-social, avoidance. Distress (alarm) avoidance
injury call?
Territorial Ritualistic agonistic Yielding subroutine. Helplessness
conspecific behaviour. Flee from
occupied territory.
Ritualistic guarding
(homesite, mate, etc.)
Group living Signalling (dominance) Submissive acts by gesture (appeasement).
(agonic) power by gesture. Retreat, Brace readiness (high but undischarged
avoid. Reverted escape arousal)

Note:The stop/demobilisation responses of the anti-predator system are short term, whereas yielding
and helplessness are longer-lasting changes in state. The short-term responses are dependent on
sensory data, whereas it is social behaviour that triggers the dominance and yielding routines.
82 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

Safety
The second way stimulus detection and recognition appear to be organised relates
to safety. Animals need to be sensitive and to recognise cues that signal safety
(e.g. the absence of threat cues, reassurance signals, burrows, holes, etc.). This
is additional to cues signalling positive reinforcers themselves. When safety cues
are present in the environment, the animal is able to pay less attention to threat
and be less sensitive to the need to take defensive action and in consequence, can
explore for positive reinforcing stimuli, i.e. there is movement towards bioso-
cial incentives. Cues that signal safety activate the reward system. In humans for
example, trusted care givers, especially via tactile comfort, can reduce defensive
avoidance arousal. Also, the role of the reward system in avoidance learning is
now established (Gray 1971). In Chapter 3, we called the prosocial aspects of
the safety system, hedonic and attachment. The activation of the defence system
releases primitive (innately available) response routines (fight, flight, freeze, faint,
submission, etc.). The activation of the safety system, when following defensive
activation, reduces defence system arousal and can release innately available
response routines (e.g. positive reinforced exploration, goal fulfilling behaviour,
play, humour, sharing). Although the safety system normally operates with low
fluctuating arousal, arousal can also be high if there is success after struggle (ela-
tion). More work needs to be done before we can fully understand which behav-
iours and affects become manifest and are released by the activation of the safety
system. I believe the safety system releases the pursuit of exploration for positive
reinforcers, but it is more than a purely reinforcement system. For example, the
safety system is involved in sleep and relaxation.
The output and psychomotor components of the safety system differ from those
of the defence system. The safety system has no equivalent of psychomotor brak-
ing or demobilisation. The purpose of the safety system is to liberate attention and
behaviour for the exploration of positive reinforcing behaviour. When arousal is
low in both defence and safety, the animal is in a state of relaxation. In terms of
everyday functioning, there exist complex interplays between defence and safety.
Too much safety can be boring and people seek control in order to expand mas-
tery over their personal domain. As Gray (1971) points out, successful escape
activates the reward areas and such a factor may lie behind the enjoyment of risk
taking, e.g. parachuting.
Generally speaking, there are no braking or inhibitory processes in the safety
system itself. For example, to a hungry animal stimuli previously associated with
food cue arousal and food-seeking behaviour. Any inhibition to this behaviour
will come from either some other positive incentive being more important or from
defence system activity (e.g. a perceived threat of some kind). If the animal is sati-
ated however, stimuli associated with food do not cue arousal, rather the animal
ignores them. In other words, the safety system works on a gradient of go/no go,
but has no braking system of its own to stop arousal from being discharged. This
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 83

only comes from the defence system. Further evidence for this view comes from
Gray (1971, pp.190–192) who discusses evidence that under normal conditions,
the cortex exerts inhibitory control over the punishment areas and these in turn
exert inhibitory control over the reward areas. Hence, any braking or demobilisa-
tion is always from the defence system.
Further insight into the fact that the safety system has no stop mechanism can
be gleaned from infant–mother research. Return to the mother acts as a safety
signal which calms defensive arousal but does not inhibit behaviour. As we shall
note in Chapter 7, sometimes the parent does not seem able to have this effect.
The capacity for human beings to send safety signals to each other which have
the effect of reducing defensive arousal is crucial to the hedonic mode. Friendship
signals act as calming signals on defensive arousal. This reduction in defensive
arousal allows activity in the safety system to flow. Hence, we see co-operation,
sharing, joint exploration and so on; all of which are associated with wellbeing
(Argyle 1987). In other words, wellbeing and probably general health are associ-
ated with low arousal in the defence system. The individual no longer has to be
vigilant to the punishment-worthiness of behaviour but is free to explore. Those
who are high, social approval seekers appear unable to operate without continu-
ally testing out others and need constant inputs to reduce defensive arousal. The
importance of the hedonic mode and its impact on defensive arousal can be seen
in many domains. (For a discussion of the relevance of such an approach to social
anxiety see Gilbert and Trower 1990 and Trower and Gilbert 1989.) The response
options coded in the safety system are given in Table 4.2.
Another set of factors which appear to reduce defensive arousal is self efficacy
and control. Gaining control makes the individual feel safe. Bandura et al. (1985)
have shown that learning to cope with feared stimuli significantly reduces bio-
logical activation to those stimuli. Similarly, research on control over stress has
shown that control reduces the tendency towards stop.

Table 4.2 The Safety System

Function: 1. To alert animal to safety “no-threat cues”.

2. Signal analysers scan environment for stimuli leading to positive
reinforcement.
Forms: 1. Non-social: cues in the physical environment cueing exploration.
2. Social: attachment, affiliative and co-operative cues, presence of
supportive others.
Psychobiology 1. Reduce defensive arousal, maintain low fluctuating arousal.
2. Deactivate (if necessary) biological defence responses (e.g. HPAC).
Defence against conspecifics not necessary.
(Continued)
84 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

Table 4.2 (Continued)

Response (Psychomotor) Options

Go (Active) No-Go (Passive)

Physical Appetitive. Explorative Relax, calm sleep

Environment (related to low
arousal not
psychomotor braking)
Attachment Mutual reinforcing exchanges; cooing, As above but in
smiling, exploring; intimate sharing. Proximity the presence of
control (although may also be controlled by attachment object
evaluation of threat)
Group living Joint action; friendship co-operation seeking, As above, but in the
(hedonic) sharing, helping, seeking to contribute, presence of other
group rather than egotistical goals. Close conspecifics
proximity; reassurance signalling, deactivating
(defensive) braced readiness

Note: The hedonic safety system promotes health by maintaining defensive arousal at a low level. This
is achieved by rendering the social environment safe (by reassurance signals) rather than a source of
potential aversive stimulation as in agonic groups.

In summary, we can make the following points:

1 Threat stimuli which activate the anti-predator system produce rapid shifts
of arousal which trigger short-term (automatic) psychomotor discharges
(e.g. flight), output braking (e.g. freeze), and/or demobilisation (e.g. faint).
2 Cues that signal social threat activate the social defence system. If an exter-
nal threat is evaluated as being controllable (e.g. an animal evaluates it has
higher resource holding potential than a challenger) then action is discharged
to overcome the threat (e.g. aggression).
3 If an external threat is evaluated as being uncontrollable (e.g. an animal evaluates
that he has lost resource holding potential) then arousal remains high but various
inhibitions on outputs are noted. These inhibitions are not short-term responses
but involve major changes of brain state, especially if the animal has to stay in
proximity to those with higher RHP (i.e. potential sources of punishment).
4 Cues that activate the safety system increase activity in the reward areas and
may decrease defensive arousal, but there is no psychomotor braking in the
safety system. Any inhibition of responses is due to evaluations of risk of los-
ing positive reinforcers or encountering (evoking) aversive stimulation.

The neurobiology of go–stop processes

A behavioural model which helps to illuminate the underlying biological mecha-
nisms of go–stop patterns arose from learned helplessness research (Seligman
1975; Hellhammer 1983). The learned helplessness model proposes that when
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 85

trauma is first encountered there is an invigoration of psychomotor and psy-

chophysiological activity which can loosely be labelled as fear. Defensive-go
responses, like running or jumping, are usual but stop responses also occur, as
in freezing (Carlton 1969). In most cases (but not all) defensive-go facilitates the
animal’s attempts to explore the means to control or escape adversity. In looking
for escape it is looking also for safety (Gray 1971). But if the animal’s efforts are
unsuccessful, this response routine does not carry on indefinitely. In fact, it shows
a radical change to a pattern closely resembling depressive passivity (Seligman
1975; Gilbert 1984). This may be regarded as a special class of defensive-stop;
a form of yielding to adversity. It may be seen as a switch away from activity,
exploration and psychomotor energy expenditure. However, it should not imply
that an animal now necessarily ceases to be anxious, or is in a low arousal state
since passivity and anxiety can co-exist. Passivity as a specific coping response
(passive avoidance, for example) is different from passivity which is brought on
through lack of control, i.e. helplessness. Passive avoidance is a short-term brak-
ing response, whereas depressive passivity represents more of a global change
in state.
What is important in this model is that the unfolding of the helplessness
(depressive) routine is marked by many changes; in appetite disturbance,
reduced aggressiveness, changes in dominance–submissive behaviours, weight
loss, psychomotor retardation and noradrenaline depletions. Whether or not one
believes that helplessness is learned, and there is some controversy over this
(Gray 1982), undoubtedly, certain symptoms such as sleep disturbance, weight
loss, psychomotor retardation and vegetative changes are not learned but mani-
fest as part of the invocation or release of a psychobiological response routine
which inhibits high levels of activity and exploration. This pattern seems to be
observable in a number of different species. According to the theory outlined
here, this pattern is a shift towards “defensive-stop”. This defensive-stop pattern
is innately coded and prepared for, and it involves reducing inputs and reducing
movement around the physical domain as might be necessary in the presence
of a dominant.
Considerable research has examined the underlying neurochemical changes
that occur during both the fear stage and the helplessness stage in confront-
ing uncontrollable events (Anisman 1978; Anisman and Zacharko 1982; Weiss
et al. 1979; Gray 1982; Weiss and Simson 1985; Willner 1985). Anisman’s
review remains a concise statement on the neurobiological changes that are
believed to occur from exposure to uncontrollable stress, they are repeated
here. According to Anisman (1978, pp.159–160), the following observations
have been noted:

1 Moderate levels of stress tend not to affect the endogenous level of NE and
5-HT. Given that stress does result in faster disappearance of labeled NE and
5-HT, and since stress after enzyme inhibition results in greater reduction of
NE and 5-HT, it is probable that stress increases both synthesis and release of
NE and 5-HT.2
86 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

2 Besides increased synthesis of amines, partial inhibition of MAO occurs

thereby preserving NE and 5-HT. The net effect of the increased synthesis of
amines together with MAO inhibition is that the demands of the organism are
met. Indeed, with relatively mild stress an initial increase of NE and 5-HT
levels may be observed.
3 With intense stress, a decline in endogenous levels of NE and 5-HT is seen.
Presumably, synthesis does not keep up with utilisation. The effectiveness of
NE released apparently is also reduced by increased re-uptake of NE under
these conditions.
4 With mild stress, DA, ACh and 5-HT are unaffected. As the stress severity
increases, ACh levels rise. While DA has been reported to decrease, the effect
of stress on DA is considerably less than on NE neurons. The differential
effects of stress on DA and 5-HT relative to NE might indicate that the former
two systems are superior regulatory systems, thereby maintaining balance
between synthesis and utilization of the neurochemical . . .
5 Under conditions of stress, activity of anterior pituitary hormones increases
as do levels of plasma corticosterone.
6 Under conditions in which control over the stress is possible, whether this is
considered of actual escape/avoidance responding or coping by fighting, NE
levels are not found to decline. Moreover the source of degradation is also
varied away from the side of COMT and toward MAO. Additional reports
also indicate that with controllable stress neither ACh nor corticosterone lev-
els are affected.
7 The effect of stress on neurochemical activity varies as a function of the
excitability of the organism and may vary as a function of the strain involved.
8 After repeated exposure to stress, neurochemical adaptation may occur i.e.
NE and corticosterone levels which might otherwise vary, remain constant
after exposure to stress over a series of sessions.
9 Stimuli associated with stress may come to elicit neurochemical changes.

Anisman makes clear that it is the coping response to stress, i.e. its controllabil-
ity, which is the crucial factor for determining neurochemical change, and it is
worth highlighting two findings. First, ACh activity increases as the severity of
stress increases, i.e. ACh change is also associated with non-coping and mediates
braking, inhibiting and curtailing active avoidance behaviour. Second, under mild
stress, changes occur in the animal’s catecholamine systems which allow the ani-
mal to actively pursue a coping effort (safety seeking). These changes seem to be
the biological mediators of go or activated states. This facilitates exploration in
both cognitive, behavioural and affective (energising) systems. When the animal
begins to switch into a stop (helplessness) state there is an increased level of ACh
and a deficit in the transmission of NA. Thus, at some point of the unfolding of
the defensive response routine (flight-escape) to uncontrollable stress, factors of
biological significance come into play to force a change in course and produce
a change in the psychobiological pattern. Freeze is a short-lived response which
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 87

dissipates quickly, whereas depressive retardation and passivity are designed not
to dissipate quickly because a large section of the whole environment is deemed
dangerous or beyond control. It will be recalled that in Chapter 3 we linked this
routine to a territorial breeding psychobiological routine.
In 1984 I presented a model suggesting that it was the pattern of activity in
both go (activating) and stop (inhibiting) systems that influenced symptomatol-
ogy. Whether or not one sees inhibitory systems being mediated primarily through
5-HT or ACh, is a neurobiological question that we will not take further here. But
it is worth considering that both 5-HT and ACh have been suggested as medi-
ating certain depressive phenomena. (See Willner 1985 for a review.) There is
evidence that endogenously depressive prone subjects have hypersensitive cho-
linergic systems (McCarley 1982; Sitaram et al. 1982). Dilsaver (1986) has given
a comprehensive review of the role of ACh in depression. Beckmann et al. (1984)
suggest that certain drugs without anticholinergic properties may be less effec-
tive for endogenous type depressions. They offer an interesting discussion of the
interaction between NA and cholinergic systems in relation to dexamethasone,
cortisol suppressors and non-suppressors. This interaction has also been consid-
ered elsewhere (Gilbert 1984).
To simplify somewhat then, it seems that there is a “go” psychomotor output
system which may be activated as the first response routine to stress or loss, but
if this is ineffective, the physiological mechanisms change so that inhibitory stop
switches in.3
The learned helplessness model is a highly generalised model. It makes no dis-
tinction between social and non-social trauma, but emphasises only the dimension
of control. This is both a strength and a weakness. It provides general insight into
go–stop mechanisms which is useful. However, in treating social and non-social
events as equivalent many researchers (including myself) have rather overlooked
what the animal may be attempting to achieve during states of “go” or invigora-
tion. Consequently, this model could not easily be integrated with PSALIC the-
ory and has considerable difficulty in explaining the high variety of behaviours,
affects and cognition that arise in “go” states. Hence, it cannot account for the
enormous heterogeneity in neurotic depressive and anxiety disturbances which
in the model presented here are related principally to “go” and “stop” options
of the defence system. Nor can the model explain the associations in the litera-
ture between depressive disorders and various forms of anxiety such as panic
attacks, social and evaluative anxiety and even paranoia (Zigler and Glick 1988).
These can be explained if we understand that they represent a general sensitivity
to threats. The type of threat, the cognitive appraisal (e.g. global versus specific –
Beck et al. 1985) and the coping response perceived to be available (e.g. fight,
yielding or access to a nurturant figure) will determine whether the defence sys-
tem operates primarily in go or stop mode (e.g. maybe the depressive yields to
threat, but the paranoid does not). However, there is almost always an interaction
between these two modes, rather than just one or the other acting alone (Gilbert
1984).
88 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

Some depressions reflect a greater degree of “stop”. This is reflected in many

psychomotor and physiological systems (Lader 1975). These may be the severe
endogenous or melancholic or retarded group of patients, and learned helpless-
ness is reasonably consistent with this sub-grouping (Depue and Monroe 1978).
There is also consistent statistical evidence that this group does exist as a sub-
group of depression although it may be dimensionally related to other groups
(Gilbert 1984).
To sum up then, there is a variety of defensive routines which are innately
coded (see Table 4.1). These range from short-term fast response fight–flight–
freeze–faint and camouflage (and include short-term dominant and submissive
acts) right through to global long-term inhibition and retardation as may be
found in yielding subroutines or prolonged exposure to uncontrollable events.
These are all part of the same system but are used according to different con-
texts and appraisals. Once we see them as various evolved “options” which are
part of the defence system then we are some way towards understanding not
only the heterogeneity of many disorders, but why depression and anxiety and
other pathologies often co-exist both personally and within a family. There is
(for either genetic and/or learning reasons) an increased tendency to process
information using schemata coded in the defence system (i.e. an attentional
attunement to threat). Moreover, endogenous, biological fluctuations occurring
in defensive systems (e.g. cortisol) may lead to anxiety at one time and depres-
sion at another.
One of the problems to integration in psychobiology is getting the language
right; in deriving descriptive models that suggest links. I do not think that the
language of approach–avoidance or reward–punishment succeeds here. By under-
standing the different subsystems of the defence system (e.g. predator, territorial
breeding and group breeding) we can advance our understanding of “neuroticism”
in terms of sensitivity in threat (defensive) systems. Furthermore, we are bet-
ter placed to understand why sociability is positively correlated with well being
(Argyle 1987), why social support works (by increasing safety, activating hedonic
modes and reducing arousal in the defence systems).

A more detailed look at go–stop

“Go” responses and states

In the analysis put forward so far, it is suggested that there exist various coded
response patterns in the CNS which can be activated by various animal–
environment interactions. At the most general level, these exist as go–stop patterns
which unfold according to the animal’s control over incentives (Henry and Ste-
phens 1977; Gilbert 1984, 1988a, b). Further, we distinguished between defensive
and safety systems. Unfortunately, the idea that go–stop can be described as single
systems is a gross oversimplification. In relation to arousal there is more than one
type (e.g. emotional versus behavioural). NA may relate more to explorative and
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 89

attentional processes, whereas DA links incentives to reward properties (Tucker

1981; Tucker and Williamson 1984; Willner 1985). Hence, “go” or invigoration
involves many complex subroutines and processes which are dependent on differ-
ent neurochemical transmitters and patterns.
Catecholamine function has also been linked to personality characteristics such
as sensation seeking (Zuckerman 1984). To complicate the picture further, neu-
rochemical pathways tend to be lateralised so that changes in activity on one
side of the brain may produce different consequences to similar changes occur-
ring on the other side of the brain (Mandell 1979; Tucker and Williamson 1984).
Another complication is that the coupling of different arousal or activating sys-
tems may break down. Individuals may remain highly committed to incentives
but not be able to pursue them. It is not inevitable that behavioural disengagement
as may be necessary in states of exhaustion, ability or explorative deficits, neces-
sarily reduces emotional or cognitive commitment. This can represent a failure
to mourn, give up pursuit of the unobtainable, and to work through and redi-
rect efforts. Individuals can remain deeply committed to incentives (e.g. status,
achievement and/or love) even though they perceive themselves unable to obtain
them (Gilbert 1984).
Yet another complication involves the important concept of conflict. One may
be motivated to seek power but also want to pursue co-operative and care-giving
goals. It may be that processing in left and right brain structures pulls and pushes
individuals in different directions. This may explain brain state switching where
disinhibition swings from right to left (or vice versa). (See Gilbert 1984 for a
catastrophe model of such conflict mechanisms. See also Simon 1987 for a catas-
trophe model of psychotherapy.) Both fight and flight relate to defensive go sys-
tems. Also, the manner in which individuals evaluate changes in emotional state
within a dynamic of interpersonal relations may significantly disrupt the flow of
activated states. In other words, one may become angry or tearful and yet fearful
of the expression of these states. Hence, the manner by which we attempt to inte-
grate neurochemical insight with psychotherapeutic insights and models remains
complex (Mandell 1979). In spite of these complications it does seem reasonable
at this stage to suggest that NA and DA mediate many of the energic processes of
incentive pursuit, be these defensive or safety focussed.

“Stop” responses and states

The situation for “stop”, inhibitory systems or the brakes of the CNS is also com-
plex. Here, one must not only consider a role for inhibition but also a role for dis-
inhibition and regression (Bailey 1987). The role of inhibition and disinhibition
of functional activity in the CNS is important, especially for social animals. The
reason for this is that evolution has been able to adapt CNS structures, not only
by addition on to, but also by inhibiting more primitive forms of response (Bailey
1987). This is a major issue. In other words, primitive and perhaps impulsive
response potentials are largely under inhibitory control rather than being removed
90 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

by evolutionary adaptation. This may be partly because these potentials remain

useful in certain contexts. Indeed, much of the theory of physiotherapy rests on
the idea that damage to higher brain centres “releases” more primitive forms of
response and reflex. If one considers for a moment nursing behaviour, then inhi-
bition of cannibalistic and aggressive behaviour towards offspring is essential.
Sadly, it is the case that such inhibition as may be supplied by higher brain centres
does break down. In one recent highly publicised case of fatal child abuse the
infant was found to have over one hundred bites on her body, in addition to other
multiple injuries.
In regard to inhibitory processes, recent work has focussed on the role of 5-HT.
Soubrie (1986), in a major review of the data, has suggested that 5-HT is an
important neurotransmitter mediating impulsiveness. Impulsiveness relates to
the capacity to withhold responding in conflictual situations. Schalling (1986)
suggests that the various index measures of 5-HT correlate well with personal-
ity dimensions such as impulsiveness and hostility. Van Praag (1986) has also
offered a major review which is suggestive of the role of 5-HT in aggression and
auto aggression. Auto aggression may terminate in suicide. Anger towards the
self involves destructive self-harming acts and may be related to 5-HT activity.
Generally low levels of functional 5-HT increase the probability of impulsive and
aggressive behaviour.
Soubrie (1986) suggests that the brain operates in a powerful dynamic between
response facilitation and inhibition. The behavioural switch from go to stop (and
vice versa) is especially marked when there is competition between restrain-
ing and acting to acquire an anticipated reward. In social animals, anticipated
rewards may relate to social outcomes, e.g. power over another. Low 5-HT
seems to significantly disrupt the capacity to restrain behaviour. Low 5-HT may
also switch the system more into defence mode with an increased tendency to
respond to ambiguous cues as threat, and to be less sensitive to positive social
signals. However, 5-HT does not operate alone in this but is part of a system
(Willner 1985).
If one stands back a little from the details of neurochemistry then some
interesting speculations can be formulated. The NA and 5-HT cell bodies lie
deep in the area of the brain called the R-complex or reptilian brain (MacLean
1985). Efferents of these monoamines stretch out from here and innervate
many higher structures. Is it possible that 5-HT pathways evolved with the
capacity to exert inhibitory control over brain functions that would disrupt
prosocial behaviour? Is it possible that among other things, low 5-HT reduces
inhibitory tone so that more primitive and impulsive forms of social and non-
social behaviour are released? Making a speculative jump then, the patterns
of behaviour one might expect to be disinhibited by low 5-HT are the follow-
ing: (1) low frustration tolerance; (2) susceptibility to power-aggressive act-
ing out, especially to constraint; (3) guarding of many forms including sexual
(e.g. jealousy) proneness; (4) increased susceptibility to evaluative dominance
related anxieties such as shame; (5) depressive shifts to competitive defeat
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 91

and loss of control over status pursuit; and (6) a variety of ritualistic behav-
iours, including checking, that are encoded in the reptilian brain (MacLean
1985;4 Bailey 1987).
Not only may this class of behaviours emerge, but cognitively there may also
be an increased preoccupation with these incentives; e.g. status and dominance
and sexual activity, especially in men (but used as an act of dominance rather than
love) and tendencies for territorial isolation and control, e.g. a tendency for dis-
tancing and desires to escape. It is often noted that in highly aggressive subjects
and suicides there is sometimes a history for them to be labelled as “loners” and as
emotionally “cold”. It is also the case that in these kinds of patients there appears
to be an oscillation between self-schemata focussing on inferiority and deficit at
one pole and grandiosity and superiority at the other pole. Mandell (1979) has
also noted a possible connection between the activity of 5-HT systems and certain
forms of personality disorder. In other words, reductions in 5-HT may reduce
the opportunity of higher brain areas (involved in prosocial behaviour) to exert
inhibitory control over lower and more impulsive brain areas. This would reduce
the capacity to integrate within the personality the various prosocial options of
human potential.
It is as if the psyche is stripped of its more advanced phylogenetic possibilities.
The reduction in 5-HT inhibitory tone releases certain classes of behaviour, and
shifts the balance to impulsivity, i.e. away from integration. There is no doubt that
early experience affects the brain’s maturation along the lines of defensive go–
stop and safety go–stop. Early life experiences have a major impact on how the
central nervous system grows and functions (Meyersberg and Post 1979; Hofer
1981).
Finally, it can be noted that many of the breeding behaviours that ignite invigo-
rated dominance behaviour are seasonally coded. This, among other things has led
to internal oscillating mechanisms which are of major cyclic importance. To avoid
disruption of this chapter these aspects are outlined in Appendix 2.

Neuropsychological aspects
of defence and safety
In our discussions so far we have spoken at a very general level of neurotrans-
mitter systems. However, the brain is a complex set of interconnecting struc-
tures out of which flow functional properties. Function, to a considerable
degree, is located in structures. These structures are innervated by many neu-
rotransmitters and to discuss neurotransmitter activity without some concept
of local versus global action would be simplistic. To understand the activity
of the defence system, we need to separate the appraisal (evaluation) from
the response. Defence is the result of the appraisal of threat. Such appraisal
may occur through innate stimulus releases (e.g. a hawk-shaped shadow pass-
ing over a nest of chicks), or from a symbolic thinking process which con-
fers meaning to specific classes of event (Gilbert 1988a, b). Threat relates to
92 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

different domains, but includes species-specific social threats such as abandon-

ment, rejection, defeat, humiliation, right through to individual threats such
as disease, injury and death (Beck et al. 1985, pp. 71–78). The appraisal part
of the defence system overlaps with Gray’s (1985) depiction of a behavioural
inhibition system (BIS). He provides a useful description of how such a system
may work (p.8):

. . . . the central task of this overall system is to compare, quite generally,

actual with expected stimuli. The system functions in two modes. If actual
stimuli are successfully matched with expected stimuli, it functions in
“checking” mode, and behavioral control remains with other (unspecified)
brain systems. If there is discordance between actual and expected stimuli or
if the predicted stimulus is aversive (conditions jointly termed mismatch), it
takes direct control over behaviour, now functioning in control mode.

This leads Gray to outline the descriptive model of the BIS as given in Fig. 4.1.

Anti-anxiety drugs
From work with anti-anxiety drugs, Gray (1982,1985) suggests that it is only
stimuli associated with punishment, with non-reward and with novelty that acti-
vate this system. Primary punishments do not. In other words, it is a system
related to anticipation and checking. Note how novelty also activates the BIS,
yet novelty is often necessary for excitement. Moreover, novelty is essential for
the fun of using our creative intelligence. The limbic structure that co-ordinates
checking (as may be necessary from attention to cues signalling punishment, non-
reward and novelty) is the septo-hippocampal system. This system is designed to
interrupt ongoing activity and co-ordinate checking and routine searching opera-
tions. The septo-hippocampal system operates in tandem with many other brain

Fig. 4.1 The behavioural inhibition system

(Gray 1982).
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 93

structures. With regard to the neurochemistry of this system, Gray (1982, p.460)
suggests the following:

The role of the ascending noradrenergic projection to the septo-hippocampal

system is to tag certain stimuli (entering the septo-hippocampal system from
the entorhainal area) as “important”, i.e. requiring particularly careful check-
ing; that of the ascending serotonergic projection is to add to this “important”
tag the information that the stimulus is associated with punishment and/or to
bias the operation of the septo-hippocampal system more strongly towards the
inhibition of motor behaviour; that of the ascending cholinergic projection is to
facilitate stimulus analysis; and that of the adrenergic projection to the hypo-
thalamus is to mediate the increased arousal output of the behavioral inhibition
system by priming hypothalamic motor systems (especially those involved in
fight and flight behaviour) for rapid action when required. . . .

Gray suggests that this system accounts for anxiety. As he suggests, this view of
anxiety relates most closely to obsessive compulsive disorder. Furthermore, it is
very much a theory that places a central emphasis on attention. We can see from
the way that Gray separates the neurochemistry in terms of attention (appraisal)
and its motor outputs (e.g. fight/flight behaviour) that the system concurs with the
distinctions made between go–stop and defensive–safety systems as portrayed
here. In other words, the activation of the BIS focusses attention on potentially
threatening stimuli and cues, which increase arousal and inhibit ongoing activity.
The word to stress here is “ongoing” for it must not be confused with the output
side. For example, “go” behaviour may be a direct consequence of this checking
as in the case of the animal that takes flight. Or, the animal may freeze in which
case we have a “stop” behaviour. This checking routine may also relate to internal
cues (e.g. increased heart rate, breathlessness) which also activates the defence
system. However, in the absence of any perceived external physical danger, the
eliciting stimuli may become the focus of a “physical threat” explanation (e.g. an
oncoming heart attack).

Safety
There has been less work on safety systems than on defence systems. Safety sys-
tems presumably relate to two aspects. First, there is reduced activity and atten-
tion to threatening stimuli. Maybe this constitutes the BIS acting in checking
mode. Second, there is increased activity in approach behaviour. Gray argued that
skilled escape behaviour increased activity in reward systems of the brain (Gray
1971, pp. 188–192). Hence, successful escape produces relief which is positively
reinforcing. When it comes to social behaviour however, we must be cautious.
Submission, for example, may well bring relief in that it heads off an attack, but
may not be experienced as positively reinforcing (Ohman 1986). This is because
it is related to hostility and signals “reduced access” to reproductive resources.
94 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

Chance (1980, 1984, 1988) has argued that in social animals that maintain low
levels of threat via high levels of reassurance behaviour (not to be confused with
appeasement), attention is directed away from defensiveness toward outwardly
directed problem-solving activities which liberates creative, co-operative intel-
ligence. Furthermore, it is known that approach to caring social objects reduces
arousal provoked by threat (see Chapter 6). This relates to the attachment system
(Bowlby 1969, 1973, 1980, 1988). In other words, the capacity to feel safe relates
not only to the distance between the animal and a potential injurious stimulus, but
also the nearness to safety-providing stimuli and social others (see also Rachman
1984b).

The neuropsychology of the safety system

The neuropsychology and neurochemistry of the safety system have been poorly
studied. However, MacLean (1985) points to some very important findings. First
it has been shown that the cingulate cortex (which sits on the dorsal surface of the
limbic system, see Bailey 1987, pp.63–67) is essential to maternal interest and
behaviour (nest building, nursing, and retrieval of young). Animals with lesions
to this area showed serious deficits in these behaviours and survival of their young
was low (12%). Second, MacLean (1985, p.413) observed that hamsters with cin-
gulate cortex lesions:

. . . failed to engage in play behaviour with control littermates. I was par-

ticularly struck by this deficit because in observations on lizards and other
reptiles, I had never detected any behaviour resembling play. Contrary to
usual interpretations, I would suggest that the development of play behaviour
in mammals might be construed as serving originally to promote harmony in
the nest and then later on social affiliation.

This evidence points to the important role of the cingulate cortex and related
structures, in what has been termed here the social safety system. This system
includes both attachment behaviour and co-operation (see pages 49–53). (I am
grateful to Michael Chance for discussion on this point.) MacLean (1985, p.414)
also suggests:

. . . the cingulate cortex has a higher concentration of opiate receptors. Is

it possible that one of the attractions of the opiate drugs is that they pro-
vide some people with a surcease from persistent feelings of “separation” or
“alienation”?

The above observations may link the safety system with opiate activity. The pos-
sible implications of this are important. First, do maternal behaviours (cuddling,
holding, nursing, retrieving) act on the infant’s opiate system increasing the sense
of safety and inhibiting or deactivating the defence system? If so does this then
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 95

facilitate the growth of hedonic and co-operative behaviour? Certainly various

components of the attachment interactions do have psychobiological regulating
functions (Meyersberg and Post 1979; Hofer 1981, 1984). Would children who
suffer maternal abuse and neglect be rendered less able to experience safety with
their fellow human beings as a result of neurochemical failures of control in these
brain areas? Further, what are the classical conditioning implications of this if
true? Does the cingulate cortex have any modifying effect on the BIS?
Second, MacLean makes the point that many of our psychotropic drugs oper-
ate in reptilian brain structures. But would it not also be useful to discover more
about the safety system and to think about increasing safety rather than working
by perhaps inhibiting activity in the R-complex? It may be, however, that such
drugs are going to be addictive. Does psychotherapy work primarily through the
safety system? (Mackie 1982).
Third, as described by Chance (1988) the hedonic mode of the higher primates
seems to be a composite of attributes that involve both attachment (e.g. reassur-
ance giving via physical contacts, answering the distress call of conspecifics with
help rather than flight) and co-operation (task-orientated joint problem solving,
and division of labour). Are these capabilities governed by activity in the cingu-
late cortex? Are the brain areas involved in play also central to the enactment of
co-operation, especially those forms of co-operation that depend on the ability to
value “the other” and inhibit status attacks on the other? (see Chapter 10). Does
social support work (in part) by inhibiting activity in the defence system leading
us to feel less vulnerable in the world?
At the present time all we can do here is allude to possibilities. Hopefully,
however, enough has been said to give credence to the separation of defence and
safety and to highlight that these should not be confused with go–stop systems.

The importance of the social domain

However the neurological research turns out, it would seem that we can suggest
some basic mechanisms underlying defensive and safety systems. For defence,
this would include the BIS. However, much of the work done in this area has been
with rats, and using non-social threats, e.g. electric shock, or the absence of food,
etc. This misses completely the social dimension, yet it is this dimension that is of
major evolutionary interest. The neuropsychological mechanisms outlined so far
therefore need to be adapted and refined to incorporate the social domain.
There is no reason why expansion into the social domain would invalidate work
done so far, but it would need extensive addition. In the first place, on the input
side, the most frequently encountered sources of threat in social animals for pri-
mates and especially humans are not predators but other members of the group.
In agonic group-living animals, it is the dominant animals that control access to
resources and positive reinforcers for the more subordinate. The more subordi-
nate, the greater the number of animals that can exert this control (i.e. increased
number of potentially punishing conspecifics). Hence, this brings us into the arena
96 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

of the evaluative systems that are attuned to social threat (facial, postural and
auditory) displays at one level, and the role of social rules at another level. Some
have argued that emotions are particularly well co-ordinated for social intercourse
(Kemper 1984). In humans, sources of threat are overwhelmingly social others
(e.g. parents, teachers, bosses and so on). This significantly complicates the evalu-
ative processes involved, for now, one does not need simply to be able to predict
the behaviour of a predator and respond quickly, but to predict the behaviour
of other social objects who remain more or less continually (or at least for long
periods of time) within the attentional field. Responses to them are quite different
than to a predator and require a good deal of social signalling if one is to respond
defensively to them. Hence, this fact (continual proximity to social members who
are seen as potentially threatening) would have a major impact on the sensitisation
of the defence and BIS in relationships which are marked by signals of punish-
ment and non-reward. The defence system could therefore literally be hyped up
by such interactions because of the continual presence of cues signalling punish-
ment or non-reward. In other words, people may have defence systems sensitised
because of the hostile or unfriendly behaviour of others (see Chapter 7).
Just as social others can be major sources of threat, they can also be major
sources of safety. Research has shown, for example, how tactile comfort, usu-
ally given by a trusted or loved other can reduce arousal to novel and threatening
environments (see Chapter 6). The work on the neuropsychological mediation
of this system is only just beginning. Safety may relate to the availability of
non-threatening supportive others who can be turned to when threat is appraised
(Heard and Lake 1986). These social evaluations may have a significant impact
not only on modifying responses to stress (via activating proximity maintenance
routines) but also by reducing the sensitivity of the BIS. In other words, the rela-
tion between defence and safety is that the more available and friendly are other
social objects, then the more risks and the greater the degree of exploration that
may be possible. This is because these cues, when present in the environment,
signal safety. This may lead to reduced tonic activation of the BIS.
The evolution of significant others being capable of activating safety systems
and de-activating defence systems links us immediately with the importance of
secure attachment (Bowlby 1969, 1973, 1980, 1988) and social support (Brown
and Harris 1978).

Concluding comments
In this chapter we have suggested some ideas to help integrate biological with
psychological theory. For this a common descriptive language is necessary. We
need to know what the ground rules of CNS organisation are (and these Freud
tried to establish). A science of psychopathology must bridge the biological–
psychological divide, otherwise psychological approaches become a brainless sci-
ence (L. Eisenberg 1986). At the same time, however, we need a language which
is ecologically meaningful and which can be used to study animals as interacting
 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms 97

social members. Concepts such as approach–avoidance and reward–punishment

are insufficient to meet the last criteria although they remain important.
This fact has been recognised by ethologists. Chance (1980, 1984, 1986, 1988)
for example, has pointed out that the style of social organisation of a primate
group significantly determines the attentive processes of interacting members. In
the presentation expounded here, this has been a prominent consideration. To help
us derive ecological meaningful concepts, I have used the idea of defence–safety.
The defence and safety systems are related to the control of attentive and primary
appraisal mechanisms. The defence system is primarily concerned with threat
cues and switching outputs to take defensive action. This may be fight (such as
is noted for Type A’s under challenge) or flight, or in social contexts submissive-
ness or hiding as in the socially phobic. The more global the evaluations and the
higher the density of negative uncontrollable events, together with low social sup-
port, the more the tendency for the combination of these to turn submissive acts
into yielding (depressed) states. The defence–safety system will be sensitised by
past relationship history and also by internal models of self-esteem (RHP). High
self-esteem (favourable relative RHP) seems to lower the tonic activation of the
defence system by rendering many cues as non-threatening or easily dealt with
(i.e. one can defend oneself against conspecifics should the need arise). Hope-
fully, the reader will obtain from this description a flavour of how internal models
of the self may exert an impact on defence–safety activation (i.e. control and co-
ordinate attentional mechanisms). Some individuals will operate in self-protective
mode (defence) across a wide range of stimuli, whereas for others the sources
of threat are much more narrowly defined. The more insecure an individual (the
lower RHP and self-esteem), the more he operates in defence mode.
The defence–safety systems are related to the BIS in some way. It may be that
safety is the BIS in checking mode, whereas defence is the BIS in control mode;
in addition, in regard to the social domain the cingulate cortex may play a crucial
role in a person’s sense of safety with others. It seems to me that our theories of
psychopathology must start off from a study of what the individual feels threat-
ened about. All therapists, in different ways, try to help the individual switch out
of defence mode into safety mode; what was dangerous is made safe(r); what was
threatening is made less threatening. Here lies, I believe, the commonality of psy-
chotherapy and an approach that offers an alternative to brainless theory.
I should impress upon the reader that the psychobiological discussion here is
very simplistic. One is very much trying to throw across a line whilst standing on
the opposite bank. My main concern has not been to provide adequate or detailed
outlines to the complexity of our biological minds but rather to open possible
areas for discourse or common language. I also wish to highlight that suffering
is as much biological as psychological. Some states of mind are not easily turned
around once they have been ignited. There are some depressive and anxious states
that it would be cruel indeed not to treat pharmacologically. Equally, I hope it has
been sufficiently highlighted that this is often only part of the treatment and that
we must look to the person as an individual who lives in a social world.
98 The psychobiology of some basic mechanisms

Finally, to highlight further the evolution of biological systems I have presented

in Appendix 2 some ideas which show that biological systems are not homeo-
static. Homeostasis is often assumed by psychological therapists and this view is
simply wrong.

Notes
1 There is some controversy over whether the stop system is energy conservational or not.
Insofar as it allows the individual to disengage from incentives which are unobtainable,
and over time redirect its efforts, then some arguments may be made that it is energy
conservational. However, long-term activation of stop states cannot be seen in this way,
since if the animal remains here for too long, body weight may significantly drop and the
animal will die. Furthermore, there is little evidence that stop reduces arousal as would
be necessary for it to be truly conservational. This form of stop should not be confused
with hibernation, which is energy conservational (see Appendix 2).
2 NE equals norepinephrine which is the American term for noradrenaline.
3 Remember however, sometimes the first response to stress (e.g. shock) is not “go” at
all, but “stop” as in the classic freeze response noted to occur on the first trial of avoid-
ance learning in some animals (Carlton 1969). The preference to “freeze” may relate to
genetic or pre-sensitising factors.
4 This, of course would make 5-HT an important transmitter in hostile-dominance behav-
iour. 5-HT is very sensitive to status change (Raleigh et al. 1984). But we should treat
such speculations cautiously.
Chapter 5

The psychobiology of
peripheral systems

In the last chapter, we looked at various aspects of the CNS which regulate the
systems of defence–safety and go–stop. The CNS co-ordinates attention, appraisal
and action in the world. Action is carried out by the body that literally moves the
brain around in its environment. Major systems of feedback exist between body
and brain. Consequently, any complete picture of psychobiology would fall short
of its mark if it did not acknowledge the body as a major source of information
and control. The liver, for example, is sometimes called the butler of the brain
because amine transport is regulated here. Moreover, the brain must protect the
body if it is to survive. Hence, avoiding injury and overload is one of the co-
ordinated functions of the brain (mind)–body relation.
The body consists of many peripheral organs designed to control energy and
body outputs. These organs are activated by direct stimulation from the sympathetic
and parasympathetic nervous system, and by various hormones secreted into the
bloodstream. Hormones are secreted from many places throughout the body (e.g.
pituitary, thyroid and adrenal glands). Hormones secreted into the bloodstream from
one organ (gland) can have as their target an organ(s) located in some other place.
The word “hormone” derives from a Greek word meaning to excite or arouse
(Soloman and Davis 1983). The origins of chemical transmission, as central con-
trol mechanisms within the physiology of the cell, are very old. Even protozoa
appear to have substances that may be early forerunners of vertebrate neurotrans-
mitters and hormones identified in humans (Roth et al. 1982).
In this chapter, attention is focussed on these peripheral systems. This review
will follow the line of thought developed in Chapter 4, which distinguished
between go–stop and defence–safety. Good introductory texts to accompany
this chapter are Leshner (1978), Cotman and McGaugh (1980) and Soloman and
Davis (1983, especially Chapters 12 and 14).

The endocrinology of defensive go states

The idea that there are two basic systems in the nervous system regulating defence
systems and safety systems is further reflected in the activity of endocrine activity.
The activation of the go–stop components of the defence systems work through
100 The psychobiology of peripheral systems

three basic mechanisms: (1) the sympathetic adrenal medullary system; (2) the
parasympathetic system; and (3) the hypothalamic pituitary adrenal cortical sys-
tem. The operating and control processes of each system are outlined in the fol-
lowing. The endocrine responses of the defensive system facilitate the animal’s
physical capacity to avoid injury and cope with it if it occurs.
Activation of the sympathetic adrenal medullary system involved in defence states
is outlined in Fig. 5.1. Research on this system has suggested that events which rep-
resent threat or novelty activate hypothalamic processes which release noradrenaline

Fig. 5.1 The sympathetic adrenal medullary system

Sources: Price 1982; Soloman and Davis 1983.
 The psychobiology of peripheral systems 101

into the blood and also activate sympathetic nerves. These have an effect on the adre-
nal medulla which in turn releases adrenaline and noradrenaline (NA).
The sympathetic medullary system appears to serve the function of activation
of psychological states for “defensive go” in the periphery and facilitate fight/
flight behaviour (Stokes 1985). It prepares the organism to deal with threat and
regulates a number of physiological processes that would facilitate dealing with
threat (and possibly novelty). Blood vessels to skin and kidneys are restricted but
are dilated in the heart, brain and muscles. There is also a lowering of thresholds
in the reticular activating system increasing alertness (Soloman and Davis 1983).
About 80% of the medullary output is adrenaline. Both NA and adrenaline have
similar effects on the cardiovascular system but by rather different mechanisms.
Henry and Stephens (1977) and Price (1982) review the evidence on the opera-
tion of this system and suggest that noradrenaline tends to be associated with
increases in irritation and preparedness for aggressive behaviour, whereas adrena-
line is associated with anxiety and preparedness to flee. Hence, these chemicals
may have differential effects on fight/flight. Crucial however, is the appraisal of
the event (Stokes 1985). Bandura et al. (1985) found that teaching twelve spider
phobics coping techniques for their phobia significantly reduced the peripheral
output of adrenalin and NA to the feared stimulus. This research demonstrated
that perceived self efficacy had a significant modulating effect on the sympathetic
nervous system. Such research demonstrates the biological effects of successful
psychological therapy.
In a different research paradigm on Type A, Price (1982) reviews much of the
evidence suggesting that Type A’s show accentuation of peripheral NA during their
normal working day. This may be due to the increased tendencies for Type A’s to see
life as a struggle to gain and protect status and self-esteem by competitive endeav-
ours. NA mediated effects seem more likely to be activated to status threats where the
chosen response is to fight. Henry and Stephens (1977) suggest that the hypothalamic
activation of the sympathetic medullary system is influenced by the amygdala. The
amygdala is especially involved in social dominance behaviours.
Roy et al. (1985) investigated the activity of the sympathetic nervous system
in depression. They measured plasma levels of NA in standing and lying down
positions. Comparing controls, dysthymic disorders, major depressive disorders,
melancholia and manic depressive episodes with a past history of melancholia, a
steadily increasing level of NA was found across these groups. Controls had the
lowest levels of NA and major depressive episodes with past history of melan-
cholia had the highest. Overall, their findings suggested that both the sympathetic
nervous system and the hypothalamic pituitary adrenal cortical system can each
be disturbed in some groups of depressed patients (indicating again that go and
stop systems can be activated at the same time). Interestingly, within a group of
unipolar melancholics, higher blood plasma of NA correlated with self-reported
anxiety, a finding noted by others. It is unclear in what light this throws Price’s
(1982) and Henry and Stephens’ (1977) view that NA is more associated with fight
profiles. Does it suggest, one wonders, that there is a heightened aggressiveness
102 The psychobiology of peripheral systems

in depression but which is under some form of inhibitory control and manifests as
anxiety? Are certain types of depression the results of failed competitive efforts, i.e.
manifesting defeat-like depressive states? (Gilbert 1984; Price and Sloman 1987)
There is considerable work showing that depressives do show increased levels
of intrapunitive and extrapunitive hostility (Blackburn 1972, 1974; Cochrane and
Neilson 1977; Fava et al. 1986). Weissman et al. (1971) found depressed women
expressed greater hostility towards those with whom they shared a close relationship.
Further research is needed to discover whether the correlation of plasma NA
holds for hostility measures. Most certainly, the relationship between depression
and intrapunitiveness is an interesting one (Freud 1917) and inhibited aggressive
feelings can be prominent during psychotherapy with some depressed patients.
Price and Sloman (1987) have suggested that whether depression is associated
with increased hostility to a spouse depends on the dominance relationship in the
marriage. If the depressed partner was the more dominant then depression would
be associated with more external hostility. Cochrane and Neilson (1977) found
that inhibited aggression is especially marked in endogenous depression. “Fight”
is one aspect of the defensive system which may be sensitised in some depres-
sions but is also under inhibitory control (Leshner 1978).
Rudorfer et al. (1985, p. 1191) have extended their line of research (Roy et al. 1985)
and concluded that:

. . . we believe that the current studies provide clear evidence of dysregulation

of peripheral release of NE in affective illness with a difference in the pattern
of dysregulation between unipolar and bipolar patients. Put most simply, the
bipolar patients appear to have a reduced to average resting output of NE with
a highly exaggerated NE response to the standing stimulus, while unipolar
patients have an average to elevated resting NE with moderately exaggerated
response to the same stimulus.

One may note again that Blackburn (1972, 1974) showed important differences
between intrapunitiveness and extrapunitiveness in unipolar and bipolar patients.
Bipolars were more intrapunitive (self critical). This looks like an interesting psy-
chobiological research area. Taken as a whole, these studies indicate that “defen-
sive go” is mediated by the sympathetic nervous system. The system is specially
involved in preparing for (go) action(s), be these fight or flight.

Defensive stop states

The parasympathetic system

The parasympathetic nervous system uses the neurotransmitter ACh and tends to
oppose the sympathetic system, acting like a braking system. It emerges from the
brain as part of the cranial nerve III. Soloman and Davis (1983) suggest that the para-
sympathetic nervous system is concerned with the conservation and restoration of
 The psychobiology of peripheral systems 103

energy. Its effects tend to be localised and of brief duration. Long-term activation of
this system could be detrimental to survival. It is interesting to note that about 75% of
all parasympathetic fibres are in the vagus nerves which pass down through the neck.
Sensory neurons of the vagus nerves transmit information from many organs includ-
ing the heart and abdominal viscera, and neurons associated with the vagus neurons
are involved in breathing control (see Soloman and Davis 1983, pp.326, 358). There
is increasing evidence that the parasympathetic system is involved in panic attacks
(Dilsaver 1986). Hence, the relations between hyperventilation, panic attack and the
parasympathetic system are of interest. In research on helplessness it was found that
under some conditions of intense uncontrollable stress, animals died quite suddenly.
At autopsy there were suggestions that the heart had become engorged with blood,
suggesting parasympathetic hyperarousal (Seligman 1975).
A number of organs and tissues are innervated by both sympathetic and para-
sympathetic nerve fibres. Hence, both systems can be activated and have differ-
ential effects on the same target organ. There is suggestive evidence that some
depressed states, especially retarded states, demonstrate parasympathetic hyper-
arousal (Lader 1975).
The interactions between the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system
are outlined in Fig. 5.2.

The hypothalamic–pituitary–adrenal–cortical system

Just as there are the sympathetic and parasympathetic systems, control of “defensive
go” routines (e.g. fight–flight) and defensive stop, so there appears to be another
form of “defensive stop”. This involves the hypothalamic–pituitary–adrenal–
cortical system (HPAC). This system is probably more involved in long-term states
of stop and possibly has a significant impact on “state” processes (see pages 88–91).
Furthermore, the sympathetic nervous system and the HPAC interact (Stokes 1985).
Interestingly, the inhibitory processes of the HPAC start off with signals relayed
from the hypothalamus. It will be recalled that signals from the hypothalamus
activated the sympathetic adrenal medullary system. The hypothalamus itself, of
course, will be acting under instructions from a number of different brain areas.
Current research suggests that various interpretations such as low expectations
of success, low self-esteem and expectations of defeat and depression activate the
HPAC system (Price 1982). This suggests that to some degree individuals may
be biologically preparing to downgrade activity and avoid situations that cannot
be controlled. Under these conditions the hypothalamus releases corticotrophic
releasing hormone (CRH). CRH has recently been discovered to be released with
an opiate substance call β-endorphine. However, it is probably CRH’s activity on
the pituitary which activates adrenal corticotrophic releasing hormone (ACTH)
which in turn activates the adrenal cortex. The activation of the adrenal cortex
produces cortisol plus other adrenal cortical steroids. Cortisol has many important
functions in the peripheral systems. It mobilises fat, is anti-inflammatory, raises
blood sugar1 and stimulates amino acids into liver cells.
Fig. 5.2 Sympathetic-parasympathetic actions
Sources: Cotman and McGaugh 1980; Soloman and Davis 1983; Beck et al. 1985; thanks also to Martin Ward.
 The psychobiology of peripheral systems 105

The physiological outcomes of such activation include decreased heart rate,

increased blood pressure, increase in emotional arousal and basoconstriction in
the viscera. But it can also have a detrimental effect on the immune system. The
behavioural outcome is a reduction in psychomotor activity, reduction in emo-
tional expression and passivity. It is interesting to note the distinction between
increases in emotional arousal and reductions in emotional expression. Again, we
see a distinction between activating and inhibiting systems. The cognitive events
may be triggered by this physiological sequence, and also predispose to it. These
relations are outlined in Fig. 5.3.

Fig. 5.3 Hypothalamic–pituitary–adrenal–cortical axis

Sources: Price 1982; Soloman and Davis 1985.
106 The psychobiology of peripheral systems

Interestingly, the septo-hippocampal systems appear to have receptors for

cortisol (Gray 1982; Jacobs and Nadel 1985). Hence, the tonic level of activity
of the BIS may in part be controlled via feedback effects of cortisol. It may
be suggested that cortisol plays a role in preparing the BIS (see pages 88–93)
for long-term work. In other words, the long-term states of defensive arousal
may be (in part) mediated by the cortisol response. Unlike freeze, depression
is a longer-term response to threatening (punishment and non-reward) cues.
Low-ranking animals, for example, have much higher levels of cortisol than
high ranks (Henry and Stephens 1977; Leshner 1978). If cortisol does play a
role in the BIS then more research is needed to understand how these feed-
back effects may relate to different long-term states, as opposed to short-term
(stop) responses mediated by the parasympathetic system. In other words, sen-
sitivity in HPAC and hippocampal systems may reflect status position. Low
status (unfavourable RHP) increases the tonic arousal of the defence system.
One prediction would be that neurotics have higher HPAC activation than
non-neurotics.

Some recent evidence

The HPAC system has been extensively studied over the past twenty years and
more. Many psychiatric conditions are now known to involve considerable altera-
tion in this system. The neurobiological control of HPAC is also highly complex
and is influenced by a multitude of neurotransmitters. Kalin and Dawson (1986)
provide an excellent overview of these control processes and their possible role in
depression. Stokes (1985) has reviewed the evidence that the HPAC system may
be involved in anxiety conditions.
The most frequently studied index of HPAC activity has been cortisol produc-
tion. Some depressed patients appear to have circulating blood levels of corti-
sol similar to patients with a disease of the adrenal cortex known as Cushing’s
disease. Interestingly, Cushing’s patients may manifest a number of psychiatric
symptoms including psychotic and depressed states. Yet these are regarded as
secondary disorders to cortisol dysfunction and would not be diagnosed as pri-
mary psychotic or depressive disorders. The work of Carroll and his colleagues
(e.g. Carroll et al. 1981) suggested that hypercortisol secretion (measured by the
dexamethasone suppression test) relates principally to depressive endogenous
disorders. However, this is looking less certain now. For example, Christie et al.
(1986, p.64) suggest that in drug-free patients raised plasma cortisol is more a
feature of psychotic illness especially for those with “paranoid and grandiose
delusions, hallucinations and loss of insight”. They also suggest that the return
to normal levels of circulating cortisol follows recovery irrespective of choice
of treatment (tricyclics, phenothiazines, ECT or lithium). Such evidence may
again point to the fact that there are sub-groups of patients whose psychotic
symptoms (or some of them) are not related to a primary psychiatric condition
 The psychobiology of peripheral systems 107

but are secondary to hypercortisol secretion. It would be quite important to get

the causative arrow the correct way round. Do certain forms of psychosis lead
to hypercortisol, or does hypercortisol invoke psychosis as in some of Cushing’s
patients? If the latter turned out to be true, then treatments used in Cushing’s
disease might be of value to some psychotic patients. One wonders whether
dexamethasone, for example, has anti-depressant or anti-psychotic properties.
However, this is a complex area because in some physical conditions requiring
steroid treatment, individuals can experience mood elevation. The idea that some
patients may have idiosyncratic responses to their own stress hormones is not
new (Whybrow 1984).
In a different line of research, Dolan et al. (1985) explored the HPAC activ-
ity in relationship to the neurotic–endogenous depressive distinction and life
events. In addition to finding no distinction between cortisol suppression/
non-suppression to dexamethasone, these researchers did find an interesting
association between life events and urinary free cortisol. This, as they point
out, again raises the important issue of environment – biological interaction.
Sachar (1967) also demonstrated that urinary cortisol in depressed patients was
increased following focus on stressful loss events in psychotherapy. If loss does
have the effect of reducing the estimate of relative RHP then this may be an
important link.
By way of an aside, we may note that the physiological changes that take place
during psychotherapy may either aid or hinder the process of therapeutic change.
If the stress of critical incidents in psychotherapy activates too much “stop”,
then the patient may withdraw (as a way of self-protection) and become pas-
sive and unresponsive to further inputs. This is another area desperately in need
of research. Dolan et al.’s study also highlights the possibility that life events
in some patients may activate the HPAC system. Increased circulating cortisol
feeds back into neurobiological processes (e.g. the BIS), possibly changing neu-
rotransmitter mechanisms and invoking further symptoms in patients’2 setting up
a vicious circle. What is clear is that cortisol does have central neurotransmitter
modulating effects (Kalin and Dawson 1986).

The dexamethasone suppression test

Another line of research has come from studies which have attempted to look at
the HPAC system under biological challenge. This area of research uses dexa-
methosone. Given in a 1mg dose at about 11 p.m., dexamethasone will signif-
icantly suppress cortisol output for the next 24 hours or so in non-psychiatric
patients. (There are a number of exceptions, however, including those suffering
significant stress, weight loss, liver disease, etc. See Carroll et al. 1981.) However,
from the many studies of Carroll and his colleagues a test for melancholia was
suggested (Carroll et al. 1981). Melancholic patients, given 1mg of dexametha-
sone, were found to show early escape or non-suppression of cortisol. There has
108 The psychobiology of peripheral systems

been some interest in the timing of this non-suppression with blood being taken at
different times during the day. However, it looks as if the disturbance of the HPAC
system could override the dexamethasone inhibitory effects. The exact way this
happens is not our concern here, and recent evidence using different research
designs and time sampling suggests that the abnormal cortisol of depressives may
not be closely related to ACTH activity (Charlton et al. 1987).
Since 1981 the dexamethasone suppression test (DST) has been used in a vari-
ety of settings with a variety of patients. Both its specificity (specificity means:
how specific to melancholic affective disorders is non-suppression or do fair num-
bers of other psychiatric patients show non-suppression) and its sensitivity (sen-
sitivity means: what percentage of patients with diagnosed melancholic disorder
demonstrate non-suppression) have been examined. The high specificity and sen-
sitivity rates reported by Carroll et al. (1981) have not been found so promising as
was originally hoped. Hence, while the DST is a major contribution to our study
of psychopathology, some caution is required as to its interpretation. Arana et al.
(1985, p.1200) have provided a comprehensive review of the area and conclude
the following:

The DST is limited in sensitivity in major depression (44% in over 5,000

cases), and rates of non-suppression appear higher in melancholic, psychotic
or mixed manic depressive disorders . . . When a broad range of affective
states is considered, there is a striking progressive increase in the rate of DST
non-suppression from grief reactions and dysthymic disorders, through major
depression, melancholia, psychotic affective disorders and depression with
serious suicidality . . . This relationship suggests that non-suppression in the
DST may be an indication of severity of affective illness.

Hence, the DST studies also show a relation between severity, possibly psychotic
states and hypercortisol secretion. The detailed biology we must leave to the
biologists, but evidence is now overwhelming that once an illness has started
considerable biological changes take place. It would be very naive indeed to
believe that these biological changes did not have important feedback effects on
psychological processes. Whether an auto-hormonal hypothesis has any validity
is unclear, but it may be the case that in some instances these kinds of physical
processes interact with psychological events (changes in incentive hierarchies,
etc.) which play a central role in the timing and activation of (other) biological
processes.
Quite recently, research has also shifted to the newly discovered role played by
corticotropic releasing hormone. An interesting pilot study has looked at cortico-
tropic releasing hormone stimulation in patients with panic disorder. Roy-Byrne
et al. (1986) found that patients with panic disorders also had elements of hyper-
secretion of cortisol like depressed patients but in addition demonstrated a more
acute ACTH response not seen in depressed patients. In a recent study, Schweizer
et al. (1986) found that 27% of patients with generalised anxiety disorder (n = 79)
 The psychobiology of peripheral systems 109

also demonstrated DST non-suppression. The existence of depressive symptoms

did not account for this finding. Hence, over the next few years we can expect
researchers to continue to investigate the mysteries of the HPAC system and its
role in psychopathology.
Attempts to relate the cortisol dysfunction to cognitive processes have produced
variable results. Zimmerman et al. (1984) did not find any significant difference
between attributional style and DST suppression/non-suppression (although inter-
estingly some patients could not fill in the questionnaire). Giles and Rush (1982)
found that severity of symptoms correlated with dysfunctional attitudes in a non-
endogenous group. Unfortunately, they found that DST did not correlate with
severity of depression, a finding which has not been replicated (Arana et al. 1985).
So it’s difficult to interpret their results. However, the view that some dysfunc-
tional attitudes may be state phenomena rather than causal is of some interest. Do
depressed Cushing’s patients endorse dysfunction attitudes? Do negative attitudes
have to be learnt or can a biological state provoke or recruit innate forms of nega-
tive construction of the self and the future, perhaps as a result of an unfavourable
estimate of RHP? Recently, Beck (1987) would seem to support this possibility at
least for some cases. Brain state theory (Reus et al. 1979; Gilbert 1984) suggest
that it is indeed the case that certain types of appraisal are innate, and are activated
by psychobiological states.
The degree to which conditioning plays a role in subsequent HPAC hyper-
sensivity is also unknown. Brown and Harris (1978) suggested that loss of the
mother before the age of 11 acted as a symptom formation factor for psychotic
depression. There is also increasing evidence that early experience (like loss) can
sensitise the HPAC so that under stress it shifts into hyperactivity (Henry and
Stephens 1977) – see Chapter 6.
Before leaving this system, it should be noted that an increase in cortisol pro-
duction should not be regarded as all bad. Coe et al. (1985) discuss evidence that
increases in cortisol may facilitate new (especially avoidance) learning. Hence,
although the HPAC system may be a system mediating stop behaviour, it could
also be seen as a physiological component of disengagement from incentives
which helps to reduce the purposeless pursuit of unobtainable incentives and
clears the way for new learning. A failure to switch to new incentives is prob-
ably due to many complex environmental, psychological and biological factors.
In states of psychopathology the opportunity for new learning may not be taken
and the individual becomes stuck in a physiological state which inhibits explo-
ration of new alternatives. As discussed elsewhere (Gilbert 1984), many neu-
rotic difficulties lie in a psychological failure to disengage under environmental
and physiological conditions where disengagement is called for. Individuals
may remain deeply wedded to incentives even though their biological systems
have long ago given up the ghost. This may happen as a result of all kinds of
developmental and personality factors. Some individuals have unrealistic aspi-
rations and (in Ellis’s terms) are “musturbatory” (I must win, I must never make
a mistake, etc.).
110 The psychobiology of peripheral systems

The psychobiology of changing states

In the first part of this chapter we looked at some peripheral systems of the body
that are involved in psychopathology. However, it is useful to recognise that indi-
viduals are in constant states of flux in regard to the activity of the defence and
safety systems. Consequently, we may entertain the idea that the physiological
“state” of an animal helps to bias or preselect the response outputs to specific
stressors. The issue of endogenous oscillating mechanisms (e.g. seasons, men-
strual cycles) are examined in Appendix 2. This preselecting (or state) aspect may
bear no relationship to a stressful event that actually triggers a pathological or
amplified defensive response. Bailey (1987) refers to a similar idea as priming.
The state of the organism acts more to bias the attentive and response systems.
These issues are discussed in the following paragraphs, and we end our discussion
with the “defensive drift” hypothesis.
Yesterday I drove my car out of the garage and down the road. Coming to a
junction, I stopped and then pressing on the accelerator again I found the car had
stopped dead. Five minutes later when the engine was warmed up, the same action
produced a smooth acceleration. There is no mystery here of course, once it is
understood that my car behaves differently to the same stimulus in cold and warm
states. Consider a psychological example. A man has had a row with his boss over
a raise. He returns home where he finds his wife upset about the bad behaviour of
the children that day. The man listens for a while and then storms out of the house
saying, “That’s the last straw – I can’t take any more,” or proceeds to be angry
with the children or his wife. A week later the boss relents and gives the man his
raise. The man returns home again where his wife has had another bad day. This
time, he looks at his wife and says, “You’ve had a bad day. You take a break and
I’ll bath the children tonight.”
Both of these examples seem common enough, but they reflect the fact the
“state” of a system before an encounter or excitatory stimulus influences the
response to the stimulus. In this sense, the state of a system significantly pre-
disposes the potential responses of the system. In psychobiology, therefore, it is
useful to distinguish between factors that preselect the stress response from those
of the stress response.3
These issues are fundamental to the psychobiology of psychopathology. As
Rachman (1978) has pointed out, individuals can be subjected to fear-eliciting
stimuli time and again without demonstrating a phobic response. Then one day
a phobic response may appear. A simple stimulus–response model which does
not allow for variations in state preceding an encounter will fail to make sense
of these issues. Consider also the learned helplessness research paradigm. Once
animals have been rendered helpless, then an active coping repertoire appears
unavailable to the animal. In other words, the biological state has changed, such
that the “recruitable” response profile is also changed. Moreover, a whole array of
responses such as aggressiveness and appetitive behaviour appear to be affected
by the switch to a learned helplessness state (Seligman 1975). In other words,
 The psychobiology of peripheral systems 111

changes of state can produce changes across a varied array of potential responses.
Put simply, the animal responds very differently to a stress depending on the pre-
existent state. State effects have been demonstrated for memory, effort, mood,
assertive responding and so on (Reus et al. 1979).
If certain classes of antidepressants are given to non-depressed subjects, these
tend to disrupt their cognitive functioning, whereas these drugs improve cogni-
tive functioning in depressed subjects (Thompson and Trimble 1982). Once it
is recognised that the state of an organism helps to preselect a set or an array
of potential responses, then factors antecedent to encounters with events can be
shown to be of major significance to the actual response to an event. Moreover, it
allows us to distinguish between factors pertaining to state properties and those
pertaining to response properties. Individuals may vary in terms of their back-
ground states and/or they may vary in terms of the responses that are available
in specific states.

Biological factors relating to state-reponse

This issue has been taken up by Leshner (1978, 1979) who drew a similar distinc-
tion in relationship to hormonal states. He proposed that baseline hormonal states
existing before an animal encounters an excitatory stimulus affect the responsive-
ness of neural mediating mechanisms. Hence, some responses are more likely and
some are less likely according to background hormonal state. This is in contrast to
hormonal effects on behaviour which occur during or subsequent to stimulation.
These effects are known as feedback effects which, over time, may have an effect
on background hormonal state. Leshner (1979, p.70) puts it this way:

What is important to the distinction made in this paper is that the behav-
ioral effects of the base line hormonal state begin to operate or prepare the
organism before stimulation in the particular instance being studied, whereas
feedback effects on behavior begin to occur during or after that particular
case of stimulation . . . Feedback effects take place rather rapidly often within
minutes whereas most base line effects are relatively slow to develop, taking
hours and often days to be seen.

The crucial difference then is that baseline and feedback effects vary according to
the speed at which they occur. Leshner cites two interesting examples which bring
home the importance of this distinction. If a mouse’s androgen levels are experi-
mentally reduced before an aggression-provoking encounter, it will not attack.
However, androgen levels are known to fall after defeat, but artificially main-
taining androgen levels after defeat does not affect subsequent aggressiveness.
In other words, different hormones are involved in facilitating aggression before
a competitive encounter and inhibiting aggression after one (i.e. if the mouse is
in a “defeat state”). In the second example, Leshner considers sexual behaviour.
Coitus results in an increase in progesterone that reduces sexual responsiveness.
112 The psychobiology of peripheral systems

Artificially increasing progesterone before coitus also reduces sexual responsive-

ness. But preventing the progesterone response to coitus has no effect on subse-
quent sexual responsiveness (i.e. it still declines). Again, such evidence suggests
that different hormones are involved in different ways in facilitating or inhibiting
responses before and after encounters. In both examples, we see that hormones
effective in influencing behaviour in one state appear to be less effective in influ-
encing that behaviour in a different state.
These ideas are profoundly important. For example, once an individual has
become depressed or anxious, various biological changes may be noted. It need
not automatically follow however, that targetting these changes with drugs will
automatically reinstate the predepressive or pre-anxious state. Recall that although
androgens affected aggressiveness before an aggressive encounter they did not do
so after defeat. Hence, treating defeated mice with androgens would be an inef-
fective therapy. These considerations bear centrally on many issues of the drug
control of behaviour. For example, some patients report that if they take a tran-
quilliser before a stressful encounter, it appears to be much more effective than if
they wait until they become anxious. Lithium exerts its effect by acting preventa-
tively, but is less effective as an antidepressant, i.e. has less effect once the state
of depression is under way. Maintaining monoamine levels with an MAOI before
treatment with uncontrollable stress prevents learned helplessness, but MAOI’s
are not immediately effective in depression although, again, they may prevent
relapse. Hence, drugs have different effects on behaviour according to their action
before as opposed to after various events and state changes. In other words, much
depends on the state the animal is in when the drugs are given (see also Weiner
1982 for an important discussion).
In this sense, we may see some drugs as state switching inhibitors (e.g. lith-
ium). Amine levels may relate to the immediate capacity to perform certain
classes of response, whereas receptors may be more involved with long-term
baseline effects. Drugs like amphetamine and heroin may have immedi-
ate effects on various response systems (e.g. affect) but have a deleterious
effect on baseline states. Antidepressants, on the other hand, may have little
immediate effect on various responses but exert a powerful effect on baseline
states. Checkley (1978) has pointed out that one should distinguish between
the euphoric response and the antidepressant response to methylamphetamine.
Interestingly, the euphoric response tends to occur first with the antidepressant
response following some time later. Again, what is suggested here is that the
euphoric response represents a change in specific response systems, whereas
the antidepressant response may reflect changes in the state properties of the
organism which spread to a whole array of response profiles, i.e. changes the
accessibility of certain response patterns or profiles. Furthermore, challenging
depressive states with amphetamine-like drugs can produce euphoric but not
antidepressant effects; indeed such effects can be viewed negatively (Silberman
et al. 1981). Some of this data fits a model called catastrophe theory (Gilbert
1984). This theory predicts that in switching from one state to another, the exit
 The psychobiology of peripheral systems 113

and entry points are different. In other words, switches between states need
not be represented by linear relationships. I do not wish to articulate again this
aspect of the theory because this would lead us away from the main thrust of the
book. The interested reader is referred to Gilbert (1984, pp.119–122) for a more
detailed discussion. However, the data given by Leshner (1978, 1979) would
seem to support such a view.
The above discussion does slightly confound Leshner’s (1979) idea, since he
separates hormonal from neuro-mediating mechanisms. Nevertheless, the idea of
the biological environment being important before an encounter is of major sig-
nificance. Indeed, many experimental behaviourists know this only too well, and
this is why experimental animals are often kept below their normal body weight
to make them good experimental subjects. But in a sense, such a procedure misses
the point of the distinction of “stateness”. Baseline states appear to be processes
which change the animal’s reponse profile for the long term, whereas response
systems represent the immediate responses that animals make to environmental
events.
When we begin to think in cognitive terms, could it not be that gradual (or sud-
den) changes in baseline state increase the activation of latent negative schema?
Do defensive background states maintain negative schemata? How is that both
diet and exercise alleviate depressions in some people? (Rippere and Adams
1982; de Coverley Veale 1987; Simons et al. 1985) Is it not possible that these
change background physiological state which somehow makes negative cognitive
schemata less prominent or powerful or recruitable? Other questions arise, such as
to what extent does background state affect rumination?

Concluding comments and the

defensive drift hypothesis
Let us now review our thoughts. First, it is known that feedback effects between
peripheral hormones and neurochemical control systems are profound and impor-
tant. Second, we should become more aware of the state that pre-exists any par-
ticular stressful encounter. These psychobiological factors are often missed by
pure psychological theorists, especially those who prefer computers to people.
Individuals will encounter specific stresses when their lives are going well or
badly for them; how can we assume that these differences are biologically neu-
tral? It is often the case that pathological switches occur against a background
of chronic stress or life events, and for which there may be few safety confer-
ring supports (Brown and Harris 1978). Sometimes, background stress relates to
recent loss (common in panic disorder), chronic insecurity or conflict at work or
in important (e.g. marital) relationships. These stresses may represent a gradual
loss of control and sense of self-efficacy or esteem; or an increase in the need
to struggle to maintain biosocial incentives, or increasing conflict between bal-
ancing biosocial concerns. Whatever the source, there is increased activation of
defence (self-protective) activity (Henry and Stephens 1977). According to the
114 The psychobiology of peripheral systems

theory proposed here it is not necessary to relate all psychopathology to childhood

trauma, as important as this often is; indeed, excessive striving for achievement or
love may relate to unsatisfactory childhoods. But even without this vulnerability
people may still become significantly disturbed later in life (a view Jung also
endorsed).
In this theory we would suggest that for whatever reason there is often a gradual
“drift” towards defensive activation, brought on by stresses as outlined above. Sir
Lawrence Olivier for example, in a recent interview, told of how he suffered stage
fright panic attacks for the first time at 60 years of age. He had in fact been under
a lot of conflictual stress for some time, and then one night he was stage panicked.
He gave a fairly clear account of his panic attacks. Only by repeatedly going back
night after night trying to get through just one line at a time, did he overcome the
fear. Had he not, he said, “I would have been finished.”
There are the cases of the first panic which follows a divorce, the death of
someone close, the arrival of an aggressive boss and so on. A recent case was of a
40-year-old woman who had fallen in love with a sadistic man who beat her. She
developed agoraphobia. When she finally got free of him her panics continued.
While going through the usual cognitive behavioural approach, I suggested to her
that her defence system had been highly aroused, that it would take time to settle
and then she would be all right. She listened to my simple explanation and then
said she had previously worked with abused animals and she had seen this time
and again – she only wondered why she had never thought of it that way! Sure
enough, she turned out fine. Her pathology (if you want to call it that) was in her
choice of partner, although she has now married a gentler man. I have found that
helping patients understand a little biology helps to set up a useful explanatory
system. It helps especially when patients say “Why now? Before, I was so outgo-
ing, so confident, etc.”
The drift of state hypothesis simply suggests that for some people, ongoing
stress loads the gun, so to speak. The next question is, what fires it?
In my view, the trigger may be something quite subtle, which under normal
conditions the person could have coped with. Furthermore, the trigger may be
one that has some innate meaning. Triggers can include being trapped in traffic or
with strangers and suddenly switching to the potential for humiliation or death.
Public speaking or being called upon to do something that requires extra effort
can produce a sense of being overwhelmed. Suddenly, the world is no longer
safe and the defence system is well in control. To put this another way, increases
in defensive activation can, at some point, break through and override our sense
of safety, self-efficacy, status or coping ability. Even though we know we can
perform a certain response perfectly well, and may have done so for years, this
is swamped out by an innate trigger which produces a kind of breakthrough, or
disinhibition of a catastrophic primitive response, because of the state we are in
before the encounter.
I believe that this is one way of looking at things which helps us to under-
stand why (for example) fatigue can so often be associated with the return of
 The psychobiology of peripheral systems 115

anxiety; fatigue sensitises the defence system in some way. Hence, various
events which may be unrelated to that actual trigger can skew the psychobio-
logical system towards defensive activation, making the amplified (pathologi-
cal?) response more easily accessible. Genetic factors bearing on the ease or
degree of such amplification may play a role, as indeed may constitutional,
or biological distortion arising from early experience. Some individuals live
life permanently on the defensive and find it hard to find safety in the inner
or outer worlds. Antidepressants may be helpful because they may shift the
system towards greater safety or inhibit defensive activation. If people have
never felt safe, however (e.g. personality disorder), and life has always been
a struggle for some kind of survival or security, then antidepressants may not
have such a good outcome.
The next question to ask is: why depression or anxiety or paranoia? Well, for
the depression–anxiety distinction Beck et al. (1985) have outlined the fundamen-
tal cognitive differences. In anxiety, threats are potentially avoidable. The anxious
individual fears not acting (avoiding); the depressed subject thinks it’s too late –
loss has already occurred (Beck 1987). To protect the self, the defence system
will activate those responses relevant to the evaluation. If avoidance is called for
then the “defensive go” or short-term “defensive stop” routines are recruited. If a
defeat or loss is irreparable, i.e. an injury has already occurred, then longer-term
defensive mechanisms switch in.
There is a risk to such a theory of making all pathologies appear essentially
reactive, which I do not personally believe. However, I would simply point up the
fact that in many cases, disorders arise against a background of chronic life dif-
ficulties and events. The common factor is that they undermine the person’s sense
of safety. Sometimes this safety is bestowed on a dominant other, sometimes an
achievement, but however an individual comes to feel safe in the world, a threat
to or loss of this safety puts the person on the defensive. Attention is switched
towards self-protection. This starts to load the gun waiting for one more event,
perhaps quite small, to pull the trigger.
Even though I regard myself as a psychotherapist, in my psychobiological
clothes I would have to say that in the end, whatever we teach our patients will
only be helpful if it deactivates the defence system and increases a sense of safety
both within and without. Patients can learn new ways to “make” the inner and
outer worlds safe. This is why nearly all patients cite trust as an essential com-
ponent of helpful therapy. For all the psychological data we will be looking at
shortly, the one aspect that shines through is the loss of safety as a prominent
aspect of all pathologies (apart, perhaps, from mania).
Reasoning and rationality are quite secondary to safety provision. These only
work if they reduce defensive arousal. Evidence is pointing increasingly to the
fact that defence system activation is much lower in people who have internalised
a sense of personal status (Henry and Stephens 1977), self-efficacy, self-esteem or
relative RHP. There is evidence that our sense of safety with our fellow humans is
also important for deactivating the defensive system.
116 The psychobiology of peripheral systems

Notes
1 Many anxious patients report that after exposure to fear situations or prolonged anticipa-
tion of fear situations, they have a fatigue rebound. One wonders therefore, if this might
be due to a rapid using up of blood sugars during times of stress which, when the stress
is past and hormones settled down, leaves the patient in a depleted state. The DSM III
(this is an American system for diagnosing mental disorders) notes that hypogylcemia is
a possible route into panic disorder as is hypothyroidism (see also McCue and McCue
1984).
2 It is also known that cortisol response is affected by the social environment during sepa-
ration stress (Coe et al. 1985). Levine and Coe (1985) have written an important chapter
called “The use and abuse of cortisol as a measure of stress”.
3 Gosling (in press) has given a more theoretical discussion to these issues and distin-
guishes between state, mode and mechanism.
Chapter 6

Care eliciting and attachment

strategies

The early analysts were deeply interested in the relationship between the evolu-
tionary structuralisation of mind and neuroses. In general, the analytic models
can be classified as either drive/structure models or relational/structure models
(Greenberg and Mitchell 1983). For both, it was the early relationship of infant
with care givers that gave rise to subsequent predisposition to psychopathology.
However, the degree to which much of their theorising rested on untestable fantasy
data made verification very difficult. In fact, recent research has shown that some
of the key analytical concepts of the psychic life of the infant may be seriously
flawed. For example, two central assumptions – symbiosis and omnipotence –
do not appear to be supported by experimental evidence (Horner 1985).

Attachment theory
A significant alternative to the Freudian drive/structural model which maintains
a central interest in the evolution of mother–child interaction has been put for-
ward by Bowlby (1969, 1973, 1980, 1988). This approach, labelled “attachment
theory”, shifted the focus away from evolutionary theory in general, and the inner
fantasy life of the infant, to social evolution in particular and the behavioural and
affective consequences of disturbances in the mother–child relationship. Attach-
ment theory focusses on the survival advantages of interpersonal relationships
(mother/child) and suggests that the key determining factors controlling the sub-
sequent emotional life of the child relates to internal representations of attach-
ment bonds gained from early experience. Attachment is viewed as an evolved
capacity with major implications for survival. The central axioms of attachment
theory have been reviewed many times (Bowlby 1977a,b; Gilbert 1984) but for
completeness they are repeated here:

1 Attachment behaviour is instinctive and goal directed. There is an inherited

predisposition to behave in a way which maintains proximity and commu-
nication with attachment figures. This inherited predisposition has survival
value, and as a consequence, it has evolved in a variety of species.
118 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

2 Some systems which mediate attachment behaviour may be activated under

conditions where the functions of attachment behaviour (e.g. to protect) are
threatened. In other words, situations which are potentially threatening to the
survival of the infant (e.g. aloneness, strangeness, noise, strangers) are capa-
ble of activating a sequence of behaviours (e.g. distress calling and search-
ing) which are designed to secure proximity to, and nurturance and protection
from care givers.
3 Many affective consequences are related to the making and breaking of
attachment bonds. For example, interrupted or unstable attachments may be
experienced as insecurity; threat to attachments can be experienced as anger
and/or anxiety; loss of attachments can be experienced as depression; the
renewal of attachments can be experienced as joyful. The affective conse-
quences will be a function of many variables, antecedent and subsequent to
the actual changes in attachment.
4 Attachment behaviour is a source of varied emotional experience and it
is present through all stages of life and need not be a sign of pathology or
regression.
5 In addition to providing survival advantage, by protecting the young infant
from predators, attachment can also provide a secure (safe) base from which
to explore the environment. The ability to explore safely conveys consider-
able advantage in that it facilitates discrimination learning and the devel-
opment of the necessary skills for adaptation to a social life. In this sense
attachment is part of the safety system, i.e. it confers safety.

The reader will note that the conceptualisation of biosocial goals and innate social
strategies (see Table 2.2) is derived from attachment theory. The observations of
infant–mother interactions showed how specific behaviours in the infant (cooing,
crying, looking, smiling, reaching, etc.) activated behaviours and feelings in the
mother directed towards the infant. The mother’s behaviour and emotional dis-
plays in turn changed the infant’s behaviour and emotional displays1 (Field 1985).
The cultural universality of the “dances” between care giver (mother) and care
receiver (infant) and their operation (in perhaps less sophisticated form) in other
species suggests a high degree of innate preparedness. From the infant’s point of
view, this relates to behavioural systems that are object targetted, to elicit certain
classes of event and response (comfort, warmth, food, etc.) most of which arise
from close proximity or contact with a care giver. Petrovich and Gewirtz (1985)
provide a valuable discussion of the interaction between cultural and biological
evolutionary factors impinging on this relationship. In Bowlby’s view, attachment
is controlled by goal-directed positive and negative feedback.
Since the 1970s, attachment theorists have significantly influenced thinking
about certain forms of psychopathology. The importance of significant others and
the role of early attachment relationships as forerunners to adult pathology has
influenced existential theorists (Yalom 1980), cognitive theorists (Beck 1983),
Jungian theorists (Stevens 1982), structural cognitive theorists (Guidano and
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 119

Liotti 1983) and others (Gilbert 1984). We shall be looking at these in the next
chapter. It was Bowlby, however, who stressed the innate and survival relevance
of attachment and who gradually won out over the behaviourist notions of learn-
ing as the sole determinants of attachment, operative in the absence of a prepared
biological system.

Synchrony and mutuality

Theories of the phylogenetic origin of attachment were central to the develop-
ment of Bowlby’s theory (1969, 1973). As mentioned in Chapter 2, MacLean’s
(1985) theory drew attention to the evolution of synchronicity facilitated by the
growth of the limbic system. He regards this as a quantum jump in evolution. For
example, at some point in evolution, some species became able to recognise their
own offspring and not regard them as just another meal. In a cannibalistic setting
separation/distress calling would have been positively disadvantageous. Parental
inattention to a distress call by an infant would only serve to signal the availabil-
ity of a meal to some other predator.2 In higher mammals the systems activated
by distress call probably operate via aversive arousal and are related to sympa-
thy (see Chapter 8). In all likelihood, the maternal side of caring evolved first
(however crudely), and subsequently infants evolved the capacity to send signals
capable of evoking caring and proximity seeking behaviour in the mother. This
implies that in evolutionary terms the parent was probably the first to dispense
care from its own evaluation of threat or need to its offspring. Hence the capacity
to evaluate the need of another (e.g. an infant) is of major evolutionary signifi-
cance. Moreover, this may be a link to the later forms of altruism and sympathy.
Clearly, the advantage of being able to activate maternal care rather than rely-
ing on the parent to dispense, is enormous. Nevertheless, the care giver must
attempt to decode the distress call to know what the child requires. In some cases,
the distress call may relate to needs for proximity, in other cases, warmth and
in other cases, food. Clearly, if an infant cries because it is hungry it would not
be helpful for the parent to attend to the needs of warmth. Secondly, and this is
fundamental to conditioning theory, if the mother has been absent for a period of
time, when she returns, the likelihood is that she will feed the infant. Hence, the
availability of food (oral supplies) may became conditioned to separation dis-
tress curtailment. In fact, the issues for conditioning theory go far beyond this
and reflect extremely complex issues of infant–caregiver interactions which have
major effects on the entrainment of various infant endogenous cycles and biologi-
cal processes (Tronick et al. 1985).
Given these biological requirements there evolved increasingly sophisticated
interpersonal (child–mother) communicative strategies and signals to exploit
these requirements. Moreover, both parties in certain contexts appear to experi-
ence relief (anxiety reduction) at reunion, and positive affects from a continuance
of synchrony. This synchrony probably resides in some communication between
sensory-motor patterns between care giver and receiver, as is consistent with
120 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

Leventhal (1984). Although the sociobiologists tend to stress genetic relationships

in synchrony and mutuality, Stevens (1982) provides an alternative view. He sug-
gests that the “goodness of fit” between child and care giver relates to archetype
activity. Some children have (innate) preferences for certain kinds of mother and
caring, and equally some mothers have preferences for certain kinds of infants/
children. Stevens provides some interesting research evidence for this view.
The more helpless the infant at birth, the more significant are these communica-
tive acts (Petrovich and Gewirtz 1985). Wenegrat (1984) suggests that “mutual-
ity” refers to the two-sided nature of the attachment relationship such that both
infant and mother participate in maintaining proximity to each other.
Mutuality in mother–child relationships occurs for very different reasons in
each of the participants. Only the child is (in the first instance) the care elicitor and
has no means of its own to provide care either for itself or for its mother.3 Only
another (usually adult) can act as mediator for the infant’s needs for survival-relevant
resources and protection and act as entrainer for biological rhythms. Hence, in the
first instance the child may experience positive affect only from receiving, and
the parent only from giving. If a child’s behaviour is construed as not confirming
the mother as a “good provider”, negative affects may result in the mother.
MacLean (1985) suggests that the separation or distress signal and care giving
are under the control of different brain areas. Furthermore, there is suggestive
evidence that the elicitation of the distress call may relate to central opiate activity
(Panskepp et al. 1985) whereas maternal behaviour may relate to various interac-
tions between the central availability of oestrogen and oxytocin (Capitanio et al.
1985). Capitanio et al. also point out that different factors are involved in the
onset of maternal behaviour and its maintenance. Maintenance is influenced by
interactional style taking into consideration the temperament of the infant and the
current mental state of the care giver. Fatigued, hungry or depressed care givers,
or those who wish to pursue incentives exclusive to the child are likely to interact
with their infant in a very different way from those who do not have these needs.
Wenegrat (1984, p.50) suggests that “specificity” refers to the discriminatory
aspects of proximity maintenance: “Care takers act not to maintain proximity
to any infant, but only to an infant identified as the object of their altruism.”
However, this is a relative rather than absolute distinction (Stevens 1982). Many
humans appear motivated to act as care givers to babies in general; wanting to
hold, cuddle and care, at least for short periods. Also, proximity maintenance in
humans can be controlled by many complex factors. Factors in the infant relate
to whether the infant is of the desired gender, the degree of handicaps, tempera-
mental characteristics of the infant, prematurity and so on. Factors in the mother
include whether the infant was wanted or not, age and personality factors, confi-
dence in the mothering role and post-natal mental health. Care givers also make
conscious choices (e.g. some mothers say they do not want to breast feed in case
their breasts begin to sag as a consequence). The number of siblings may also play
a role. These and other complex factors interact in the infant–mother attachment
system.
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 121

The importance of the infant’s

experience of mediators
In this section, attention is drawn to the role of the parent – especially the mother4 –
as a “mediator” of the environment for the infant. I have used the term “media-
tor” in preference to “significant other” or “dominant other” because I think it
more accurately describes the role of the person for the care elicitor. Mediators
are intervening social others between the care elicitor and the world. Behaviour,
affective displays, internal (fantasised) desires and cognitive processes are target-
ted at mediators. With the passage of time, the child may transfer this mediation
to what (in Winnicott’s terms) is called a transactional object (e.g. comfort from
a teddy bear). The transitional object plays a functional role for the child and is
(usually) under its own control, available on demand. With maturity, individuals
begin to select and target behaviours to individuals who are seen as capable of
performing certain roles (e.g. doctors). At this point I have avoided issues related
to the affective domain such as love and affection which probably relate to the
mutually reinforcing nature of the interactions.
In the womb the child is totally dependent on the mother for every constituent
of life. Various prebirth interactions between foetus and mother can affect the
infant’s biological development (Hofer 1981). For example, the amount of pro-
gesterone may have an effect on the relative cerebral hemispheric development of
the infant. The physical separation of birth is followed by a more gradual separa-
tion from the parent as the mediator of the world and regulator of the infant’s bio-
logical rhythms. This continues to a greater or lesser degree until, at some point,
full autonomy is reached and the life cycle may be repeated. Due to the infant’s
immobility and general helplessness as well as other factors, the baby needs to
use care givers as mediators between itself and the world (see Wenegrat 1984). In
other words, the child learns (and is innately predisposed) to target requests to the
mother or primary care givers. They in turn are innately prepared to allow such
targetting and respond to it (although this does not mean that psychosocial factors
cannot disrupt this role).
The environment becomes controllable in so far as the care giver(s) are/is con-
trollable. In the model suggested in Chapter 2, care-eliciting goals evolved as a
predisposition to target behaviours (signals, requests) to parent/care giving fig-
ures. It is not the environment that must be controlled and dealt with (as in lower
species, e.g. fish) but an intervening other. In object relations theory it is hypoth-
esised that the baby can only relate to part objects of its mediator (mother), e.g.
aspects or selective stimuli of the external environment (Greenberg and Mitchell
1983). The mother according to this theory is not constructed as a whole object
or person but as a collection of different bits (part objects; breast, face, texture,
etc.). These part objects (or selective stimuli, such as texture) may each come
to be experienced with different affects. Whether this is correct or not, it does
seem that the synchrony of infant–mother relating has many subcomponents (Bee
1985; Field 1985). While some dimensions of this synchrony may work well,
122 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

e.g. eliciting and provision of food and resources, other dimensions may be less
well synchronised, e.g. protection-giving or physical comfort.
Whatever the sub-dimensions involved, and there are many, loss of control
over these interactions with primary care givers may activate the defence sys-
tem. Care giver responsivity during early life may increase the infant’s sense
of control and counteract powerful feelings of helplessness (Horner 1985) and
provide important internal models of the availability of “safe others”. Hence it
sets a foundation for trust in the other. This will help to increase the “sense of
safety” encoded within the safety system. Parents are the mediators of events both
internal (e.g. hunger) and external (e.g. light, comfort and warmth). In addition,
they provide opportunities for sensory stimulation by presentation of themselves
(faces) and play objects. Because they control so much input for the infant, par-
ents are ideally situated to guide the child’s response repertoire so that newly
maturing response competencies are shaped by parental responses (via positive
and negative feedback). The degree to which “goodness of fit” and temperamen-
tal differences invoke unresponsive, inappropriate, too aggressive or too passive
mothering (mediating) responses may provide various opportunities for negative
affects, as may be experienced by the infant (frustration, anxiety, anger, dyspho-
ria), to co-assemble with inner representations (schemata) of interactional styles
(e.g. schemata of self and schemata of others). These will be psychobiologically
coded in the defence system. There is nothing incompatible here with learning
theory. However, we should keep in mind that helplessness may operate in some
but not all dimensions of the infant–mother interaction. Moreover, a good enough
mother for one child may be less so for another (Stevens 1982). Be this as it may,
it is useful and important to look briefly at different components of the infant
attachment system.

Mediators as educators of intimacy

The pioneering work of the Harlows (for a review see Harlow and Mears 1979)
has helped us understand how various components of infant–parental interactions
work. In one of their experiments infant monkeys were separated from their care
givers. The infants were given access to food via surrogates. These surrogates dif-
fered in texture, one being of terry cloth and the other constructed of wire mesh.
The infants showed a marked preference for the soft-textured surrogates. More-
over, return to the cloth-covered but not the wire mesh surrogates had a signifi-
cant effect on reducing arousal to a strange environment. Hence, physical contact
seems to be the major component in fear reduction (i.e. a safety signal). Indeed,
it has long been recognised that stroking, holding and cuddling is experienced
by many (but not all) children as the desired care giver’s response to anxiety and
distress arising from certain situations. These may effect opiate activity in the
cingulate cortex (see pages 94–95).
Some recent research by Field (reported by Trotter 1987, p.34) indicates that
physical massage for premature babies significantly helps growth and weight
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 123

gain. Recent work suggests that physical contact with mother immediately after
birth can have a significant impact on subsequent crying and contentment (De
Wet Voster 1987, personal communication). It may be that this activates the
safety system, reducing arousal and promoting heath. The exact psychobiological
effects are yet to be fully understood. In adults, massage by a safe other has long
been used for tension relief and relaxation. In 1976, I was involved in a small
research project looking at a possible role of connective tissue massage for drug
non-responsive tension states. Unfortunately, due to other commitments this was
never completed, although early results looked very promising. (At the present
time many of our treatments for anxiety are asocial; e.g. drugs, behaviour therapy,
yet tension control by massage makes good biological sense).
Montague (1979) has examined some of the data for a distinction between
feeding and suckling which takes place within close physical contact. He quotes
(p.331) from a talk by Harlow given over twenty years ago:

We were not surprised to discover that contact comfort was an important

basic affectional or love variable, but we did not expect it to overshadow
so completely the variable of nursing. Indeed, the disparity is so great as to
suggest that the primary function of nursing as an affectional variable is that
of insuring frequent and intimate body contact of the infant with the mother.
Certainly, man cannot live by milk alone.

Since human infants are immobile at birth, this physical contact system may be
the prototype for subsequent proximity maintenance systems. Reunions in early
life are usually marked by periods of holding, cuddling and so on. In regard to the
domains of intimate, personal, social and public it would be the intimate domain
that is involved here. Here may be the beginning for sensory-motor patterns to
become developed into emotional and cognitive schemata. It is also interesting to
consider that primates evolved from marsupials where the infant is born early and
remains within the mother’s pouch for some time while it grows. In the hedonic
mode confidence is supported by much physical contact (Goodall 1975; Chance
1988; see pages 52 and 54).
Mother–infant physical contact may also lay the foundation for security in
subsequent close contacts with others. There is growing recognition that some
elements of this interaction involve sexual arousal5 (Hofer 1981; Efron 1985;
McClelland 1985). The way physical contact is articulated and expressed dur-
ing early life may have a significant bearing on the subsequent development of
sexual schemata. Some mothers may provide close contact for specific functions,
e.g. feeding or comfort, but be very rejecting following any appraisal of sexual
elements within such interactions. Others may cuddle for the pure pleasure of
physical contact as an activity in itself. From a conditioning perspective these
different interactional styles would presumably exert different effects on the
development of schemata of the physical sexual self. An individual’s ability to
surrender to sexuality within an intimate relationship may be involved. If this
124 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

system is conditioned in such a way that sexual arousal or sexual play and explo-
ration invokes punishment or rejecting responses from the mother or others then
subsequently the adult may only be able to engage sexually in ways that are not
specifically intimate (and possibly suffer shame proneness).6
There is no doubt that in western culture we have over-sexualised physical con-
tact in a crude way. Sexual contact, especially within therapy, is a controversial
issue, and rightly so. But it is sad indeed that physical contact such as holding a
patient’s hand may be so feared as being construed as a sexual advance that some
therapists would prefer to remain impassive behind a desk. If we are at all serious
in our conditioning theories then it would be useful to investigate just how physi-
cal contact hinders or helps on certain occasions for certain patients. This may be
especially pertinent for persons with shame about the physical self. Research has
suggested, for example, that a librarian who touched her customers was deemed
more helpful than when she did not. On the other hand, touch can also be used as
a status signal.
Physical contact is a biologically very active and interactive component of
attachment and social signalling. It is especially important in the hedonic behav-
iour of chimpanzees (Chance 1988). As discussed in Chapter 2, some cultures
seem much more comfortable with close physical proximity than others. In west-
ern culture where the individual cot is the hallmark of child rearing, anxieties
related to close physical contact may go back to early conditioning experiences.
In addition, ecology (warm versus cold climates) may exert various effects on
proximity interactions.

Mediators as biological regulators

Increasing evidence points to the fact that the infant demonstrates from birth
major rhythms in many domains, including feeding, sleep-waking and so on.
Most parents are aware that there tends to be a time of day when babies are at the
their most fractious. These rhythms provide cyclic changes in signalling to which
the mother accommodates herself. Evidence suggests that what happens here
is mother–infant attachment where the mother mirrors or interacts in a manner
appropriate to the modality of the infant (Field 1985). A crucial variable appears
to be phase relatedness which concerns the interactive “dance” between mother
and infant. Tronick et al. (1985) report on the work of Sandler who has also drawn
attention to the rhythmic nature of mother–infant interactions. They suggest for
example (p.312):

. . . . although there is some endogenous temporal organisation to the sleep-

wake cycling of the human infant, it is strikingly influenced by the timing of
the care taking provisioned to it. Care taking that is phase synchronized to
the infant’s endogenous cycles leads to faster establishment of the diurnal
cycling in the infant than does care taking provisioned at a regular but arbi-
trary tempo. Importantly, over time, the infant’s cycling becomes increasingly
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 125

independent of the care taker’s routine, and later in development, infants

with different sleep-wake cycle organisation have different patterns of visual
attention.

They go on to point out that, among other things, these internal regulators become
more capable of becoming autonomous in their function if they have been appro-
priately entrained. Further, according to Sandler (as reviewed by Tronick et al.
1985), a temporal hierarchy of tasks can be mapped out starting with physiologi-
cal and state variables and regulation of social exchange through to the formation
of self schemata.
These fascinating pioneering explorations attest to the intimacy of infant–
mother control. Both have biological effects. Just as the cry of an infant can be
a trigger for the flow of milk from a mother, so the mother’s attunement to her
infant’s cycles can significantly influence the infant’s maturing CNS. It is also
now known that different components of the attachment system have differ-
ent effects on the infant’s maturing biology. Milk provides an input that affects
immune, monoamine and other transmitter systems in a manner quite different
from warmth or physical contact (Weiner 1982; Hofer 1984). It is in these areas
that conditioning theory may have much to offer. The manner in which these
interactions, working on biological systems, may become articulated into cogni-
tive schemata and stimulus–response co-ordinators is a matter for research. Such
work can be seen as providing the basis for a bottom-up information processing
model.

Mediators as information providers

The role of mother, or any primary care giver(s), as a mediator of the environment
and provider of input necessary for survival and psychological growth continues
to be crucial throughout childhood. In an ambiguous world capable of invok-
ing distress and one which the child is not adequately equipped to evaluate for
himself, the child (as he becomes able to navigate the environment) may direct
attention to the mother’s emotional responses for answers. In other words, pri-
mary care givers provide sources of information that guide the child’s behaviour
(e.g. exploration). The theme of care giver as mediator is highly significant for,
as noted later, some neurotic difficulties arise from continual searches for safe
mediators who are looked to, to provide feedback as to the safety of the environ-
ment (both internal and external).
Campos and Barrett (1984) review fascinating evidence that the mother’s
facial emotional displays significantly influence a child’s preparedness to cross
the visual cliff. If mothers posed fearful expressions, no infant tested crossed the
visual cliff. If the facial posture was one of interest then 75% crossed. Differ-
ent emotional facial expressions altered the percentage of children who crossed.
Hence, as these authors point out, the affective information the mother displays
via facial expressions significantly influences the child’s behaviour, especially
126 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

in the area of approach/avoidance to objects and situations. It does not seem too
unreasonable to speculate that since the mother acts as a mediator in an ambigu-
ous world about which the child must learn, then highly anxious mothers may
amplify avoidance and fearful reactions in their children. On the other hand, non-
responsive (perhaps depressed) mothers may also leave the child with unsolvable
dilemmas. Parents may be physically present without necessarily advancing the
security or psychological growth of the child. Depressed mothers especially may
show significant deficits in emotional signalling. The child may learn that certain
environments are dangerous, not from direct experience of the environment, but
via the parental response.
This and other evidence reviewed by Campos and Barrett (1984, p.243) led
them to argue that “both social and non social environmental stimuli can acquire
very different valences as a result of the process of emotional communication
between one person and another.” Hence, one function of emotion is to co-ordinate
behavioural displays which act as sources of information to both sender and recip-
ient. These social stimuli will also exert important effects on the co-ordination of
the defence and safety systems.

The psychobiology of separation

Models of emotional disorder including depression and anxiety states, and dis-
orders of maternal and peer group affiliative behaviour have been studied with
separation and isolation procedures. From the study of primates it is now known
that the stress of separation tends to invoke a biphasic response sequence usually
referred to as protest-despair (Bowlby 1973; McKinney 1977, 1985; Mineka and
Suomi 1978; Reite et al. 1981; Reite and Field 1985; Gilbert 1988a). Separa-
tion triggers the defence system. Attention is directed towards a safe other with a
major increase in arousal.
When separation first occurs, the pattern of behaviour that manifests has been
labelled as protest. This is marked by an increase psychomotor activity, object
seeking, anxiety and anger and sympathetic CNS arousal. Renewed physical con-
tact especially with the mother may reduce this arousal. After a period of time,
however, the continued absence of care givers leads to a pattern of activity marked
by behavioural withdrawal and passivity including increases in self-stimulatory
and huddle behaviour. McKinney (1977) offers a good discussion of the compli-
cations and species difference to this particular model (see also Coe et al. 1985).
In terms of the neurobiological mediators of the separation response, Kraemer and
McKinney (1979) have shown that various historical and social housing condi-
tions interact with despair responses produced with drug challenge to monoami-
nergic pathways.
In cases of infant isolation, Kraemer (1985, p.141) draws attention to Mason’s
early classification. Disturbance occurs in: “1) abnormal posturing and move-
ments; 2) motivational disturbances (e.g. excess fearfulness or arousal); 3) poor
integration of motor patterns; and 4) deficiencies in social communication, such
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 127

as failure to withdraw after being threatened by a dominant animal.” The sepa-

ration procedure has been explored in many contexts (e.g. infant from mother,
mother from infant, peer separations, short versus long separations, the effects
of previous early history of separations, the effects of drugs on separations and
antidepressants as reducing subsequent disturbance, and so on). Much of this data
has been reviewed by Mineka and Suomi (1978). Hofer (1984) has indicated that
protest and despair can be affected by different infant–mother interactions before
separation. Infants who have experienced a high level of maternal rejections due
to a need for foraging tend to show amplified despair responses. Overall, the four
classes of disturbances outlined by Mason, and the final biological effects are
dependent on a host of interactions contextual, historical and genetic factors.

Neurobiology of go–stop in separation

Just as with the learned helplessness experiments, there is reasonable evidence
to suggest that catecholamine activity, especially NA, is importantly linked with
the protest–despair separation response patterns. McKinney (1985) offers a
good review of this work. He notes (pp.216–217) that results of data suggest the
following:

1 AMPT and FA both have interactive effects in rhesus monkeys in the peer
separation paradigm. AMPT exacerbates the despair response and FA ame-
liorates it. Neither drug in the dosage used had behavioural effects when the
animals were not concurrently undergoing separation distress.7
2 Drug induced changes in the behavioral responses to separation were asso-
ciated with changes in CSF NE levels. Increased despair was associated
with lowered CSF NE levels, and ameliorated despair was associated with
increased CSF NE.
3 Across subjective and repeated separations, the lowest CSF NE values were
found in the subjects that had the highest mean levels of huddle, and the high-
est mean CSF NE levels were found in subjects with the lowest mean levels
of huddle. CSF NE levels for a given subject are quite stable over time and
may reflect a neurobiological trait that predicts the response to separation.
4 CSF HVA and 5HIAA8 levels were inversely correlated with levels of huddle
during the concurrent separation. However, these measures did not reflect
drug-related biochemical changes in separated monkeys despite the fact that
drug treatments altered the behavior of separated monkeys and drug effects on
these measures were observed in chronically single caged housed monkeys.

Furthermore, current evidence from rhesus monkeys suggests that challenge to

catecholamine systems shows a spectrum of sensitivity on certain behaviours:
“with single-cage animals behaviours being least affected, social behaviour next,
and the separation response the most sensitive.” (McKinney 1985, p.218) Hence,
again we have the hypothesis that low levels of NA relate to the syndrome of
128 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

despair. In addition to effects on reducing monoamine levels, Kraemer (1985)

suggests that a consequence of separation may be to produce hypersensitive NA
receptors. Animals may appear to make some adjustment to early separation, but
disturbance in various domains may re-emerge under stress. This may be because
increased synthesis of NA invoked by stress (Anisman 1978) has an amplified
effect due to interacting with hypersensitive receptors. Drugs which cause release
of NA can produce disturbed effects for the same reason. The cortisol response
of stress may also, via feedback on neural mediating mechanisms, cause greater
disruption, if NA and other receptors are hypersensitive. Furthermore, this hyper-
excitability of NA neurones would presumably cause other neurotransmitters shar-
ing both inhibitory and excitatory relations to NA, to react. Such data points again
to the importance of distinguishing biological factors that are in place before a
stressful encounter and those that occur in response to stress (Chapter 5). Further-
more, it may be asked whether such receptor sensitivity factors or other structural
biological changes as may result from disruptive early experience interact in any
significant way with other rhythms such as seasonal and menstrual.
Other workers like Panksepp et al. (1985) also see a role for acetylcholine in
despair. They note that humans subjected to cholinesterase inhibitors demon-
strate episodes of sadness, tearfulness and feelings of worthlessness, futility and
hopelessness. Panksepp et al. (1985, pp.35–36) suggest the possibility that “both
the short and long term effects of isolation distress are eventually mediated via
a release of cholinergic activity that is triggered partially by a reduced opioid
tone in the brain. Perhaps the acute distress may be largely mediated by nicotinic
receptors, whereas the protracted phase of depression and grief may be due more
to increased muscarinic tone.” As noted previously, acetylcholine is probably
involved in some depressive responses (Gilbert 1984; Dilsaver 1986), and may
also be involved in “stop” states (Chapter 4).
Taking such data as outlined by McKinney (1985) and Panksepp et al. (1985),
the impression is that despair-like states represent low“go” (NA depletions) and
high“stop” (ACh increase), a model proposed earlier (Gilbert 1984). Hence, what
emerges is a patterned response which involves a change in the relationship of
neurotransmitter systems. Despair is therefore a state-like pattern of defensive
stop.

The endocrinology of separation

There is considerable evidence that the HPAC system is also activated with sep-
aration from the mother. Coe et al. (1985) have provided an extensive review
of this area of research. They also examined responses of the immune function
which will not be discussed here. Coe et al. (1985) demonstrated that separa-
tion produces a heightened cortisol response. However, this response does not
always correlate well with the behavioural indicators of distress, e.g. the distress
call. For example, infants separated from their mothers but with their mothers in
sight showed higher levels of calling than those who were completely isolated.
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 129

However, plasma cortisol levels were higher for the isolated animals. As these
authors suggest, without the physiological indicators they might have errone-
ously believed that adjacent separation was more stressful than complete isola-
tion (judging from distress calling behaviour alone). Hence, behavioural analysis
alone is likely to be deficient in important respects in this sort of research. This is
as true of work with humans as it is with animals.
The authors also investigated the protective influence of social vs non-social
familiar environments. In one group, the infants were housed in groups of four
infant–mother dyads. The other group was housed as an individual infant–mother
dyad. Infants were then separated in either a novel cage or the home cage. Novel
cages produced a greater cortisol response than familiar cages. However, even a
familiar cage was not particularly protective in terms of the cortisol response in
isolated animals. Coe et al. (1985, p.174) conclude therefore:

Thus, although overt care giving and solicitous behaviour does not appear
to be a prerequisite for a beneficial effect to occur in the home environment,
it does appear that social companionships are essential. Familiarity of the
physical features of the cage was not sufficient for reducing the separation
response of the isolated infants. It should be mentioned that the social com-
panions must be familiar to the infant in order for the beneficial effect to
occur. In another study where infants were separated into an unfamiliar social
group the infants’ separation response was actually aggravated by xenopho-
bic response to potentially threatening conspecifics.

The role of familiar others, alternative care givers (aunts) and known peers is
of crucial importance in the capacity to cope with the distress of separation.
Moreover, these social resources have protective influences on the activation
of the HPAC system. This work has important implications in psychological
research on life events. At present, this area of research is fairly limited, but
given Brown and Harris’s (1978) landmark work in the area, psychobiological
research would seem the next logical step. Moreover, Coe et al.’s work would
seem to point the way to an interesting area of research on home sickness
(Fisher 1988).
This type of research gives us much more data on the value of social support
and offers a new psychobiological angle, especially if biological practitioners are
going to take indices such as cortisol dysfunction as markers of psychopathology
in the absence of concern with social support. It would be very interesting to know
whether those who have low social support demonstrate greater HPAC activity in
the presence of exit life events. As mentioned in Chapter 5, there is some evidence
that the HPAC system is associated with life events in psychiatric disorder (Dolan
et al. 1985).
Coe et al. also bring attention to the possible benefits of short-term HPAC acti-
vation as opposed to the long-term effects. In the short term they believe that
activation of the HPAC system aids the animal in coping with the distress of
130 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

separation. Interestingly, they found that chemical inhibition of cortisol produc-

tion with a substance called metyrapone reduced agitated searching behaviour and
provoked a more characteristic depressive response to separation.

The need to subdivide the separation response

Out of the work on separation has grown increasing recognition that mother–infant
interactions have significant, multiple effects on the child’s developing nervous
system (Weiner 1982; Hofer 1981, 1984). In a fascinating paper, Hofer (1984)
highlights the fact that the experience of separation reveals that different com-
ponents of mother–child interaction have different hidden regulatory functions.
Since separation removes them all in one go, more careful analysis is required to
investigate which aspects of the mother–child interaction govern which aspects of
the infant’s response profile. As already mentioned, the availability of milk affects
one psychobiological system including the immune system, tactile stimulation
another, rocking and movement affects another and nest temperature and mater-
nal warmth affects yet another (Weiner 1982). Although these different response
systems are separable, it is the syndrome of changes, i.e. their pattern in multiple
sub-processes, that is ignited during separation. Evidence clearly suggests that
different aspects of the mother–child interaction affect the developing nervous
system in very different ways.
While it well known that separation of mother from child can have serious
debilitating effects on many peripheral and central biological processes (Reite
et al. 1981; Reite and Field 1985), further work is required to extract the details
of the effects on individual component systems. Moreover, what is fascinating is
that although a mother may be present, i.e. no major separation occurs, neverthe-
less key elements of the interaction may be absent or distorted or badly timed,
i.e. tactile, cuddling, rocking, warmth (temperature), distress call responsiveness,
provision of milk, etc., all of which may result in subsequent difficulties in spe-
cific interpersonal domains in later life. It would seem that the sufficiency of the
mother–child relationship (e.g. cross-modal components, number of separations,
etc.) has important effects on the maturing nervous system (Meyersburg and Post
1979; Hofer 1981). In other words, neuro-connections made during maturation
(especially in the limbic system) are very much influenced by the interactions a
child has with its mediators. That is, while a child is dependent on mediators for
its survival and growth, the nervous system appears particularly open to structural
change in response to interactions with mediators. With maturity and the growth
of competency this openness may change because the role of the parent becomes
less important for survival.
Of particular interest, Hofer (1984) has demonstrated that the acute and chronic
responses to separation are differentially controlled. For example, in rat pups the
protest/separation response can be inhibited if the pup is held with litter mates or
even an unresponsive, anaesthetised mother. However, it was found, surprisingly,
that the more chronic despair state continued to develop in spite of the absence
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 131

of a protest forerunner. Unpublished data by Plimpton (see Hofer 1984) has also
shown that in monkeys, as well as in rats, a mother’s increased need for foraging
for food, which results in more evidence of tension and maternal rejections, did
not affect the level of protest compared to the control group at separation. How-
ever, the influence of the high foraging mothers on the separation response of their
infants differed markedly from controls in despair. These infants became much
more depressed and engaged in less complex behaviours during the second week
of separation, i.e. they showed more chronic despair responses.

One form of attachment or many?

By now the reader will be familiar with the idea that there are multiple compo-
nents to infant–mother attachment behaviour systems. It is also the case that there
are different styles and blends of attachment relationship.
Sociobiologists differ from attachment theorists on the issue of infant–mother
attachment being the template of all affectional relationships. They stress the
point that social bonds are not as homogeneous as attachment theorists tend to
imply. Wenegrat (1984, p.60) has this to say about the matter:

. . . . infants, for example, do not characteristically mate their attachment fig-

ures, nor do adult mates usually maintain proximity in the fashion of child and
mother. That certain behaviours characterize both types of relationship . . .
should not be misconstrued, since these are mixed with other behaviours and
employed to differing ends. Nor can mating, for example, be rationally con-
sidered “attachment with sex added” or the mother/child relationship might
equally well be called “mating without sex”, an obvious absurdity.

Hence, Wenegrat suggests that “proximity maintenance” may actually be a pref-

erable term for the mother–infant social strategy rather than attachment, since it
is avoidance of physical separation that characterises the mother–infant relation-
ship. However, the tendency to disclaim sexual feeling in mother–infant inter-
actions and to deny the infant’s sexuality is almost certainly erroneous (Efron
1985). Furthermore, as we have shown here, the infant–mother attachment sys-
tem is much more than just a proximity maintenance system. In terms of the
model of biosocial goals, by the time of healthy adulthood some harmonisation
and co-ordination of biosocial goals related to the domains of intimacy have
taken place. In adult love we are not only able to elicit care from our partners,
be physically close, cuddle, comfort and copulate, we also know we can have
value by being caring of our partners. Moreover, we may co-operate with our
intimate mates as in the rearing of children. Nor are we always passive but can
be assertive at times and also compete, as in play. Relationships which amplify
only one aspect, e.g. having one member who is predominantly a care elicitor
and the other the care giver, may stunt the growth of the relationship and the
individuals in it.
132 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

Like the sociobiologists, the Harlows are of the view that a number of different
affectional systems operate in adult life:

We are convinced that there are at least five affectional systems in the primate
order: the system of infant-mother affection, mother-infant affection, peer
affection, heterosexual affection in adults and parental affection. We believe
that these systems go through an orderly series of maturational stages and
we also believe that they operate through different behavioral, neural, and
biochemical variables.
(Harlow and Harlow 1965, as quoted
by Reite and Capitanio 1985, p.246)

It may be however, if the theory of biosocial goals is valid, that care eliciting, care
giving and co-operating are sufficient to give rise to the mixture of affectional
styles of adult life. Such heterogeneity raises intriguing questions when applied to
psychopathology. What if there are, indeed, subtle but important differences in the
responses to loss of different affectional relationships? A mother losing a child, a
child losing a mother, a spouse losing a lover, or loss of friends may all give rise to
forms of grief. But if the Harlows are correct, then these “griefs” may be neurally,
biochemically and behaviourally subtly different. Certainly, the skills to reinstate
such losses would vary. It is probably the case that a loss may affect more than one
affectional system. For example, loss of a lover may affect not only heterosexual
affectional bonds but also peer affectional bonds in that the lost person was seen
also as a best friend and affects the manner by which a survivor relates to a friend-
ship system that both once shared (Parkes 1986). Death of a loved child is one of
the most difficult griefs to overcome.
While taking on board the sociobiologist’s view of the genetic potential for
mother–infant conflict, we should not throw the baby out with the bath water.
Elements of early interactional style almost certainly affect later adult styles
(Hazan and Shaver 1987), such as in choice of partners, the capacity for trust
and intimacy, and so on. It should be emphasised again, therefore, that adult
affectional relationships are made up of many elements arising from different
relational styles, primarily parental and peer group (Heard and Lake 1986).
Adult relational styles are influenced by personal developmental history in so
far as individuals may seek out others to act as mediators (parent equivalents)
to make the world safe. Or, others may be sought who are easily controlled and
who do not threaten or compete with a fragile sense of self. From the child’s
point of view, what is learnt is the means to activate parental (i.e. mediating)
responses for the child’s benefit. That is, the child learns: (1) the tactics that
are used in care eliciting and signalling of distress (as applicable to mediators
of the environment) be these complaints, tears, submissiveness, outrage, etc.;
and (2) what to expect from mediators: advice, information, encouragement,
reduction of ambiguities and meaning, etc. Mediators have a very powerful
effect on whether a child comes to view his world as predominantly safe or
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 133

threatening. The latter case will involve attentional sensitivity of the defence
system.
This data, learnt from previous interactional styles, becomes embedded in
the innate structures of care eliciting and forms the core emotional and cogni-
tive schemata which co-ordinate when and what is safe and what is threatening,
and where and how to elicit care, and what to expect as the response from oth-
ers. It provides the operating and linking data between sensory-motor and emo-
tional schemata (Leventhal 1984) which will be embedded in either the safety or
defence systems, that is, either to serve as arousal reducing (safe others available)
or arousal increasing (safe others not available).

Conflict in early relationships

According to sociobiologists, mother and child are each following their own
inclusive fitness strategies. There may be conflict over the parent’s preparedness
to invest in the child all the care that the child seeks. Sociobiologists use such
arguments to explain infanticide and child abuse and are critical of attachment
theorists who locate all child–mother conflict and disharmony within a psycho-
logical domain (Wenegrat 1984). However, evidence clearly demonstrates that
psychological and early learning experiences of the parent, and temperamental
aspects of the child (i.e. factors relating to interactional style) are crucial in deter-
mining whether a genetic potential for conflict is translated into a seriously dis-
turbed relationship.
Nevertheless, this potential for conflict may have important survival advan-
tages to the developing child. What the child attempts to elicit from the parents
may not always be in the best long-term interests of the child. At some point, the
child must learn to give up his reliance on care givers and develop his own coping
capacity. As the child grows, the care giving functions of the parents change to
provide different aspects of psychological care.
A clear example of how child–parent conflict can arise can be seen from a par-
ent’s wish to invest time with other offspring. This may be seen to work in favour
of the child under certain circumstances, for as noted, it may foster independence
and provide the child with siblings to whom he can relate. In other words, the
parents’ refusal to comply with the child’s requests due to the parents’ investment
in other offspring and tasks necessary to support those offspring may be benefi-
cial. Failure to promote independence may have tragic consequences. Indeed our
whole attitude to the amount of parental time (investment) considered to be ideal
has considerably changed over the last centuries (see Kagan 1984).
Goodall (1975) relates the sad story of a young male chimpanzee called Flint
whose elderly mother, Flo, was unable to facilitate such independence in her son.
She was unusually tolerant of his demands for play. Flint was her youngest off-
spring and highly demanding of her time. Although Flint did have a younger sib-
ling, she mysteriously disappeared – possibly killed by Flint himself. Flo did not
actively encourage Flint to find companions with whom to play but submitted to
134 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

this role herself. When Flo died, so much of Flint’s world was lost that he was
unable to adapt to his new situation and reintegrate himself with his peer group or
the group in general. He died of a depressive-like process some three weeks later
having hardly moved from the spot where his mother died.
It is not just inclusive fitness strategies that make for conflict over the amount
of time the child wants invested and the amount the parent is able or willing to
give. High care giving parents who have difficulties coping with their own evalu-
ated guilt of not being a good parent, or who remember their own painful child-
hoods may overly accommodate themselves to their child’s every need. This may
turn mother love into smother love. Adler (1938) noted the problems of the pam-
pered and spoilt child who arrives at adulthood totally ill equipped for life’s social
challenges (rather like poor Flint). In later life the child may continue to seek out
all-powerful others and so be overly dependent and demanding, having failed to
develop adequate or adaptive competitive and co-operative skills and develop a
robust sense of autonomy and value to others. Various newspaper reports carry
stories of China’s high incidence and problems of the “the spoilt child syndrome”,
where it is current policy that families are limited to only one child. The spoilt
child may have narcissistic difficulties (see pages 282, 305–306).

Concluding comments
The capacity of parents to recognise and intervene on their children’s behalf
to promote their survival, represents a quantum leap in the evolution of social
behaviour (MacLean 1985). With the passage of time, many new brain struc-
tures evolved, and were superimposed on the reptilian brain (see Chapter 2). This
made possible increasingly complex and sophisticated child–parent interactions
which were to become increasingly crucial to the infant’s survival and develop-
ment. The communicative patterns necessary to maintain these complex inter-
actions arise from the evolution of sensory-motor patterns, many of which are
active at birth (Leventhal 1984). With maturity and experience of parent–child
interactions, sensory-motor patterns become organised (probably via increased
complex connections within the limbic system) into emotional schemata and
subsequently (via cortical development) cognitive representational models of
self and others.
As the child begins to become aware of himself as a separate being (i.e. develop-
ing self-schemata), his first experience, and hence, the data forming the schemata
of “the other” are derived predominantly from those acting as mediators. That
is, he experiences the other principally in terms of the other’s ability to satisfy
needs and to provide a sense of safety. When this interaction goes well, the infant
will tend to engage those sensory-motor patterns that come to form the basis of
affection towards the other. The infant is innately endowed to target behaviours
to mediators, and to respond to mediators in specific ways. Over time, the child
begins to establish a sense of personal control, probably derived from the ability
to elicit from another responses that are helpful to growth and a sense of safety
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 135

and trust. This facilitates explorative ventures into the outside world. Also, with
increasing maturity, the child develops a greater sense of control and autonomy
such that although he may not be in direct proximity to a safe other, he knows he
could become so should the need arise (Kagan 1984).
Mediators perform two essential functions for the infant. The first relates to the
control of various inputs which have an important impact on the psychobiological
development of the infant (Weiner 1982; Hofer 1984; Tronick et al. 1985; Field
1985). These inputs include food (the constituents of which have important bio-
logical effects), suckling and warmth, physical closeness (which stimulates recep-
tors related to the touch modality) and various physical inputs, e.g. human face
and play objects which have significant effects on the patterns of visual attention,
exploration and internal biological rhythms. However, to be able to engage in any
form of exploration, low levels of arousal are necessary. That is, there has to be
an absence of defensive (self-focussing and threat avoidant) attention. The second
function therefore arises conjointly. That is, in order to facilitate exploration, the
mediator must be able to convey safety to the child and via the interaction, be able
to reduce aversive arousal which is then capable of resetting attentional mecha-
nisms towards exploration. Indeed, various domains of stimuli that the mediator
provides the infant are innately designed to do just this. Especially important are
those stimuli which are transmitted via touch, holding, stroking, massage, and
also emotional expressions and behaviours. These stimuli are so important that
even approximation to them, e.g. terrycloth surrogates, are able to reduce anxiety
(albeit to a limited extent).
The infant is biologically predisposed to interact with mediators in such a way
that mediators become major sources of input and control facilitating the grow-
ing infant’s move towards self-organising, internally controlled, psychobiological
regulation. Furthermore, the interaction between mediators and infant (allowing
for the temperamental differences of each) serves to regulate and articulate emo-
tional and cognitive schemata that will come to control, co-ordinate and affect
arousal thresholds in the defence and safety systems.
The loss or disruption of the primary mediating relationship(s) can, depend-
ing on the species, age and availability of mediator substitutes, cause substan-
tial alteration in the functioning of the CNS (Reite and Field 1985). Separation
appears to cause an acute activation of the defence system, not to the presence of
any tangible threat, but by the removal of a major source of safety. Familiars and
“aunts” can attenuate the degree of this arousal (Coe et al. 1985). The removal of
the mediator appears to render the environment more threatening. Goodall (1975)
points out that the reaction to loss of a mediator (mother) before a certain age has
such a major effect on the infant that its chances of survival are very poor. The
defence response is principally to regain proximity to the safety-conferring pri-
mary mediator. This is characterised by escape to rather than escape from. Here,
we see a switch in attention away from exploration towards searching for and call-
ing to the lost other. Nevertheless, because this behaviour is part of the defence
system (aimed at maximising self-protection and security) other components of
136 Care eliciting and attachment strategies

the defence system may also be activated. If these are “defensive go” routines
then we may see elements of fight and flight, bursts of agitated behaviour and
so on. Hence, the infant may resist (struggle with) others’ (especially strangers’)
efforts to comfort the child. If defensive stop behaviour becomes activated then
more freeze and passivity will dominate the presentation. Furthermore, if no sat-
isfactory relationship is made with a substitute mediator, then profound defensive
stop (despair) behaviour may dominate the presentation; this, in some, is a fatal
switch of state (Goodall 1975).
Severe activation of these defensive routines, causing the nervous system to
radically alter its function as it does, can have permanent effects on the develop-
ing nervous system (Meyersburg and Post 1979; Hofer 1981; Kraemer 1985).
Although the child may appear to make a satisfactory adjustment during later life,
the physiological changes associated with stress, especially loss, may reactivate
hyperarousal in the defence system.
Finally, we should note that the relationship a child shares with its primary
mediators is multi-faceted (Hofer 1984) and influences many aspects of the grow-
ing internalisation of psychobiological control. Maybe no amount of care sub-
stitutes (toys, money) or freedom, autonomy and allowances between the parent
and the child can make up for the lack of a close physical relationship. It is from
our close physical relationships that we learn about the more intimate aspects of
ourselves and can find joy in the arms of another. It is a perceived lack of this
emotional caring that appears overly represented in depression-prone people, as
we shall discuss in the next chapter.

Notes
1 Readers should note that the interactional styles of attachment have been studied by
developmental psychologists and are known to be highly complex. It would be too great
a task to describe these studies here. A good child development text (e.g. Bee 1985)
provides the detail to the general theory outlined here.
2 Even crocodiles show this behaviour. When the infant crocodiles break through their
shells they give out a certain cry. Hearing this, the mother returns to the nest, digs away
the sand covering the eggs and proceeds to put the offspring in her mouth. When first
observed this was thought to be cannabilistic, but in fact she gently carries them to the
water.
3 By care elicitation, I imply a broad definition to take in many components of activity
(proximity seeking, warmth, food, attention, play) which are elicited by the child and,
when forthcoming, promote the growth, development and survival of the child. The
behaviours involved include crying, calling and various behaviours related to directing
care giving attention.
4 I use the term “mother” but it should be borne in mind that this refers primarily to func-
tion. It may be better to speak of the “mothering role” which may be enacted by various
persons including the father, i.e. “mother” here is used as shorthand for “primary care
giver in the mothering role”.
5 It is an interesting fact that human females are almost unique in having evolved breasts,
while most mammals have small nipples. One is reminded of Nietzsche’s comment that
“the female breast is both pleasant and useful.” Whether this evolution of these forms
relates primarily to nursing behaviour or sexual attractiveness is unknown. Certainly,
 Care eliciting and attachment strategies 137

becoming upright and walking on two legs has meant that the sexual (receptive) displays
of females can no longer be given from behind as in animals that walk on four legs.
Furthermore, sexual feelings are located in the female breast but this is not so (as far as
we know) for other primates. Also breasts act as sexual cues to males in a way that does
not appear the case for other primates.
6 Concern with the nature of sexual arousal in early relationships (Hofer 1981, Efron
1985) should not be taken to mean advocacy of parental encouragement (see Chapter 9).
Some young children are interested in guns but no one believes they should be given
the real thing. Part of the concern is to educate as to what is normal so that parents can
respond with sensitivity rather than invoking fear or shame. One young mother told
me how when her young 3-year-old son had cuddled her with an erect penis, she had
immediately jumped out of bed and “smacked him hard” telling him he was dirty. She
would not allow him in her bed again. Another patient told me of how her parents would
never allow her close to them without clothes on and she was never allowed to “touch
herself”. This lady had serious shame problems and was unable to enjoy sex without a
sense of shame.
7 AMPT stands for alpha-methylparatyrosine. This drug inhibits tyrosine hydroxylase
and blocks the production of NA and DA. FA is fusaric acid which inhibits dopamine-
beta-hydroxylase. Since both drugs affect NA production at different points in the syn-
thesis change, their different effects on the separation response are slightly puzzling.
8 Gosling (in press) has given a more theoretical discussion to these issues and distin-
guishes between state, mode and mechanism.
Chapter 7

Care eliciting and theories

of psychopathology

Early interactions with mediators

In highly social animals the need for social others to provide safety, support and
resources is paramount. Humans throughout life continue to show this disposition
to a lesser or greater degree (Heard and Lake 1986). Some individuals have highly
articulated incentive structures which are targetted on a need for an other. Safety
is imputed in a number of channels, including physical comfort, proximity, the
provision of information (e.g. facial cues) and reassurance/approval. The quality
of the relationship that the infant shares with its mediators will have major effects
on the psychobiological maturation of defence and safety systems. The safer the
infant feels in relationship with its mediators, the greater the capacity to liberate
attention to external (explorative) operations.
Safety or defensiveness, therefore, will grow from experiences with media-
tors since mediators will shape not only the unfolding of developmental psycho-
biological pathways but encoded within these will be expectations, attitudes and
affects concerning self in relationship(s). In other words, the experience the infant
has with its mediators will help to shape sensory-motor patterns into emotional
schemata (Leventhal 1984). These sensory-motor patterns will be assembled in
either defence or safety codes. Sroufe and Fleeson (1986, p.52) suggest that what
is carried forward in time is not a separate temperament and a separate inter-
nalised relationship history but a subtle interpenetration of the two:

. . . . Once the infant has been involved in the attachment relationship, its
inherent dispositions are both subsumed and transformed by the relationship.
These dispositions cannot be reclaimed as the infant moves forward to new
relationships. Congenital temperament, could it be assessed, in large part
ceases to exist as a separate entity. An earlier view of the developmental pro-
cess was that, as the infant moved out from the attachment relationship to the
larger social world, he or she took forward congenital temperamental disposi-
tions, plus aspects of the relationship history, like suitcases in each hand. But
what the child brings to new relationships (with peers, teachers and others) is
not an additive combination of dispositions plus relationship history. The child
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 139

brings forward only an organization of feelings, needs, attitudes, expectations,

cognitions and behavior: that is, only the relationship history as processed and
integrated by the developing individual (i.e., everything is in the same suit-
case). One implication of this argument . . . is that relationships with peers and
others formed in early childhood (and later in more complex ways) would be
strongly predicted from the quality of the early primary relationships.

Tyson (1986) alludes to a similar proposition. He contrasts two models of devel-

opment. The first he calls the “Lego” view. This view suggests that development
is built solidly and neatly on top of the preceding structures. It is a brick by brick,
hierarchical, developmental process. In contrast, is the “plasticene” view. In this
view temperament, experience and developmental stages become blended as in a
recipe. For a psychobiological approach, the plasticene model would seem to fit
the facts better. Biologically, dendrites grow, branching takes place and the ner-
vous system increases in its complexity. There is nothing in the nervous system to
suggest the existence of separate stages or a separate temperament and relation-
ship history. Rather, there is an increase in complexity.
Out of the interpenetration of temperament, relationship history and develop-
mental stage grows the emergent capacity for self-reflection and self-knowledge
(Rutter 1987a). The child gradually learns what parts of the social domain are
controllable and in what ways; what he may expect from mediators and what he
may expect mediators to think and feel about him. All this information will tell
the person where safety lies and who or what is threatening, requiring defensive
responses. Sroufe and Fleeson (1986, p.52) put it this way:

With time, a new organization emerges which is not an organization around

the care giver, but an organization around an emergent self. What was dyadic
regulation becomes self-regulation as the child learns he/she can perturb and
reinstate the dyadic system . . . The transition from dyadic organization to
self-organization is of fundamental importance for it profoundly shapes the
direction of future relationships. The young child seeks and explores new
relationships within the framework of expectations for the self and other that
emerges from the primary relationship.

Guidano and Liotti (1983) offer a complex theory of how self-knowledge is artic-
ulated out of early interactional patterns. They suggest a notion which they call
the “protective belt” designed to protect the self from various forms of injury and
hurt. Such views overlap with our psychobiological model based on defence–
safety. That is, the child learns about aspects of self and others that become sig-
nals for defensive as opposed to safety psychobiological activity. It needs to be
stressed therefore, that what happens in dyadic relationships is that emergent emo-
tional schemata become more complexly co-ordinated within defensive–safety
psychobiological functioning. The greater the responsiveness of parents, the more
secure they may enable the infant to be in the world. The greater the security, the
140 Care eliciting and psychopathology

less likely it is that defensive patterns of social interaction (fight, flight, submis-
sion, etc.) will be articulated in later self-defining cognitive processes. Hence, it
can be suggested that non-responsive or hostile mediating will tend (probably via
classical conditioning routes) to amplify and modify defensive psychobiological
activation related to certain social signals. In this chapter, we engage psychopa-
thology and psychotherapeutic concepts rather than giving detailed discussion of
the fascinating and very large literature on child development. However, in order
to light our way a brief overview of some of the useful data regarding early child–
mediator interactions is given.

Styles of interaction
Considerable work has examined the quality of infant–mother (mediator) rela-
tionships. One of the most researched paradigms has been the infant’s response
to separation (Ainsworth et al. 1978). Sroufe and Fleeson (1986) suggest that
the behaviours of infants in these situations represent a test of the relationship
between child and care giver. The general procedure is to stress the infant in vari-
ous ways, usually by brief separations, and then observe the behaviour of the
child during the separation and on the care giver’s return. In brief, the behaviour
of infants can be classified into three basic groups. Sroufe and Fleeson present a
useful table depicting these divisions. These are given in Table 7.1.
Based on a review of a number of studies, Campos et al. (1983) suggest that
62% of children tested in this way meet the criteria for “secure”, 23% “avoidant”
and 15% “anxious”). These patterns may vary with parents, i.e. a secure attach-
ment style to a mother may not be mirrored to a father. Moreover, there have been
some critical reviews of some of the conclusions derived from the strange situa-
tion methodology (Kagan 1984; Lamb et al. 1984). Be this as it may, Bowlby’s
(1969, 1973, 1980) theory has been used to explain anxious styles as reflecting
protest, and the avoidant as detached.
What we may be observing here is differences in the psychobiological acti-
vation of defence–safety systems. Secure infants seem able to use mediators to
reinstate safety and reduce arousal, often with physical contact, if threatened or
anxious. Visual cues also provide measures of safety, as does the presence of
trusted others. This data would seem to mirror work on cortisol responses to sepa-
ration (Coe et al. 1985). The capacity for the infant to be able to use the mother
to reduce its arousal is of major significance. It means the child can be calmed
quickly and thereby redirect its attention to the important tasks of exploration
(e.g. safety). Anxiously attached children, however, do not seem to gain the same
arousal reduction properties from their care givers. Clearly, the coping response
remains targetted to the mediator (i.e. the anxious child remains in a state of
clinging to the mother). But somehow the (normal) innately activated response
to the presence of the mother (arousal reduction) does not seem to occur. It is
as if the mediators of these children are both able to provide safety cues and yet
continue to activate (or at least fail to turn off) the defence system at the same
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 141

Table 7.1 Patterns of Attachment

Pattern A: Anxious/Avoidant Attachment

A. Exploration independent of caregiver
1. readily separate to explore during preseparation
2. little affective sharing
3. affiliative to stranger, even when caregiver absent (little preference)
B. Active avoidance upon reunion
1. turning away, looking away, moving away, ignoring
2. may mix avoidance with proximity
3. avoidance more extreme on second reunion
4. no avoidance of stranger
Pattern B: Infants Secure in Their Attachment
A. Caregiver as secure base for exploration
1. readily separate to explore toys
2. affective sharing of play
3. affiliative to stranger in mother’s presence
4. readily comforted when distressed (promoting a return to play)
B. Active in seeking contact or interaction upon reunion
1. If distressed
(a) immediately seek and maintain contact
(b) contact is effective in terminating distress
2. If not distressed
(a) active greeting behaviour (happy to see caregiver)
(b) strong initiation of interaction
Pattern C: Anxious/Resistant Attachment
A. Poverty of exploration
1. difficulty separating to explore; may need contact even prior to separation
2. wary of novel situations and people
B. Difficulty settling upon reunion
1. may mix contact seeking with contact resistance (hitting, kicking, squirming,
rejecting toys)
2. may simply continue to cry and fuss
3. may show striking passivity

Source: Sroufe and Fleeson (1986). With kind permission Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc.

time. There is some work suggestive that the relationship history of these children
shows marked interference on the part of mothers. Mothers tend to interfere with
ongoing explorative (safety-go) activities and impose their own sense of control
and order over and above the child’s. In this sense, the mother would be both a
safety signal and an interference signal producing powerful conflict. Interestingly,
142 Care eliciting and psychopathology

we also noted the fact that mediators who are able to entrain themselves to the
child’s psychobiological rhythms have a different psychobiological impact in
terms of rhythmic control, than mediators who do not (see Chapter 6).
The behaviour of the avoidant children is most interesting and I would like
to offer a couple of thoughts here. First, these children seem able to explore
and show little preference for strangers or care givers. It seems to me that
these children may not be relating to their mediators with the usual attachment
systems but rather may use power and rank as the organisational structures of
their social behaviour with the parent. It is as if the parent has come to activate
the same classes of behaviour that might be observed in social relationships
based on rank evaluations. In other words, the child responds to the parent
as if the parent were a dominant to be avoided. We note the same class of
behaviour such as gaze avoidance, proximity avoidance and so on that is noted
for low-status animals. In relation to dominants the question would be: “Why
should a mediator who, biologically, should activate safety, come to be seen as
threatening?”
Some evidence for this view may be gleaned from Sroufe and Fleeson (1986).
They point out that secure children paired with avoidant children result in high
levels of interactional aggression (power behaviour), i.e. there seems more hos-
tile, rather than friendly, dominance in their interactional style. This was not the
case for secure children matched with secure children who engaged in much more
co-operative play behaviours, or for the secure, matched with anxious children.
Sroufe and Fleeson also review work suggestive of the fact that aggressive chil-
dren come from parental relationships marked by aggression, power, rejection and
marital discord. In terms of the theory proposed here, these patterns of interac-
tion may call forth and recruit interpersonal schemata which are not derived from
attachment systems at all, but are derived from rank (dominance system). In other
words, the innate response repertoires encoded in the brain structures that control
dominance behaviour become articulated in these early relationships. Such data
may explain the connection between children with a history of avoidant relation-
ships who often become high status seekers and who use power aggressively.
Basically, the problem for the child here is to avoid hostile or critical parents
while at the same time attempting to maintain status by exercising control over
others.1
We are only just beginning to understand how developmental processes interact
with later attachment styles. Hazan and Shaver (1987) have proposed a theory of
love based on Bowlby’s theory of attachment. They suggest that the dimensions
of anxious attached, avoidant and securely attached do mirror later affectional
styles. However we may wish to organise the data, it does seem to me that the
central dynamic here is related to the activation and amplification of defensive
and safety systems. Many theories of psychopathology, as we shall see, stress
the importance of lack of adequate of mediators (significant others), especially in
childhood, for the development of vulnerability to mental disorder. In the next few
sections, we review some of these theories, but first some cautions.
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 143

Some cautions
Development–environment interactions are of course complex (Sroufe and Rut-
ter 1984).2 When we try to understand how innate biological systems become
articulated into psychological systems mediating self–other schemata we run into
some pretty formidable problems. Linking evolved attachment systems to styles
of relating is a case in point. There are major historical and cultural differences in
the perception of the importance of the infant–mother relationship (Kagan 1984).
Some cultures use multiple care takers, for example.
There are probably some key elements of the infant–mediator relationship
which make for a good outcome. These are: (1) mediator responsiveness and
availability giving a child a sense of control; (2) mediators who are sensitive to
the child’s needs and use innate safety signals (cuddling, holding, etc.); and (3)
mediators who provide familiarity, predictability and above all, safety. Training
mothers in these skills may be very beneficial (Trotter 1987).
On the other hand, one should not ignore the role of infant temperament as a
shaper of parental responding (Kagan 1984). To use Anna Freud’s phrase, “Babies
are born themselves.” Irritability, crying, soothability, vigour of feeding, sleep-
wake cycles, temperature control are all characteristics that vary from the first day
of life. The biological environment in the womb preceding birth (Hofer 1981), the
ease or trauma of birth (Grof 1985) in addition to genes, are all possible sources
of individual variation. Kagan (1984) suggests that some infants and children are
more inhibited (i.e. restrained, watchful and gentle), whereas others are rather
more uninhibited (free, energetic and spontaneous). Stevens (1982) has presented
a more interactional model. He has shown that different infants in a Greek orphan-
age preferred different nurses to care for them in spite of being assigned nurses
by the nursing hierarchy. It may be that the more inhibited the temperament of
the child, the less active the desired care giver, whereas the reverse may be true
for less inhibited children, i.e. the holding environment should match the child’s
temperament. Furthermore, children within the same family can experience their
upbringing quite differently (Plomin and Daniels 1987).
The way in which significant others handle a child’s confrontation with trauma
(e.g. loss of a mother) can matter as much, if not more so, than the trauma itself
(Rutter 1987b). Few seriously doubt that repeated separations (loss of support-
ive mediators) are undesirable. Although this dynamic is probably at its most
important during early life, it does not cease to be important later in life (Heard
and Lake 1986). From the mix of temperament and relationship history, children
become adults with articulated self–other schemata to guide them in their inter-
personal life (Rutter 1987a). In general terms, experience with mediators provides
the context of learning what is safe outside (authority, peers, lovers), and what
is safe inside (aggression, love, need, anxiety, helplessness), what is threatening
outside (requiring defensive or concealing manouevres) and what is threatening
inside. At some point the child has learnt to recognise and evaluate aspects of him-
self as conferring safety (e.g. strength, friendliness) or threat (e.g. loss of control)
144 Care eliciting and psychopathology

(Gilbert and Trower 1990). These schemata, in their turn, are embedded within
the safety or defence systems and as such co-ordinate attention toward or away
from threat. (At time of going to press a recent series of papers in this area has
been edited by Peterson 1987.)
There is a general consensus that a predisposition to suffering can arise from
an over-reliance on mediators to make the world safe. This reliance has been well
examined by many theorists. We begin a brief look at how amplified care-eliciting
biosocial incentives set up the individual for suffering. Our journey begins with
the existentialists.

Theories of vulnerability

Existential theories
A useful general description of neurosis arising from maladaptive care-eliciting
endeavours is offered by the existentialist therapist, Yalom (1980). He refers to
an interactional style of some of his patients which he aptly labelled “pursuit of
the ultimate rescuer”. This he contrasted with a different interactional style which
he labelled “pursuit of specialness”. The label, pursuit of the ultimate rescuer
(henceforth called pursuer) captures the essentials of the problem. Unlike many
(but not all) of the approaches we shall be examining, Yalom does not see this
style as specifically related to depressive disorders – a view I share. Existential
thinking is also unique in that it stresses death anxiety (i.e. the issue of survival
evaluative concerns) as central to the pursuer’s difficulties. Indeed, over a third of
Yalom’s book is concerned with the issue of death awareness and death anxiety.
While it is true that Freud played with the idea of a death instinct and Klein pos-
ited the existence of innate fears of annihilation, only existentialists have really
made death anxiety a central part of neurosis theory. Cognitive theorists are aware
that base schemata may indeed relate to beliefs like: “I need others to survive” and
of course survival advantages are implicit to attachment theory. Panic disorder is
believed by cognitive therapists to be a form of death anxiety in so far as they see
the misattribution of physical sensations to ideas of heart attack or disease in some
patients as the main cause of panic.
Existentialists see awareness of vulnerability and anxieties about one’s finite-
ness as crucial to the construction of meaning and life goals. The avoidance of
confronting one’s finiteness is a central issue for pursuers. Of course, ontogenti-
cally, the mother really does protect the infant from death, but if one continues to
believe in this capacity into adult life, very serious problems may result. Power-
ful beliefs can be developed and articulated in adulthood which emphasise the
important role a significant other plays in one’s survival. Infants, of course, can-
not articulate such beliefs but adults can. Guided by these death-defying beliefs,
individuals may fail to individuate, or move on to become more autonomous and
meaning-creating in a life that has a beginning and an end. From fear of losing the
protection of a significant other, competitiveness may be inhibited; submission
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 145

and masochism are preferred tactics together with a denial of personal compe-
tency and power. The individual is not free to create meaning for himself but has
it created for him by the security of allowing control to rest with another.
Yalom’s depiction of pursuers eloquently details the distortions in the devel-
opment of the personality, life goals and incentives that occur. The incentive
structure is highly focussed on one goal – care elicitation or access to a potential
rescuer. Yalom also gives a very fine analysis to the distinction between need-full
and need-free love. This covers a wide domain of philosophical discourse on the
dynamics of relating. Few can come away from Yalom’s book without enrich-
ment. Whether one adheres to existentialism or not, this work is of great value to
those practising psychotherapy.

Ego analytic theories

Ego analytic theories arose from the work of Alfred Adler (1870–1937), Bibring
(1953) and other analytic theorists such as Rado and Jacobson. Arieti and Bempo-
rad (1980) have articulated a theory of depression which distinguishes two types
of depressive vulnerability. These are labelled “dominant other” and “dominant
goal”. They suggest that individuals whose vulnerability is based on the pursuit
of a dominant other are excessively reliant on the other as a source of meaning
and self-esteem. In talking about these individuals, Arieti and Bemporad (1980,
pp.1360–1361) say:

They do not experience satisfaction directly from effort but only through an
intermediary, who gives or withholds rewards. They have formed an imag-
ined agreement with the important other that may be called a “bargain rela-
tionship” . . ., in which the individual forgoes the independent derivation of
gratification in return for the continuance of nurturance and support of the
esteemed other. This pattern of relating was initiated by the parent during the
childhood of the predepressive individual but in later life the individual will
reinstitute similar relationships in a transferential manner. Other characteris-
tics of this type of depressive personality are clingingness, passivity, manipu-
lativeness and avoidance of anger. These character traits may be seen as the
means by which the individual attempts to extract support from the needed
other as well as to ensure continuation of the relationship.

Note the role that Arieti and Bemporad see for the intermediary and mediator.
Again, it can be emphasised that there is a biological preparedness for such behav-
iour. This however, through the parental interactional styles has become highly
amplified and there has been a failure to engage other aspects of the person’s
nature. Psychobiological regulators have somehow not developed robust internal
control (e.g. self-reward from achievement, autonomy).
As with existential theorists there is emphasis on the failure to individuate and
develop autonomy. In this presentation, I would suggest that this is a failure to
146 Care eliciting and psychopathology

harmonise the other biosocial goals and strategies within the potentials of that
person’s nature. Key cognitive elements for the organisation of social competitive
or cooperative enterprises are missing and so can not be utilised to engage the
world in a mature and assertive way.

Analytic theories
Blatt and his colleagues (Blatt 1974; Blatt et al. 1982) suggest two types of
depressive vulnerability. In their scheme of things they suggest that the first type
reflects an anaclitic dependent type of vulnerability which when manifested in a
depression is characterised by feelings of helplessness and weakness and by fears
of being abandoned. The individual wishes to be cared for, loved and protected.
This, Blatt contrasts with what he calls introjective, self-critical or a guilt type of
depression which he believes is developmentally more advanced and character-
ised by feelings of inferiority, guilt and worthlessness. There is a sense in which
the individual must compensate for having failed to live up to expectations of
standards. The self-critical type is very much in line with Bibring’s (1953) for-
mulation of depression as an ego state. (See Zuroff and Mongrain 1987 for recent
research on this model.)
Recently Birtchnell (1988) has suggested that various forms of pathology arise
from developmental difficulties. There is a failure to separate from parents and
family and to establish a working representation of self which can confer safety
to the self in the absence of these attachment figures or their substitutes. Like
other theorists, Birtchnell suggests that these people have a tendency to relate to
others in a domain of inferiority, i.e. access to nurturant objects seems essential
to maintain a favourable estimate of RHP. It is important, I believe, to see how
the attachment dynamic becomes distorted into evaluations of relative ranking
(inferior–superior) when adaptive separation does not occur.

Cognitive theories
Beck (1983; Beck et al. 1985) proposed that there exist specific personality
styles which may be responsible for vulnerability to depression. The two styles
are labelled the “socially dependent” style (sociotrophy), and the “autonomous”
style. The socially dependent style is again that of a seeker of mediators in much
the same way as is suggested by Yalom and Arieti and Bemporad. Because Beck
has given the most precise and articulate conceptualisation of the characteristics
of the socially dependent type, these will be quoted in full. To do less would lose
the essential qualities that Beck outlines. Beck (1983, p.275) suggests that the
specific characteristics of the socially dependent personality are:

1 Needs people for safety, help, gratification.

2 Wants stability of relationship to ensure steady flow of supplies and other
interpersonal factors.
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 147

3 Depends on relationship to ensure safety and prevent the pain of social

isolation (therefore requires stability and predictability).
4 The concerns regarding health and fears of getting lost require an access
to a nuturant figure.
5 Rejection is worse than aloneness – particularly if loneliness can be
compensated by some access to a nurturant figure; rejection represents
severing of the tie to the nurturant figure (abandonment).
6 Needs reassurance continually to make sure that the pipeline is still open
and operating (“Do you love me?”, “Can I call you when I need you?”).
7 Cannot take any risks that might lead to alienation and closing down of
pipelines, e.g. asserting self with significant others.
8 Rejection by another person leads to loss of confidence in opportunity
or ability to get supplies. It also diminishes self-esteem in that the indi-
vidual sees self as having lost the attributes that will attract people to
provide what he feels he needs.
9 Inclined to take out insurance to protect against alienation, isolation and
sickness, etc. (e.g. wide circle of friends, acquaintances, associates who
are pledged to come to his assistance).
10 Does not want to take chances because he does not feel that he can cope
with unexpected eventualities (therefore avoids “strange places”; is re-
luctant to express hostility or simple assertion).
11 Obtains pleasure from receiving.
(Reprinted with kind permission of
Raven Press and A T Beck)

Beck goes on to compare and contrast the different symptoms and styles in
therapy that the autonomous and the socially dependent type exhibit. Once again,
however, one is struck in this presentation by the fact that basically we are talking
about care-eliciting endeavours which are innately coded for (for a brief discus-
sion of a questionnaire designed to measure sociotrophy see pages 294–295).

Overview
This list is far from exhaustive. Indeed, there are many psychoanalytic models
that emphasise relational/structural issues (Greenberg and Mitchell 1983). New
theories and integrations, concerning self–other relationships in psychopathology,
are appearing constantly. Two very important models are Ryle’s (1982) cognitive-
analytic integration and Heard and Lake’s (1986) development of attachment
theory and object relations theory. It is not possible to go into all these models
here unfortunately, but I hope enough has been said to support the view that many
approaches to psychopathology stress the role of mediating relationships.
I think these theories speak for themselves and give credence to the fact that
care eliciting and the beliefs that have been built around it do indeed present indi-
viduals with vulnerability to psychopathology. When the care-eliciting system
148 Care eliciting and psychopathology

is activated (threatened) we will see the innate fears of aloneness abandonment,

searching for other caring attention coming to the fore. It may be that all the above
relate to the classification of “anxious attachment” (see pages 141–143).

Care eliciting and psychopathology

Anxiety
There is increasing interest in the idea that some anxiety conditions might relate to
the activation of innate alarm reactions evolved from loss of an attachment object
(Bowlby 1969, 1973; Klein 1981). There is no doubt that separation is a stressful
and biologically disruptive event (Chapter 6) and this would be more so for those
individuals with high sociotropic needs. Recently, there has been some evidence
that as many as 27% of patients with generalised anxiety disorder show non-
suppression of cortisol to the dexamethasone suppression test (Schweizer et al.
1986). We also know that the physiological effects of separation are somewhat
reduced if it occurs in the presence of familiar others (Coe et al. 1985). Klein
(1981) has proposed that the activation of the distress call accounts for panic
disorder and agoraphobic disorder. This view equates the mechanisms of separa-
tion distress (protest) to panic. There are, however, other innate-like reflexes that
produce rapid shifts of arousal that might fit the bill, such as the falling reflex or
the drowning reflex. Indeed, it has been argued (Morris 1977) that part of human
evolution was aquatic. The problem of “getting one’s breath” may relate to some
primitive water-adapted reflex. Be this as it may, the idea that distress call mecha-
nisms mediate panic and agoraphobia would need to account for the focus on
death anxiety (e.g. heart attack) in these patients.
Recently Beck (personal communication) has suggested that there may be inter-
nal scanners and attentional mechanisms that monitor physical state and activate
arousal when there is a mismatch between expected and actual state. This may cue
appraisal of “physical internal danger” (e.g. I am going to have a heart attack, or
this is a tumour). It may be that under these conditions the chosen response would
be to seek out others (care eliciting) to protect from the consequences of possible
immobilisation, or to obtain help for a disease. Indeed in chimpanzees, mothers
may respond to the distress call of their offspring even when they are well into
adulthood (Goodall 1975). For example, Goodall notes the case of a mother who
raced to her son’s aid (he was eighteen) when she heard his call consequent to him
falling and hurting his arm. Many factors or triggers may activate the fast arousal
systems which call for speedy action. Hence, panic relates to sudden increases
of arousal and this suggests some direct life-threat defence system (e.g. the anti-
predatory defence system? – see Chapter 3). However, one of the paradoxes of
panic is that although there is an increase in arousal, these increases are small (e.g.
heart rate may go up in the order of ten beats per minute) and nothing like the
major shifts of arousal seen for example in racing car drivers or actors on a first
night. This points to the fact that it is the interpretation of changes in arousal that
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 149

relate to arousal and sensory information (e.g. mismatches between expected and
actual sensory information) and not the degree of arousal, that accounts for panic.
Indeed the subjective experience of fear is only weakly associated with physical
arousal (Weiner 1985).
An alternative hypothesis is therefore that panic anxiety represents a distorted
perception of physiological cues such that the individual believes that he is phys-
ically in danger (Beck et al. 1985; Clark 1986). This view might suggest that
misperception of sensory data operates a feedback system producing acceleration
of “defensive-go”. There is increasing evidence for this idea (Breier et al. 1986).
There is little doubt that safety seeking tends to flow in the wake of severe anxiety
and this safety seeking may well be directed towards places, objects or people.3
However, the evaluation which triggers panic is usually, although by no means
always, survival related. These kinds of panic should be distinguished from anxi-
ety that is not related to physical survival. Safe other seeking did indeed evolve
as defence against predators and physical danger to the self (Chapter 3), but can
operate for the control of many anxiety conditions. Consider the following clini-
cal examples.
Mrs A was very conscious of her self-presentation. She had had a very critical
mother and her husband would often accuse her of behaving like “Lady Muck”.
Freedom and control were central concerns for her and she could be quite force-
ful in a therapy group. When she went out, she was frightened of becoming ill
(vomiting or needing to use the toilet). Typical feared situations were queues,
hairdressers, restaurants and so on. She was frightened of being taken to hospital,
but here again, the fear was of being seen as a nuisance. Her internal self–other
schemata were related to social others as agents of ridicule, harm and injury.
The source of the anxiety was primarily social others. This appeared to be a
form of social phobia based on shame proneness leading to agoraphobia (see
Gilbert and Trower 1990). Panic attacks were related to feelings of loss of bodily
control which would provoke humiliation (not death); escape was to remove
herself from “the stare of others”. As for many agoraphobics, her husband and
children could act as safety agents partly because she could direct them to take
her home if necessary. As far as I could work out, her husband readily did this
because it gave him a sense of superiority over her and kept her dependent on
him. Although her focus of attention was on bodily sensations, the perceived
threat was coming from other people.
Mrs B had a much earlier onset of agoraphobia than Mrs A. She was much less
concerned with her social presentation. However, when she went out she was
also afraid of losing control but in her case the themes were different. Her main
concern was with dying or going crazy (losing her mind) and being forever cut off
from her loved ones. She did not worry about humiliation or “the stare of others”
as much as about death and abandonment. Safe others were used not to protect her
from the stare of others but for maintaining a source of help that would stop her
from dying or getting lost (physically and mentally). Panic attacks could also be
brought on by certain situations such as shops, buses, queues, etc.
150 Care eliciting and psychopathology

Mrs A found the hyperventilation test unpleasant, whereas Mrs B had symp-
toms of panic associated with tearfulness. A key difference between the two ladies
was to do with their ability to be alone. Mrs A was not unduly concerned by being
alone; Mrs B frequently had panic attacks and episodes of acute dysphoria when
alone. Aloneness acted as a stimulus for fears of death and abandonment. To me
Mrs A’s fears related to schemata to do with ranking, while Mrs B’s fear related to
schemata of abandonment and death. In some patients both themes exist.
One obsessional lady was prone to severe anxiety if alone at night. She believed
that she might take a knife and murder her elderly neighbours. The presence of her
husband not only distracted her, but also acted as a safety signal in that she believed
that he would stop her from doing this deed. Hence, the evaluation or trigger to
anxiety should be clearly separated from the coping response. The problem with
the distress call model of panic is that evaluation and coping response are entwined.
Looking at the response side to anxiety, reassurance seeking occurs in many forms
of psychopathology from agitated depression through to hypochondriasis. A recent
study has shown some success with hypochondriasis by treating the panic compo-
nent (Noyes et al. 1986). Hypochondriacal patients also show hypersensitivity to
internal sensory cues (see Barsky and Klerman 1983; Kellner 1985). Hypochon-
driacal patients often seek a lot of reassurance and can panic if alone. Many of the
problems with the “panic as distress call” model have been well put in an excellent
review by Margraf et al. (1986). Their paper covers the many details of the model
more comprehensively than we could do here. The only point I wish to make is
that safe other seeking is common in anxiety conditions and being cut off from
these safety signals often increases anxiety. However, some panics are specifically
focussed on death anxiety but this is not the same as conspecific threats.
Most panics represent a hypersensitivity to the self (the self in physical danger),
derived from sensory information. Much avoidance and safety-seeking behaviour
is secondary to fear of panic by exposing the self to potential situations in which
the probability of panic is increased and/or access to safety is reduced (Breier
et al. 1986). It does seem as if either for cognitive (Beck et al. 1985; Clark 1986),
biological (Klein 1981) or behavioural (Wolpe 1987) reasons, there is hypersensi-
tivity in some positive feedback system which both accentuates the perception of
self as in danger and activates the physiological defensive response. The capacity
to exert personal control over this feedback system by altered breathing is benefi-
cial (Clark et al. 1985), as is desensitisation with carbon dioxide (Griez and Van
Der Hout 1983, 1986; Wolpe 1987). These approaches involve changing either
cognitions and/or conditioned responses to sensory data and stimuli. For a major
review of theories of anxiety see Tuma and Maser (1985).

Overview
In this view, just about any event, be it change in sensory information, loss, exces-
sive stress, low self-efficacy or loss of self-esteem may shift the defence system
via common biological routes and set the platform for anxiety and panic (e.g. the
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 151

defensive drift hypothesis – Chapter 5). Once we begin to recognise that a whole
array of events can sensitise the defence system (reduce the sense of safety), then
it becomes easier to see how depression and a multitude of anxiety difficulties
can often coexist (Tyrer 1986). We can also explain the increase in irritability in
many of these conditions since, presumably, fight, as one of the innate defence
responses, will also get primed to some degree. Indeed, anecdotal reports suggest
that anger can sometimes be a response to “feeling anxious” or under threat. Fur-
thermore, being struck with an anxiety condition can produce the perception that
an individual is going to be limited in their life’s achievement which could have
a depressive, knock-on effect (especially for autonomous individuals). What we
are suggesting is that many events can activate the physical danger system, one
of which may be loss. However, the distress call is a response to this activation.
Some individuals in panic states do not make a distress call but hide and withdraw.
Furthermore, freeze and faint are not characteristic of separation distress but they
are in panic. Freeze and faint are noted to sudden dangers (derived from sensory
inputs, see Chapter 3) to the self and again suggest a more primitive (early) anxi-
ety system than separation loss. Furthermore, the distress call in social animals
is elicited to physical danger; it is a “rescue me” call. Hence, although separation
does ignite significant distress in the child, from an evolutionary perspective it is
the issue of rescue from a (perception of) danger that is of special interest.

Depression

Loss of a significant other and safety

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensa-
tion is like being afraid; the same fluttering in the stomach, the same restless-
ness, the yawning; I keep on swallowing.
At other times it feels like being mildly drunk or concussed. There is a sort
of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what
anyone says or perhaps, it is hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting.
Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is
empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.

So begins C. S. Lewis’s observation of his own grief (Lewis 1961). There is

no doubt that loss of a significant attachment object is one life event that acti-
vates the defence system. Separation does produce major changes in central and
peripheral biological systems (Parkes 1986). Interestingly, C. S. Lewis appeared
to have invested a fantasy God with safety. Throughout A grief observed we see
Lewis in a constant struggle to renegotiate that God back into being a safe, lov-
ing, protecting other. Lewis lost his mother in childhood – an event that affected
him deeply.
From the theorists we have discussed previously, there is a general view that for
some individuals safety appears to be invested in the hands of others. The world
152 Care eliciting and psychopathology

is made safe by access to mediators rather than by self-efficacy as such. Like the
infant, it is not so much the world that must be controlled but access to the care
giver. As in Lewis’s case care givers may be fantasy figures (e.g. God). Cues sig-
nalling loss of control or access to safe places or safe others would interact with
fears of becoming anxious and abandoned. Appraisal and coping responses are
essentially mixed and interactive. As with self-efficacy, to avoid anxiety one does
not need to exert control to feel non-anxious but to know that one could exercise
it if necessary. With the loss of the relied-on other, this insurance is lost. With
this the individual may find himself sensitive to many archetypal fears. It is not
unknown for loss to activate fears of the dark or strangers or exploring.
In 1984 I suggested that there were three key themes underlying depressive
evaluations. These are to do with abandonment and status control:

1 Abandonment to die through physical injury or old age (a theme also com-
mon in some panic and hypochondriacal patients).
2 Abandonment by a significant other. In non-pathological cases abandonment
by a significant other manifests as grief. Horowitz et al. (1980) suggest that
pathological grief results when loss of the significant other reinstates old
unresolved negative views of self and role relationships.
3 Abandonment through loss of status resulting in loss of control over social
outcomes.

Beck et al. (1985) have given a number of distinctions between anxiety and
depression. In depression the appraisals are generally more pervasive, global and
exclusive whereas in anxiety they tend to be more selective and specific. The
depressed patient sees the future as blank; he focusses on the fact that he has
lost. The anxious patient does not see loss in this way, but sees loss or injury as a
potential future event which would increase his vulnerability. The anxious patient
does not regard mistakes as irrevocable, whereas the depressed patient does and
also takes mistakes as indicative of his bad self.
Price (1988) however, relates depression to the yielding subroutine of agonistic
behaviour. How might this be reconciled with the abandonment idea? As dis-
cussed, there is evidence that the sociotropic or dependent relies on the dominant
other to increase self-esteem (Horowitz et al. 1980). The person prospers and
maintains status via the other. Yalom (1980) calls this need-full love. With the
removal of the dominant other there may be a release of the submissive psycho-
biological routines. In this sense the person loses social attention-holding poten-
tial since this was invested in the other (now lost). In psychobiological terms, this
acts as a loss of status. Such views mirror Freud’s (1917) eloquent distinction
of mourning and melancholia as empty world and empty self. The distinction
between grief and depression therefore becomes one of degree to which loss also
releases yielding and submissive (low status) activity (see also Gilbert 1984).
In addition of course, loss of a significant other(s) cuts us from our confidant(s),
those individuals with whom we have played our significant life roles and invested
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 153

much of our social incentives (Oatley and Bolton 1985; Parkes 1986). Many of
the complications of grief relate to the way the self and the (lost) other existed for
each other. Severe homesickness can produce marked changes in state, but this
does not always relate to self-esteem (Fisher 1988).

Developmental issues revisited

So far we have examined developmental issues pertaining to early infant/child
relationships, theories of vulnerability relating to an individual’s sociotropic
needs or needs for a mediator, and looked briefly at some theories of anxiety and
depression. These, of course, are not in any way comprehensive but merely indi-
cate that various forms of psychopathology can be ignited by threat to care elicit-
ing and attachment. There are, of course, many theories that relate vulnerability
for psychopathology to early parent–child relations (e.g. Bowlby 1969, 1973;
Guidano and Liotti 1983). Indeed, as far as attachment is concerned, Bowlby
(1977a, p.206) is very specific on the matter:

The key point of my thesis is that there is a strong causal relationship between
an individual’s experiences with his parents and his later capacity to make
affectional bonds and that certain common variations in that capacity, mani-
festing themselves in marital problems and trouble with children as well as
in neurotic symptoms and personality disorders, can be attributed to certain
common variations in the ways that parents perform their roles.

He further suggests that many psychiatric patients, including neurotic patients,

have histories which include the following:

. . . one or both parents being persistently unresponsive to the child’s care

eliciting behavior and/or actively disparaging and rejecting;
discontinuities of parenting, occurring more or less frequently, including
periods in hospital or institutions;
persistent threats by parents not to love a child, used as a means of control-
ling him;
threats by parents to abandon the family, used either as a method of disciplin-
ing the child or as a way of coercing a spouse;
threats by one parent either to desert or even kill the other or else to commit
suicide (each of them commoner than might be supposed);
inducing a child to feel guilty by claiming his behaviour is or will be responsible
for the parent’s illness or death.
(pp.206–207)

There are, in fact, many other ways parents can have detrimental effects on
their child’s psychological development. They may attempt to be overly regulat-
ing of the child’s own biological rhythms (e.g. feeding, sleeping and attentional).
154 Care eliciting and psychopathology

They may provide a poverty of stimulation (neglect), an excess of hostility

(Rohner 1986) or abuse (see Chapter 9). Later in childhood, parents may tend
to emphasise the dangers of the world which may be modelled by an anxious
or ill parent. They may be overprotective or collude with excessive avoidant
behaviour in the child, holding back the child’s development of autonomy and
exploration. Alternatively, parents may emphasise the danger within the self. The
child may be labelled as frail, illness-prone, sensitive or weak, this again being
a form of overprotectiveness. Finally, the parent may insist that the child fulfils
the parent’s needs for love and attention. This is especially noted in dependent
mothers with absent (physically and/or emotionally) spouses. In these cases, the
child may have difficulty separating (e.g. spending time with age peers) and be
guilt prone and anxious for the parent left in the home. There can be desires to
return home not because the child feels anxious for himself but because the child
feels anxious for the left parent. Here, the anxiety is for what has happened in
the child’s absence.
As mentioned earlier, Heard and Lake (1986) have articulated a very compre-
hensive theory regarding the attachment dynamic throughout life. Guidano and
Liotti (1983) have also articulated Bowlby’s attachment theory from a cognitive
constructionalist’s position. They have tried to outline specific dynamics in early
relationships as relating to specific disorders. Although interesting, more research
is required. In fact, we know that anxiety and depressive conditions are often
mixed and the neat distinctions that Guidano and Liotti suggest may not be fully
supported by such evidence. There is however, a growing research literature try-
ing to identify the early emotional life of depressed and anxiety-prone subjects.
Generally, retrospective studies, asking patients about their early life, confirm
an impression of emotional impoverishment, high control and guilt proneness.
Burbach and Borduin (1986) have offered a major review and methodological
critique of many of these studies pertaining to depression. It appears that the data
must be treated cautiously. Moreover, there is increasing recognition that children
are part of a family and they experience their upbringing in different ways (Plo-
min and Daniels 1987). Relationship to siblings and peers and frequent moves of
school can also present difficulties. The interaction between early life, develop-
mental stages and vulnerability to psychopathology is very complex (Sroufe and
Rutter 1984).
Recently, Perris et al. (1986) investigated the experience of rearing in groups
of unipolar, bipolar, and neurotic depressives, and controls. They collected
various data on recovery (or discharge). Their results again confirm that vari-
ous measures of lack of emotional caring may be an important risk factor to
depression. Lewinsohn and Rosenbaum (1987) on the other hand, used various
measures of parental–child relationship in depressed, recovered depressed and
people who became depressed at follow-up, and controls. Their results indicate
a possible state dependency effect for negative memories of upbringing. As sub-
jects recovered, they tended to become more like normals in their recall of their
early family life.
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 155

Perris et al. (1986) stress their use of trained therapeutic workers in their data
collection which was not the case in Lewinsohn and Rosenbaum’s study. Speak-
ing personally, I have frequently had patients present one set of ideas to some
staff or myself at one time, only to change their story once their therapeutic
relationship had become established. In one case, it was three months before
a patient admitted he had hated his father’s discipline and uncaring autocracy.
Before this he would express highly idealised views of his father. As depressed
patients recover, they may become more concerned with their social presentation
and maintaining an image of themselves as “good”. I remember one patient who
revealed a very cold and distant relationship with her mother when depressed.
I did not see this lady very often and she made a good (symptomatic) response to
drugs. Shortly before her discharge we met to have a chat. During the course of
this discussion, we again touched on the issue of her parents. She looked at me
quizzically and said, “Oh, I guess I was just exaggerating things.” I looked sur-
prised and she added, “Well, after all I was depressed and pretty angry then and
that’s not nice, is it? I mean, what kind of person would I be if I went around blam-
ing my mother.” As our discussion unfolded, it seemed to me that she wanted to
believe that her parenting had not been so bad. Somehow drugs had settled down
the anger and dysphoria she had felt about her mothering experience and she did
not want to think badly of her mother because anger towards mother made her
feel bad about herself. The patient wanted to believe that she herself did not have
these aggressive feelings. Also, her mother lived close by. These experiences
make one wonder about drugs sometimes. As Perris et al. (1986) and others sug-
gest, some defensive exclusion may come back on line with recovery. It may be
that drugs cannot be regarded neutrally in this respect and it would be interesting
to look at drug treated versus therapy treated patients and how they recall various
parenting experiences.
The other point to note about state dependency is the question of whether
depressed patients are exaggerating how bad their upbringing really was (looking
at everything through dark glasses), or whether they are actually more accurate
in their recall but this accuracy is state bound; that is, when they feel good, do
they positively distort or defensively exclude historical autobiographical data?
My own view is for the latter explanation. This would be in agreement with the
concept of latent schemata. That is, when individuals become dysphoric they may
again remember those parenting experiences. For these patients working through
the anger and dysphoria to early life is important. The aim is to facilitate accep-
tance and as far as possible forgiveness.
These debates will continue as we refine our methodologies. Although it is
certainly not the case that every unloved child is doomed to psychopathology, or
every loved child is promised a symptomatic-free life, negative early experiences
can be seen as major risk factors for subsequent disorder. When lonely, down or
under stress, there may be an activation of memories and styles of encoding the
world which convey the evaluation that the person is being disconnected from
his world. He sees himself isolated and abandoned as the result of the invocation
156 Care eliciting and psychopathology

of state-bound schemata. Maybe some of these consequences are the result of

a poorly developed social system which depends for its establishment on close
affectional relationships (see Chapter 6). It may also be that an impoverished emo-
tional early life leads the person to make bad choices of partners (via defensive
exclusion). It is from these disturbed relationships and the many disappointments
that may flow from them that the individual may experience loss of support and
depressive and anxiety-invoking situations. Furthermore, we should recognise
that anxiety and depression can result not only from what others do to us but from
what we intend to do to them. Many anxiety conditions are thrown up in the wake
of conflicts concerning whether people should leave marriages or not, whether
they should be assertive or not, and so on. In these situations the anxiety reflects
more the problem of behaving autonomously; whether the individual himself can
let go of his habitual sources of safety and support in order to grow and individu-
ate. One has frequently encountered the case of agoraphobia which follows in the
wake of a desire to end a marriage.

The relationship of personality disorder

to depression and anxiety
The relationship of personality to affective disorder is complex, but needs to be
considered from a developmental point of view (Rutter 1987b). Gunderson and
Elliott (1985) have outlined four hypotheses of the relationship between person-
ality disorders and affective disorders. In their analysis, they use borderline per-
sonality, but I suspect that the hypotheses are relevant to many other forms of
personality disorder.

Hypothesis I. Affective disorder underpins personality disorder and impul-

sive drug use and sexual activities are efforts to alleviate chronic depres-
sion, hence mood regulation is a central preoccupation of personality
disorders.4
Hypothesis II. Personality disorder itself can give rise to affective disorders.
In this view, impulsivity and poor social relational styles give rise second-
arily to poor mood regulation and depression proneness.
Hypothesis III. Personality disorder and affective disorder are qualitatively
distinct (as suggested by the American system of diagnosis; DSM III).
Any apparent correlations between them exist from the relative prevalence
in the population of these two disorders.

A fourth hypothesis is presented by the authors. They suggest from their review
of the data that none of the above hypotheses is fully supported, although each one
gains support to some degree. They suggest a fourth hypothesis:

Hypothesis IV suggests that the observed concurrence of affective and

borderline symptoms result from that heterogeneity. For either disorder,
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 157

individuals may start with a biophysical vulnerability that increases their risk
of being psychologically impaired in early development. Such early traumas
may create vulnerability to either or both disorders, but the actual presenta-
tion varies as a function of later physiological and psychological reactions
to environment and temperament. The key to the overlap and dissimilarities
between these disorders, then, may be a constellation of innate and external
factors that are inconsequential individually but combine to shape depres-
sion, chronic dysphoria, or borderline behavior – alone or in any possible
combination.
(p.286)

This seems an eminently reasonable hypothesis and again suggests that there
are a number of dimensions by which those prone to affective disorder and those
prone to personality disorder may vary.
The relationship of personality disorder to anxiety disorder is also complex.
Certainly, one finds a host of different anxiety conditions in those with personal-
ity disorder, who can have agoraphobic, panic disorder and generalised anxiety
disorder in their presentation. I would suggest therefore, that a similar hypothesis
to the one that Gunderson and Elliot suggest for affective disorder could also be
used to approach the distinction or otherwise between personality disorder and
anxiety disorder.
To understand personality disorder we need to better understand the concepts
of temperament and personality. In a major review Rutter (1987b) has examined
these issues. He points out that clinicians tend to use the concept of personality
disorder in different ways and there are major differences between the American,
DSM III psychiatric classificatory system and the European, ICD-9 system. Nev-
ertheless, three characteristics apply to both (Rutter 1987b, p.450): “1) an onset in
childhood or adolescence; 2) longstanding persistence over time without marked
remission or relapses; and 3) abnormalities that seem to constitute a basic aspect
of the individual’s usual functioning.”
The sources of these chronic difficulties can be located in various domains,
such as affect instability, chronic cognitive styles such as personalisation and
catastrophic thinking, and/or personality (e.g. sociotropic or autonomy). But as
Rutter says (p.453): “The characteristic that seems to define them is a pervasive
persistent abnormality in maintaining social relationships. The abnormality dif-
fers from that of the schizoid and schizotypal varieties in that there is no lack of
interest in relationships; moreover it is likely that the early childhood pattern is
also different.”
The other aspect that characterises some personality disorders is a chronic
sense of unease, a difficulty in feeling safe, especially in a social world and espe-
cially when alone. It’s as if the defence system is tonically aroused, and where the
chosen defensive (self-protective) solution can be based on any of the innate rep-
ertoires (fight, flight or safe other seeking) which are also used (and reinforced)
chronically. There is general agreement that whatever the source of this general
158 Care eliciting and psychopathology

unease and defensive (interpersonal) action (be it biology and/or internal social
models) these folk are difficult to help. Most therapists believe it is not possible
to treat simply the symptoms but one should try to treat the person. Sometimes
this involves shifting the centre of egocentric construing in interpersonal relations
(Kegan 1982). It is with this group that symptom substitution is most likely.
This brings us to a puzzling complexity. If we are going to say that the personal-
ity characteristics such as anaclitic or sociotropic behaviour act as a vulnerability
to depression and anxiety, then where does personality disorder begin and end?
Furthermore, how is it that physical treatments work well in the absence of a
personality disorder but not in its presence (Akiskal et al. 1980)? Maybe part of
the answer is that drugs will work if there are positive schemata to switch back
on (so to speak). The greater the personality problem, the less positive schemata
exist (coded in safety systems). One may dull the pain but not “reinstate” a sense
of worth and joy in life because these were fragile at the best of times (i.e. they
are not there to be reinstated).
In a recent two-year review of chronic cases treated with drugs and psycho-
therapy, a colleague, Bill Hughes, and I have invited patients to be video taped on
their experience of therapy. To date, all have suggested that it was the therapeutic
relationship, aided by the stabilising effects of drugs which made the difference.
One patient put it like this. Whatever happened in therapy, he knows “he” is a
different person; better than he has ever been. It was not just that he (and the oth-
ers) learnt coping techniques (as they did) but that something changed (grew?) in
them. What was this “something”? Talking with them, I believe it was (a sense
of) safety; no longer needing to defend the self with achievement, good works,
the approval of others or power over others. If we better understand the issue of
making safe (which I believe is common to all therapies regardless of technique –
although some may do it better than others) then we may be better able to know
what is necessary for each individual to engage successful therapy. It may surprise
us to learn that “breaking in horses” on the American plains provides a sense of
belief in oneself and safety in perceived competency – as a television documen-
tary on delinquent adolescents recently suggested. I think we may need to be
more ambitious in seeking answers to the question “what learning experiences do
people need to help them feel safe with themselves and in the world?”

The Work of Jung

Jung was of the view that we should not always relate psychopathology to devel-
opmental factors. Such an approach has often been overlooked. At times when
we seek outside support, the care-eliciting system becomes open again. Safety
is sought from another. Finding mediators – be these doctors or other sought out
individuals – unavailable, uninterested, rejecting or hostile can have very serious
consequences for the motivational systems controlling care elicitation. Indeed, it
is not uncommon for anxiety and depressive conditions to be traced back not so
much to early childhood but to a major life event which reveals our relationships
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 159

to be rather unsupportive, i.e. not available at a time of need (Brown and Harris
1978; Brown et al. 1986).
Also physical trauma, if it is handled very badly by people put into the media-
tor’s role, can set up a sense of loss of safety. A recent case of mine, for example,
was of a man who, at the age of 45 had a heart attack. Up until this time he had
been reasonably anxiety free (at least by his account). When he got to the hospital
he found everybody very busy and rushing around and after a few days he was
sent home again. To the medical staff (according to his interpretation) he was
a rather uninteresting case. The doctor who signed his discharge seemed to be
hurried and rushed and didn’t offer any form of reassurance or interest in him
but told him to stay out of cold weather. At the end of a convalescent period
he found his employers putting considerable pressure on him to resign, which
eventually he did. In this case, the individual seems to have had a major onset of
anxiety disorder (primarily panic) and depression fuelled by both a misinterpreta-
tion of physical change in his body (he would frequently interpret chest pains as
an oncoming heart attack) together with quite extensive anger towards the way he
had been treated. He frequently said he felt he had been dumped on the rubbish
heap. According to the model outlined earlier (Gilbert 1984), this man suffered
depression and anxiety because he felt himself a burden to others and also was
very angry and had lost trust in others. He repeatedly said, “I’ve lost my trust in
humanity.” Others were no longer agents of safety or care.
The moral of this story is that we should not overlook life events set in the con-
text of a perceived, (un)supportive, mediating network as being powerful ignitors
of anxiety and depressive conditions. Not all psychopathologies need be traced
back to developmental difficulties. Stress can reopen or amplify the biosocial goal
of care eliciting; when this happens any major disappointments will be evaluated
by these particular schemata. When we feel at our most helpless and in need, the
sense of having lost control over mediator behaviour can cause serious problems.

Concluding comments
In this chapter, we have looked at the issue of psychopathology from the point
of view of care eliciting. In the first stages of life the child experiences others
primarily as mediators and providers. There is an innate competency to this such
that the child is born dependent and enacting the nuturant recipient role (Gardner
1988). This innate potential is not deactivated by development but changes its
form (Heard and Lake 1986). The targetting of care eliciting responses to others
is also to provide safety from various potential threats. In some people this target-
ting behaviour remains a prominent incentive throughout life and becomes a dom-
inant aspect of the personality. Consequently, the person orients his life to remain
in constant proximity to safety-conferring others, ever ready to enact the nurturant
recipient role, and suffers from various fears of separation and loss of access to
the other (Beck 1983; Birtchnell 1988). These people may sacrifice the develop-
ment of other parts of their nature such as autonomy or power for fear of losing
160 Care eliciting and psychopathology

the caring attention of the other. Under threat, the psychobiological routines of the
nurturant recipient role are activated and revealed as looking for, pining, clinging
and demanding the protection and esteem-enhancing attention of the other.
In regard to some anxiety conditions, it is very common to find care eliciting
and safe other seeking behaviour. It is doubtful that separation distress itself is
the source of this anxiety since although separation may trigger protest behaviour
(and protest is not the same as panic); from an evolutionary point of view it is
evaluations of danger that trigger the distress call. Hence, in some people it may
be sensory misinterpretation giving rise to the interpretations of physical danger
to the self, that activates distress call as a response rather than a cause. Neverthe-
less, the loss (or absence) of safety-conferring signals may increase arousal in the
defensive system out of which a hypersensitivity to various danger cues (includ-
ing physical sensations and fears of death) may ignite various anxiety states.
In regard to depression, distinctions should be made between grief-like states
which may or may not also activate anxiety (via common psychobiological routes)
and depressive states. In the latter case, the response to loss is nearly always asso-
ciated with a fall in self-efficacy beliefs and (the return of) inferiority evaluations
(Horowitz et al. 1980). In this way, the loss of the dominant other (the mediator)
to whom attention holding was directed releases psychobiological patterns similar
to yielding. Loss is then both an empty world and an empty self. The way experi-
ences with mediators in early life affect the psychobiological development of the
child is subject to intense research efforts as we have seen. Somehow, adequate
mothering allows the child to exist and develop predominantly in safety modes.
From this flows the ability to explore the social world and interact with others in
mutually reinforcing ways with affectionate nurturance, responsive to the chan-
nels of communication that are operative between the child and the care giver
(which are predominantly physical). The child is able to develop various prosocial
competencies from a platform of security and safety. The experience of the secu-
rity of this early role relationship becomes the basis (probably via the articulation
of sensory-motor and emotive patterns) for a secure sense of self-development
and of role models of self and others that are generally optimistic. The psychobio-
logical development will interact with various neural mediating mechanisms and
(stress) hormone factors that are safety set (e.g. low HPAC perhaps) compared to
less fortunate children. Hence, we not only have a psychobiological theory that
can account for the return of fears and phobias (Jacobs and Nadel 1985) but also
one that suggests that the biological basis (background state) from which devel-
opment proceeds will have a crucial effect on the progress of that development
(e.g. its path of unfolding). It should be kept in mind that genetic factors, possibly
operating via temperament, affect the ease by which the defence and safety
systems are aroused.
There remain questions concerning the psychobiological plasticity of early
life. This relates to the degree to which recovery from early deprivations is pos-
sible and also the degree to which valuable early experiences of care eliciting can
be undermined by subsequent traumatic experiences (Sroufe and Rutter 1984).
 Care eliciting and psychopathology 161

Babies also differ in temperament and are not passive in the shaping of their
environment; there is an essential “dance” between the carer and cared for. Nev-
ertheless, parents bear a responsibility for the child’s subsequent development
especially with the evolution of the nuclear family. However, parents are also
partly constrained by their own histories and culture of embeddedness (e.g. poor
marriage, poverty, lack of support, cultural attitudes to caring). The dimension
and nature of care giving is the focus of our next chapter. In this chapter, the bio-
social competencies of care eliciting as a way of making safe and growing have
been our main concern.

Notes
1 Within our own personal social domain there has been a child who might be classed as
avoidant and who was regarded by many of our own children’s friends as unduly hos-
tile. Interestingly, watching the behaviours of this child and his mother (the child was,
in fact, adopted) showed that the mother offered many critical and punitive responses
to the child. She would frequently talk to other mothers of how often she needed “to
whack” the boy in order to get him to behave and on meeting him from school would
often pay attention to his poor dress, dirty hands, etc. My understanding was that this
mother had adopted a child primarily to belong to a group of individuals who were
mothers.
2 See also Psychology Today – Special Report, “Life Flow”, May 1987.
3 However, desynchrony between affect, behaviour and cognition in anxiety is well
recorded (H. Weiner 1985).
4 In a recent unpublished pilot study, Anne Palmer and I have noted that a large number
of substance abusers show panic-like responses to hyperventilation. At the present time
we do not know if this is a spurious finding.
Chapter 8

Care giving and nurturance

Dimensions of care giving

The evolution of care eliciting could only advance if, at the same time, comple-
mentary adaptations were taking place in the targets of care elicitation (e.g. par-
ents). In this sense, evolution is dependent on a co-ordination of change in CNS
structures which are complementary within an interaction (MacLean 1985; Price
1988). This form of interactional evolution is rather more complex than say, evo-
lution of specific characteristics (form, colour, shape, etc.), which (when passed
on) result in advantage. The same principles of natural selection apply, but in this
case it is not just individual characteristics that gain an advantage but rather the
complementary interaction between individuals. In other words, natural selection
operates directly on a relationship in which the goal of each is different (the care
elicitor to gain from and the care giver to give to). Hence, because the interaction
is selected, poor elicitors can be compensated by good providers and, to a lesser
degree, vice versa.
For humans, care-giving capability has had profound effects (Rohner 1986).
Medicine is an interesting example. Human populations have not had to wait for
the CNS to evolve the capacity to defeat certain diseases (e.g. smallpox). I for
one would not have been here procreating and writing but for the intervention of
medicine twenty years ago. Three hundred years ago neither my wife nor daugh-
ter, Hannah, would probably have survived Hannah’s birth. Paradoxically, these
advances of care providing may well have slowed down natural selection as it is
traditionally understood.
Nurturance and care providing constitute a cornerstone of human culture. Many
individuals, for a variety of reasons, dedicate much of their time and energy to the
care of others and the caring professions remain as popular as ever even though on
economic grounds they are a poor choice of career. Although the social and inter-
active nature of caring is emphasised here, Fogel et al. (1986) have highlighted
the fact that a nurturant relationship need not be social. For example, one may
care for and nurture a work of art, a personal creation or a possession. In this type
of self–object relationship the core element resides with a recognition of what is
 Care giving and nurturance 163

best to enable the object to survive and function optimally. The motivation here,
however, probably relates to pride in a self-enhancing object.
Fogel et al. (1986, p.55) define the core element of nurturance as: “. . . . the pro-
vision of guidance, protection and care for the purpose of fostering developmental
change congruent with the expected potential for change of the object of nurtur-
ance.” With this useful definition they go on to discuss how this relationship may
pertain to four classes of objects; humans, animals, inanimate and insubstantial.
This last class represents the domain of skill, spiritual growth and so on and is
primarily self referent. Indeed, the capacity to recognise one’s own needs to be
nurtured by the self, in preference to an internal agonistic internal relationship, is
an important characteristic of health. When individuals have not been well nur-
tured in early life this inner relationship may be problematic.
Fogel et al. (1986) also demarcate four dimensions of nurturance. These are:
(1) choice of object (as stated above); (2) expression of nurturant feelings; (3)
motivation to nurture; and (4) awareness of nurturance. In this last dimension
they suggest that: “awareness of nurturance can be conceptualized as the degree
of articulation of an individual’s concepts of their own and others’ developmental
processes.” (p.59)
Overall then, nurturance relates to “the intention to foster development”. This
cannot proceed without some insight into what the other actually needs for such
development. The other central element is that those who nurture must not only
gain insight into the other, but be prepared to mediate on behalf of the other to
provide something which the other cannot provide for him/herself. In this sense,
care givers are always mediators, i.e. they make something available to the object
of their nurturance. Exactly what an individual is prepared to mediate may be
gender related (influenced biologically and/or culturally). Males may be more
prepared or educated to mediate instrumental acts (e.g. hunting, doing for, gain-
ing for) whereas females may be more active in intimate forms of mediation (e.g.
use of the physical self for distress reduction). Be this as it may, as a child grows,
what it requires of its mediators will also change and those acting on behalf of the
child may find attempts to elicit new skills and roles from its mediators. Those
competent at one stage of the child’s development may be less so at another stage.
For example, mothers may be able to care for tiny babies, but have more difficulty
in nurturing positive esteem when this involves the separating and individuation
of the child. Various inhibitions of nurturant interaction may come into play as a
result of cognitions about the nurturant role. For example, one patient admitted
that although he had wanted to, he had stopped cuddling his children when they
reached the age of five because he believed that this was unmasculine and that
children need a strong masculine father.
Nurturing behaviour is also controlled by attributions of responsibility for
being in need of nurturance (Brewin 1988). For example, in one study, attempts
to resuscitate patients who were perceived as prostitutes, drug addicts and suicide
attempters lasted less time than when the patient was respected by staff (Brewin
1988). Many patients dread the word “neurotic” because they fear this will lead
164 Care giving and nurturance

potential helpers (e.g. doctors) to take complaints less seriously. The attribution of
blame is therefore a significant factor controlling care giving (N. Eisenberg 1986;
Brewin 1988).
When it comes to nurturing, culturally transmitted attitudes have much to take
credit or blame for (Boulton 1983; Rohner 1986). First, parents form attitudes
on how they should care for their child, what is best for their child, what kind of
person they want the child to become, both for the child and as a gleam in the eye
of the parent. These are shaped by personal history and culture. Cultural attitudes
of care giving vary between facilitating freedom from anxiety and access to loved
objects, and reducing aggressive behaviour; to adherence to authority, confor-
mity, discipline and standing on one’s own feet. Some parents in western society
spend hours providing flash card sessions for their children or letting baby play in
cots specially designed to trigger Beethoven’s Fifth, with a movement of baby’s
foot. Some send children to boarding school believing education is all important.
Current ideas are motivated to helping children develop as “better problem solv-
ers” or “social skills experts”. These are also shaped by sociocultural forces. In a
recent magazine article Hardyment (1986, p.34) sums this up:

Far from neglecting our children, I would suggest that we concentrate too
much of the wrong sort of attention on them. We are obsessed by the idea of
promoting their interests regardless of the world around them. We have all,
in a sense, become Frankensteins trying to make our children masters of the
universe. Such children may split the atom, but they won’t be much fun to
live with.

Of course, many parents do neglect and abuse their children (Rohner 1986), but
Hardyment has a point. Although parents may think they are doing what is best
for their children this is a difficult thing to know. Moreover, under this disguise
parents may be doing little more than trying to give their children a social advan-
tage (as sociobiology would predict) and this very much depends on the parents’
evaluation of what constitutes social advantage. For some it might be academic
skills, for others it might be fighting and defending oneself (being tough). More-
over, this evaluation may reflect parental pride rather than child developmental
needs. Kagan (1984) has also written on how our attitudes to nurturing our chil-
dren are culturally based. After all, it was not so long ago that it was largely
considered acceptable for young children to be sent down mines or up chimneys.
I have even read newspaper reports that in some parts of the world mothers sign
up their sons as young as five to fight holy wars. One cannot read such literature
without sometimes feeling pessimistic at the human potential for nurturance to
be distorted by cultural beliefs. Hence, although nurturance and care giving are
profound capabilities of humans, they are easily distorted by cultural values and
many other factors (e.g. stress, personality, lack of social support, etc. – see Fogel
et al. 1986 and Rohner 1986). Weisner (1986) has pointed out that even in par-
ents who believe they are making radical changes to the caring of their children
 Care giving and nurturance 165

compared to their own (American) culture, in fact, compared to other cultures

these changes are small. For example, these pronatural parents stress the impor-
tance of being with and carrying the child in close proximity. Yet these parents
come nowhere near the six to ten hours a day that women in some cultures carry
their children around. Hence, care-giving procedures are highly culturally stylised
and very varied (Boulton 1983; Rohner 1986).

Styles of care giving

There are major cultural variations in care-giving styles (Boulton 1983; Rohner
1986; Weisner 1986). In this section however, we will focus on psychological
variations found within western culture. One arena in which we can examine cog-
nitive schemata of care giving is in how mothers actually conceptualise their roles
as care givers. Of course, it is not only mothers but all humans who have a predis-
position to develop beliefs, schemata and roles for themselves as providers to oth-
ers. In this context, the role can be considered as one of mediation; the use of the
self to provide for “another” that which the other cannot provide for himself. The
cognitive elements help to regulate when, where and how to function in these pro-
visions together with deriving self-esteem relevant evaluations of the role. Look-
ing at the way mothers perform their roles, Raphael-Leff (1986) has presented
an interesting although highly psychoanalytic distinction of the mothering roles.
Researching into maternal style, Raphael-Leff proposes two extreme possibili-
ties. Mothers can be described as either Facilitators or Regulators. Raphael-Leff
makes no claims as to which of the two styles is superior and it is likely that either
style taken to extreme can have detrimental effects.
Facilitators tend to view pregnancy as “an old postponed wish to have a baby
of her own”. Labour is perceived as exciting with aims to suckle and relate to the
baby as soon as possible, even with the cord still attached. Early motherhood is
centred around the baby’s needs as she tries to fit herself to the routines of the
baby. For Facilitators, particularly distressing events causing post-natal distress
would be “enforced separation and obstacles to realising her full potential as a
mother. . . .” (p.49). The arrival of the baby gives the mother a central focus for
self-evaluation based on her qualities as a care provider and the growth of her
infant. The qualities of mothering are exclusive – seen as a vocation based on
intuition, spontaneity and gratifying the baby. The unconscious fear is of hating or
aggressiveness towards the baby which may threaten self-esteem based on caring.
The baby is viewed as knowing, alert, lovable and vulnerable.
Regulators, on the other hand, are quite different. The Regulator tries to main-
tain a sense of autonomy during pregnancy, not giving in to the physical and
emotional disequilibrium of pregnancy, often preferring to work up until the last
possible time. She may resent looking tired or her change of shape. At labour the
Regulator goes for a pain-free, civilised technological approach to birth. During
early motherhood she tries to regulate and control the baby’s demands to her own
routines. In this way there is a minimising of unpredictability and a shifting of
166 Care giving and nurturance

responsibility to the baby if things go badly. Particular sources of post-natal dis-

tress are “enforced togetherness and obstacles to maintaining her previous identity
and skills (which) reduce her self esteem.” (p.49) The qualities of mothering are
focussed on shared – occupation; doing routine; the right way; training the baby to
fit the Regulator’s routines. The unconscious fear is of loving and being swamped
by the baby’s demands which would threaten self-esteem (in part) by reducing
autonomy. The baby may be seen as a competitor or rival whose demands must
be controlled.
Raphael-Leff (1986) makes clear therefore, that the way care giving is per-
ceived and carried out depends critically on the individual characteristics of the
mother. These characteristics are very much to do with personality and the cogni-
tive structuring of care giving roles. Moreover, she suggests that:

Maternal orientations not only establish but are likely to perpetuate enduring
patterns of relating and diverging abilities . . . There is some evidence for
instance, that Facilitators encourage social skills, verbalisation and physical
intimacy, while Regulators foster muscular control, mobility and physical
autonomy. Similarly, mothers are influenced too by such factors as the baby’s
gender. It appears that some Facilitators find the “differentness” of a male
baby threatens their experience of mutuality in early fusion while Regula-
tors express a preference for boy babies finding that girls invoke unwanted
identifications.
(pp.51–52)

Raphael-Leff’s (1986) findings offer many fascinating avenues for thought and
research, especially in terms of how the biological function of care giving is con-
strued. What struck me also was the idea that maybe these styles are also observ-
able for many caring acts – not just maternal; that possibly they represent different
cognitive styles of care giving across various domains. It may be that because
Regulators tend to see the baby as a competitor with their own needs, there is a
degree of reciprocal altruistic motivation involved here, whereas Facilitators are
more inclined to use kin altruistic systems based on unconditional giving. If this
is true, then therapists might also be viewed in the dimension of Facilitators ver-
sus Regulators. Perhaps Facilitator therapists are attracted to the more emotional,
expressive, nurturing therapies and Regulators to the more controlling, structured
therapies. Regulator therapists may be more theory-bound, trying to control the
patient’s behaviour with various “techniques”. It would be interesting to see if
there are gender differences in this, with Regulator type therapists being more
likely to be male (for a further discussion see Gilbert et al. 1988).
A central question is how we develop models of ourselves as care givers. We
know that care giving is biologically prepared for. We also know that we need to
have cognitive schemata of how, when and where to do it. Certainly, I suggest,
none of us would be in the therapy business unless at some level we had a view
that we could be helpful to others. A considerable amount of human interaction
 Care giving and nurturance 167

does seem to be about a wish to act as a helper (N. Eisenberg 1986). The cognitive
rules that are used to provide care are often extraordinarily handicapping. There
have been parents who have left their children to cry alone, because so-called
experts have argued that such behaviour is attention seeking and should not be
reinforced. Eagle (1987) notes how Kohut’s self psychology has had such a pow-
erful effect on analytic theory mainly because it has provided a theoretical ratio-
nale for therapists to be warm, accepting and involved with their patients. Many
therapists, I suspect, get caught in the trap of the tyranny of technique and engage
in helping acts which they intuitively find unsatisfactory and depersonalising but
the theory dictates the approach.

The care giving role and psychopathology

The role of care giving schemata became a central concern to me during an
early experience with a very depressed sixty-year-old man. This individual was
well aware that he was well loved by his wife and family but kept referring to
his perceived lack of his own ability to love and nurture others. His depression
had diminished much of his affectional system and this secondarily produced
a knock-on effect to his self-image. With an analytical eye, shared by myself
and my colleagues, we obviously considered the role of repressed anger, envy,
early paternal rejection of caring behaviours and so on. Some evidence could be
found for this but not a lot. Moreover, he readily acknowledged the possibility.
None of us were too impressed by the role of anger in his case. Using cognitive
therapy I was forced to conclude that care giving had been an important source of
self-esteem to him throughout most of his life (he had worked as a teacher and a
nurse). One could have made a case for believing that care giving had become an
alternative to care eliciting in much the same way that Bowlby (1980) discusses.
But again, the evidence for this was not too conclusive. In the end, I formed
the view that his depression was being maintained by his loss of feeling. His
inability to feel love, empathy or affection for his wife or others was the real
problem. Treatment proceeded when we focussed more on caring behaviours
and this gradually enabled him to focus more on feeling states. Once one has
been confronted with what appears to be a dominant schema: “If I can’t love, feel
empathy for, nurture others then I am empty and useless”, one obviously looks
out for it. And sure enough, I have seen the emergence of two variants during my
years in clinical practice.
The first is usually seen in women. These are individuals whose self-esteem
takes a turn for the worse when they discover that they have lost the capacity for
empathy or positive feelings towards others. This loss seems to have two possible
onsets. One relates to a kind of (psychobiological) exhaustion usually brought on
by motherly chores, sleepless nights and worry. This may be aggravated by unre-
alistic expectations of herself, and/or a lack of help and support to her mothering
role, and/or a sleepless or difficult infant. The usual scenario involves perceiving
herself as a highly nurturing person, but the demands of life in the nuclear family
168 Care giving and nurturance

are producing a less caring, less empathic and a more irritable and fatigued per-
son. At night she would typically lie awake reflecting on the day and ask “What’s
happening to me?” The change in her capacity for giving and nurturing invokes
secondary, negative beliefs about relationships and, in serious cases, doubts about
whether she loved anyone. This would cause a major reappraisal of her incentive
structure which, of course, produced more depression setting up a vicious circle.
In this kind of situation, depressive withdrawal (lack of investment) might take
place.
This scenario is also common in the helping professions. Work overload results
in a loss of empathy and the recognition that one is not functioning up to one’s
internal schemata of “nurturing or helpful agent”. If this is a cornerstone of self-
esteem, then one can be confronted with the more narcissistic needs to be loved
and admired. This may shift self-evaluative schemata in a negative direction. If
an individual has always prided himself on his caring capacity, even by projec-
tion perhaps, then there may be few other sources of self-esteem. Typically, this is
called “burnout”. It is very common in psychotherapists (Kottler 1986).
The second major source of difficulty arises in those who aspire to be caring
agents but have always felt deficient in this role. Usually, the history shows a
background of parental reinforcement and labelling practices where the child was
led to believe that his caring acts were not good enough, or that he was selfish in
some way. Sometimes parental sickness or actual death may have occurred. Or, the
child may have been a victim of abuse. Unlike the first type, there is considerable
anxiety about caring for others (e.g. a child). This may lead to awkward forms of
responding or hypersensitivity to cues of distress which may be personalised (e.g.
another example of not being good enough). If this anxiety becomes too great the
carer may be caught between anger towards the object of her nurturance (because
she falsely believes the child is communicating a “you are no good” response) and
anxiety about her inabilities. Again, under these conditions depressive withdrawal
may result to protect herself from further injury to her self-esteem. Of course, this
confounds rather than helps the problem.
These problems are different in subtle ways. In the first case the individuals
may have had over-ambitious ideas about their caring ability, or not be able to
cope with being unable to live up to their high expectations (hopes, images) of
themselves. In the second case, there was never any well-developed schema of
being an agent of nurturance. Individuals of the second type sometimes find it
easier to nurture animals and inanimate objects. They may also be more person-
ality disordered. The first type have a positive schema disconfirmed; the second
type have a negative schema confirmed.

Evolution
MacLean (1985) has considered the development of care giving in terms of the
evolution of nursing. He points out that specific developments in the limbic sys-
tem facilitate these behavioural routines. The baby emerges into the social world
 Care giving and nurturance 169

prepared to target requests to a mediator (normally the mother). Mothers are

predisposed to give aspects of themselves, e.g. milk to facilitate survival of the
infant. Hence, it would make no sense if mediators themselves were not biologi-
cally prepared to function as care givers, nurses, helpers and so on.
In sociobiological theory, the care given to offspring is called kin altruism.
An important distinction between this kind of altruistic behaviour and altruistic
behaviour dispensed to non-related individuals is made. Helping non-related indi-
viduals is called reciprocal altruism.
One central difference between kin altruism and reciprocal altruism resides in
the role of the expectation of reciprocation. For example, the complex evaluative
systems designed to detect and conceal cheating probably do not function when
kin altruistic mechanisms are operative. As we shall see in Chapter 10, reciprocal
altruistic mechanisms are related to co-operative biosocial goals. In strict biologi-
cal terms, the only repayment for any care given to offspring is that the offspring
carries the care giver’s genes forward in time.
In Chapter 6, it was argued that care giving evolved as a synchronous interac-
tion between parent and infant. The evolved social context was the infant/mother
dyad. Moreover, there are specific structures within the limbic system which facil-
itate nursing behaviour and distress call responsiveness (Capitanio et al. 1985;
MacLean 1985). The evolution of co-operation however, evolved in the context of
competition and exploitation of resources. In Jungian theory, care giving relates to
mother and anima archetypes.
It can be suggested therefore that evolution has made available two equally
valid but different construct systems for evaluating caring acts which are, in
practice, highly interactive but also separable to some degree.1 As suggested
later, care giving is more likely to use affects associated with sympathy
whereas co-operation recruits affects associated with empathy. The wish to
“act on behalf of, to make available to or provide for another, to do for” are the
central issues of care giving, i.e. the needs of the other are central. Individu-
als may obtain positive self-reinforcement for such acts. However, in order
to obtain this rosy glow of being good, some individuals may fail to evaluate
accurately what the other is actually in need of, or may try to manufacture a
need where none exists.

Evolution and socio-cultural change

The function of kin altruism may have become somewhat stretched in modern
societies with the growth of the nuclear family. In cultures which operate extended
family networks, the role of the mother declines when the child is aged about
three to five, with aunts, uncles and other family members taking over important
caring, teaching and disciplinary roles. Western nuclear families may suffer the
distinct disadvantage that the period of dependency a child must have on two, and
in some cases on a single parent, is sometimes greatly extended (Boulton 1983).
This may be an example of kin altruism moving beyond the limits of its context of
170 Care giving and nurturance

environmental adaptiveness. Caton (1986, p.189) offers this interesting dilemma

for human sociobiology:

In crude terms, it is the problem of how Homo managed to jerry-build civili-

zation on the social structure evolved for the hunter-gatherer band. Although
human sociobiology is an essential ingredient to a refined formulation of the
problem, sociobiologists until now have not recognised that entry into the
man made urban environment alters the cost–benefit reciprocalities by creat-
ing public goods available to large potentially organised aggregates. Kin reci-
procity, in other words, was supplemented by a set of artificial reciprocities
supported by the productivity increases stemming from the Late Neolithic
technological explosion. The Industrial Revolution turned this supplement
into the main show, so that kin exchange was minor compared to market
exchange. The nuclear family was the result. The talents needed to operate
this highly artificial culture are indeed far from those that conferred fitness
on the hunter-gatherer.

It is the cultural development of the nuclear family over the extended fam-
ily which shifts the context-appropriate rules for kin altruism. It sets up a pos-
sible overburden on parents in the facilitation of growth and autonomy of their
children. Hence, the expansion of time of the dependency on parents, which is
advanced by the need to acquire increasingly sophisticated skills to survive and
prosper in modern society (e.g. higher education), provides contexts of relation-
ships that are not strictly prepared for.
In many cultures sexual maturation is followed fairly promptly by marriage,
but in western society becoming pregnant at an early age can significantly
reduce the opportunities to acquire those skills that are useful for prosperity
(e.g. going to university). Many parents worry about the early sexual behav-
iour of their children, and in many cultures concern that a child should marry
into the “right class” is prominent. Also, in the extended period of dependency
of western children it appears that reciprocal altruism may come to play a
greater role in the relationships between child and parent as the child reaches
maturity. For example, the achievement needs fostered in some children are
often explicitly guided by the parents’ claim that such achievement is expected
for all the love, attention and resources provided to them in their earlier years.
The child is expected to play a role which bestows social advantage or rec-
ognition on the family, i.e. the child is taught “not to let the parents down”
or “to live up to the parents’ expectations of him”. It is difficult to conceive
that these concerns and educational practices would be in any way relevant to
non-humans and it attests to how the presentation of self becomes the presen-
tation of “the family”. Disgrace to an individual is extended to the family such
that effort is made to avoid it, even to the point of suicide (e.g. Hari-Kari).
These efforts are reflected in parental reinforcement practices. In the absence
of other intimate relationships this kind of relationship indoctrinates the child
 Care giving and nurturance 171

to believe that he (too) must accumulate resources, meet expectations and

become an achiever.
Parents may also try to make their children into care givers for themselves and
bind the child in various ways to look after them. Most therapists will have met
many times the casualties of this relational style. Yet the child (and subsequent
adult) may have increasing difficulty in sorting out an internalised attachment
mode that evolved to expect little need to repay anything. In other words, bio-
logically speaking, parental love, based on kin-altruism is supposed to be (was
evolved to be) unconditional, save for the fact that the infant should carry the
genes. But it is this aspect of trying to increase the prosperity of one’s gene carri-
ers that in humans, with their advanced psychological and sociocultural capabili-
ties, produces so many problems. What was evolved as unconditional becomes
conditional. The distress of finding oneself caught in a conditional love situa-
tion when the system was designed for unconditional love sends the individual
in desperate search of someone who will love them as they are (unconditionally).
Typically this is: “I wish to be loved as me, not for my achievements.” Indeed,
in our closest attachments we seem to wish to transcend the boundaries of forced
reciprocation. While we can accept the importance of reciprocation in friendship,
over-concern with reciprocation in close loving relationships can be a positive
nuisance. Some individuals are unable to accept help or love without at the same
time feeling under some obligation, hence the capacity for guilt or resentment for
help given to them. Some see help as an insult to self-esteem (Fisher et al. 1982).
Some individuals never penetrate the paradox yet continue to feel unsatisfied in
relationships that they believe are maintained only by what they do, what they
achieve and what they can provide for the other. They may wish to be a provider
(because they maintain self-esteem) yet dislike the idea that only if they provide
are they loved. Although they may wish to be loved unconditionally they may
never allow themselves to be so.
Many writers have noticed that there is something very special about mother
love; that it does not depend on what the child does but is rather, an unconditional
giving based only on the child’s requests (e.g. Fromm 1985). It will be noted
that unconditional positive regard is an attitude strongly recommended by many
therapists. Could it be that access to schemata stored in kin altruistic systems,
which are involved in regulating survival function, is what is attempted here? In
other words, maybe unconditional positive regard is a way of fulfilling certain
important biological requirements which facilitate an individual’s ability to grow,
to feel protected and cared for, i.e. does it provide the patient with a certain kind of
biologically important input? Most certainly, one of the problems therapists have
to avoid is patients using reciprocal altruistic behaviours in therapy, i.e. wanting
to get better to please the therapist: “I will behave well if you behave well.” If
it is true that somehow therapy for some patients needs to tap into schemata of
self which normally would have been derived from kin altruistic systems, then to
what extent does non-genetic relatedness of therapist and patient interfere with
this form of relating?2
172 Care giving and nurturance

Be this as it may, many therapists are aware of the special qualities inherent in
attachments based on low expectations of reciprocation, unconditional love and
caring. In this sense the child is relatively free to grow according to his potential.
Most important is that his mediator is working for his benefit and not the other
way round. It is here that perhaps Fogel et al.’s concept of nurturance is at its
purest.
The problem with caring is that by the time adults are capable of being caring
agents much other development has gone on (involving other biosocial goals,
e.g. competing, co-operation, etc.). Their own experiences of being cared for, and
cultural beliefs of caring, have been incorporated. Hence, although adult caring is
biologically prepared for, it cannot help but be influenced by these developments
(Rohner 1986).
Moreover, as discussed in Chapter 6, caring behaviour will be affected by
the availability of environmental resources. For example, high foraging in
primates produces higher levels of maternal rejections of the infant. These
interactions have a significant effect on the developing nervous system of the
infant. Care-giving behaviour then is inherently caught up in the tangle of both
the promotion of the infant’s survival and the promotion of the care giver’s
survival.
Things are very different for the infant, of course. In his state no develop-
ment has yet taken place. He/she has no cultural rules to follow and is simply
doing what comes naturally. Hence, the baby comes to the relationship with
nothing but his/her innate repertoire and genetically given temperament to
engage his/her care givers. The mother, on the other hand, comes to these rela-
tionships in a very different state. The manner in which she will provide care
is not simply innately determined but is contaminated by a host of developed
ideas and beliefs together with vulnerabilities arising from her own life his-
tory and current needs. This developmental aspect will greatly affect how she
or others approach and carry out their biologically prepared roles even to the
point of attempting to dispense with them. These developments, taking place in
the care giver, will have profound effects on how the infant and mother
match up.

Affects related to care giving

The affects associated with care giving are often prosocial. They relate to an
interaction and a relationship. Love, joy and compassion are blends of feeling
which promote care-giving behaviour. However, as will be discussed shortly,
care-giving behaviour is not always mediated by prosocial affects. It can also
be brought under cognitive control and manifest in the absence of any strong
prosocial affect. For example, individuals may exhibit caring behaviour as part
of a socially or personally defined role. Affects related to competitiveness (and
defence system arousal) however, such as anger, envy and resentment, tend
 Care giving and nurturance 173

to facilitate spacing or destructive behaviour, and the arousal of this mode of

interpersonal interaction may have the most profound inhibitory effect on car-
ing behaviour. Such individuals may be able to mimic some of the attributes of
caring behaviour but not be able to control psychomotor activity; i.e. they tend
to be tense, rigid or aloof in their caring responses and insensitive to the needs
of the other.
In addition to the affects mentioned above, there are two central affects –
empathy and sympathy – that mediate caring responses. Goldstein and Michaels
(1985) have examined the internal mechanisms of empathy, its development and
the role empathy plays in many prosocial endeavours. Recently, two major contri-
butions to the area by N. Eisenberg (1986) and Wispe (1986) have drawn attention
to the fact that empathy may be more neutral as a mediator of caring behaviour
than is sometimes thought. In fact, both authors suggest that research has con-
founded different emotional constructs related to empathy, sympathy and personal
distress. Wispe (1986) provides an interesting historical overview of the literature
on empathy and sympathy and shows how sympathy has been a neglected area
of research. She also articulates interesting distinctions between sympathy and
empathy. These are outlined in Table 8.1.
Wispe (1986) points out that with empathy one seeks to accurately “repro-
duce” or construct within oneself the experience or way of perceiving the world
of the other. In this sense, empathy mobilises cognitive processes (at least in
the adult).3 But in sympathy, the accuracy of understanding may be loose. The
affects ignited by sympathy may not match the affects of the object of sympa-
thy. In extreme cases, the sympathiser may be more upset than the object of
sympathy. Sympathy, unlike empathy, moves by the elicitation of affect within
oneself. Sympathy can be elicited by projection whereas projection reduces
accurate empathy.

Table 8.1 Distinctions between Sympathy and Empathy

Sympathy Empathy

Sympathy involves a heightened awareness Empathy involves a heightened

of the suffering or need of the other. awareness of the experiences of the
Something to be alleviated. The focus is on other (not necessarily suffering) as
the other person’s wellbeing something to be understood
Behaviour is on relating, acting for, Behaviour is on knowing,
alleviating (mediating responses) conceptualising, understanding
Sympathy is relatively automatic and Empathy is effortful and depends on
effortless imaginal capabilities
In sympathy the self is moved by the other The self reaches out to the other
The other is the vehicle for understanding The self is the vehicle for understanding
and some loss of identity may occur and never loses its identity
174 Care giving and nurturance

Eisenberg (1986) has also presented an important review of the literature per-
taining to these issues. She suggests there are, in fact, three emotional reactions
which are commonly (although erroneously) labelled “empathy”:

1 The situation in which an individual feels the same emotion as another: this
is neither self-centred nor other-directed, and is true empathy or emotional
contagion.
2 The responses of one to the distress of the other which need not match the
other but is focussed on the well being of the other. This is labelled sympathy.
Both Eisenberg and Wispe believe sympathy is more closely associated with
altruism.
3 A self-centred response related to anxiety, worry or guilt rather than sympa-
thy: this is labelled personal distress.

Eisenberg points out that since most research measures altruism by examining
response-contingent opportunities for helping, there is no way that the source
of helping (e.g. sympathy, empathy or personal distress) can be distinguished.
Hence, Eisenberg separates cognitive processes underlying helping and caring
behaviour into self evaluative and value evaluative. She suggests the following
(N. Eisenberg 1986, p.50):

self-evaluative emotions differ from empathic (and sympathetic) emotion in

important ways. Empathy is a vicarious response; in contrast, guilt, pride
and other self-evaluative emotions are reactions evoked by evaluation of
one’s own behaviour in a situation, not the other’s state. Moreover, self-
evaluative emotions would appear to be more cognitively based than are
many empathic reactions, the former being based on an evaluative (cogni-
tive) process. Finally, it is likely that mere cognitions concerning impending
self-evaluative emotion (i.e. anticipation of feelings of guilt or pride) serve
to guide behaviour more frequently than does anticipation of empathic and
sympathetic reactions.

Eisenberg also introduces the interesting idea that there may be differences
in state versus trait empathy and sympathy, which could account for discrepan-
cies in research findings. She suggests that state variables may be more powerful
predictors of caring behaviour. This would make sense since factors pertaining
to state would include the social context, the level of stress on the individual and
various developmental factors acting in conjunction with trait aspects. Eisenberg
succeeds in charting the various and complex situational, contextual, cognitive
and developmental factors that may lie behind helping behaviour. There is no
doubt that helping acts represent complex interactions between development–
personality factors, cognitive–affective factors and situational–contextual factors
(see also Brewin 1988). These operate in various combinations to bear on a final
common pathway leading to the expression of caring acts. In the final chapter of
 Care giving and nurturance 175

her book Eisenberg presents some interesting models for conceptualising these
complex interactions.
When it comes to specifically nurturant behaviour therefore, we can see that
many factors are implicated. These relate to the arousability of both prosocial and
non-prosocial affects, cognitive appraisal and explanatory systems and personal-
ity and situational factors. Moreover, as suggested in an earlier section, people
develop internal rules for defining the role of care giving, i.e. how, when and
where it should be done, and these reflect cultural traditions and styles.
Sympathy can never be used competitively, whereas empathy can. For exam-
ple, an empathic enemy may have insight into how to elicit most fear in adver-
saries. Although accurate empathy, when blended with sympathy, may make
caring behaviour more effective, I doubt that empathy evolved from attach-
ment and care giving. In fact, it is doubtful that parents can (at least, without
training) accurately empathise with their children. They tend to impute to their
infants’ affects, insights and capabilities that the infants may not actually pos-
sess. I believe that empathy probably evolved from a competitive mode which
gave advantage to the ability to have insight into the motivations, strengths,
intentions and deceptions of another. Subsequently, this capacity was effective in
facilitating co-operative behaviour because it was a skill that could be used proso-
cially. Moreover, empathy evolved along with the capabilities to detect deception
and avoid cheating and hence to facilitate the ability to act co-operatively. Empa-
thy is important for sharing certain sources of information and for understand-
ing the perspective of another. Sympathy is less cognitive, is less concerned
with “knowing” and more like an unconditioned response to a distress call.
The eliciting stimuli vary on a continuum from infant cries to the perception
of distress and need in another. The evolutionary root of sympathy is therefore
probably central to attachment and caring behaviour, where speed and urgency
of response have been more important than insight. Furthermore, sympathy may
be more easily disrupted by anger and the attributions that lead to it, whereas
this may not be true for empathy. We will look more closely at the cognitive
domain of empathy in Chapter 10.

Behaviour therapy and sympathy mechanisms

In many forms of psychotherapy, the therapist attempts to develop skills of accu-
rate empathy. However, when we consider a standard behavioural exposure pro-
gram, the situation looks rather different. Take, for example, the case of exposing
an agoraphobic to a crowded store. From the patient’s point of view a perception
that the therapist has accurate empathy may not be enough. The patient may
need to know that the therapist (or therapist’s substitute, such as spouse) will
intervene on their behalf if the stress becomes too overwhelming. Indeed, know-
ing the therapist is available as a potential agent of rescue may be central to the
patient’s success in learning to master his own physical state. The therapist may
indeed need to step in from time to time to provide instruction or encouragement
176 Care giving and nurturance

on how to cope with anxiety. Hence, from the patient’s point of view, he is look-
ing for a sympathetic other rather than an empathic other. In the first instance
therefore, the patient looks to the judgement skills and caring of the therapist,
with the knowledge that he or she will step in to alleviate his distress if neces-
sary. Hence, sensitive behaviour therapists are probably tapping into sympathetic
interactions relating to distress call responsiveness, access to a supportive other
and proximity maintenance systems. Behaviour therapists put these mechanisms
to work by gradually enabling the patient to become more autonomous, but from
a safe exploratory base controlled by various proximity relations (e.g. getting
the patient to go further afield, etc.). Cognitive therapists use an approach to
behavioural practice which has been called “challengeing but not overwhelming”
(Dryden 1985).
The point here is that behaviour therapy may in some cases involve much more
than deconditioning and making available safety signals (i.e. the therapist) in per-
ceived anxiety-invoking situations. Behaviour therapy may succeed in bringing
on line attachment systems which relate to the issues of proximity and safety to
explore, which are mediated, in part, by sympathetic interactions (i.e. the recogni-
tion that another will step in to alleviate or rescue in cases of emergency). The
patient may then re-experience the value of a supportive other in times of distress.
Out of this experience may grow a renewed confidence in self-control. But in one
sense, this is a re-enactment of a more primitive developmental stage, though
hopefully with a more successful ending.
Behaviour therapy may, in fact, be selling itself short if it does not consider
some of these issues and clings too firmly to laboratory-based theory in which
proximity maintenance mechanisms appear to play little part. After all, when
we consider it, the care giver is concerned with responding to emergencies and
protecting the infant. Hence, learning that others are available to respond in an
emergency may facilitate degrees of trust which serve to promote the patient’s
confidence in himself. I do not wish to imply that reconceptualisations of the
source of arousal, the meaning of arousal and so on are unimportant in anxiety
conditions, but merely to highlight that behaviour therapy probably involves far
more complex social interactive processes than is at present recognised.

Psychotherapeutic points

The therapist’s (mediator’s) role

I have used the term “mediator” in preference to “significant other” or “dominant
other” because I think it more accurately describes the role of the person for the
care elicitor. Mediators are intervening others between the care elicitor and the
world and behaviours, affective displays and cognitive processes are targetted at
them rather than at the world directly. In many forms of psychopathology (espe-
cially some anxiety and depressive conditions) reassurance and mediation are
sought. Some call this dependency (Birtchnell 1988). As consistently argued here,
 Care giving and nurturance 177

this predisposition to target behaviours towards mediators is innate. However,

mediators perform many different functions for the child and this aspect is mir-
rored in how therapists function as mediators to their patients. Some patients will
seek mediators (therapists) for resources, some for protection, some for knowl-
edge, some to mirror self value and admiration and some will seek mediators to
help structure inner states that are experienced as perplexing, overwhelming or
threatening to the individual. This latter role bestowed on therapists is sometimes
called “containment”. Here, the therapist is called upon to help the individual
structure and understand (reappraise, reattribute and re-evaluate) the meaning of
events (emotions) taking place within him.
In therapy, it is useful to understand the characteristics of being a mediator
that are sought out by the patient. What exactly does the patient want from the
therapist? Is it care, containment, positive value, redemption, protection from dis-
ease, meaning? The characteristics that care elicitation are aimed at give impor-
tant clues to the sources of the patient’s difficulty and to the specific cognitive
schemata that are operating in their transactions with the world.
In adults, the control of mediator attention also presents as requests for a caring
interest. Time and again patients complain, “If only people would listen to me,
take notice, take me seriously, show interest, then I might be better able to cope.”
The experience that one is in distress and no one is interested seems to be a very
powerful source of emotional distress. I therefore believe that caring interest is
often therapeutic because it provides the person with a sense of control over a
mediator; he learns that he can direct caring, sympathetic attention to the self;
that someone outside of himself is interested and takes him seriously and if pos-
sible acts on his behalf (i.e. as in primitive forms of shaman healing; Ellenberger
1970). This activates hope and overcomes demoralisation (Frank 1974). This is
one of the basic aims of care elicitation: the control of care/helping attention (i.e.
a form of social attention holding). Knowing that someone cares and is interested
and will intervene if necessary satisfies one aspect of care eliciting. Unfortunately,
some mediators do not appreciate this phenomenon and if they feel incompetent
or unable to help in “practical” ways they may reject or frustrate the care elicitor’s
attempts at seeking help. This is to underestimate the value of caring interest, the
ability to allow a story to unfold and the capacity to take another person’s life seri-
ously and as worthy of interest and attention; to be a good listener.
Many patients learn to accept that magical cures are not possible, but hav-
ing someone who is prepared to collaborate with them to overcome their dis-
tress and show interest in them along the way is also of some significance. Some
patients finish their first session saying that it was just of benefit to be listened to.
Many miseries could be averted if mediators, be they parents, friends, doctors or
spouses, recognised that sometimes what is helpful is to allow a person to con-
trol one’s attention. This, I believe, is one of the curative agents of client-centred
therapy and is probably a hallmark of all successful therapies (Beitman 1987). It
is useful to recognise that to allow one’s attention to be directed by another is a
major evolved phenomenon. A person may be able to help himself to grow and
178 Care giving and nurturance

individuate if the survival-relevant mechanisms can hang on to the fact that at

least he can control the attention of a mediator who will stay with him on his trav-
els. Listening is, in a sense, allowing oneself to be controlled and directed. Simi-
lar issues pertaining to synchrony between infant and mother’s attention (Field
1985) are played out once again in therapy. This is the “dance” of therapy. The
“dance” of therapy probably obeys similar rules to the “dance” of infant–mother
interactions.
We do not yet know how this ability to allow oneself to be controlled by one’s
patient changes defensive–safety psychobiological patterns but it is of impor-
tance. Moreover, when one is operating in caring interest mode then the con-
trol should be with the patient. In psychotherapy attention attunement can occur
when the patient at one points seeks to explore painful situations and requires
empathic listening, yet at another time the patient needs to be encouraged to
explore further, to take risks, experiment and to understand what is blocking
him (e.g. his own internal self-dialogue) and so move on. In other words, caring
interest is not passive but at times challenging. It is important that the patient
sees the therapist as caring and not just tied up with the technique. The thera-
pist’s capacity to be open to this process is often referred to as empathy where
the therapist can shape his responses to the different and changing styles of the
interaction as it proceeds. I suspect good therapists tend to be open enough to
allow this controlling procedure to go and to shift with the patient (Gilbert et al.
1988). Moreover, I suspect that it is in this attentional dance that trust is built up.
This is facilitated by providing messages of safety. Empathy in its many forms,
and listening are crucial to the therapeutic process, as Margulies (1984) elegantly
outlined. I would therefore stress the issue of synchrony between patient and
therapist in the maintenance of any therapeutic alliance. However, therapeutic
closeness can be a dilemma (Dryden 1986). As Mackie (1982) makes clear,
sometimes being with the patient is as valuable, if not more so, than doing to
the patient (Gilbert et al. 1988). The social-communicative domain would be (in
Gardner’s 1988 terms) operating through the nurturant PSALIC. This PSALIC
co-ordinates displays and patients can be very quick to pick up on the fact that
this PSALIC is not always operating.

The patient’s role

If the mediator (therapist) must remain open to the patient, then equally the
patient must remain open to the therapist. Chance (personal communication)
has suggested that this may only happen if both are in hedonic mode. In the
ideal state it is a mutual and synchronised relationship relating to certain kinds
of attention. In other words, the patient, at some point, must be in a state of pre-
paredness to receive, or take in. And this relates to the nurturant recipient state,
or possibly alpha reciprocal (Gardner 1988). What we mean by this is a prepared-
ness not only to incorporate the experience of being listened to (internalise social
attention holding), but to be able to act and use the substance of the therapy, to
 Care giving and nurturance 179

engage in a collaborative venture (Beck et al. 1979). However, there are various
blocks to this.
In cognitive and behavioural therapy, the preparedness to take in, use and act
on the help on offer can relate to the therapist’s explanations of cause and cure.
No matter how caring a therapist, if the therapist’s rationale is not believed, prog-
ress can become difficult. Practical based therapies may come to grief at this
first hurdle. In my experience, people who terminate therapy of this form, do so
because they believe the therapist has not really understood them and they have
not felt sufficiently in control (of the therapist’s attention) or in spite of the thera-
pist’s best efforts, they have other explanations (e.g. it is to do with anger at my
mother). A collaborative approach (Beck et al. 1979) would allow this (patient’s)
explanation to unfold and then gently start to test it. A therapy’s success depends
on the patient’s and not the therapist’s explanations. This requires a common lan-
guage of understanding. Sometimes this can be tricky. One patient had read a lot
on Jung before therapy. Before we could work together, I had to share with her
the idea that archetypes were forms of meaning-making (constructive, evalua-
tive) systems. For my part, a common language of understanding was impor-
tant. I was quite happy talking about archetypes while at the same time using
inference chains, testing dysfunctional thoughts and using behavioural exercises.
I suggested that archetypes could be mobilised in action (behaviour). I was less
interested in changing her philosophy but rather more interested in helping her
understand her unhappiness and how to deal with it.
Another major block to a patient’s ability to use, incorporate and act on
therapy can arise from intense distrust and/or strong transference difficulties.
Sometimes this relates to fears of becoming dependent and being vulnerable to
inadequate caring. These patients reduce the importance of the therapist, and
can be aloof or cold. Basically they are very frightened of open care eliciting
for many reasons. This can be a special problem in some personality disorders.
In these patients there can be a confusion and conflict between competition and
care receiving. Receiving is evaluated as a threat to self-esteem and status and
this may be more common than we recognise (Fisher et al. 1982). In one case of
a narcissistic depression there was serious difficulty coping with three children.
Any effort to provide practical help (e.g. via social services) was evaluated as
a threat to status (we were taking her over, didn’t think she was good enough,
etc.). For similar reasons (threats to status) patients may not reveal what really
is bothering them (see Chapter 10). I doubt that there is much alternative than
to sit tight, listen, try to help and wait for the full story to unfold. Although
there may be much in common to various psychotherapies (Karasu 1986) in
the end the question is, “can the patient use what’s on offer?” The ability to
use relates to the ability to take in. This in turn relates to: (1) trust; (2) sense
of comfort in therapy; (3) understanding and believing the rationale; and (4)
using the technique or insights to change the evaluative style and translate this
into action. Sometimes action must precede cognitive change, but that’s another
issue (Bandura 1982).
180 Care giving and nurturance

Concluding comments
In this somewhat brief and cursory chapter, we have covered some divergent ter-
ritory. I admit to being highly selective and have tried to bring together some
rather diverse ideas on the issue of care giving. More comprehensive texts can be
found (Bowlby 1969, 1973, 1980; Rohner 1986). Before we move to a discussion
of disorders of care giving in the next chapter, we summarise some of the points
made so far:

1 Parental care giving is phylogenetically very old. Even crocodiles are known
to carry (in their mouths) their newly hatched offspring to water.
2 According to much biological theorising, care giving is concerned with
promoting genes via the survival of the infant. Sociobiologists distinguish
between two kinds of caring and helping behaviour, namely kin altruism and
reciprocal altruism.
3 Over evolutionary time (ranging from reptiles to humans) the interactions
between care giver (mother) and care receiver (infant) became increasingly
complex. Some of these were discussed in Chapters 6 and 7. However, many
writers also believe that parents are important sources of self-esteem (not just
care) to the infant. This requires the developmental capacity for the infant
to be able to form some concept of a separate self. This care-giving role is
sometimes referred to as “mirroring” (see Chapters 11 and 12).
4 One of the major changes central to humans is the enormous length of time
that children are beholden to, and dependent on, their parents. The parent is
present throughout the most major developmental changes in the growing
child. The increase in health care (meaning that parents hang around for lon-
ger) and sociocultural change has meant that parents have increasing desires
to school their children into the sociocultural practices which will bring them
sociocultural advance; and to adopt the rules for behaviour pertinent to the
parental culture (be these religious, economic or child-rearing practices,
etc.). As the child grows, he comes under increasing pressure to adopt these
rules and roles. In fact, some patients seem unable to make any significant
advances in their own personal lives and identities until their parent(s) die.
Usually it is the death of the more dominant parent that makes the difference.
5 Because care givers are usually adults by the time they come to performing
their care-giving roles many developmental factors impinge on the enactment
of these roles. They have had their own personalities, internal models of self
and so on shaped by their own experiences of being cared for. They have
also been shaped by the cultural practices in which they grew and these have
significantly shaped the perception of their roles. (For example, in days past,
some mothers would leave their children to cry in their cots because current
wisdom had it that to attend the child would reinforce crying; a distressing
misapplication of behaviour therapy.)
 Care giving and nurturance 181

6 In regard to personality there are (at least for western cultures) two discern-
ible styles of care giving. These have been labelled Facilitator and Regulator.
It is likely that these two styles are present to varying degrees in many forms
of care-giving interactions including psychotherapy.
7 The affects associated with care giving relate to various prosocial emotions
such as joy, love, pleasure, etc. In addition, sympathy and empathy are also
salient in regard to attachment and other care-giving relationships. Sympathy
is probably a primary affect mediating rapid action. Affects relating to vari-
ous elements of the defence system, e.g. anger, resentment, envy and fear,
tend to inhibit care-giving behaviour, or at least distort its expression. These
affects disturb the spontaneous flow of mediating responses. Sympathy prob-
ably evolved from a distress call response system, whereas empathy probably
evolved from dominance seeking behaviour. However, sympathy and empa-
thy are often blended together to allow for the foresight and planning of care
giving. It may be that sympathy and empathy are useful in different contexts
of helping and altruistic behaviour.
8 Psychopathology can arise from a mismatch between what a person
believes he should be doing and feeling (as a care giver) and what he
perceives himself capable of doing or feeling. The term “burnout” is used
to indicate a state of exhaustion where the individuals are forced to lower
their expectations they have of themselves as care givers, and in conse-
quence, may suffer a loss of self-esteem. This situation is particularly
pertinent where the main pillar of self-esteem resides in the individuals’
appraisal of their care-giving and altruistic capabilities. Burnout prob-
ably increases activity in the defence system, causing a switch to a more
self-protective style of interaction with various negative consequences
which set up a vicious circle of lower sympathy and empathy and lower
self-esteem. Perhaps against ones desires, there comes a tendency to see
patients as subordinates in order to distance oneself from difficulty and
maintain self-esteem.
9 Many behavioural exposure programmes are specifically designed to use
the therapist as a safe base or safe other from which to tentatively explore
feared situations. From the patient’s point of view, the therapist’s, spouse’s
or friend’s capacity for sympathy is important, i.e. it is their perceived pre-
paredness to act rapidly if the situation arises to mediate to reduce aversive
input. Hence, behaviour therapy may work for rather different reasons than
straightforward rat-box theory suggests. This may help to explain why there
are still thousands of patients presenting for therapy despite many of them
reading many books. Cognitive behaviour therapy at least uses the mottos of:
(1) challenging but not overwhelming (Dryden 1985) and (2) getting better
rather than (immediately) feeling better. The skill of the therapist is in strik-
ing this balance. Clearly, different patients can progress at different rates to
which a sensitive therapist is aware.
182 Care giving and nurturance

I should emphasise that this is not a comprehensive review of all that goes to
making proficient care giving. As Rohner (1986) makes clear, much also depends
on the care receiver’s perception of the care giver’s actions, and the attributions
of caring acts. Many patients will excuse errors in a therapy if it is a genuine error.
A rather different outcome arises, however, if a patient attributes a therapist’s
error to a lack of caring interest. Having summarised some of the central points
to our discussion of care giving which must be set against the data and theories of
presented in Chapters 6 and 7, we can now go on and look briefly at some of the
disorders of care giving.

Notes
1 It is interesting, as we shall discuss in the next chapter, that the resolution of conflict is at
the heart of many theories of moral thinking. Recently, a debate has opened up as to the
distinction between moral thinking based on caring and moral thinking based on justice
(Gilligan 1982; Kohlberg et al. 1983).
2 If care eliciting schemata are sensitive to genetic recognition factors, what does this
imply for therapy, transference and the like? I do not know the answers to these inter-
esting questions but I have a suspicion that some of the sexual problems that crop up
in therapy are related to these kinds of issues. Patients who sexualise are often trying
to engage a certain kind of proximity, based on physical closeness. In fact, there is an
increasing number of women’s groups that stress “holding as a therapy”. Therapists,
however, would be advised to desexualise these kinds of desires, because they are inevi-
tably destructive, not least because sex is not what the patient is in search of, but love.
These issues would need far greater thought than we can give them here, however.
Moreover, it has long been considered that individuals who seek mystic experience,
that is (re)union with some other power source or figure, are attempting to fulfil missing
components in schemata of self which would be controlled by kin altruistic systems.
3 Wispe suggests that empathy also uses mimetic capabilities and indeed, this is part of
many theories of empathy. However, sympathy may also involve important components
of mimetic activity.
Chapter 9

Disorders of care giving

The last ten years or so have seen an explosion of research on the damage parents
can do to their children. This probably relates to a change in cultural attitudes and
perceptions of the importance of childhood (Kagan 1984). I think this change has
come about for many reasons, but probably the early analytical insights of Freud
through to Bowlby, objects–relations theory and beyond are important. What
these theorists did was to focus on childhood experiences as important forerun-
ners to adult mental health.

Child–adult interactions
A cursory look at history shows that at various times, civilisations have shown
outstanding cruelty to children (Rohner 1986). Various groups from pharaohs to
kings are known to have murdered, tortured and imprisoned their offspring. In
some cultures, female infanticide is still practised. Some cultures pressurise their
children to such an extent that child suicide rates are increasing alarmingly. In
other cultures, parents indoctrinate their children so that even at the ages of four
and five, they are signed up to fight in holy wars. Children have been used as sac-
rificial offerings in many cultures. A report in a recent newspaper revealed that a
religious sect in Brazil had encouraged over 100 mothers to throw their infants off
a cliff. In the Jones Town massacre, parents fed their children poison.1 In various
western public schools, especially of the late nineteenth century, physical punish-
ment was ubiquitous, often carried out by older boys, and parents took very little
interest. In Britain today, there are still some opposed to the implementation of
the European Court of Human Rights recommendation that corporal punishment
should be banned from schools.
It is not known how far these kinds of events should be viewed as care-giving
disorders (Rohner 1986); a kind of mass madness leading to the death or injury
of person or persons over which the person injured has no control. Like crimi-
nal acts, care-giving disorders are defined by the deleterious effects they have
on another person. The extent of damage or injury is the criterion of evaluation.
Unlike most criminal behaviour however, care-giving disorders are those in which
the biologically adaptive function of nurturance and attachment has been replaced
184 Disorders of care giving

by a seriously injurious one. The parent or care-giving substitute does not fulfil
the function of nurturance and safety provision, but is the source of serious threat
or neglect sometimes necessitating the removal of the child from the parent or
substitute. In other words, while the criminal need not have any attachment rela-
tionship to his victim, in care-giving disorders there is at least the expectation of
an attachment based on the biological, proximity and psychological relationships
shared between the parent and the child. All serious abuse of another (unlike self-
abuse) is a criminal offence.
Care-giving disorder is usually studied in the context of child–parent relation-
ships. However, in the more general meaning of the term, care-giving disorder
could be applied to any situation between two or more people where the relation-
ship between them would normally be expected to promote nurturant behaviour
but where one or more individuals fail to display it and respond instead in a det-
rimental manner. Hence, like attachment, there are many varied domains of care-
giving difficulty, each ranging from mild to severe. In this section we will focus
primarily on child–parent manifestations of care-giving disorder since most is
known about this domain.
Child–parent care-giving disorder has three main domains: (1) neglect; (2)
physical abuse; and (3) sexual abuse. Rohner (1986) has presented a useful table
which distinguishes the behaviours of acceptance, abuse and neglect. These are
presented in Fig. 9.1. Although research is still accumulating at a fast rate, as we
shall see there are some agreed characteristics that are believed to be associated
with those manifesting care-giving disorders.

Neglect and physical abuse

The exact meaning of physical abuse remains unclear, but it is associated with the
term “non-accidental injury”. Browne and Saqi (1987, p.77) say this:

Mystification is implicit in the semi-official term of “non-accidental injury.”

Quite obviously it is meant to sound like “accidental injury.” Its true meaning
may be obscured further by the abbreviation to NAI – clearly, like VD, too
unmentionable to be openly acknowledged.
As a society, we prefer not to recognise the fact that many children are
either wilfully, or more usually, impetuously attacked physically and pain-
fully by their own parents. Indeed, in a nation who uses physical punishment
both institutionally and in the home, the condemnation of those whose disci-
pline, has “gone too far”, seems almost like self condemnation.

The consequences of neglect and physical abuse in children can be severe and
long lasting (Ammerman et al. 1986; Rohner 1986). It is therefore important to
attempt to conceptualise the characteristics of those who damage their children.
The following represent a summary of findings which are based on the distinc-
tion between abusive and non-abusive parents (Friedrich and Wheeler 1982;
Fig. 9.1 Conceptual framework of principal parenting concepts in parental acceptance–rejection theory
From Rohner 1986; with kind permission of Sage.
186 Disorders of care giving

Ammerman et al. 1986; Azar and Twentyman 1986; Patterson 1986; Augoustinos
1987; Browne and Saqi 1987; Kaufman and Zigler 1987).

Behaviours
1 Abusers value power and use high rates of physical punishment and expressed
negative emotion as a means of control. Disputes are usually evaluated as
power struggles which the parent must win by the use of coercive power.
2 They use low rates of positive reinforcement and engage in fewer mutually
reinforcing exchanges.
3 They stimulate and interact with the child significantly less than non-abusers.
4 They use high rates of inappropriate interference in the child’s behaviour
and inappropriate soothing behaviour (e.g. children may be hit or rejected to
enforce “non-crying”).
5 They are less likely to reason with the child.
6 They are less likely to empathise and/or to try to take the child’s perspective.
7 They use low rates of physical contact or are unpredictable and excessive in
their contact.

Personality
1 There is a minority of abusers who demonstrate low IQ. Since abuse can
cause brain damage (Ammerman et al. 1986), and certainly have deleterious
effects on intellectual development, it is unknown how far these two factors
interact (i.e. IQ with history of abuse).
2 A number of studies suggest that various personality dimensions including
low self-esteem, neuroticism, increased hostility, poor impulse control and
low frustration tolerance are higher in abusive parents. However, many path-
ological groups show low self-esteem and neuroticism but do not abuse their
children. Hence, the personality dispositions of hostility, impulse control and
frustration tolerance are probably key characteristics of abusers.
3 They are often poor empathisers and are sometimes regarded as suffering
from narcissistic and borderline difficulties. This may lead to poor social
skills in the ability to develop supportive systems. Their somewhat abrasive
and withdrawing personalities tend to alienate them from others.
4 Abusers discuss problems, especially those of discipline with the child, less
with others, especially the spouse.

Stress and psychophysiology

1 Abusers tend to show more ongoing stress (e.g. marital disharmony) and/or
rapid sequences of stress leading to exhaustion.
2 They see themselves as less able to cope with stress.
3 Economic stresses may aggravate abusive tendencies.
 Disorders of care giving 187

4 They have more mental and physical health problems, and more negative life
events.
5 They have less in the way of supportive networks and are often quite isolated.
They often lack a close confiding relationship.
6 They tend to show increased physiological responsiveness to an infant’s cry
and take longer to habituate. This may be mediated by a cognitive evaluation
in that abusers, under laboratory conditions, tend to evaluate an infant’s cry
as more demanding, angry and irritating. It may also be that this increased
physiological responsiveness relates to increased agonic arousal.

Cognitive characteristics
1 Abusers make more internal, stable and negative attributions of their children
(i.e. they see their children as deliberately trying to annoy). They tend to
project onto the child their own negative feelings.
2 They regard their children as difficult (to care for).
3 They use the child’s behaviour to confirm (or disconfirm) their self-image.
Compliance is mistaken as love. Patterson (1986, p.85) puts it this way: “It is
our clinical impression that many mothers reject a child because they believe
the child’s behavior signals the mother is a failure.”
4 Abusers have unrealistic expectations of the developmental competencies
and abilities of their children and are therefore prone to disappointment and
frustration at their children’s behaviour.

Other findings
The other major finding is that abusive parents often have a history of abuse.
However, the link is not straightforward. Looking at the intergenerational trans-
mission rates, Kaufman and Zigler (1987, p.190) in a review of the data, suggest
the following:

. . . the best estimate of the rate of intergenerational transmission appears

to be 30% plus or minus 5%. This suggests that approximately one-third of
all individuals who were physically abused, sexually abused or extremely
neglected will subject their offspring to one of these forms of maltreat-
ment, while the remaining two-thirds will provide adequate care for their
children.

In a study of British families by Browne and his colleagues it was found that
approximately 7% of families with a newborn infant had a high number of “pre-
disposing factors for child abuse”. However, at follow-up, only about 6% of these
high-risk families did actually abuse their children within the first 24 months of
delivery. Hence, what finally leads to abuse relates to a complex set of interacting
factors (Browne and Saqi 1987).
188 Disorders of care giving

Patterson (1986) researched maternal rejection and child aggressiveness

using an interactional approach. The characteristics of rejecting parents were the
following:

1 Parents were very unclear how to discipline their children. They punished for
insignificant transgressions whereas serious transgressions such as stealing
went unpunished. Also, threats were carried through unpredictably.
2 There were very low rates of positive reinforcement, especially of physical
contact, touching and hugging.
3 There were high levels of coersive, aversive interactions.

Patterson (1986, p.88) says:

Why are mothers of problem children more likely to start conflicts even
when the child is behaving? Our clinical experience in treating these families
suggested that what they choose to classify as deviant was different from
the classification schemes employed by normal mothers. They choose to
view trivial instances of transgressions as worthy of a full scale scolding.
In this formulation, scolding and threatening is not viewed as an exemplar
of effective discipline because these parents almost invariably forgot to fol-
low through their threat to punish . . . We suspected, but have never tested
the idea, that rejecting mothers are more likely to have such highly inclusive
categories for classifying deviant child behavior. We also suspected that the
rejecting parents, with their overly inclusive categories for deviant behavior,
have overly exclusive categories for prosocial behaviors. The latter would be
commensurate with reduced likelihoods for the use of positive reinforcement.

Browne and Saqi (1987) have used an experimental paradigm involving close
observation of interactive sequences between an infant and mother. Compared to
non-abusive parents, abusive parents were found to interrupt the routine sequences
with coercive, non-interactive behaviour, such as adjusting the infant’s posture or
clothing. There was little opportunity for reciprocal interactions between the par-
ent and the child in these kinds of episodes.
Children from aggressive backgrounds come to expect aggressive encounters
to be the rule. Hence, in school settings, these children are more likely to attribute
hostile intent to neutral behaviour from their peers (Patterson 1986). Their inter-
actional style is therefore agonistic and defensive. In other words, these children
tend to engage in agonic, rather than hedonic, styles of interaction from an early
age. In consequence they elicit more aggression and withdrawal from their peers
and facilitate and elicit less co-operative and affiliative behaviours from others.
In addition to increased aggressiveness with both peers and teachers, abused chil-
dren show a greater tendency towards dysphoric affect, have limited attention
spans, cognitive impairment and hyperactivity (Ammerman et al. 1986; Azar and
Twentyman 1986; Browne and Saqi 1987).
 Disorders of care giving 189

As yet, the differences between physical abusers and neglecters is still to be

fully articulated by research (Rohner 1986). However, preliminary evidence sug-
gests that they often coexist and that the greater the degree of neglect, the greater
the probability that more serious mental disorder exists in the parent. Hence, this
kind of care-giving disorder can be seen to represent the interaction of a number
of complex factors including: (1) previous history of abuse; (2) unrealistic expec-
tations; (3) various personality characteristics such as low frustration tolerance,
high hostility and low impulse control; and (4) a low frequency of positive rein-
forcing interactions.

Sexual abuse
Sexual abuse is often associated with physical abuse. Females suffer more sexual
abuse than males in a ratio of four or five to one. Adult surveys suggest abuse
rates in the order of 10–15%. However, Alter-Reid et al. (1986, p.255) in a major
review quote research by Russell:

Russell’s study (1983) is the most important adult retrospective incidence

study to date because it included a random household sample of 930 adult
women, intensively trained female interviewers, and a carefully designed and
standard interview schedule. Analysis of Russell’s data revealed that 38%
of these women had had at least one unwanted sexual experience involving
actual physical contact with an adult prior to the age of 18; 28% had one such
experience prior to the age of 14. Only 8% of these cases were ever reported
to the police. The overwhelming majority of perpetrators were known to their
victims.

Different studies will often come up with different epidemiological statistics

since much depends on the definition of sexual abuse. The definition of sexual
abuse ranges from genital touching through full intercourse to anal rape.
As many have now argued, Freud probably did us a great disservice by replac-
ing his seduction theory with a fantasy theory, although where fact and fiction end
is a debatable and controversial point. Nevertheless, in our culture sexual abuse
is alarmingly prevalent.
The characteristics of sexual abusers remain elusive. However, in a major
review of current evidence and theory, Finklehor and his associates (1986,
pp.117–118) suggest the following:

. . . . The review suggests that 1) the best experimental research had been
directed towards establishing that sexual abusers do show an unusual pattern
of sexual arousal toward children, although no substantial theory yet exists
about why this is so; 2) a number of studies have concurred that molesters
are blocked in their social and heterosexual relationships; 3) alcohol is well
established as a disinhibiting factor that plays a role in a great many sexual
190 Disorders of care giving

abuse offenses; 4) at least one study gives support to the “emotional con-
gruence” idea that children, because of their lack of dominance, have some
special meaning for pedophiles; and 5) there is evidence that many sexual
abusers were themselves victims of abuse when they were children.

Finklehor goes on to analyse the reasons why these are relevant factors and
how they have come to prominence in the sexual life of the abuser. At the present
time there is little cross-cultural data to tell us how culturally aberrant this behav-
iour is. The masculine sexualisation of emotional needs may play a role, as may
the striving for dominance noted in most Western cultures. Finklehor addresses
these issues and considers aspects related to gender variation in abusers.
The effects of sexual abuse can be severe and long lasting. There is often a
pathological collusion based on fear and resulting in a tense secrecy, guilt and
shame for the victim. There can be excessive possessiveness and jealousy on the
part of the father towards the daughter, with various disturbances in relationships
with siblings and peers. Depression and low self-esteem are also very common.
Alter-Reid et al. (1986, p.260) quote research by Herman and Hirschman. The
victims of father incest show the following characteristics: “1) feelings of isola-
tion; 2) negative self-identities; 3) fantasies of power over men; 4) depression; 5)
difficulties in forming trusting relationships; 6) anger toward women; and 7) fears
of being inadequate mothers.”
More recently, Jacobson and Richardson (1987) took complete histories of 100
psychiatric inpatients. Diagnosis included affective disorders (32%), psychotic
disorders (29%), personality and substance abuse (17%) and various other forms
of neurosis including anorexia (22%). They investigated four types of abuse:
physical abuse as a child, physical abuse as an adult, sexual abuse as a child and
sexual abuse as an adult. Their findings revealed that 81% had experienced one
form of abuse and 60% had experienced two or more kinds of abuse. In conclu-
sion to their study they say this:

In addition to establishing high prevalence rates the data obtained provide

several kinds of evidence that assault experiences are relevant to current
psychiatric treatment. Many patients had experienced assault within a few
months before hospitalisation. Substantial guilt and shame had been asso-
ciated with the assault and for some patients still remained. Patients often
reported that the assault continued to have an effect on their current func-
tioning, and a significant minority carried physical scars as reminders of the
assault. For some, the assaults had remained secret from family and friends
and also from previous therapists.
(p.911; italics added)2

Jacobson and Richardson (1987) and Alter-Reid et al. (1986) emphasise

the importance of investigating these areas of history in standard psychiatric
assessment. It is exceedingly important that therapists should be educated in
 Disorders of care giving 191

good counselling and listening skills. Therapists who are unable to develop
an empathic relationship in which trust is prominent, and prefer techniques
to people, may miss essential sources of information. In my clinical experi-
ence, discussion of sexual and physical abuse often does not manifest until the
patient has a degree of trust in the therapist and unless the therapist cues it, i.e.
gives permission and encourages examination of this area of the patient’s life.
Patients that are particularly prone to shame often show serious distortions in
their early life in the domains of physical and sexual abuse. In my view, the
current American vogue for engaging “shame attacking exercises” (i.e. walk-
ing down the street pulling a banana behind one) are way off line except per-
haps for marginally shy people. These exercises do not get at the rage behind
the shame (see Chapter 11).
We should also note that in rapists and other serious violent and sexual offences
a great majority of offenders reveal histories of being physically and often sexu-
ally abused. Hence, abuse does not only result in serious risk of mental disorder
for abused individuals, but can have serious consequences to those who come into
contact with them.

Identity abuse
There is an area of abuse which I call “identity abuse” that is rarely considered
as a separate phenomenon. This is not to say that psychotherapists have not been
aware of it, for indeed they have. In terms of its presentation, it does not manifest
until later in childhood, usually adolescence. Indeed, most of adolescence psycho-
therapy is concerned with issues of the struggle for an individual personal identity,
and the presence of identity abuse in the home (Macadam, personal communica-
tion). Identity abuse relates to the conflict between the child’s and an adult’s value
systems. These parents do not necessarily physically or sexually abuse their chil-
dren and in some senses may be deemed as quite caring. However, it is a super-
ficial caring, lacking any recognition of the individuality and separateness of the
child. They can also be overprotective and guilt inducing of the child’s move to
greater autonomy and peer group loyalty. The child is seen as an extension of the
parental self, to be moulded and modelled in the image that the parent has for the
child. In one sense, we may view this as an effort to gain sociocultural fitness.
In these families there are usually high expectations of how the child should be.
The parents subtly but perpetually push the child in certain directions, even to the
point of choosing their careers.
In therapy at the moment, I have at least ten cases of people who have followed
careers because they were unable to counter their parents’ demands. Two patients
went to medical school. Both hated it. One dropped out and found solace in alco-
hol. The other became a very unhappy and stressed doctor. Yet another patient
read law rather than history even though temperamentally, history would probably
have suited her better. Another patient got married due to parental insistence that
women do not follow careers. Yet another patient acquired the A-Levels to go to
192 Disorders of care giving

university, but his father insisted that he stayed within the working-class frame-
work. And so the cases go on and on.
All these individuals suffer various degrees of dysphoria, feeling that they have
taken a serious wrong turn in life. They feel resentful and lost. Of course, these
compliant behaviours over careers were not isolated events; much of the upbring-
ing was dominated by needs for compliance. In a large percentage of these cases,
physical abuse of varying degrees form was present. For example, one patient
revealed how her mother would frequently take the hairbrush to her, pulling her
upstairs, laying her on the bed and repeatedly and consistently beating her. She
said, “The beatings just went on and on and on.” She felt that many of her efforts
to become autonomous met with nothing but rows until she felt forced to back
down. Father, who was mostly absent, would side with mother for the sake of a
quiet life.
In some cultures, compliance to parental designed lifestyles is the norm. Maybe,
if this is the culturally accepted way, then one never thinks that a choice is pos-
sible and therefore never comes to believe that things could be any different from
the way they are. I remember some time ago watching a television documentary
on arranged marriages in India. While some women seem to accept this, others
do not, especially if their marriages turn out to be unhappy. There is of course, no
guarantee that freedom leads to happiness, but the degree to which the life of one
person is controlled and dictated by another must be a cause for thought at least.

Adult–adult relationships
The most serious forms of care-giving disorders relate to child–parent interac-
tions. This is because so much of the child’s development is shaped by these
early experiences. Moreover, the child is considerably less powerful than an adult.
However, if we broaden our focus a little, then many forms of adult relationships
can be seen to be centred on nurturance and attachment. There are many theories
of adult love and of how love develops and changes over the lifetime of a relation-
ship (Sternberg 1986). There are also many types of love, e.g. sexual, friendly,
dependent, possessive and so on. Adult love does not involve the dependency of
childhood, nor do lovers need to mediate in the same way as they would with a
child. Nevertheless, degrees of mediation still occur. As a general focus for dis-
cussion, it seems relevant to consider some forms of adult relationship as marred
by an inability to care, nurture, love, and develop positive affectional attachment
bonds. To a considerable degree, these problems probably reflect as much a diffi-
culty of co-operation as they do nurturance. But intimate relations grow in part, at
least, by the amount of adult nurturance that takes place in the relationship even if
there is a good deal of reciprocality involved. In this short section, we will look at
the way relationships that might ideally foster nurturance and co-operation, sadly,
often become competitive and agonic.
There have been a number of studies examining what makes for unhappy and
happy marriages. Various factors such as similarity of partners in various domains,
 Disorders of care giving 193

strategies for conflict resolution, shared goals and aspirations, are important.
A particularly interesting approach has been to look at the physiological interac-
tions of couples during interaction. Levenson and Gottman (1985) have shown
that physiological arousal, measured during a couple’s interactions, was highly
predictive of marital satisfaction three years later, the best predictor being heart
rate (a measure of sympathetic arousal). These data may suggest that unhappy
marriages operate predominantly through defence system processing. Levenson
and Gottman suggest that the interactional style of unhappy marriages may be
destructive, defeating and dismal, leading to negative expectations. In contrast,
happy marriages are marked by optimism and pleasure. Such an approach also
bears some overlap with the important work on high and low expressed emotion
families (Tarrier et al. 1979).
The defence system controls particular patterns of attention and cognitive-
affective processing. In unhappy marriage the attention focusses on threat and
need for defensive (protective) action, and disagreement is an arena for domi-
nance fighting. In happy marriages, however, the attachment and hedonic systems
mediating safety are more prevalent and in consequence, these individuals may
be more attentive to and more capable of sending reassurance signals and encour-
aging mutually reinforcing, open and positive interactions. It is not too surpris-
ing that these differences should show up in physiology since many people, at a
behavioural level, may try to mask their defensiveness especially when on public
display (e.g. in front of experimenters). Also, it will be recalled that physiology
can be a better predictor of stress than behaviour in some contexts (Coe et al.
1985).
When nurturance fails, the usual reason is that the relationship has become
focussed on agonic and defence modes. Some marriages are marked by conflict
resolution that involves a good deal of downing or labelling of the other, or of
inhibiting the expressions of grievances and sulking and withdrawing as a way
of punishing. The switch to the agonic mode shifts attention to negative aspects
of the other and increases arousal. Although yet to be proved, it probably also
reduces positive expectations. While these interactions may never erupt into
serious violence, power struggles for control and recognition are prevalent. The
structure of these relationships ensures that anger, disappointment, status attack-
ing and efforts to control the other are the norm. This reduces the probability of
co-operative and nurturant styles evolving and may have detrimental effects on
the development of the adults in the relationship. Sometimes, one individual can
personalise the problems in a marriage or significant relationship, and regards the
other’s put downs and attacks as justified criticism to an incompetent or unlovable
self. This increases the power distortion in the marriage, making one more likely
to dominate and the other more likely to submit. This style is seen repeatedly in
psychiatric clinics.
As for children, so for adults. Neglect and identity abuse (using the other as
an object of gratification for various needs) are probably more common than we
appreciate. In some cultures identity abuse is ubiquitous. It is institutionalised
194 Disorders of care giving

into the very fabric of social life and women are very much subject to the patriar-
chal order. The division of labour and the socially enforced role of child rearing,
perhaps over very many years, are also examples. At the individual level, neglect
and identity abuse are most common in men who use their wives as stress absorb-
ers (this is especially true for Type A’s – Price 1982) or dedicate themselves to
a career as a way to avoid intimacy. Just as for regulator mothers, these men
(and women) can find enforced togetherness a source of stress. Individuals may
also have problems with the expression of caring and nurturant feelings when in
close physical proximity, e.g. non-sexual hugging, touching, stroking, listening,
empathising, etc. They may not recognise the stage of development that their
spouse is at or take much interest in fostering growth if they do. They may have
difficulty in acting as a confidant, especially if this ignites unwanted identifica-
tions of weakness or vulnerability. Some expect special dispensations or favours
(often sexual) as a kind of recognition for all the hard work at the office, or as a
way of boosting self-esteem. Men who are engaged in competitive pursuits in
careers to increase resource-holding potential and public status may be particu-
larly prone to this.
All of the above factors are probably dimensionally related in terms of severity
and prevalence and there may also be state and trait differences. Relationships
may start of loving and nurturing but become progressively more agonic as careers
develop, differences in goals and aspirations become manifest and children are
born. There may be simple strategies for overcoming these difficulties such as
making special time for the relationship or sitting down with a third party (e.g.
therapist), to air grievances and agree on plans and goals for the future. Some-
times relationships have just slipped into agonic modes without either party truly
recognising what has happened. If the desires for nurturant and affectional bond-
ing and close proximity can be rekindled, then problems may abate and insight
may be gained. The success of any relationship therapy of this form depends
crucially on the ability to help a nurturing relationship.
Sometimes however, the problems in relationships relate to more serious shifts
into agonic modes and represent more serious forms of abuse. Physical abuse
is not limited to parent–child relationships. Spouse abuse is also a major prob-
lem. People tend not to admit to spouse abuse because of stigma. Rates of abuse
vary according to study, but could be as high as 25%; this figure increasing in
populations of divorced women. There has been interest in factors which relate
to both male and female characteristics of abuse. Some suggest that women may
contribute, cause or even be addicted to abuse and get caught in repetitive cycles
of abuse (Pizzey and Shapiro 1982). However, this view is unlikely for the vast
majority, even though abuse should be looked at in interactional terms. Andrews
and Brown (1988) suggests that teenage marriage, premarital pregnancy and
an early history of parental neglect tend to be associated with physical abuse.
Parental neglect may predispose some women to marry early to seek love and to
deny problems (i.e. defensive exclusion). These women may be more prone to
selecting partners who are superficially dominant but who are not able to nurture.
 Disorders of care giving 195

Staying in an abusive relationship may relate to mental health factors such as

depression or anxiety which make it difficult for the individual to summon the
courage to leave, economic factors or fears of leaving the husband, e.g. threats of
murder or disfigurement.
Abusive men tend to be dependent, possessive, jealous and controlling. Alco-
hol is often involved as a disinhibiting factor. These men may also engage in
impressive courtship displays to impress the female of their attentions (Andrew
and Brown 1988). In all animal species, courtship is important, but in these men
it can be excessive (though superficial) and the female is often taken in by it.
Women can either be dazzled by these displays, sexually aroused or get involved
and then be fearful of backing out. In many cases, men who persistently abuse
are personality disordered, having a low tolerance for frustration and are hostile
prone. Sometimes the advent of pregnancy and a new baby can take attention
away from the male and can light up narcissistic injuries which were covered
while he was getting the full attention of his spouse or lover. This begins a vicious
circle of demands, withdrawal (by wife) and more demands.
Women who are not also themselves narcissistically damaged, may be aware
of this possibility. Others however, can become rejecting, withdrawing or hostile
to the male’s increased desires for attention with the arrival of the new baby. The
new baby may act as the new object to focus loving attention on. The relationship
then shifts into a triangular competitive one. Men who have used sex as a way to
boost self-esteem are especially prone to difficulty when a spouse loses sexual
interest during or after pregnancy. The child is then seen as a competitor rather
than as an object in need of nurturance. The wife is seen as choosing to nurture
another individual rather than the vulnerable male.
In summary then, various forms of abuse ranging from mild to severe, includ-
ing identity abuse, neglect and physical abuse can be present in many close rela-
tionships. At the present time, we do not know the prevalence of sexual abuse in
marriages. In all of these cases, it is the switch to an agonic mode of interaction
which spells trouble. In this mode, the other is not seen as someone to be under-
stood, nurtured and reassured, but rather someone whose demands and behav-
iours must be controlled with the use of coercive power. This power can be used
actively as in hostile, downing or other status and identity attacking exercises, or
passively as in withdrawing, rejecting and not acknowledging. As a society, the
most persistent accusation that can be made of us is that we do not know how to
care for each other (Smail 1987). Our failure to nurture each other lies at the root
of many of our human miseries.

Concluding comments
Care-giving disorders represent a major failure in attachment and hedonic
systems. The interaction between the child and the parent becomes one of
agonistic encounters. There is low empathy, low positive interactions, espe-
cially in proximity behaviours, and major elements of distortion of dominance
196 Disorders of care giving

and breeding behaviour. The reason why the attachment and hedonic systems
become inhibited is an area for research. However, previous history of abuse,
having no internalised model of self or role relationships to co-ordinate the
attachment and hedonic systems seem to be important. It is extremely rare
to find abusers who do not have low self-esteem. Nevertheless, it must be
remembered that about two-thirds of previously abused children do not go on
to abuse their own offspring (Kaufman and Zigler 1987). Even when risk fac-
tors are present, a large majority of people do not abuse (Browne and Saqi
1987). Maybe a genetic component is present such that the evolved capacity
for attachment and hedonic activities is weakly represented or activated in the
CNS; and/or agonistic propensities are highly amplified. The genetic relation-
ship (e.g. step-parent) is also important. The effects of abuse and neglect have
serious consequences (Rohner 1986).
In this short chapter then, we have reviewed some of the evidence pertaining to
various forms of neglect and abuse. As a general classification we have referred
to these as disorders of care giving; that is, they represent a failure of people to
be able to nurture (here, we use Fogel et al.’s 1986 definition). The ability to nur-
ture is evolution’s most precious gift to humans. But like all gifts it is easily lost,
atrophied or wasted. In all problems where there is a consistent failure to nurture,
we find the inhibition of friendly love and compassion and the need to engage
the world as if in a struggle to defend against demands and accusations. There is
a regression to use evaluative competencies evolved for ranking behaviour to be
recruited into attachment contexts.
In this sense, an arena of relating which could, ideally, lead to nurturance and
growth, leads instead to conflictual, agonic interactions. We are thrown back in
time, as a kind of phylogenetic regression, where the attachment and hedonic
modes were yet to evolve. Others are not persons to be understood, loved, grown,
care for, developed, protected or mediated for, but rather are objects of power,
gratifiers or takers whose behaviour must be controlled. The psychobiological
consequences are related to the activation of the defence mode in all parties
sharing these styles of relationship. The psychobiological changes help to lock
attentive and coping styles into defensive strategies. This leads to a vicious ampli-
fying cycle of defensive activity. Love, after all, is not a mystical something that
someone is lucky enough to buy, inherit or is God given. It a creation of the
most phylogenetically advanced possibilities of humankind which is actualised
in relationships. In some cases, a key problem with nurturing relates to exces-
sive dependency on the admiring attention of another, be it child or spouse. Any
behaviour that threatens this fragile sense of self is aggressively rebuffed for the
person feels defenceless to it. Few may be truly able to nurture others until they
are able to nurture themselves. As we have said, when it comes to adult–adult
relationships, much of the nurturance and hedonic behaviour has an important ele-
ment of reciprocality about it. This leads us directly to co-operation – the subject
of our next chapter.
 Disorders of care giving 197

Notes
1 In 1978, a religious cult-leader from California, James Jones, led a band of followers to
Guyana. This move was almost certainly as a result of federal investigation for fraud.
Jones was a charismatic leader, who at the height of the investigation persuaded over
800 people to engage in mass suicide. Parents fed their children poison so that they
might die with them. (I am grateful to Dennis Trent for this point.)
2 In regard to current physical abuse, the authors point out that being slapped, shoved
and threatened by a husband, or watching him slam his fist through a wall when angry
were not included as a major assault. Even though these researchers recognise that these
events have powerful effects on self-esteem, they point out that the prevalence rates
would have been even higher had such non-major assaults been included.
Chapter 10

Co-operation

The importance of human co-operativeness

Of all the social behaviours which have evolved in humans, the capacity for co-
operative action is of profound importance. Many of the innate information pro-
cessing competencies, which make available the capacity to learn social rules, are
probably related to the evolution of co-operation. These social rules, once learned,
make possible forms of relationships that give humans the unique capacity to link
in complex communicational networks that may loosely be labelled as “culture”.
The evolved motivational and evaluative mechanisms which make co-operation
possible serve to provide the basis of moral values and behaviours which keep
egotistical–competitive behaviours in check. Some have suggested that a spur to
co-operation arose from the ice age which rendered the environment more hos-
tile. Tool use, digging for roots, hunting, shelter preparation and so on were more
effective when carried out co-operatively.
In Chapter 2 it was suggested that co-operation evolved from the benefits
bestowed to species who became capable of joint, co-ordinated action to secure
a goal. Co-operation is therefore an evolved capability for the modification of
individualistic competitiveness. There are, of course, many kinds of co-operative
behaviour in Nature. For example, various species of insects have evolved highly
co-operative lifestyles, are able to work jointly on projects with the division of
labour (e.g. leaf-cutting ants) and are able to share and communicate knowledge
advantageous to the group (e.g. bees are capable of signalling to other members
the direction and distance of pollen from the hive). Mostly, this form of co-operative
enterprise has been explained in terms of inclusive fitness (Crook 1980). In
humans however, the phylogenetic path can be traced to species (reptiles) that
were individualistically competitive, territorial and where each member was more
or less capable of reproducing, provided access to reproductive opportunities
could be acquired.
Although the same forces of selection apply, human co-operativeness is
a re-invention of a relational style of some advantage but of a different order
than insect co-operativeness. It involves high-level schemata, probably located
in paleo- and neomammalian brain structures. Hence, among the most salient
 Co-operation 199

differences between insect and human co-operativeness is the degree to which

human co-operativeness is under the control of motivational and cognitive pro-
cesses and the way recent evolution has acted on this in a big way. However, co-
operation has to be accommodated within a CNS structure which also allows for
extensive egocentric and hostile competitiveness.
Human co-operativeness undoubtedly draws in and utilises various mecha-
nisms related to care giving and care eliciting (i.e. the attachment systems). This
manifests as liking, friendship and friendly love. (In Leary’s 1957 model this con-
cerns the love–hate dimension.) The main focus of co-operativeness in this chapter
however, is its relationship to, and inhibition of, individualistic competitiveness.
This is not to deny in any way the importance of attachment systems operating
between non kin (friendly love). However, this kind of relating is more of a blend
of two biosocial goals (attachment and co-operation). Our concern here is more to
think of co-operation in relation to power-competition.
Individualistic competitiveness is concerned with spacing, separating and dif-
ferentiating one member from another such that one member extracts an individ-
ual advantage or control over another. It is concerned with a vertical hierarchical
organisation of relationships. Co-operativeness, on the other hand, is concerned
with linking, joining, acting together and minimising differences between indi-
vidual members. This is concerned with a more horizontal organisation of rela-
tionships. In the human context, co-operative enterprise rests on bestowing value
and status to others but without the use of power. It will be recalled that Foa
(see page 66) suggested that the essential qualities of human behaviour concern
the degree to which love and status are conferred or denied to self and others. This
is one of the factors that links co-operativeness with competitiveness, i.e. through
the bestowing of status. In other words, bestowing value and status, a recognition
of rights, abilities and achievements are involved here, but in the co-operative
mode this occurs without any significant coercive interaction. The more an indi-
vidual tries to force a bestowing/recognition of status, the more competitive the
action. Many social signals exist to communicate co-operative (friendly) relation-
ships. These are primarily “no threat” and reassurance signals (smiling, shaking
hands, etc.; Eibl-Eibesfeldt 1980).
An individual seeking co-operative goals may not wish to have power over oth-
ers or to lead them necessarily, but does wish to be viewed as someone with some-
thing to offer and share with others in terms of skills, knowledge or competency,
i.e. to be of value to others, or in William James’ terms “appreciated”. In Leary’s
(1957) model, these aspects would be classed as friendly–dominant. A sense of
appreciation increases social attention-holding potential.
The central dialectic between competitiveness and co-operativeness has been
outlined by a pop star who recently put the dilemma this way. He started out want-
ing to be one of the boys; to belong to a group; to be part of a team; to find a sense
of belonging. He wrote his songs, he said, to share with others something of him-
self; to feel accepted and part of a group. But as he became more successful, he
found that the status that he acquired separated him from others and achieved the
200 Co-operation

opposite of his conscious intentions. At times, he felt so depressed by the sense of

isolation that success had brought him that he often considered giving up his pop
star status altogether. Unlike competitiveness then, too much “distinguishing” sta-
tus (vertical difference) can threaten a separation and spacing and a breakdown in
the capacity to link and join together with others.
This dilemma is represented in many walks of life. Wolfe et al. (1986) have
called this kind of dilemma “getting along” versus “getting ahead”. Individuals
whose motivational systems are more attuned to linking functions may have diffi-
culties when it comes to the donning of roles of authority and status if this in some
way threatens unwanted interpersonal separations or conflict (McClelland 1985).
Such individuals may fear behaving with authority for fear of losing their sense of
belonging or approval and invoking envy or power plays in others. Co-operation
is based, to some degree, on mutual respect of each participating member in the
relationship and reducing dominance differences. The key to co-operation, there-
fore, is sharing, communication and the capacity to learn social rules for organis-
ing role expectations in relationships. Furthermore, it relates to a special class of
social attention. The co-operative person wishes to be “attended to” as one mem-
ber of a team, i.e. wishes to be appreciated. But he does not wish to attract attention
related to rank differences. Therefore, as his status rises, he may try to raise the
status of others or downgrade his own, or try to avoid dominance disputes. This
is often a difficult balance to strike. McClelland (1985) would suggest the general
motive as (social) conflict-avoidance, which captures its essential aspect. But to
this must be added the need for affiliation as he points out. Hence, co-operation
represents: (1) the desire to valued and appreciated; and (2) a task-oriented aspect
related to affiliation by joint action, be this hunting or scientific debate or just hav-
ing a good time. In chimpanzee society it has recently been shown that the main
form of social organisation is one of mutual dependence (Power 1988). There is
little in the way of rigid dominance hierarchies and females may mate with many
different males (Bailey 1987). The main group often splits into smaller groups for
foraging and on return there is much greeting behaviour (hugging, display) which
appears to be mutually reinforcing. In other words chimpanzee society is basi-
cally co-operative and affectionate. Social roles are particularly important (Power
1988). Only if the group is interfered with in some way, disrupting their foraging
behaviours, is their regression to more hostile forms of dominance behaviours
(Power 1986). Females however tend to avoid aggressive males.
In all cultures, periods of “get togethers”, be these parties, religious or other rit-
uals, working on common goals from hunter-gathering societies to making a land-
ing on the moon, are key features of co-operative endeavour. Within these fabrics
of social life, tradition, the pooling and sharing of ideas, the sense of belonging
and of continuity from one generation to another make up a cultural history. Indi-
viduals who are able to function in this manner gain enormously for they can learn
and adapt coping and problem-solving skills not only from their own experience
but also from the experience of others. The more individuals can know about
others – their thoughts, feelings and knowledge – the more advantaged they may
 Co-operation 201

become. One of the most important requirements for such activity is a good means
of communication. Hence the importance of language which probably evolved
from gestures and various displays and alarm calls (see Chapter 14). Of course,
not all knowledge passed from one generation to another is useful or accurate or
reflects the common needs of the time.
Therefore, to some degree, the capacity to compete and create new styles of
relating must enter from one generation to another in order for each generation
to avoid becoming mere replicas of the preceding generation. This dialectic is a
complex one. A final point on co-operation should be made here. Looking at evo-
lution in broad terms it seems to me that co-operators will always win out over
those species that are primarily individualistic in their strategies. Humans are the
dominant species of the world (reducing the survival and existence of many other
life forms) because we are co-operators par excellence. We can store information
for our meaning-making that is derived not only from members of our own group
or generation, but from many groups and generations. We may split the atom and
live on other worlds because our intellectual abilities are designed to learn from
others. Our philosophical and scientific meaning-making represents the distilled
knowledge of countless millions of people now long dead. No other species can
remotely match our competencies in this regard. Despite the apparent (personal)
attractiveness of individualistic pursuit that served reptilian inclusive fitness, we
might remember it is Nature’s gift of co-operation that has made us what we are
and we would do well to remember this in our egotistic pursuits. Our ability for
love and compassion, our ability to value others are not God given, but are the
inevitable consequence of evolution, for co-operators will always in the end be
advantaged over species of individualists.

Evolution
In considering the issues of co-operation two central questions arise. First, by
what route have humans acquired the superordinate capacity for sharing and co-
operation? Second, what implications are there to be drawn regarding the evo-
lution of evaluative and motivational systems which underlie these behavioural
dispositions?
The (in)capacity to co-operate and share with others lies at the heart of many
psychological difficulties. These include thwarted efforts to see oneself as val-
ued, appreciated and accepted as part of a group or a relationship, tendencies to
be overly competitive (dominant, autocratic) or submissive in co-operative con-
texts and/or tendencies towards fears of deception, dishonesty and exploitation by
one’s fellow. Indeed, Marx’s critique of capitalist society rests on the issue that the
(co-operative) division of labour has simply provided an exploitative opportunity
for the bourgeoisie – the owners of capital.
The evolution of co-operative behaviour can be traced via the avenues that have
led to altruism. As already discussed, sociobiologists have proposed two forms of
altruism – kin and reciprocal. Kin altruism relates to helping and caring behaviour
202 Co-operation

between genetically related others. Trivers (1971) however, formulated the idea
that altruistic acts could have evolved between non-genetically related individuals
when donors might acquire some benefit at a future date via reciprocation. The
type of example usually quoted here involves the reciprocal behaviour of groom-
ing. There may be some places on the body where various parasites might only be
removed by another group member. Individuals that were capable of grooming
each other would therefore be advantaged over those that were not. However, it is
always possible that an individual might “cheat” and fail to reciprocate a grooming
act.1 The theory posits that forms of memory evolved allowing for the detection of
cheating, i.e. a non-reciprocator would be remembered and would not be groomed
in the future. This idea has become an interesting theory of social transaction
(Crook 1980; Smith 1983; Wenegrat 1984; Dawkins 1986). Indeed, many theories
of social relationship are based on various ideas about the equity and reciproca-
tion of social transactions (Brown 1986). It is also the case of course that various
forms of reciprocation and co-operation take place between species, e.g. certain
species of fish feed on the parasites of larger fish, the tick bird of North Africa
feeds on the ticks of buffaloes, flowers rely on insects to pollenate them, and so on.
In humans reciprocation is an important part of sharing. Reciprocal altruism
provides some useful hypotheses regarding the possible phylogenetic develop-
ment of cognitive evaluative systems. These cognitive systems may be important
in various forms of social interaction and forms of psychopathology. Basically,
reciprocation is believed to operate on a tit-for-tat basis such that individuals are
prepared to help to some degree, probably as the first response (Dawkins 1986),
provided that reciprocation occurs, but not to help at some future date if reciproca-
tion does not. Human acts of helping, however, are controlled via many cognitive
factors such as attributions and assessment of the status of the object of helping
(N. Eisenberg 1986; Brewin 1988).
Crook (1980, pp.176–177) has articulated the sociobiological suggestions by
proposing that a number of functional systems evolved out of the survival advan-
tages bestowed by reciprocal altruism. These are:

1 The system is established by the offering of some service to a stranger by a

donor. To behave in this way is to proffer friendship. Children, in fact, seem
to respond to strangers rather than familiars with approaches of this type.
2 Friendship is established when a recipient responds to a donor with recipro-
cation. This happens when a liking by the donor is reciprocated by a liking of
the donor by the partner, who responds in an expectant, friendly manner . . .
3 Once friendship is established it is possible for one partner to exploit the
“goodwill” of the other, by cheating on his obligations. A compensatory
motivational system involves a monitoring of returns so that, under certain
conditions, an indignation at the absence of expected reciprocations will
appear. This indignation, which lies at the root of concepts of fair play, and
social obligation will prevent the exploited altruist from continuing to per-
form altruistic acts. In so far as the indignation is aggressive, it threatens the
 Co-operation 203

cheater with the loss of a friend and the reduction of aid.2 In extreme cases,
the cheater may also expect an attack and injury.
4 The cheater, before or after being the recipient of indignation, is likely to
experience the dissonance between his behaviour and that of his willing
friend as guilt. Guilt has to do with a person’s self evaluation, whereas if
an individual’s behaviour becomes publicly known and judged he may also
experience shame.
5 In either case, a way to restore the status quo ante is to offer reparation which
may well have to exceed in benefit the costs of former cheating.
6 The cost benefit analysis of these implicitly contractual relationships seems
justified from social psychological studies reviewed by Trivers. In general,
it seems that the greater the need state of the recipient, the greater the prob-
ability of his reciprocation. The greater the cost to the donor, the greater the
gratitude and sense of obligation of the recipient.
7 The giving of an altruistic act and the forgiving of cheating will be related to
experiences of sympathy3 which imply a degree of comprehension of another’s
condition.

From this it can be seen that there have evolved key cognitive systems for eval-
uating co-operative enterprise. This highlights again the inherent conflict between
co-operation and competitiveness. Important issues are: (1) the evolution and
evaluation of deception and cheating in both self and others; (2) the evaluation of
guilt and shame in self and others; (3) the issue of reparation and redemption – a
powerful theme in human culture, especially in religious history; and (4) sympa-
thy/empathy as a motivational base for helping, reciprocation and forgiveness.
The way these relate to psychopathology is the basis of our next chapter.
Another evolutionary route to co-operation may come from the evolution of
play (see pages 21–24). Some individuals enjoy co-operative effort, be it science,
intellectual debate, exploration and so on as a kind of adult “play”. These activi-
ties are enjoyable and motivating in part because of the affiliative characteristics
of these endeavours. Furthermore, it is from childhood play behaviours that the
rules governing co-operative behaviour are learnt. This may also explain why
friendship is often an aspect of co-operative behaviour.
We will leave our evolutionary train of thought for the time being and engage
in a more detailed examination of some of the mechanisms and processes which
facilitate co-operative and supportive behaviour. Specifically, we consider how it
is that in co-operative relationships, there is an inhibition of power competitive-
ness, in preference to mutual status-enhancing exchanges.

Issues in co-operative relationships

Co-operative behaviour involves, amongst other things, supportive relation-
ships which serve to maintain and enhance self-esteem in participating members.
There is some evidence that non-kin (rather than kin) relations are looked to for
204 Co-operation

self-esteem in adults (Cutrona 1986). This suggests that in some forms of relat-
ing there is an inhibition of individualistic competitiveness, point scoring and
exploitativeness, in preference to mutually reinforcing exchanges which minimise
status differentials and hostile exchange. In co-operative relations, individuals
surrender egotistic desire in favour of creating safety, sending signals of reassur-
ance. Chance (1984, 1988) calls this form of relating “hedonic”. Hence, a major
issue is why people would not take advantage of friends; why should we support
each other’s self-esteem when there may be clear opportunities to gain a sense of
superiority?
There are, of course, many answers to this. One is simply attachment and love.
An emotional bond to another reduces desires to exploit the other. Alternatively,
it may not be in our best interests to see our friend “go under”. Another pos-
sibility relates to issues outlined by Crook (1980). This is to do with issues of
reciprocation, e.g. “If I support (the status of) my friend now, I can count of his
assistance (status support) in the future.” Ethological work suggests that the for-
mation of alliances allows primates to behave more assertively than might be the
case without such alliances. Allies seem to increase the RHP in the members of
the alliance. The removal of one member of an alliance can significantly reduce
the dominance and challenging behaviour of the animal remaining (i.e. reduce
RHP) (Crook 1980). Such data point to the immense value of “making safe(r)”
(by having access to an ally) the environment which facilitates explorative and
autonomous action. Confidence, as any team member will tell you, is essentially
tied up with social support and approval of one’s team mates.
One way of distinguishing between supportive, status-enhancing as opposed
to status-reducing relationships is by a distinction between egotistical and non-
egotistical motivation (Lynn and Oldenquist 1986). This approach is useful in
regard to the solving of social dilemmas. Major dilemmas for humankind exist in
terms of pollution, economic growth and population.4 But more work is necessary
to understand the basis of non-egotistic interaction in individual relations. Lynn
and Oldenquist suggest three forms of non-egotistical motivation. These are:

1 Altruism: which relates to helping behaviour and involves the affects of sym-
pathy and empathy.
2 Group-egotistical: which involves desire to serve a social group and to limit
individualistic competitiveness within the group; to surrender egotistic ambi-
tion in favour of the achievements of the group.
3 Moral motives: which relate to the obeyance of moral codes based on the
recognition of rights and an internalised system of justice and fairness.

These three aspects probably co-relate in that altruism may be higher towards
individuals of the same (identified) group. Furthermore, groups tend to derive
and articulate their own system of ethics over time (e.g. psychological, legal and
medical professions, etc., and have their own ethical and disciplinary commit-
tees). Ethics are centred on the issue of non-exploitation. One may go so far as
 Co-operation 205

to suggest that the issue of exploitation is central to any theory of ethics and
morality. As we shall see in Chapter 13, narcissistic individuals are noted for their
tendency to be highly exploitative of others.

The moral self

The development of moral codes of social interaction is uniquely human. Justice
does not exist in the natural world; it is a creation of the human mind and imposed
by a system of corporate laws. The human concern with fair play and non-exploitation
acts as an inhibitory system to hostile (power) competitiveness. But fair play
depends on the recognition of status and rights of others and the recognition of the
importance of rules above the pursuit of egoistic ambition.5 Humans appear to be
biologically disposed to gain insight into these aspects and to monitor behaviour
accordingly. In some situations, breaking the rules is experienced as personally
aversive (guilt). This suggests there is an internal control system for monitoring
transgressions.
The development of moral standards and values by which one will navigate
and evaluate one’s action in relation to others reflects a number of complex pro-
cesses. These systems of rules provide the “oughts” and “ought nots” of social
moral action. To break these rules may be experienced as guilt and also as a loss
of a sense of goodness about oneself (Kagan 1984). However, for this to occur,
these rules are in some sense tied to personal identity rather than being simply
imposed by an institution and mimicked by participating members. It is the degree
to which the adoption of moral rules becomes central to one’s personal identity
that determines whether they will be consistently followed in the absence of some
external agent.

Development of the moral self

There are a number of developmental theories which describe the stages by which
a child acquires an adult moral evaluative system (see Bee 1985 for a comprehen-
sive overview). As is often the case with a new science, theories of moral develop-
ment have been presented as competing hypotheses rather than complementary.
Gibbs and Schnell (1985) have pointed out, for example, that the developmental
cognitive-based theories of Piaget and also Kohlberg are often contrasted with
the socialisation and emotion-motive theories (e.g. Hoffman). However, just
as the whole debate between cognition and emotion is dissolving into a richer
understanding of complex interactional processes (Leventhal and Scherer 1987),
so theorists of moral development are beginning to understand the interactions
between emotive and cognitive contributions to a moral sense of self. Moral con-
structions are obtained by the development and unfolding capability of children
which is interpenetrated and shaped by social experience and energised (ampli-
fied) by the recruitment of affect. It is the motivational and emotional (i.e. limbic)
involvement in moral beliefs that co-ordinates them into an integral part of a
206 Co-operation

personal identity. Without the emotive–cognitive link, moral rules may be known
but rarely acted on.
The stage reached in moral development determines the degree to which indi-
viduals are able to construe their actions in relation to others (Bee 1985). Kegan
(1982) for example, has argued that many theories of psychopathology, such as
personality disorder and so on, would be better conceptualised in moral devel-
opmental terms rather than as issues of disorder. Unless one is able to concep-
tualise others as separate individuals with different histories, needs, feelings and
ideas, then the mode of interpersonal appraisal can remain essentially egocentric
(McAdam 1986). There is something about the cognitive theory of personalisa-
tion which looks remarkably like adolescent egocentricity.
The best known nosology of moral thinking is that of Kohlberg and his col-
leagues. These theorists suggest six stages can be summarised as follows.

Preconventional Morality
Stage 1: The child decides right from wrong on the basis of reinforcement
and punishment (usually dispensed by parents).
Stage 2: The child begins to formulate rules about reinforcement practices
of others. The essential quality of the rules is what results in positive re-
wards. Issues of fairness and equity of exchange also become important.

Conventional Morality
Stage 3: Group identity becomes important (e.g. family and peer). Rules for
moral action become articulated into expectations that others and self have
of social behaviour. Maintaining a good image of self becomes important,
and trust, reciprocality (reciprocal altruism?) and loyalty are prominent.
To individuals not identified as part of the group, behaviour may be hostile
and exploitative, especially if this is reinforced by the group.
Stage 4: There is a shift of focus to identification with society at large. The
importance of contribution, obeying group rules, the rule of law become
important elements in construction of the moral self.

Post Conventional Morality

Stage 5: Increasing awareness of utilitarian philosophy and the relative nature
of social values. Some values become focussed on the rights bestowed to
others – freedom, liberty, the right to life.
Stage 6: The sense of moral action is highly internalised. Personal conscience
becomes the dominant decider of moral action.
(Adapted from Bee 1985)

This nosology has been extensively criticised and Kohlberg et al. (1983) have
recently responded. It would be inappropriate to become embroiled with these
 Co-operation 207

debates here. However, concerns have been raised as to the cultural universality of
these stages and the degree to which knowledge guides action (Snarey 1985). Even
though an individual may publicly claim adherence to (say) Stage 4 ideas, this does
not mean they will be followed. Some years ago, it will be recalled, the President of
the United States, having sworn to uphold his country’s constitution (which encapsu-
lates various Stage 4 ideals) was nevertheless impeached for what were considered
to be grave violations of American Constitutional Law. Jung noted long ago that
what an individual professes to believe in public may be quite different from how he
behaves in private. The moralist can be a tyrant to his close family.
Those who are genuinely acclaimed to be highly moral also seem to have two
other qualities: (1) a robust sense of self-esteem; and (2) a recognised sense of
gentleness often (although not always) associated with good humour. These indi-
viduals are quick to forgive and are noted for their compassion. This involves an
affective component to moral action. These are hedonic qualities. In other words,
those who act as they think (given a high level of moral development) are proba-
bly those who are predominantly friendly-dominant. Proneness to hostile forms of
conflict resolution probably does not go well with high moral interpersonal action.
Hence, we must distinguish intimate-personal forms of moral conduct from social
and public forms. When individuals become aware of a significant discordance
between these two domains then dissonance occurs, resulting in guilt. Sometimes
this alone can be the reason for seeking psychotherapy.
Some have suggested that much of our current thinking on morality is related
to a masculine obsession with justice, fairness and fears of exploitation (i.e. a
co-operative–power competitive dialectic). Gilligan (1982) has suggested that
there are other forms of moral construction which contribute to a sense of “good
self”. These relate not to issues or fairness but to issues of care giving. These con-
cern emotional dilemmas of what another person needs in order to grow (Kohl-
berg et al. 1983). Although this form of moral issue may be more socialised in
women and women may be more biologically disposed to it, it probably relates
to traits of femininity rather than gender (Kohlberg et al. 1983). Great caution
should be exercised in ascribing trait variation to gender variation (Hare-Mustin
and Marecek 1988).
Whatever our growing understanding of the essentials of moral and ethical
behaviour turns out to be, we would be advised not to ignore the role of status
threat, needs for power and hostility proneness. These may have a greater bearing
on actual behaviour even in the presence of articulated moral beliefs. If we can
solve these issues then greater moral behaviour towards our fellow humans might
follow. I recall some years ago watching a television debate on ethics, where
one of the contributors was extremely offensive. This fellow appeared to have
no insight into the fact that his personal behaviour violated every premise he was
proposing (see concluding comments of this chapter for Foucault’s depiction of
the polemicist). In the intimate and personal domain, moral action is controlled
by affects, and these in turn are probably significantly influenced by attributional
styles, especially those attributions relating to status threat and status differentials.
208 Co-operation

Empathy, sympathy and morality

Sympathy and empathy were compared in Chapter 8. Like moral stage theo-
ries (Bee 1985), there are many empathy stage theories. These have been well
reviewed by Goldstein and Michaels (1985). Just as the child can come to recog-
nise itself (e.g. in a mirror) and become self aware, so he can also become aware
of others. This other awareness is not just of a physical separation and distinction,
but awareness of similarity or differences of a subjective, non-observable self; a
self that feels. What may begin as projection becomes refined by the recognition
that individuals do not always think, feel or behave the same way as oneself. The
capacity for the recognition of the other as distinct is probably far more complex
than we realise and far more vulnerable to projection. How often have “do-gooders”
fallen victim to this.
According to Hoffman (as discussed in Goldstein and Michaels 1985)
there are a number of levels of empathic development. These levels reflect
an increasing capacity for self–other differentiation. At the first level the
child may cry because another child is crying. The child makes no distinc-
tion between the distress occurring to him or to the other. The second level,
called egocentric empathy, occurs when the child can distinguish between
physical self and physical other but does not differentiate at the subjective
level of thoughts and feelings. At the third level (probably around the ages of
2–3 years) the child becomes more attentive to cues which indicate that the
subjective experiences between himself and others may vary. Gradually, with
the development of language and new cognitive abilities, the act of contem-
plating another’s situation can arouse empathic mediated affect. There also
develops the capacity to gain insight into the plight of groups with desires
to alleviate distress by sympathy and compassionate action. It has to be said
however, that simply because an individual acquires or obtains a skill, this
does not automatically mean that the individual will use that talent or skill in
every context. Many factors including context, attributional processes and so
on will interact to determine how individuals actually react in various social
situations (N. Eisenberg 1986). There is no reason to assume that an individ-
ual will operate at his most empathic or sympathetic level. Indeed, this may be
one of the sources of guilt in that one may behave exploitatively under stress
or challenge, and in one’s quieter moments one reflects on and considers this
a rather undesirable aspect of self.
It is probable that sympathy (which is a quickly aroused help-giving response)
and empathy (which is more reflective) at some stage begin to blend together to
form the basis of more accurate evaluation and compassion. When parents enable
a child to understand the distress the child may cause another, they may also rein-
force caring behaviour. In this way, a child learns that he is of value to others; he
can be an agent of goodness and approval. The child can take pleasure and acquire
status and prestige through helping and caring. However, there can be a conflict in
prestige seeking, for example, men who are highly identified with masculine traits
 Co-operation 209

are fearful of acting compassionately and emotionally lest this detracts from their
masculine status (Tice and Baumiester 1986).

Morality and foresight

To a large extent the altruistic aspect of morality has been studied reactively; that
is, studying people’s reactions to care eliciting. However, human empathy and
morality are more productive when used predictively and preventatively. Humans
excel at what Piaget called “formal operational thought” which involves the abil-
ity to manipulate ideas and concepts, as well as events, in one’s imagination.
We are able to think about things that we have never seen or which have not yet
happened. We can organise ideas systematically and think deductively. From this,
allied with an empathic, sympathetic orientation to one’s fellows, humans can
plan for better futures in a better world. Hence, morality, sympathy and empathy
are far more than the alleviation of immediate distress or the avoidance of exploi-
tation, and relate to the predisposition to create better futures. Personal experience
can be very important, as in the case of parents who set up action groups or trusts
to advance research in diseases that may have claimed one of their children. No
doubt, some of our visions of a better future are misplaced and deeply misguided
(Berman 1986) and some may be little more than attempts to win prestige (Hill
1984). Yet humans have deep-seated desires to be of value to others (appreciated);
to play a part and to contribute to their social domains. Of all the rehabilitative
programmes for petty (and not so petty) criminals, harnessing this capacity has
proved of immense value. To learn that one is an agent of value and has something
to contribute which is valued by others can be enormously beneficial in overcom-
ing deep senses of alienation, hatred and envy. It may be that our genes are selfish
(Dawkins 1976); and it may also be that the wish to leave some contribution after
our death, to leave the world a better place than we found it is a defence against
death anxiety (Yalom 1980). Be this as it may, the fact is that humans are deeply
committed to contribute to the welfare of others and the development of human
social culture. And it seems to me there is generally a great preference to do this
co-operatively rather than individually. Moreover, reductionist arguments do not
really do justice to the enormous potential that flows out of motivational systems
serving inclusive fitness (Fox 1986). Humans are able to act co-operatively; to be
able to feel valuable as a member of a social group. Indeed, the loss of a sense of
value to others is one route to despair and the sense of being a burden to others
and having nothing to contribute a source which may hasten death (Gilbert 1984).

Overview
As Bee (1985) brings out so clearly, morality is above all concerned with social
relationships. It is through morality and the cognitive and emotional mediators
of moral behaviour that the constraints to aggressive and egotistic competition
exist. In so far as evolution has given rise to progressively more complex social
210 Co-operation

modes of interaction, a moral evaluative capacity which unfolds with age and is
shaped by socialisation, seems part of this evolution. Beginning with obeyance
to authority and ending with the existential recognition of the human ability to
create justice and meaning, the various stages of moral development provide the
medium by which a person will come to evaluate himself as an agent of goodness
in his social domain. What is good or the “right thing to do”, depends on the level
of complexity and insight of cognitive reflective processes. This is not to say that
the emotional core of moral reasoning which amplifies and energises behaviour,
loses its significance. Rather, it changes in relationship to a growing cognitive
complexity. Whereas the young child may feel guilty if he disobeys his parents or
authority, the adult may feel guilty if he does not disobey. Morality becomes pro-
gressively individuated and less controlled by fears of sanction; it becomes more
influenced by self-constructed recognition of goodness and fairness. At the heart
of such constructions rest the central concerns of avoiding exploitation or doing
harm to others in preference for the provision of oneself as an agent in the pursuit
of common goals. Kagan (1984, pp.152–153) sums up many of these debates
eloquently. He says:

Morality will always be a critical human concern because humans want to

believe there is a more and a less virtuous outcome in a situation of choice
and therefore insist on criteria for action. The fact that two-year-olds are
concerned with the correctness or the incorrectness of action implies the
primacy of this theme. Humans are driven to invent moral criteria, as
newly hatched turtles move towards water and moths towards light. The
conditions for moral virtue in moral society – the state that one seeks to
attain in order to reassure oneself of one’s goodness – include pleasure,
wealth, fame, power, autonomy, mastery, nurturance, kindness, love, hon-
esty, work, sincerity and belief in one’s freedom. Each is a construction
built over time, though traceable to universal affects. The relative promi-
nence of each of these values is not an inevitable product of the human
genome, but stems rather from the capacity for empathy with another’s
distress, shame and guilt over violating standards and preparedness to
inhibit actions that provoke disapproval. These are not inconsistent views.
The young child is prepared by his biology to become attached to his par-
ents; yet western culture insists that he eventually develop autonomy and
independence from them and be able to cope with distress in their absence –
qualities that not only require subjugation of the earlier natural disposition
but also ones that are probably not biologically inevitable. The moral sense
of children is highly canalized because of a capacity for evaluation and the
experience of certain emotions but the surface ethics of a specific commu-
nity are built from a web of social facts embedded in folk theory. Although
humans do not seem to be specifically programmed for a particular profile
of moral missions, they are prepared to invent and believe in some ethical
mission . . .6
 Co-operation 211

Hence, we have come a kind of full circle which began with the nature of non-
exploitative relations and posing the question of how it is that co-operativeness
involves a preparedness to enhance status in others. We have argued that evolu-
tion has provided for the ability to have insight into another (empathy), to have
innate desires to reduce suffering (sympathy, altruism) and to construct a view of
self which seeks to individuate, but in harmony with one’s fellows in so far as one
can feel guilt-free and aware that one has earned the label of good self. Here then,
in addition to any transactional view based on reciprocal evaluation, is an inter-
nalised evaluative system capable of reaching out beyond the personal to establish
a code of ethics and moral imperatives within the culturally prescribed rules of
social relationships. These are archetypal themes.

Co-operation and personality

Altruism and morality are important mediators of co-operative behaviour and
reflect the activation and articulation of various construct systems for evaluative
self–other interactions. Rushton et al. (1986) suggest that altruistic and aggressive
tendencies may relate to inherited individual differences. In their study of 573
adult twin pairs, they found that altruism tended to increase and aggressiveness
decrease with age; and at each age women had higher scores on altruism and
lower scores on aggressiveness than men. Hence, personality characteristics are
important. McClelland (1985) has proposed that need for affiliation is a primary
motive. Those scoring high on this motive do seem to wish to avoid conflict, but
are not necessarily more co-operative and may, at times, be quite passive. Need
for affiliation probably relates to co-operation but it is unclear exactly how. More-
over, need for affiliation may be contaminated by the avoidance of rejection and
loneliness motives and may not reflect a more positive prosocial desire to contrib-
ute and be part of a supportive network. Indeed, early measures of need for affili-
ation were biased towards measures of rejection and loneliness. There may be
a confounding of friendly-dominance with friendly-submission (Leary 1957) in
this area of research. Self-esteem, which may relate to the dominance–submission
dimension, probably interacts with affiliative needs. In Beck’s (1983) distinction
of sociotropic and autonomy types the same problem exists in that the avoidance
of loneliness and rejection, and need for approval, cannot be separated from a
more positive orientation of enjoying being with others. In other words, people
may co-operate with others for both positive and negative reasons. Morality based
on co-operative endeavour should be separated from motives of submission (i.e.
compliance) and avoidance of rejection.
It may be that co-operation is related to extraversion in that co-operators enjoy
working and being with others. There is some evidence that in regard to wellbe-
ing, extraversion is associated with positive affect and neuroticism with negative
affect. Recently, Emmons and Diener (1986) looked at two separate factors of
extraversion: sociability and impulsivity, in regard to life satisfaction and posi-
tive and negative affect. Sociability, but not impulsivity, was strongly associated
212 Co-operation

with life satisfaction and positive affect, whereas impulsivity was more associ-
ated with negative affect. These authors discuss other work showing a consistent
relationship between social activity, social contact and social interest with various
measures of wellbeing and life satisfaction (see also Argyle 1987).
There is increasing evidence to suggest that wellbeing relates very much to
social dispositions; those that are able to get on with others, support them and be
supported seem to fare better. This may support the ethological work of Chance
(1980, 1988) and highlights the fact that the hedonic mode increases wellbeing.
For those interested in health psychology the factors that foster hedonic social
modes would be of great interest. Our prediction would be that defensive arousal
is reduced by these kinds of interactions.
In view of the psychobiological suggestions of Chapters 4 and 5, we can specu-
late that co-operators tend to operate in the “safety-go” modes. They show interest
in others and do not activate defensive patterns via competitive and status-attacking,
nor do they activate this mode in themselves. As discussed in Chapters 12, co-
operators, when operating in leadership roles, tend to be prosocial leaders. Unlike
Type A’s and narcissists (see Chapter 13) they do not see life as a struggle but
rather as a joint enterprise of possibilities. They may get into trouble when con-
fronted by egotistical status seekers interested in scoring points because this acti-
vates their own defensive psychobiological patterns. However, they rarely initiate
status attacks unless under threat. Neurotics, on the other hand, are always on the
defensive. They are hypersensitive to status attacks to which they respond either
submissively or aggressively. According to Leary’s model and Orford’s (1986)
reinterpretation, this will activate status behaviours in others, which when hostile
will tend to reinforce putdowns by others and a sense of inferiority. This pattern
of social interaction sets up a vicious circle which activates more defensive psy-
chobiological activity and behaviour.
To sum up then, it would seem that over the course of social evolution, change
has occurred which has shifted motivational systems away from isolated, and
aggressive social styles to positive interactional styles. Those who are able to live
in this domain, by creating safety in themselves and others, tend to be happier and
more satisfied with life. Those who remain egotistic and hostile or who are on the
defensive are less happy and more prone to disorder. We can still be egotistical
and believe in our own importance but this does not mean that we should exploit
others, attack their status or expect our status to be attacked. Neither need we label
ourselves in unfriendly ways (e.g. self downing). I believe the Buddhists call such
an approach “loving kindness” which should be directed towards both self and oth-
ers. Evolution therefore, points out clearly the road we humans should try to tread.

Co-operation and friendship

Given that sociability (a hallmark of the hedonic mode) relates to wellbeing and
positive affect, then the relationship of friends to co-operation and the function
of friends is important. Here, our interest is less with the strong, affectionate
 Co-operation 213

attachments related to intimacy and more with the domains of personal and social
relations. There is now little doubt that both siblings and peers can be of immense
importance to the development of the child (Bee 1985; McConville 1985; Dunn
1988). Hartup (1986, p.16) in a fine edited volume, puts it this way.

Child–child relationships appear to have long-term consequences, too. Poor

peer relations in childhood are characteristic of children “at risk” for emo-
tional and behavioral disturbances in adolescence and adulthood. Early child-
hood assessments may not be strong predictors, but individual differences
during middle childhood are correlated with subsequent adjustment. Nega-
tive reputations and social rejection among third–fourth graders predict poor
mental health and psychosexual difficulties; beginning in early adolescence,
irritability, aggressiveness and negativistic behaviors are characteristic of
preschizophrenic individuals. Similar comments can be made about poor
peer relations and crime.

It is now recognised that child popularity reflects the capacity to show many
prosocial behaviours (Bee 1985). In fact, Argyle (1983) has built on Leary’s
(1957) basic model and suggests that it is elements in the quadrant of friendly
dominance that appear most effective in relationship formation. These have the
characteristics of initiating action, advising, directing, leading and co-ordinating.
Again, his work highlights the importance of both dominant and friendly altruism
(non-status attacking) that make for good relationships.
In a recent study, Zahn-Waxler et al. (1984) investigated the social behaviour
of children with a manic depressive parent. Although this study only contained
seven male children, in comparison with ten female and ten male controls, their
data remain useful. The children were observed at home and subsequently (one
year later) under laboratory conditions involving various manipulations of social
events (e.g. adults simulating arguments and distress, etc.). They found the fol-
lowing (p.119):

By age 2, children with a bipolar parent sometimes showed a lack of resil-

ience and difficulty engaging in give and take in interpersonal interactions.
They had problems dealing with hostile impulses: 1) they were sometimes
inappropriately aggressive, hitting or grabbing from an unfamiliar adult,
whereas control children tended to assume a more realistically cautionary or
co-operative stance; 2) following separation from their mothers they became
particularly likely to aggress against their playmates; and 3) they were some-
what more inclined to respond to peer aggression with passivity.

These children showed disturbances both in aggressiveness and in co-operative

behaviours. It is as if the early balance between co-operation and aggressive-
ness (or hedonic and agonic) was shifted in favour of the latter in these chil-
dren. They were also less likely to use their parent as a mediator of distress.
214 Co-operation

They tended to be preoccupied with distress following the simulations with

more intense emotional reactions. It is as if these children do not have good
prosocial coping repertoires to call upon under conditions of social stress. One
may speculate that if a child knows how to console and feels valuable as a car-
ing agent, then this will serve as a good coping response under conditions of
social stress. Zahn-Waxler et al. (1984) also point out that because an individual
(parent) has been pharmacologically restored to a reasonable mood state it does
not automatically follow that other aspects of social behaviour will fall into
place. Gardner’s views (1988) are pertinent to this problem because overcoming
a depression would not automatically imply a healthy return to nurturant and
child-responsive states.7

Aggression and popularity

The idea that it is aggressiveness alone that decides unpopularity within a group
needs to be treated cautiously. Much may depend on how aggression is used,
in what context, its predictability, its form (physical versus verbal) and so on.
Aggressive individuals may also be capable of showing many prosocial aspects.
In times of stress aggressive individuals may be sought out as the protectors of
the group.
Wright et al. (1986) review and discuss the literature on social status in small
groups. Generally, there is agreement that competent, prosocial, co-operative
behaviour promotes acceptance and popularity while hostile behaviour works
against acceptance. However, they suggest that aggression “appears not to pre-
dict social status as consistently as one might expect.” (p.524) They suggest that
rejection might relate more to the distinctiveness between the person and group.
They note several mechanisms which seem to underlie the relationship of status
acceptance in the dimension of similarity and attraction. These include: (1) shared
attitudes and beliefs providing consensual validation and consistency of cogni-
tions; and (2) common interests and goals. Hence, group characteristics signifi-
cantly affect the acceptance of any given individual traits.
These results suggest that unpopularity is related to group (contextual) charac-
teristics. In groups of few aggressive children, aggressive children were likely to
be unpopular. However, in groups consisting of many aggressive children, with-
drawn children were likely to be unpopular. Thus, distinctiveness as defined by
group context significantly influences status within small groups.
Overall, prosocial contacts such as initiating contacts, helping others and effec-
tive communications correlate with high acceptance and status. These may be
universal prerequisites of popularity, an assumption underlying most social skills
based therapies. However, even here context may play a role since Wright et al.
(1986) note earlier work of Gottman et al., that positive verbal communication is
less predictive of popularity in working-class children than in middle-class chil-
dren. The assumption of universals therefore requires a cautious view. However,
there is general acceptance that aggression and withdrawal are probably the most
 Co-operation 215

unpopular combination. Aggressive children who also tend to isolate themselves

make the poorest social adjustments.
These issues throw up some interesting clinical problems. To be prized and
highly valued is often sought by low self-esteem individuals (especially in fan-
tasy). Indeed, to have a functional use – to be of value – is a common theme for
many people. Some are often disappointed to discover that far from the hoped
for response, they are just as likely to provoke envy, resentment and hostility and
refusal to acknowledge talent if talent is seen as a distinctive quality within the
group or relationship. One of the main factors that seems to make a difference is
whether talent is primarily for intra-group or inter-group advantage.
Women, for example, may find their spouses belittling and humiliating of their
newly discovered talents if their spouses feel threatened by the development of
such competence and self-confidence. For example, it is not unknown for patients
to return after a weekend leave from hospital more depressed following rows at
home. Interestingly, aggressive encounters may increase as a patient gets better.
There comes a time when individuals can outgrow their group and must confront
the inevitable need for separation and distinctiveness. Those who are unable to
cope with envy and loss may be trapped in maintaining relationships with individ-
uals who can no longer relate to them as the people they have become. The growth
of competency can, via envy, become a source of status attack. The patient may
relapse with the tendency to respond to this envy and conflict with submission.

Styles of relating
Those who have the best adaptations to friendship systems are probably those
who can both make and break them. If one cannot disengage from a set of rela-
tionships that are no longer supportive then problems may ensue. Indeed, as sug-
gested elsewhere (Klinger 1977; Gilbert 1984), it is almost as important to have
the skills to disengage appropriately from potentially damaging relationships as
it is to have the skills to appropriately engage helpful ones. Sometimes disen-
gagement need not be dramatic and it may be possible for relationships merely
to drift into becoming more distant. This is far more difficult in work situations
where the context of work does not allow spacing that might quell discordance
(and of course marriages where many economic needs are intertwined in the
relationship).
Various forms of relating exist which seem to function according to the inter-
personal spacings and control desired by the participants. These relate to the
intimate, personal, social and public domains. Hartup (1986, p.17) has reviewed
studies which suggest the following classification. Children seem to relate to each
other in five possible ways:

1 Intimate friends – children who have intimate friends with whom they pursue
negotiations, actions and shared interests either to the exclusion of others
(subtype 1) or supplemented by other, non-intimate (subtype 2);
216 Co-operation

2 Partners – children who move back and forth from social networks to alli-
ances with one or two other children and who expect involvement with one
another but not on an intimate basis;
3 Mates – children who are members of a manifold social network and who
either have high (subtype 1) or low (subtype 2) social power;
4 Ramblers – children who oscillate between solitary activities and social
participation without establishing enduring relationships and who are either
accepted (subtype 1) or rejected (subtype 2);
5 Isolates – children who have very few interactive partners.

Although this typology is not universally applicable, it does predict certain aspects
of the child’s socioemotional development.
For adults, Weiss (1986) has outlined six possible forms of what he calls
“social bonds”. These are: (1) attachment based on the development of affection
and related to Bowlby’s idea of attachment systems; (2) affiliation derived from
the sharing of interests, mutuality of feelings, affection and respect; (3) nurtur-
ance which relates to a sense of commitment and investment of responsibility
for someone; (4) collaboration which relates to the relationship based on shared
commitment to achieve a goal; (5) persisting alliance which, again, is strongly
associated with feelings of obligation to help the other and is related particularly
to kinship ties; and (6) help obtaining which relates to relationships in which
someone is perceived to be more knowledgeable and wiser and is looked to as a
mediator or source of guidance.
We can see that co-operative relationships are multifaceted and have different
functions. The review here is by no means exhaustive. Beyond this however,
we need to look at what actually happens in relationships, in the transaction
between two individuals. When we understand this more clearly, we are in a
position to see how the dynamics of a transaction may be affected by various
cognitive and emotional difficulties that any individual taking part in the trans-
action may have.

Transaction in interpersonal relationships

So far we have considered how the evolution of co-operation may have given
rise to a predisposition to morality and empathy. We looked further at the
dynamics of this together with a moral (goodness) sense of self, personality,
the importance of sociability and the nature of personal relationships/friend-
ships. However, various blocks to the flow of relating may occur for all kinds
of reasons which relate to guilt, fear of revealing the potential for deception,
exploitation and so on. These concerns bring us back to evolution and psychobi-
ological questions. All these factors tend to disrupt hedonic activity and switch
the person into defence and agonic modes. In order to prepare the way for the
next chapter we need to examine in a little more detail what actually occurs in
co-operative relations.
 Co-operation 217

Teaching
There is some controversy over whether animals, apart from humans, are actually
capable of teaching (O’Hara 1985). Animals can certainly model skills but there
may be no real capacity to instruct the learner. In humans however, teaching is far
more than modelling and in fact, teachers may instruct others in things that they
cannot actually do themselves. The focus here is very much on what the learner
does. There appears to be a cognitive ability in humans to be able to observe learn-
ers, spot problems and modify feedback to the learner in novel ways to advance
his or her competency. This ability to creatively pinpoint specific areas of deficit
in a learner, and to provide feedback relevant to overcoming the learner’s difficul-
ties, is of major significance. We may regard this as evolution for the provision
of instruction.
Some may argue that such a capacity arises from the amplification of care
giving and nurturance. That is, the carer is able to perceive specific problems
and difficulties in the care elicitor. I would not, in general, disagree with this
point. However, a lot of teaching in human societies is provided for by institu-
tions and certainly in adult life one tends to seek out individuals who are known
to have specific skills rather than those to whom one is genetically or emotion-
ally related. There is no need for any “attachment” between teacher and learner,
although it is probably true that a liking for each other facilitates learning and
trust. It is possible that the learner may come to be better than the teacher and
in this sense the teacher would appear to be giving a competitive advantage to
the learner. It may be, therefore, that teaching is in itself self rewarding to some
degree. Children can increase their sense of self-esteem by being able to teach
others; it increases their SAHP. On the other hand, the more two individuals are
in conflict or in direct competition, the less likely they are to be motivated to
teach each other.
There are also many examples of where, to be able to share an activity with
another, some degree of instruction must take place to bring the participants up
to comparable skills. Humans, it seems to me, have innate predispositions and
desires to pass on skills.
However, in care eliciting the individual tends to use the mediator to control the
environment on his behalf. This is not the case for teaching, for teaching involves
enabling the learner to do things for himself and, in effect, to make the teacher
redundant. The primary role of teacher/learner relationships is therefore to pro-
vide information and feedback useful to task-oriented skills and not to provide
care as such (although safety creating is involved). If teachers wandered too far
into a caring role the learner might fail to learn. The evolution of teaching is
probably one of the least considered elements of human social behaviour. Thera-
pists will train for years in order to be able to develop skills which enable them
to pinpoint difficulties in their patients. This information is then used to provide
feedback and to structure learning experience for the patient so that they may
overcome their own difficulties.
218 Co-operation

Revealing
This relates to teaching but there need not be any interest or attempt to modify
the behaviour of the other as in teaching. Revealing involves the sharing of some
internalised source of information for making some motive, skill, belief system, or
experience more obvious to another. The reasons for personal revelations are com-
plex and can involve confessions, wishes for redemption or efforts to help another
gain insight into a particular difficulty. There is increasing evidence that those peo-
ple who are unable to communicate and reveal aversive personal experiences are
more at risk of psychological distress (Brewin and Furnham 1986; Pennebaker and
Becall 1986). Revealing, therefore, is another form by which a perceived interper-
sonal distance can be reduced so that two or more individuals become more linked.
For example, revealing that one had a similar reaction to some life event may
help to dispel a sense of difference between one person and another – a prominent
feature of group psychotherapy (Kennedy and McKenzie 1986). Revealing is, of
course, open to deception and distortion. Individuals may choose not to reveal or
to reveal falsely. Revealing, therefore, is an act of communication where informa-
tion which was not previously known is shared between two or more people; the
purpose of (true) revealing is to reduce interpersonal distance.
The therapist–patient relationship is, in its very nature, a relationship based on
revealing and communicating. In this interaction the patient seeks to tell another
“his story”. During this telling, the therapist acts as a focus for the communicating.
As the story develops, images, memories, feelings and ideas begin to occur within
both patient and therapist. The therapist prompts the blocks: “Can you tell me what
you are thinking or feeling now; can you explain that; how do you feel when you
remember that incident?” The therapist facilitates what is essentially an increased
capability for conscious articulation of inner experiences by encouraging revealing
and acknowledging. These become the source for reflection and cognitive–emotive
understanding, made possible by the need to reveal and communicate. Key aspects of
the self, perhaps never before articulated or even known, are struggled with. It is not
an ego that mediates these communications, but a self-construct system that seeks to
defend against the possibility of attack from outside (humiliation and abandonment).
Individuals can learn to reveal to themselves through writing about their feelings
and insights into particular painful experiences (see Chapter 14). Hence, revealing
can also occur at an intrapersonal level. We may choose not to reveal to ourselves if
it is too threatening to our persona and sense of control and self-identity.

Sharing
This can involve elements of both teaching and revealing but it need not be used
to teach or to make something known that might otherwise have caused a sense
of distance between two or more people. It is, of course, true that in common lan-
guage we talk of “sharing our experiences” with others, but to be pedantic about
it, this is more related to revealing; which can form an essential quality of sharing.
Sharing seems to be more related to tasks, however, and these can be of two forms.
 Co-operation 219

Sharing through reciprocation

Reciprocation involves a relationship in which two or more individuals are
engaged in doing more or less the same thing. Essentially, this is a form of barter
based on balancing, give and take over a period of time.

Complementarity
Complementarity is more common and involves working together and joint action
but where each individual engages on a different behaviour. In this context actions
go on simultaneously and what one individual does is not dependent on a recip-
rocal relationship with another. This is by far the most important form of co-
operation and one which has made humans unique among animals. For example,
in preparing to land a man on the moon, many individuals with many different
skills and talents agreed to put these talents at the disposal of a group goal. The
focus here is not on teaching or revealing (although these may be involved to a
significant degree) but on motivations to affiliate with and work jointly with other
individuals; sharing values, plans, ambitions and tasks. The concern here is to act
within a social fabric, becoming a thread among many such that what could not
be achieved alone can be achieved by the many.
The archetypal activity here is probably one of joint exploration and develop-
ment, to go beyond what has gone before and to improve on individual action.
At root, this involves the division of labour and the capacity for each indi-
vidual to behave differently yet meaningfully within a pattern of social actions.
These enterprises provide people with a sense of belonging and value. This
value derives not from gaining or being an agent of care or by having power
over others in a strict sense, but by being part of something greater than oneself.
Each individual complements another so that each has something to offer the
whole. The recognition that what is offered is valued and appreciated by the
participating members and acknowledged by all is probably an ideal that some,
at least, search for. To belong in this way, to have a place in a pattern of actions,
is a powerful counterweight to abandonment and isolation. Religious practice
offers a powerful medium through which individuals can experience the sense
of belonging which emerges through the joint pursuit of the common goal (wor-
ship of God, ritual and so on). Indeed, in meditative practice, the experience
that is sought is one of belonging – being part of a universal sense of being or
consciousness (Coxhead 1985).

Alliance formation
Alliance formation shares many of the aspects of sharing – both reciprocality
and complementarity – but usually the goal is more clearly defined as a socially
competitive one. People usually form alliances to defeat a common enemy, not to
explore or develop human potential. Although some individuals may well have
been motivated to land on the moon to gain advantage over the Russians, it is
220 Co-operation

also true that many individuals engaged in this endeavour simply because it was
a challenge and gave them a sense of belonging to an endeavour of lifting the
potential abilities of human kind. On the other hand, armies and “ganging up”
qualities tend to dominate alliance formation. We tend to speak of desires to form
alliances when confronted by a competitive situation. Loyalty and requirements
for reciprocation seem paramount here and governments speak of “loyalty to
one’s allies” with the expectation that one good turn deserves another. Alliance
formation is not generally about teaching or revealing, although of course, armies
and allies may exchange information, technology and so on. Alliance formation
is really co-operation in the service of competitiveness and power over others. It
may be close to what Lynn and Oldenquist (1986) call the group-egotistical motive.
Alliance formation is common in primates. For example, some male primates
may form dyads to help one member take over the harem of a dominant third
male (Crook 1980).
War, i.e. groups of individuals forming alliances to kill and destroy other groups
of individuals of the same species, is extremely uncommon in mammalian species
unless their social structures have been artificially changed (Power 1986).

Competitive constraint
This kind of co-operative endeavour differs significantly from all the others. This
relates to an individual’s recognition that to exploit a position to the full may
result in reciprocation that is not in the individual’s best interests. The typical
example here is of land use. If all individuals exploit a piece of land to their com-
petitive fullest, then the land would quickly become exhausted. In consequence,
individuals form contracts with each other in which all agree to limit the degree
of exploitation of a resource to avoid its exhaustion. This co-operative action
seems most effective when each individual has direct access to the environmental
resource and information. When this is not the case, considerable exploitation can
take place. Nowhere is this more serious than in the current mad exploitation of
planetary resources by certain multinational firms involved in the stripping of the
tropical rain forests. When competitive power is great, competitive constraint is
weak. Under these conditions, competitive constraint may only be enforced by a
system of rules, penalties and punishments for exploitation of resources, i.e. the
use of “law”. In third world countries, who need the resources of multinationals,
these penalties are unlikely to be applied.

Helping
“Helping” is a favoured term in the literature on altruism and co-operation. Yet it
is important to recognise that helping may actually involve many different forms
of co-operative behaviour. People may behave altruistically by, for example,
teaching others, sharing with others (both in terms of reciprocality or comple-
mentarity), or they may agree to form alliances and risk their own safety or they
 Co-operation 221

may attempt to care for others in a fairly straightforward manner. Some people
may help for reciprocal reasons or because they have an internalised reward and
self-evaluated system based on caring, moral beliefs or because they happen to
be in a good mood. Attributions are also major factors in helping behaviour (N.
Eisenberg 1986). Helping behaviour, therefore, although an essential ingredient
of many forms of co-operative behaviour, is actually made up of a number of
complex aspects. Helping behaviour seems to depend on attributional and contex-
tual processes and dispositional aspects.

Concluding comments: co-operating

versus competing
It is to be stressed that the six loose divisions presented in the previous section are
in no way comprehensive. However, the key to co-operative endeavour is joining
and coming together; that is, linking as opposed to separating, differentiating and
spacing. It is unlikely that pure forms of co-operation ever exist in the real world.
Moreover, hostile (status attacking) behaviour represents the most usual reason
for co-operative combinations of people to break up and fragment. Various psy-
chotherapists recognise the importance of helping patients to reveal, acknowledge
and articulate (re-evaluate) problematic aspects of themselves without attacking
their status. This is sometimes quite difficult. Horowitz and Vitkus (1986) give
some excellent examples in this regard.
Within systems of co-operative enterprise some seem more motivated to
maintain the “togetherness”, i.e. the linking and cohesion of the group, than do
others. For some on the other hand, minor shifts of power within a co-operative
venture or relationship can trigger spacing and differentiating behaviours and,
in some cases, extreme non-co-operativeness, hostility and withdrawal. Co-
operativeness allows for the most salient emergent properties of human culture,
but it must be stressed that this is always to do with an issue of balancing. The
social context also plays a most important role. Many problems exist for indi-
viduals because industrial production methods are aimed at profit rather than
serving human co-operative needs, e.g. for developed roles, control, sense of
value, etc. (Cooper 1986).
Both Chance (1980, 1984, 1988) and Crook (1980) have suggested that co-
operativeness has been the spur to human intelligence. Also, co-operation will
evolve faster on the basis of good means of communication. But equally, co-operation
cannot evolve unless power behaviour is reduced. As we have seen, Chance (1980,
1984, 1988) argued that there has evolved an interactive style called the hedonic
mode. This mode involves safety signals, given as reassurance gestures such that
participants are free to engage in tasks without fear of attack. Contact in this mode
is pleasurable and reinforcing. Liberating attention from concern with defensive
spacings and the need to be constantly self-protective, individuals are free to use
cognitive and problem-solving abilities directed to outside tasks. They are also
(probably) more able to operate in the higher moral realms. Leary’s (1957) model
222 Co-operation

has also looked at the dimension of love–hate and how dominance–submission

interacts with this. Put simply then, co-operation involves status that is bestowed
by others, not based on hate or hostility. Love liberates and frees individuals from
continually checking their “attackability”; it enables the individual to link with
others, develop his potential and learn with and from others.
We should note that in many relationships there is a serious confusion between
(power) competition and co-operation. In some marriages one partner (usually
the male) tries to control his wife with hostile dominance. He may undermine
her confidence in various ways, limit her access to friends and other males, or
employment opportunities, or he may be verbally and physically abusive (see
Chapter 9). If she then becomes depressed as a result of this forced subordinacy,
he may then attack and undermine her even more because she loses interest in her
appearance and sex, becomes apathetic and disinterested in him, the housework
or the children. Now his attacks are for failed co-operation! He has fallen foul of
the trap that you cannot inspire co-operation or love without valuing the person
with whom you are trying to develop a reciprocal relationship. This simple but
profoundly important error is made time after time in all kinds of relationship and
in all kinds of context. Limited subordinacy may provoke fearful compliance, but
after a certain point the individual becomes too depressed or angry to co-operate
because they have been knocked (sometimes literally) into a yielding state.
The essential tension between co-operativeness and competitiveness exists at
many levels. Foucault gives an excellent insight into this when speaking of the
way in which humans pursue dialogue to share and communicate in the pursuit
of truth. There is no doubt that one’s personal reasoning and logic may be put at
the disposal of the group, to share its pleasure and disappointments, or, it can be
recruited not for the development of understanding but to beat “the other” into
submission. When asked why he did not engage in polemics, Foucault (1984,
pp.381–382) had this to say:

In the serious play of questions and answers, in the work of reciprocal elu-
cidation, the rights of each person are in some sense immanent in the dis-
cussion. They depend only on the dialogue situation. The person asking the
questions is merely exercising the right that has been given him; to remain
unconvinced, to perceive a contradiction, to require more information, to
emphasise different postulates, to point out faulty reasoning, etc. As for the
person answering the questions, he too exercises a right that does not go
beyond the discussion itself; by the logic of his own discourse he is tied to
what he has said earlier, and by the acceptance of dialogue he is tied to the
questioning of the other. Questions and answers depend on a game – a game
that is at once pleasant and difficult – in which each of the two partners takes
pains to use only the rights given him by the other and by the accepted from
of the dialogue.
The polemicist, on the other hand, proceeds encased in privileges that
he possesses in advance and will never agree to question. On principle, he
 Co-operation 223

possesses rights authorizing him to wage war and making that struggle a just
undertaking; the person he confronts is not a partner in the search for truth,
but an adversary, an enemy who is wrong, who is harmful and whose very
existence constitutes a threat. For him then, the game does not consist of rec-
ognizing this person as a subject having the right to speak, but of abolishing
him as an interlocutor, from possible dialogue; and his final objective will
be, not to come as close as possible to a difficult truth, but to bring about the
triumph of the just cause he has been manifestly upholding from the begin-
ning. The polemicist relies on a legitimacy that his adversary is by definition
denied.

The above captures the essential ingredients of co-operativeness in the pursuit

of truth and understanding, and how this can so easily become entangled with
power struggles. In any science, we must struggle with our need to disagree with-
out being disagreeable. Disagreement is the fuel of science, to be welcomed as an
opportunity for discourse. Far too many scientists are polemicists, who gaining
prestige, perhaps by gifted intelligence, see it as their right not to persuade others
but to subdue, disarm or make them submit.
Be it in therapy or at scientific conferences, each must be allowed the right to
doubt, to say “I don’t know; I’m not sure.” When we find ways to allow for and
live with this uncertainty, humans will have allowed the new evolutionary adap-
tions to triumph over the old. Science then becomes the touchstone to understand-
ing, not to be hijacked by flame-throwing polemicists.

Notes
1 The problem with grooming as an example, however, is that in many mammals groom-
ing has come to represent a behaviour with many different functions. Grooming involves
aspects of affectional bonding and is status linked.
2 It also threatens the cheater with making a friend into a hostile competitor. Hence, again
the essential balance between co-operation and competition can be seen.
3 In Chapter 8, however, sympathy was not perceived as a form of forgiveness and a better
term might be compassion.
4 When I was studying economics some twenty years ago, it was commonly believed that
these three factors needed significant control. Control of only two would result in the
third factor getting out of hand to such a degree that control of the other two would be
eventually lost. The loss of ozone, and depletion of the rain forests seem to bear this out
although more urgently.
5 This dynamic was brilliantly portrayed in Tom Stoppard’s play “Professional Foul”.
6 It is from such aspects that religions have their great appeal and offer humans their
greatest danger. Religious war depends on a capacity to persuade those who fight that
what they do is morally good and just. For this, there must be an appeal to (and threat
from) some higher authority who ordains what is good, right or just.
7 More research needs to be done on the way in which the pharmacological control of
mood affects social behaviour. It may be that in some case antidepressants do indeed
relieve disturbed mood but may also make parents less responsive to distress signals or
incapable of empathising with their children. Most physicians would probably argue
224 Co-operation

that a non-depressed mother will always be more responsive than a depressed mother.
Be this as it may, more work needs to be done on the interaction between antidepres-
sants and a whole range of social behaviours. For example, Lyons et al. (1985) suggest
that tricyclic antidepressants affect instrumental and activity-related behaviours but not
social or interpersonal behaviours in depressed patients. Changes in social behaviour
may be secondary to the changes in instrumental and activity-related behaviours. Hence,
this area of research demands careful attention, especially in our treatment of depressed
mothers.
Chapter 11

Co-operation
Some blocks and pathologies

At the centre of co-operative relationships is the issue of reciprocation. That is,

individuals develop supportive, co-operative relationships by maintaining some
awareness of give and take (i.e. equity, Brown 1986). Co-operative relationships
can break down if individuals perceive others as exploiting them or if they per-
ceive themselves as being unable to give to the relationship in an equitable way.
Co-operation may recruit interpersonal modes relating to the evolution of attach-
ment systems (e.g. liking and loving), especially since in small humanoid groups
some genetic relations exist between most members. Co-operation also probably
evolved because of the benefits it bestowed over hostile dominance. Finally, co-
operation increases social attention holding between participants, which in turn,
increases resource holding potential.
The self-evaluations involved in co-operation will therefore reflect this dynamic
in that they centre on self-worth and status, and give rise to human needs to feel
appreciated and valued by others. However, in co-operative relationships, based
as they are on linking with others, status and worth are defined not by power but
by altruism and contribution (Hill 1984). In co-operative relationships therefore,
status is defined on the one hand by an ability to contribute, to have something to
offer and share and so on; and on the other hand, by the preparedness to inhibit
status-attacks, exploitation, hostility and to act supportively. These two dimen-
sions, contribution and aggressive inhibition, are major facets of supportive, co-
operative relationships.
In this chapter, we will look at guilt from the angle of reciprocation and exam-
ine what this entails. The preservation of status is central to co-operation. Indeed,
in many non-human species, large differences in status tend to mitigate against the
establishment of a co-operative relationship. A perceived loss of status in humans
can inhibit many forms of help seeking (see Fisher et al. 1982). Furthermore, as in
competitive relationships, the co-operative individual attempts to maintain status
in the eyes of the other(s).
In linking with others, individuals may evaluate that aspects of themselves or
their past histories need to be concealed in order to maintain status in the eyes
of the other, to avoid status-attack and rejection. This suggests that deception
can be recruited intentionally into co-operative relationships. In important ways,
226 Some blocks and pathologies

individuals monitor their intents, thoughts, feelings, actions and past experiences
to avoid revealing that which might result in status-attack, rejection or abandon-
ment from the other(s), although non-verbal slippage can occur. The more inti-
mately a person desires to link with others, and to evaluate himself as authentic
in his relationships, the more problematic such deceptions and concealments may
become. Needless to say, if the motivation is power-competitive, then conceal-
ment need not produce the same sense of isolation and alienation.
In this chapter, we examine some of these issues. These aspects can be seen
as blocks to relating, or to a sense of authenticity (to use an existential term).
Moreover, the more individuals become involved in deceptions and guilt, the
more neurotic and avoidant their behaviour. In this sense, they are caught in
an approach–avoidance conflict (desiring to link with others yet fearing being
rejected by others). We should note, however, that there is a difference between
privacy and deception. I may choose to keep aspects of my personal life or experi-
ences private, not because I fear revelation, but because I desire to own these in a
positive personal sense. Privacy, therefore, refers to something that is positively
owned; concealment and deception refers to that which is fearfully hidden. It
should also be noted that the context of a relationship may make some forms of
revelation inappropriate. Having given this brief overview, we will now proceed
to explore deception, guilt and shame. We begin the journey with an analysis of
deception.

Deception
The analysis of deception is of major importance to our understanding of how
people link themselves together to form relationships. Deception is associated
with many psychological concepts such as guilt, loyalty and trust. Moreover, the
issues of whether people are conscious or unconscious of whether they are deceiv-
ing themselves or others has long been an area of interest to psychoanalytic writ-
ers. Fingarette (1969) has provided a classic philosophic-analytical text on self
deception. Dorpat (1985) has also written an analytical account of deception. In
the preface to Dawkins’s (1976) book The Selfish Gene, Trivers says this:

. . . If (as Dawkins argues) deceit is fundamental to animal communication

then there must be strong selection to spot deception and this ought, in turn,
to select for a degree of self deception, rendering some facts and motives
unconscious so as not to betray – by the subtle science of self knowledge –
the deception being practiced. Thus, the conventional view that natural selec-
tion favours nervous systems which produce even more accurate images of
the world must be a very naive view of mental evolution.
(p.viii)

To a great extent, Dawkins’s book is about the evolution of deception. Informa-

tion processing structures may have evolved from reciprocal altruism to detect
 Some blocks and pathologies 227

and avoid being deceived. The capacity to deceive and detect deception is a very
old capacity. Animals can be lured to their deaths with the falsification of scents
and colours while others may attempt to escape death by camouflage or feigning
death. Others, the cuckoo for example, may exploit the reproductive capacity of
other species. Direct competitive contests, especially those that are highly ritu-
alised, may be won by a successful deception. Humans have designed particular
games (e.g. poker) where a successful deception may be positively most reward-
ing. Players of gambling games take pride in their capacity to “give nothing away”
by posture or expression. (Unfortunately, during my student days a running flush
always produced in me a wide grin or a tendency to fall off my chair.) In com-
petitive situations, such as job interviews, the trick is to sell oneself even if the
boundary between honesty and deception is blurred. Hence, in situations where
individuals are attempting to space and differentiate themselves or to exploit oth-
ers for some reason, the evaluation of performing a successful deception may be a
source of pride. However, an evaluation of deception for someone who is attempt-
ing to link up with others can be most unpleasant. Whether deception is evaluated
positively or negatively is determined by the purpose to which it has been put.
It is therefore the motivational and evaluative basis of deception which takes us
beyond the sociobiological view.
In this short section, we will not enter into complex territory of whether decep-
tion is conscious or not, its relationship to repression and denial (Fingarette 1969;
Russell 1978; Dorpat 1985) or health issues (Goleman 1987). Rather, we will
focus on individuals’ perceptions of their own (known) deceptions. Here, we take
a cognitive behavioural approach to one aspect of deception. This aspect concerns
the evaluation that a person is consistently involved in deception of his fellows
and suffers a loss of sense of authenticity in his interpersonal behaviour. The most
common description of this kind of problem is presented by those individuals who
complain, “I am a fake; my life is a façade; it is all a performance – a mere acting
of parts; I am simply going through the motions of life.” This difficulty can be
looked at in a number of ways. For example, it could be related to Winnicott’s idea
of the “false self”. Or, it could be looked at as a difficulty in integrating the darker
side of the personality; that is, a persona–shadow conflict, in Jungian terms, or it
could be regarded as an existential crisis (Yalom 1980; Fromm 1984).
From a cognitive point of view, we can return to Beck’s (1976) discovery of
automatic self-evaluative thoughts. While working with a client he discovered that
she was verbally engaged in relating sexual material, but simultaneously experi-
enced strong anxiety aroused by a self-monitoring system. Her self-monitoring
led her to believe that possibly Beck found her boring, and desired to terminate
the therapy. (These kinds of problems lead some patients to “produce” symptoms
and problems in order to maintain the caring interest of the therapist.) The use
of deception flows directly out of this possible dichotomy between the ability to
engage one set of behaviours while having a different stream of self-monitoring
thoughts going on at the same time. Individuals may well have acquired a set of
social skills, roles or behavioural routines which they can put on display for public
228 Some blocks and pathologies

observation (persona), but at another level they experience a discordance between

what they are doing or saying and what they are feeling.1
In order to link up with others, there is usually some relational definition of
the roles each of the participants will take on. Let us assume that an individual
desires to link with others in a way that would involve being loved. As he grows
he may gradually learn which behaviours bring this about. Ferster (1973) has
given a conditioning theory of the inhibition of anger which is relevant here. He
suggests that in the young child the expression of hostile behaviours or atavistic
rage may come to invoke hostility and withholding of love from another, e.g. a
parent. (Ferster, of course, speaks in terms of positive reinforcement, not love.)
The activation of anger may then become a conditioned stimulus signalling a
reduction in linking responses from others. Under these conditions, the individual
may become motivated to deceive the other(s) of any felt hostility on his part.
He deceives the other(s) in order to remain linked with the other(s), i.e. not be
rejected or overpowered.
It may be that early conditioning of this kind operates to inhibit motor outflows
from evaluations picked up in sensory-motor channels. It may be that somehow
sensory-motor patterns that would normally lead to the expression of an anger or
anxiety response become inhibited before reaching consciousness. If this were
to continue for any length of time during development, the individual would
lose vital opportunities for turning activistic rage responses into mature asser-
tive responses. Many therapists would see this aspect as important to successful
therapy for some patients, and it links with the importance of transference.
Equally, an individual may have a set of beliefs about negative consequences
of expressing a (spontaneous) feeling state. This may lead to problems in the
capacity to reveal certain affective responses to another. What these affects may
actually be would depend upon the learning history. For some individuals, it may
be anger; for others it may be sadness and dysphoria; yet for others it may be
anxiety or sexual.

Deceptions and cognitions

Deception of the form we are interested in here relates principally to the issue of
not revealing an inner state (i.e. memory, attitudes, appraisals, current feelings,
etc.) to another. At the cognitive or articulated level, some of the reasons people
give for not revealing to others are the following:

1 People will think I’m horrid, selfish, nasty.

2 People will think I’m boring or lazy.
3 People will think I’m crazy or silly.
4 People will think I’m weak or odd.

Young (1986) gives an excellent account of some of these beliefs and how they
inhibit friendship formation. All of these and other such evaluations have one
 Some blocks and pathologies 229

thing in common. That is, they are perceived to lead to the outcome that others
will distance, separate, withdraw, lose interest, exclude or isolate the person from
the relationship so that there is a breakdown in the capacity to link and increase
social attention holding.2 There are two sources of evaluation which cause prob-
lems. First, what would others think if I revealed “this” about myself. Second,
what do I think about myself because I’m having this set of affects or experiences.
Deception then relates to the issue of the failure to reveal and this can have most
serious consequences. Although we are discussing deception and revealing at a
conscious level, it remains possible that avoidance mechanisms operate to make
deception unconscious. This is implied by Trivers (1976) and many analysts. In
Leary’s model this would come from the realm of the “not me”. The problem
with this view, which may well be correct, is how to test it. Nevertheless, self-
deception (Fingarette 1969) is an interesting research problem.
An individual may recognise that he may be privately feeling and thinking
quite differently from his public observable self (Gilbert and Trower 1990).
When this becomes a serious discordance, a perception of inner isolation,
entrapment and abandonment may set in with great fears of being found out.
Sometimes, sadly, the chosen solution to this dilemma is to try even harder to
link up with others by playing the expected role even though one’s heart is no
longer in it. As these people often find, no matter how loud the applause for the
act, in the end it doesn’t seem to do the trick; they feel as alone as ever. Another
way of thinking about these issues would be as a form of cognitive dissonance
which itself would produce unpleasant affects. As mentioned, unless the desire
is competitive or exploitative, that is to differentiate and separate self from oth-
ers, then deception is usually experienced as aversive. It reduces the capacity
for authentic linking and relating with others and gives the individual a sense
of being set apart. It probably also feeds the defensive systems, leading the
individual to resist, hide or gain control so that he cannot be found out, attacked
or humiliated.

Some evidence
Recently Brewin and Furnham (1986) have started to tackle this area from the
angle of attribution theory. They have shown that attributional style is, in part,
related to the expectation of social outcomes. Self blame may commence as an
interpersonal tactic to invoke sympathy and caring responses from others to a per-
ceived misdemeanour. Some families may deliberately reinforce this manoeuvre to
force the child to accept responsibility for the parents’ own bad behaviour (Bowlby
1980; Gilbert 1984). Hence, individuals evaluate their inner subjective experience
(thoughts, affects) accordingly to: (1) appropriateness or inappropriateness – via
their own self-evaluative and moral codes, e.g. how they think they ought to or
should feel and think; (2) whether these would be similar, i.e. shared or different
from others’; and (3) whether revealing would induce interest, sympathy or help,
or distancing, downing and isolating responses from others.
230 Some blocks and pathologies

Since co-operation is about linking, negative evaluation of these would act to

inhibit the act of revelation. As a result, the individual would either invest more in
their social role or engage in a form of social withdrawal. As Brewin and Furnham
point out, depressive-prone individuals appear to be so worried that their experi-
ences are unusual and would invoke scorn that they do not reveal and therefore
do not receive consensus validation or social feedback on their experience. In
consequence, they tend to feel more isolated and different, setting up a vicious
circle. Envy towards others who do not seem so burdened further fuels the sense
of difference and scorn-worthiness.3
From a different perspective, Pennebaker and O’Heeron (1984) and Pen-
nebaker and Becall (1986) have argued that failure to reveal (and this might be
called “hanging on to a pathological secret”) involves physiological cost. They
regard the act of not revealing as requiring a need for inhibition. Pennebaker and
Becall (1986) found that college students who have been unable to reveal and
discuss childhood traumas (e.g. sexual or physical abuse, loss of a parent and so
on) had more health problems than those with similar experiences who had been
able to disclose them.
These psychobiological ideas of Pennebaker (1988) and colleagues are of
great interest because recognising that failure to reveal involves physiological
effects helps us to understand the links between trauma, revealing (sharing) and
psychosomatic disorder. Furthermore, I would suggest that this inhibition relates
to a sensitising of the defensive system. As a patient once said of her abortion:
“I always felt slightly on the defensive with men. I thought that if they found out,
they would see me for what I am. In close relationships I was always ready to take
flight and couldn’t let people get too close. I thought I would therefore have to
remain alone forever” – hence, her depression.

Overview
It has been increasingly recognised that revealing and sharing traumatic experi-
ences with fellow sufferers is a powerful therapeutic process. We are only just
beginning to realise why this is so. The need for other people’s understanding
is powerful and has effects on the evaluation of one’s social attention holding.
This gives rise to the desire to be with like-others as in self-help groups. There is
an implicit recognition that “fellow sufferers” will be more supportive and less
rejecting. There are, of course, other aspects to the act of revealing than simply the
facilitation of linking with others. Pennebaker and Becall’s (1986) research shows
that revealing to oneself by writing about one’s experiences both at a cognitive
and affective level seems to have beneficial effects. It may be that via reveal-
ing, not only are individuals able to experience a closing of the distance between
themselves and others, but it also provides the opportunity for assimilation and
acceptance to be worked out to the traumatic incident. Furthermore, because indi-
viduals begin to evaluate themselves as different from others, and less like “spies
in a potentially hostile world”, there is a change in the activity and arousability of
 Some blocks and pathologies 231

the defence system; acknowledging and accepting things in oneself makes them
somehow safer.
The reader will note that I have wandered rather loosely over a number of dif-
ferent domains that should be separated. These are:

1 Keeping secret ongoing affective experiences, be these anger, envy, hatred,

depression or anxiety or aversive thoughts.
2 Keeping secret some past episode in a person’s life such as sexual abuse.
These are actions against the person for which the person feels some sense
of responsibility even though there is little or no evidence. In a recent case of
an adult lady who had been badly abused by her father, part of the reason she
kept away from men was because she felt there was something about her that
had caused it to happen. Similar difficulties occur for the victims of rape and
muggings.
3 Keeping secret some specific actions by the individual himself in the past.
These actions are evaluated negatively and include theft, sexual promiscuity,
abortion and so on. Again, for these patients, being able to reveal and work
through – that is, allow acceptance of past difficulties – can be a source of
great benefit.

In all these examples, these are acts of deception, not denial, since the patient
is only too painfully aware of the secret he is carrying. A fourth type of deception
which is very common is the deception of competency. As noted earlier, people
may be able to sell themselves at a job interview and then suffer greatly because
they feel they have deceived their interviewers (and maybe themselves) and will
not be able to perform in the role as they promised. This fear can also be present
in close relationships, e.g. the patient who says, “I deceived my wife about how
good I am.” Here, it is not the revelation of affects that is feared but the discovery
of incompetency. People may struggle for many years, even acquiring significant
popular recognition yet still fear being discovered as a fake or revealing them-
selves as such. It may be as Beck (1967) claimed, that individuals carry around
with them latent schemata of incompetency or inferiority or unlovability which
somehow never get modified but only inhibited by success. For Leary (1957),
these are schemata at Level III operating in the preconscious. When individuals
suffer losses or defeats these latent schemata are reactivated. In many cases, this
activation is one of degree rather than kind since the individual may have been
struggling against an inner belief of incompetency for some time.
In my clinical experience there seem to be a number of reasons why individuals
are not able to modify their incompetency beliefs. First, as children these individ-
uals may have had genuine pride in achievements only to find that it was degraded
by some significant other at a later date. Over time, they learned not to trust in
their achievements because these could be knocked down at any time. Under
these kinds of conditions of failure, the individual is prone to say, “Well, this is
all I could have expected of myself.” Second, individuals may actually come to
232 Some blocks and pathologies

despise their competency and have a kind of love–hate relationship with it. They
may see it as a block between themselves and others especially at the level of
intimate or close relationships. A successful writer who had serious depressive
problems actually hated his success and would sometimes talk of it as the “other
him”. His suicidal thoughts were often to kill off “Mr Successful” who somehow,
he believed, was a cheat; he had been able to deceive others of his competency,
but not himself. He wanted to be free of him so that he could relate to the world
anew, yet he feared revealing his inner pain, hostility and despair to others. He
also thought others were either stupid or uncaring for being taken in by him.
Many kinds of deceptions, used for the purpose of trying to avoid isolation,
rejection, status-attack and so on, can produce problems with trust, since, “If I am
deceiving others, then maybe others are deceiving me; if I feel angry with others
then maybe they feel (secretly) angry with me.”
Finally, it is easy to note how deception links with the concepts of shame and
guilt (to be discussed shortly). It is because deception (keeping secret some affect,
intent, past episode or whatever) is experienced as aversive and involves inhi-
bition, that the straightforward sociobiological account of human behaviour is
insufficient. To understand humans we need to understand the intermediary and
modifying processes of the motivational and cognitive systems. As mentioned at
the beginning of this section, the affect we experience from deception (maintain-
ing secrets) depends explicitly on the purpose to which it is being put. Individuals
who are attempting to reach out, to link with and form relationships with others
can be greatly troubled by inner experiences that they cannot reveal. The fear is
of a breakdown in that very linking they so desperately wish to secure. In this
presentation, I have navigated around many of the complexities of deception as it
relates to the issues of repression and so on. For those interested in more analyti-
cal views and the relationship between unconscious deception and repression see
Dorpat (1985).

Being deceived
In straightforward acts of reciprocation, especially between unfamiliar others, the
affects aroused by the detection of cheating and deception range from indignation
to aggressive hostility (Crook 1980).4 Anger may be recruited into these kinds
of situations as in other situations in an effort to coerce the other into the desired
behaviour. To a significant degree the extent of threat of an aversive response to
non-reciprocation or deception is important in social transactions. In a sense, this
forms a very powerful social rule in social encounter, and many cultures clearly
use this rule. The problem for humans is that we tend to link and separate from
each other in complex ways. Some individuals may have secret agendas (which
are not explicitly stated in the relationship) about what is expected from the rela-
tionship. For example, the idea that a spouse should always be supportive when
his or her partner is in dispute with a child or in public can lead to conflict. The
partner, on the other hand, may believe that firmness and judging the issues on
 Some blocks and pathologies 233

merit is the order of the day. Under such conditions these different rules of recip-
rocating support within a relationship can produce conflict unless explicitly stated
and understood by both parties. Hence, the preparedness to judge interactions as
reciprocating or not will depend on the individual’s evaluations and agendas of
the relationship.
The second issue is how individuals actually detect and evaluate deception.
It is recognised that deception is more difficult to detect if: (1) it is delivered in
a friendly manner; and (2) it is delivered with an implication of need. Abused
children, for example, may be less able to detect when they are being exploited
if requests are made in a friendly and supportive manner. Non-verbal communi-
cation in the delivery of a message or request goes a long way to facilitating the
capacity to exploit others. A well known American television presenter was found
to have more individuals watching and believing his broadcasts than those of any
other presenter. On being asked what he believed to be the reason for his success,
he is reported to have said, “Honesty – if you can fake that you’ve got it made!”.
The way individuals seek to detect cheating is of major significance and non-
verbal communication may be a key. Moreover we have already considered the
issue that those who are predisposed to separate themselves from others are more
likely to read deception in the actions of others. Paranoid types, for example,
tend to have a lot of difficulty with trust and will evaluate minor lapses as major
deceptions hiding malevolent intent. Individuals clearly differ in their prepared-
ness to trust others. Are some individuals more astute than others or do they come
to relationships with a different set of evaluations gained from past experience or
genetic difference? Here again, more research is required.
The third issue is concerned with what happens when a deception is discov-
ered. How is the individual to react? Does the individual make allowances for the
deception or does he attack the deceiver? As discussed in Chapter 10, the nature
of co-operation involves different domains of linking (e.g. revealing, sharing, alli-
ance formation, competitive constraint). Hence, individuals can feel cheated in
different domains. For example, the reaction to a cheat in revealing may produce
different effects to the discovery of a cheat in competitive constraint.

Explaining deception(s)
There are many social arenas wherein deception can interfere with efforts to relate
with others. An individual’s reaction to, and explanation of, them may be differ-
ent. For example, reaction to being deceived may depend on the degree to which
one needs something from the deceiver. The degree of perceived need will there-
fore have a significant effect on the affects aroused by being let down (e.g. Brown
et al. 1986). Hence, the strength of the desire for linking, based on an evaluation
of need, plays an important role in the consequent affects. When individuals dis-
cover or believe that they have been deceived, let down or not reciprocated in
some way then the response will not only relate to an evaluation of need but to
explanations of the deception.
234 Some blocks and pathologies

In traditional attribution theory, there are three dimensions which could be used
to explain a deception: (1) internal–external; (2) stable–unstable; and (3) specific–
global.5 In general, people may attribute a deception to either dispositional factors
or personality factors. For example, I may explain a deception or failure to recip-
rocate in terms of the environmental context which may have limited the capac-
ity for reciprocation in a colleague. On the other hand, I might decide that he is
simply a rotter. The degree of anger directed at the other would therefore relate to
some interaction between need evaluation and attribution. But, as Brewin (1985)
also points out, the evaluation of how I will cope with a negative event (in this
case a deception) may play a part in how I explain it. The other way a deception
could be explained is with self-referent explanation, i.e. I may review the basis
of the non-reciprocation and say, “Well, it must have been I who did something
wrong.” The usual explanation here is that one was not good enough, did not try
hard enough so that reciprocation failed to occur because of one’s own lack or
inadequacies of some kind.
In one of the few experiments of its kind, Haley and Strickland (1986) exam-
ined the effects of interpersonal betrayal and co-operation on self-evaluation of
depressives. This study suffers from the fact that the subjects were students and
that there was no close relationship between the experimental subjects. Neverthe-
less, the data is of interest. Using a variant of the Prisoner’s Dilemma Game, they
found that depressed subjects who experienced interpersonal betrayal tended to
be more critical of their performance on a subsequent task than non-depressed
subjects who had experienced a co-operative interaction. Also, in the betrayal
situation, depressed subjects tended to behave more aggressively towards the
partner than did non-depressed betrayal subjects. Haley and Strickland suggest
that depressed subjects were more critical of their own personality characteristics
than were non-depressed subjects regardless of the experimental manipulation.
The issue of why depressed subjects tend to be more aggressive to betrayal
requires further research and highlights again the interaction between hostility
and depression. Why would individuals choose to blame themselves under these
conditions? Consider for example, the depressed lady who has discovered that her
husband is having an affair and who says in therapy, “It must have been my fault
because I’m not attractive enough for him.” There are a number of explanations
for this phenomenon.
The first relates to what Bowlby calls “defensive exclusion”. This explanation
would suggest that during early life the child develops an attributional style due
to the parents’ labelling processes, i.e. the parents teach the child to blame him or
herself for difficulties in the child–parent relationship. As Bowlby (1980, p.71)
says: “On threat of not being loved or even being abandoned a child is led to
understand that he is not supposed to notice his parents’ adverse treatment of him,
or if he does, he should regard it as being no more than the justifiable reaction
of a wronged parent to his (the child’s) bad behaviour.” As a result of this learn-
ing there is a tendency to “defensively exclude” negative information about the
parent(s). They become beyond reproach. If this style of information processing
 Some blocks and pathologies 235

continues into adult life the person not only may be prone to make poor choices
of partners but may also have difficulties in dealing with deception. In these cases
anger and ambivalence and efforts to bring the offending partner to heel are not
easily worked through since the explanation for deception rests with the deceived
and not the deceiver.
The second explanation may be that individuals can actually be quite angry at
their own ability to have been “taken in” or quite angry at their own level of need.
Hence, their focus is not so much on the deception but on allowing themselves to
have been deceived and being unable to do anything about it. In this sense, they
may feel helpless. Complaints like: “I should never have allowed myself to get
into this situation”, or “I should never have allowed myself to be so dependent on
X”, and so on, can be the manifest cognitions. At this level the person is strug-
gling for control. The reader will also note the issue about the expression of anger.
If indeed anger is the affect that is normally aroused following the detection of
deception, then individuals who fear abandonment and loss, or in whom anger has
become a conditioned stimulus to the loss of positive reinforcement, may have
significant difficulty in engaging assertive responses to deception or let-downs
(failed reciprocation).
To the religious-minded it may not have gone unnoticed that many individuals
appear to try to form co-operative relationships with God. When mishaps occur
individuals can become quite angry with God because they see this as a kind of
“cheating on the deal”. Clearly, here again there is an interaction between need
and attribution. Some individuals may explain misfortune in terms of God’s pun-
ishment or as a test, whereas other individuals become angry with God and see
him as a deceiver and will exercise their ultimate punishment of God by refusing
to believe in him, i.e. to withdraw from the relationship.

Guilt
Although the experience of guilt is usually aversive (i.e. people try to avoid it),
guilt plays a major role in linking behaviour for it provides one motivational
basis for the avoidance of exploitative responses. This in turn links guilt with
moral constructions of the self. In this brief section, we shall explore briefly a
number of areas and attempt to link ideas rather than provide a comprehensive
overview.
We begin the journey by returning to Crook’s (1980) seven points regarding
reciprocal altruism. Guilt, it will be recalled, was posited as an internalised moni-
toring system which enabled individuals to track giving and taking and to become
motivated to effect some kind of balance; i.e. avoid being exploiters. In so far as
Crook relates guilt to reciprocal altruism, and in so far as reciprocal altruism was
supposed to have evolved as altruism between non-kin related individuals, then
we have something of a paradox. Guilt should be more easily aroused in transac-
tions between non-related persons, whereas I think the reverse is probably true.
Failure to reciprocate to close kin, where there exist strong attachments, would
236 Some blocks and pathologies

seem to me more likely to arouse the strongest guilt. Indeed, the arenas where
guilt is prevalent is in child–parent and affectionate relationships.
It seems to me that one of the dimensions that relates to guilt (as indeed Crook
implies) is the strength of linking; i.e. friendship and love.6 The other relates
to moral constructions of the self. The more one likes–loves another, the more
strongly one may be motivated to reciprocate, play one’s part to the full and not
(be seen to) exploit the other. In other words, guilt may be seen as a phenomenon
which helps to facilitate linking and non-exploitative behaviour. Most attribu-
tional studies do not discriminate between kin-related (attachment-based relation-
ships) and non-kin related relationships.
Guilt may operate via some internalised comparator system akin to the expecta-
tion of non-reward (e.g. the withdrawal of love, friendship, etc.) or punishment,
producing aversive experiences. The kind of comparator system involved here
may look something like Gray’s (1982) BIS mechanism (see Chapter 4). Perhaps,
frontal cortical mechanisms monitor ongoing thoughts, feelings and behaviours
and relay them somewhere for matching according to their reward or punishment
worthiness. Pathological guilt can often have elements of obsessional rumination
and checking. Gray regards checking as a central aspect of the BIS. I am unable to
take this hypothesis very far, but it did occur to me how far antidepressants might
exert an impact on guilt feedback systems by altering this checking and repetition
of guilty thoughts, memories, etc. Pathological guilt may decline with success-
ful antidepressant treatment or indeed psychotherapy; could this be a common
focus of the two types of therapy? Drugs may work on the BIS in such a way that
various thoughts or memories no longer produce aversive arousal. Psychotherapy,
on the other hand, may help to change the input to the BIS by helping to reduce
self-downing, develop new insights and acceptance of various aspects of the self.
Guilt can only be experienced for social objects and in social roles. If I forget
to put oil in my car, I don’t expect the car to be upset about this. Hence, I am
unlikely (as far as the car in concerned) to feel guilt. If however, I were to forget to
feed my dog then depending on the strength of my attachment to the dog and my
moral beliefs, I might feel very guilty. Guilt is therefore often tied up with some
evaluation of having caused pain or suffering. Guilt is also often related to having
“failed” to do something, falling short of a standard or expectation.

Guilt and entitlements

The second point about guilt is that it relates solely to a self-evaluative system. It
seems especially connected to self-reward and self-punishment. In pathological
cases, guilt becomes closely linked with a sense of “deserve”; allowing oneself
to have good things on the one hand, and to a sense of punishment (“I deserve to
die”) on the other. Guilt can arise from feeling one has not “earned” a certain enti-
tlement, with fear that others may detect this. In fact, it would be difficult to think
of guilt separately from self-evaluations concerning rewards and punishments.
Therefore, I tend to think of guilt as mediating a self-evaluative system servicing
 Some blocks and pathologies 237

“entitlements”. Presumably, entitlements relate to some evaluation of resource-

holding potential. When individuals feel guilty there tends to be a change in the
balance of self-allowed entitlements. These entitlements may be coded either as
material resources or positive self-statements. This may be evolutionarily adap-
tive to the extent that individuals who evaluate that they cannot reciprocate or
have fallen short of the mark will tend to downgrade their appraisal of entitle-
ments and hence, request less from relationships. This would obviously have an
effect on assertive requests. Individuals who perceive that what they have to offer
others may not be very valuable or useful may be more guilt prone over making
assertive requests. This may be due to concerns of not being able to reciprocate,
or when being called on to reciprocate, being found to be deficient.
I believe this kind of dynamic is far more common than is presently acknowl-
edged. People’s evaluations of what they have to “offer” others in a relationship
seems to be a concern of many. It may be that such difficulties arise from early
relationships where a child’s lovability is determined by what they do, how help-
ful (e.g. to parents) or successful they are. The desire to be useful to others and, if
not, feeling less entitled than others, appears amplified in cultures which empha-
sise competitiveness. It is also a very common theme in depression.

Guilt and justification

Guilt is a cognitive-emotional state that can only be evoked by our own evalu-
ations. Hence, it is impossible for someone else to make us feel guilty (shame).
For example, we may not feel particularly guilty about an act until someone per-
suades us that we have acted wrongly. If we do not agree then although we may
fear retribution we may not necessarily experience guilt. Instead, we might switch
into a state of justification. We might say that justification can occur, in part, as a
public display in the face of an attempt to induce guilt in us by another. We may
complain and say, “Look, your criticism of my behaviour is just not fair”, etc.
It is also possible that justification can occur as an internal dialogue when we
attempt to justify things to ourselves. Hence, justification is often (although not
always) related to fairness and rights. Justification is therefore sometimes an
attempt to counteract guilt. It is energising and often assertive – even aggressive.
Justification appears to arouse those affects that inhibit guilt. When individuals
begin to doubt their own stories of justification, more affect may be required to
avoid the aversive experience of guilt breaking through.
It would, of course, be wrong to see all assertive justifications as guilt avoid-
ant. One may speculate, however, how individuals who doubt their own value to
others or who are unsure of their own standards of behaviour, may use justifica-
tion to help avoid their doubt being perceived. To confront that may lead them
to expect less from others. In some narcissistic individuals, one sometimes sees
strong efforts at justification. There can be various (aggressive) complaints of
the unfairness of other people’s behaviour towards them. Often this can relate to
appraisals of not being appreciated. Behind many (but not all) is a self-evaluative
238 Some blocks and pathologies

system which is rather unsure of entitlement. The need to justify in part relates to
the desire to feel entitled. Justification can therefore relate to the issues of decep-
tion on the one hand and blaming others on the other.

Guilt and morality

There has been controversy regarding the relationship between self-referrant attri-
butions, self-esteem and depression. Generally, researchers suggest that causal
attributions should be separated from attributions related to moral codes. It is the
latter that show most consistent relations to self-esteem and depression. Brewin
(1986) gives an excellent airing of these controversies. Shaver and Drown (1986)
also provide an important discussion of the complex interactions between per-
ceptions of causality, responsibility and self-blame. They point out, for example,
that responsibility does not always lead to self blame. Also, of particular interest
is their comment (Shaver and Drown 1986, p.701): “What makes self-blame so
interesting is that although a perceiver might forgive a person who offered such
an excuse, the self-blamer does not accept his or her own inability to change
underlying personal dispositions as a valid reason to withhold self-punishment.”
These authors suggest that self-attribution should distinguish between blame wor-
thiness, responsibility and causality. A distinction should also be made in terms of
harm occurring to self (e.g. rape, accidents) and harm occurring to others. Some
forms of self-attribution reflect needs to maintain a sense of personal control. The
events that individuals are likely to feel guilty about will therefore reflect aspects
of a moral construction of self and desires for personal control. At the present time
guilt researchers do not make the important distinction between guilt and shame,
and also how guilt affects entitlements. Guilt may also be used as a submissive
gesture. By expressing (revealing) guilt an individual hopes to inhibit punishment
from the other. Guilt can therefore be feigned.
Guilt can only be activated by self-evaluation and therefore it links directly
with morality. More importantly however, it links up with the manner in which
individuals design their behavioural repertoires and develop attitudes about how
they ought to think, feel or behave. Having this system of internalised social
rules for thinking, feeling and action, the individual is then able to evaluate to
what degree his actual thoughts, feelings and actions deviate from those of the
“shoulds”.
Guilt may be a mediating process which motivates the individual to try to track
and maintain his actual behaviours with his “shoulds” and “oughts”. Individuals
who speak in “ought” or “should” terms seem to be offering ideas about what is
expected of them (by others and themselves), i.e. what the individual is expected
to do in order to maintain a flow of positive reinforcement from others. With
internalisation this becomes a set of expectations of what the person expects of
himself, i.e. his moral construction of self (deviation from which causes guilt to
re-direct behaviours towards repair, downgrade entitlements and avoid similar
transgressions in the future).
 Some blocks and pathologies 239

Guilt and social control

The internalisation of “shoulds” and “oughts” gained from learning experiences
in the family and culture at large, make it clear that guilt can be used as an agent
of social control. Fromm (1984) calls this “authoritarian conscience”. If you can
make someone feel guilty and play on doubts, then you can exploit them.7 We
have already mentioned Bowlby’s (1980) notion of defensive exclusion which
arises when parents encourage (force) the child to take responsibility for the
parents’ own bad behaviour (non-giving or punishing). Guilt and shame can be
used to manipulate certain behaviours in another and encourage conformity to
a set of standards or goals. The same biosocial mechanisms are used as always,
such as threats of withdrawing social reinforcement (love, support, care) and
punishment.
No cultural group has exploited this better than certain organised religions.
Sometimes God is portrayed as no more than the Keeper of the Books – the
Judge of Deeds. Through religious instruction conveyed by parents and others,
the growing child is instructed as to what he is supposed to think, do and feel.
The control of individuals is therefore made possible by an evolutionary adapta-
tion which seeks to inhibit competitiveness and autonomy. It has been said by
others, especially Nietzsche, that guilt is a very poor, if not unethical modifier of
behaviour. This is especially so when used as an inhibitor of desire. Suppose the
only reason why I do not steal from old ladies was because I knew I would feel
very bad afterwards. What would that mean? I think it would mean that the desire
remained but under inhibition. Yet this is exactly what some training practices
seem to be about – the use of shame and guilt to block desire, be it sexual, aggres-
sive or to do with non-conformity. Perhaps it would be more valuable to engage
the root of desire and to bypass the issue of guilt. To some extent then, guilt is both
an internally controlled and a social emotion. It can be deliberately manipulated
by the powerful on the weak, and in so doing, guilt and shame become combined.
Freud was very clear that analysis could only proceed with a suspension of moral
(guilt) evaluations.

Existential guilt
The existential approach to guilt distinguishes between actual/real and fantasised
or distorted (neurotic) guilt. Further, although not original to the existentialists,
guilt can arise from failing to do something as well as actually doing something
immoral. However, the concept of existential guilt goes beyond present cogni-
tive approaches. Existential guilt relates to negative self-evaluation to live up
to one’s potential. It is a kind of self-condemnation for lack of courage in life
(Tillich 1977).
Just as we have evolved construct systems to judge others (e.g. as friendly, hos-
tile, nurturant, etc.) so with a conscious self-monitoring capability (Beck 1967),
we can evaluate ourselves in the same way (see Chapter 14). Self-evaluation can
240 Some blocks and pathologies

be a personal judge and jury. In a sense, existential guilt relates to a perceived

failure to have nurtured ourselves; to have failed to do those things necessary for
the self to grow, individuate and flourish. Yalom (1980, p.280) discusses the case
of a depressed woman who, when asked how she would imagine herself if close
to death, replied: “Regret, for wasting my life; for never knowing what I could
have been.”
This kind of dysphoric guilt relates to having allowed fear to get the better of
one; for enduring a relationship(s) rather than trying to cope alone; fear of act-
ing assertively and being put down; fear of taking risks and change, and fear of
living freely, autonomously and responsibly. This kind of guilt Yalom relates to
complex levels of knowing. Yet it also reflects a life in conflict; a division between
the dominant versus the submissive self; the autonomous versus the sociotropic
self; or of allowing oneself to be burdened by a false sense of altruism or moral-
ity. It would seem to me harsh to label this as guilt rather than regret. In cognitive
psychotherapy we would tend to look at the fear, the catastophising, with every
effort to reduce the self-labelling. We would try to allow there to be regret without
guilt. The root of existential guilt seems to be a non-acceptance of self as it is.
Furthermore, this self-actualising approach is very culture bound. It tends to stress
individuation in a way that other cultures do not, fostering the view that personal
growth is perhaps the most important thing to achieve. Unless balanced within
a overall existential philosophy, which Yalom outlines beautifully, overcoming
existential guilt could be little more than the pursuit of egoism. Nevertheless,
existential guilt “rings true” to the extent that it is an echo of an inner struggle
not only to individuate but also to contribute and to be part of something greater
than oneself.
The existentialists draw on a long history of philosophy and the concept of
existential guilt, as an idea, is not original to them. By way of an aside, I have
an interest in ancient forms of psychological theorising – the manner in which
cultures would depict human relationships in psychological terms. In my ama-
teur understanding of ancient psychological systems such as the Tarot, Egyp-
tian mythology and Runes, one thing has struck me (as it did Jung) – that these
systems saw life as a journey, a series of stages, trials and progressions. The
Tarot and Runic systems (as indeed many other mythic systems) use a sym-
bolic language that depicts the human being in different types of relationship
and encountering different types of obstacles and trials. Although these symbols
have been debased to fortune telling, originally they were designed for medita-
tions and reflections. The Runes especially, portray the story of the Warrior in
search of Enlightenment. This is a very old story reflected in many myths and
symbolic psychologies over many centuries. In all these myths it is pointed out
the danger of clinging to the safe, the failure to take life on and the loss of self as
a consequence. It is no surprise, therefore, that existential philosophy flourished
as a kind of pinnacle of this tradition in a war-torn Europe – a Europe of misery
which needed to rebuild itself and overcome the traumata that had befallen it.
The desire for freedom and overcoming the trials of suffering should be seen
 Some blocks and pathologies 241

against this backdrop. Within the existential view is a philosophic echo which
rings over many, many centuries.

Guilt and culture

Historically and cross-culturally evidence suggests that societies vary in the guilt
and shame proneness of their members. Murphy (1978) presents a fascinating
discussion of this area. He points out that until about the sixteenth century, clinical
descriptions of depression and melancholia more often than not, did not include
guilt as a symptom. Moreover, cross-culturally there seem to be considerable vari-
ations in the prevalence of guilt in depressive disorders (Murphy 1978; Marsella
1980). Murphy provides some possible explanations for this. He suggests that
guilt is more likely to arise in cultures which emphasise individual differences,
self-control, predictability and responsibility for pain and pleasure. These cultures
also separate mind from body and demote the importance of others and external
events as causes of unhappiness and depression. This is a central argument of
the social constructionists. In this sense loss becomes one’s own fault and sug-
gests some deficit on one’s own part. In our culture, more than any other perhaps,
therapists seem to stress the importance of loving and valuing oneself. This could,
of course, lead to egotism but providing it did not also involve the exploitation
of others it might work, but it is not very stable and could backfire, especially in
socially limiting conditions. Maybe we would be better served by considering
self-acceptance over self-love (i.e. the avoidance of self-labelling) or Kierkeg-
aard’s view that we should help people to become more fully aware so that they
can more freely “choose themselves.”

Guilt and redemption

Guilt is usually associated with efforts to repair, to make amends, seek redemp-
tion of sins, and so on. There is considerable debate over how far altruistic acts
reflect efforts to maintain positive emotions in situations where some responsibil-
ity might lie at one’s door (N. Eisenberg 1986 offers an excellent discussion of
many of these issues). There is evidence that guilt increases helping behaviour.
The funny thing about this, of course, is that most people would prefer to think
that help was given freely and for genuine reasons, whatever these may be. There
are probably rather few individuals who would be happy receiving helpful acts if
their donor (perhaps honestly) revealed: “Of course, I’m only doing this to avoid
feeling guilty.” Much depends on the context and the closeness of the relationship.
Psychologists have paid very little attention to the issue of redemption. Yet in
many of the great literary works (William Blake for example) the issues of alien-
ation/isolation and redemption go hand in hand. In religious writing, forgiveness
and the seeking of redemption have also been prominent concerns. Confession,
a significant act of revealing, has long been viewed to be therapeutic in some
cases. Jung (1984) in his classic text Modern Man in Search of a Soul provided an
242 Some blocks and pathologies

interesting discussion of these aspects. He believed that the revealing of a patho-

logical secret was one of the aims of psychotherapy.
Catholic confession is part of western religious tradition and relates to a felt
need to remove a sense of isolation for perceived wrong doing/thinking/feeling.
Redemption is an important aspect to many psychological difficulties and links
with the importance of revealing, social validation and a belief in our accept-
ability in the eyes of others. The perception of transgression and of being differ-
ent from others in a negative sense probably reduces a person’s sense of social
attention and resource-holding potential. One carries an idea in one’s mind that if
others “knew” about those secret aspects of one’s self then they would not socially
approve of one. However, in seeking redemption a change takes place such that
the individual feels worthy again, able to hold his head up and be part of the group
that he relates to. The person feels “cleansed”. This shift probably lies behind the
emotive experience of born-again Christians. Their talk of rebirth relates to a new
construction of oneself and one’s social relations where there has been a massive
input of social attention holding. The essential feature of redemption is forgive-
ness and rejoining. (It might also be noted that “cleansing” is an important ritual
in the Hindu religion.)
Religious educators sometimes stress the importance of repayment (doing good
works or submitting to God’s will) and are not averse to using the various sadistic
threats to ensure this (e.g. hell, not being chosen for Heaven, being passed over,
reduced status or being reborn as a rabbit). Possibly, certain forms of religious
experience based on the revelation of sin and allowing “the Lord to accept one”
resonate with important aspects of our biological nature. The essential feature of
redemption is reparation, usually of a relationship with a real or fantasy figure
where, within this relationship, social attention holding potential is increased. We
often like to think that these concerns are specifically human and that they reflect
a spiritual dimension. Although I believe in a spiritual dimension to life, I doubt
that this is one.
Consequently, although humans certainly can become preoccupied with issues
of sin and redemption, sometimes manufactured by punitive rearing, religious or
social contexts, their unique humanness is doubtful. Rather, they relate to the evo-
lution of group living. This came home to me forcefully, when reading Goodall
(1975, p.144):

Perhaps the most dramatic illustration of the chimpanzee’s need for physical
contact is after he has been threatened or attacked by a superior, particularly
when a young adolescent male has been victimised by a high-ranking adult
male. Once Figan, aged about 10 years, was badly pounded by the alpha male
(Goliath at the time). Screaming and tense, Figan began cautiously approach-
ing his aggressor who sat with his hair still bristling. Every so often, the
desire to flee seemed almost to overcome the adolescent’s desire for contact
and he turned, as though to retreat. But each time he went on again until even-
tually he was crouched, flat on the ground in front of Goliath. And there he
 Some blocks and pathologies 243

stayed, still screaming, until Goliath, in response to his submission, began to

pat him gently on the back – on and on until the screaming gradually subsided
and Figan sat up and moved away quite calmly. Such incidents are common
and almost always the aggressor responds to the submissive gestures of the
subordinate with a touch, a pat or even an embrace. Occasionally, if a young
male is not reassured in this way in response to his submission, he may actu-
ally fly into a tantrum, hitting the ground and screaming so intensely that he
almost chokes.

The above is not only an example of what Chance (1984, 1988) has called
reverted escape (i.e. return to the source of threat), but we also see an effort to
renegotiate the nature of the relationship. In other words, Figan elicited from
Goliath reassurance behaviour. Could this not be the prototype for our need for
redemption and forgiveness, a way of realigning the relationship between two
people? It would seem sad that so many seek forgiveness from a God who can
neither stroke, embrace or reassure.

Overview
When we take a cursory look at guilt, we can see that it is made up of many com-
plex processes. On the one hand it may well be associated with linking and related
to the strength of an attachment between two or more people, while on the other
hand, guilt relates to an evaluation of transgressing moral codes. Guilt, when used
as an inhibitor of desire seems tenuous as an agent of change. Cultures vary in
regard to their guilt inducements.
Some depressives can feel guilty about being depressed. The basis of this guilt
is that they feel that because they are depressed they are unable to give to their
relationships what they feel they should or ought. Therefore, the loss of energy
they feel as a result of being depressed fuels a sense of guilt and evaluation of
being “inadequate”. (This leads to an evaluation of less entitlement and expecta-
tion of further loss.) Again, this relates very clearly to what they feel they should
or ought to be able to do. In other cultures depressions are explained not in a
self-referent way focussing on the guilt, but in relationship to the loss of spirit or
some other metaphysical factor. The treatment is therefore usually social rather
than individual.

The relationship of guilt to shame

As we have seen, the capacity for guilt arises from awareness of a social self;
that is: “I can harm, hurt and let others down.” Crook (1980) suggests that if this
is perceived as being made public then shame is felt. This is a useful distinction
because people may be prepared to admit to guilt, but shame relates to a differ-
ent domain. Guilt relates to evaluations of reciprocation and moral issues; shame
relates to power-dominance evaluations. Guilt tends to mobilise efforts to repair
244 Some blocks and pathologies

and make amends; shame tends to mobilise avoidance (submission). Guilt and
shame can coexist as in the case of a transgression which may lead to expecta-
tions of status attack (humiliation) and for which redemption is sought. If shame is
powerfully aroused in individuals, they may fear making efforts to make amends
even if they wish to; e.g. saying “sorry” may provoke an associated affect to
shame, i.e. embarrassment, or lead to the perception of being weaker for having
apologised.
Guilt arises from a self-evaluative process – “how I judge myself”, whereas
shame arises from a social evaluation – “how I think others see me”. In a sense, a
distinction could be made between self-esteem and social-esteem. Mollon (1984),
in a fascinating paper on shame, captures this distinction with a quote from Sartre:

To “see oneself blushing” and to “feel oneself sweating”, etc., are inaccurate
expressions which the shy person uses to describe his state; what he really
means is that he is physically and constantly conscious of his body, not as
it is for him but as it is for the Other. This constant uneasiness which the
apprehension of my body’s alienation as irredeemable can determine . . . a
pathological fear of blushing; these are nothing but a horrified metaphysical
apprehension of the existence of my body for the Other. We often say that the
shy man is “embarrassed by his own body”. Actually, this is incorrect; I can-
not be embarrassed by my own body as I exist in it. It is my body as it is for
the Other which embarrasses me.
(As quoted by Mollon 1984, p.212)

Essentially, from an evolutionary point of view, shame is about power and

dominance conflicts in a way that guilt is not. The concerns and fears of shame
centre on issues of defeat, intrusion, encroachment, injury and ultimately destruc-
tion to the self. The guilty need not feel defeated or encroached upon. Shame then,
is a kind of angry submission in a power struggle; the other is evaluated as more
powerful and capable of revealing and taking advantage of weakness. To some
degree, shame also clearly relates to the issues of deception. Individuals may fear
revealing those parts of themselves they feel ashamed about if, in so doing, they
make themselves vulnerable to attack (and hence either lose or have low resource-
holding potential).
There is a further personal amplification which I would wish to offer. At my
boarding school, one of the masters would often cane, sometimes with requests to
the boys to drop their pants. He was known to be rather “cane happy”. My experi-
ences of these canings were deeply humiliating and even revealing this memory
now causes some embarrassment. There was, of course, absolutely nothing one
could do. One was totally helpless, but this kind of enforced practice of submis-
sion was always accompanied by intense anger and sometimes dysphoria. Luck-
ily for me, I had a peer group which shared and revealed personal experiences of
these kinds of events such that they could even become actions of bravado, i.e.
increase social attention holding potential among one’s peers. One would engage
 Some blocks and pathologies 245

in group fantasies of revenge, and if I recall correctly someone did put sugar in his
petrol tank once. Revenge is not noted in those who feel guilty.
Subsequently, I pondered on how others, for whom these kinds of events
might have occurred in a family setting where there existed no peer group,
would have coped. I do believe abuse and physical overpowering has been
overlooked in the studies of shame (Jacobson and Richardson 1987). I agree
with the analysts however, that one of the issues here is very much to do with
desires to destroy and overpower the perpetrator of crimes against the self. To
put it another way, shame relates to the submissive pole of competitive self-
schemata. It is, in a sense, to do with the issues of how we put on public display
physical characteristics of ourselves (see Mollon 1984 for a discussion of sexual
shame). A history of physical violence and humiliation seems to be noted in
some shame-prone individuals.
Lewis (1986, p.329) has articulated some possible distinctions between guilt
and shame. She says: “I use ‘shame’ to refer to a family of affective-cognitive
states in which embarrassment, mortification, humiliation, feeling ridiculed, cha-
grin, disgrace and shyness are among the variants. ‘Guilt’ is a family of affec-
tive-cognitive states that share the themes of responsibility, fault, obligation and
blame for specific events.” Lewis points out that not only personal transgressions
(deviating from how one evaluates how one should or ought to have thought,
felt or behaved) but also defeats and disappointments can activate shame. Guilt,
however, is entirely related to personal transgression. In Lewis’s view, guilt is
always about moral issues whereas shame is not. The distinctions she offers up
are extremely useful and may be summarised as follows:

1 In shame the physiological arousal invokes blushing, sweating and tears

whereas this is less so for guilt. (In my view the physiological arousal is
related to both anxiety – to do with being overpowered – and also the physi-
ological shifts that take place in the activation of submissiveness.)
2 Shame evokes a sense of helplessness, as if paralysed and impeded in move-
ment. Shame is about the self – about the “I”, whereas guilt does not involve
the same sense of helplessness and is about things done or undone in the
world or to others.
3 Shame evokes, and is related to, rage and fury (humiliated fury I would label
as hostile submission as in Leary’s model of 1957) which at the same time
may be perceived as inappropriate. It is experienced as threatening in so far as
if it became known it would result in estrangement and loss of the significant
other. Hence, in my view, it is more commonly associated with deception
and desire to hide the self or experiences that the self is having. Because of
this, these experiences can be held in a state of inhibition which makes them
difficult to communicate. This can cause some difficulties in psychotherapy.
Guilt, on the other hand, relates far less to aggressive emotions and desires
for revenge but rather to regret and remorse with desires for reparation. In
therapy patients will often talk a great deal about the things they feel guilty
246 Some blocks and pathologies

about in an effort to seek forgiveness and redemption. This is not the case for
things that shame them.
4 In shame, the other is perceived as a source of scorn, contempt or attack and
at the same time is viewed as being fully intact but threatening a separat-
ing, abandoning or overpowering response. In guilt, the other is perceived as
injured, needful, suffering and hurt. In other words, shame and guilt relate to
different ways of viewing the other.

Lewis captures these distinctions in a very useful table which is presented in

Table 11.1. Recently, analysts have noted that Freud talked more about guilt than
shame. However, as Mollon and Parry (1984) point out, it is likely that shame is
the prominent social emotion in certain kinds of depression. Shame involves,
as we have seen, a sense of helplessness and being overpowered by others and
an inability, for various reasons, to use one’s own power and assertiveness and
aggression in the world. The relationship of shame to depression and, indeed,
other disorders such as social anxiety (Gilbert and Trower 1990; Trower and
Gilbert 1989) and paranoia is still at the dawn of its research. If we are able to
relate these kinds of affects to differences between competitive and co-operative
dynamics then I think progress can be made, not only in terms of relating them
to certain patterns of brain function but also in terms of understanding their

Table 11.1 A Comparison of Shame and Guilt

Shame Experiences

Self (Unable) Other

Object of scorn, ridicule, small, humiliation The source of scorn, contempt ridicule
Paralysed, helpless, passive Laughing, rejecting, powerful, active
Aware of noxious body stimuli, rage, Adult
blushing, sweating, tears
Functioning poorly, going blank, desires to Functioning well, competent, strong
escape, hide, conceal
Self in focal awareness, heightened Also in focal awareness
attention to self

Guilt Experiences

Self (Able) Other

The source of hurt, let down, failure, Injured, needful, hurt

regret, remorse
Intact, capable Injured
Adult responsibility Dependent (by implication) but may not
be the agent of expressed guilt

Adapted from Lewis (1986)

 Some blocks and pathologies 247

communicative (postural and facial) and psychobiological response patterns. I am

of the view that the trick is to make the distinction between the co-operative and
the competitive self-schemata.
These considerations would also lead us to deeper understandings of the inhi-
bition of assertiveness in some depressive states. Forrest and Hokanson (1975)
have shown that depressed patients tend to respond to environmental and inter-
personal stresses, i.e. aggressive responses to others, with a tendency for self-
punitive and non-assertive counter-responses. They regard this as a form of
masochism. It would seem the case however, that individuals may inhibit their
assertive responses: (1) because they do not wish to behave like the aggressor;
(2) because they are fearful of invoking an overpowering counter attack; and (3)
because they are attempting to inhibit the aggressiveness of the other by offering
a friendly response, i.e. “I am no threat to you”. The degree to which shame may
be involved in these kinds of assertion inhibitions remains to be researched. It is
unlikely that shame or guilt is involved in them all. However, it may be that one
of the affective patterns that depression invokes is related to assertiveness inhibi-
tion (Gilbert 1984).

Some evidence
In two recent studies, Wicker et al. (1983) asked 152 students to recall personal
experiences of shame and guilt, and rate them according to a number of charac-
teristics and attributes. Many similarities, especially in relation to pain, tension
and arousal were found between guilt and shame. However, there were also some
significant differences:

1 There was a strong agreement that shame was “the more incapacitating and
overpowering emotion.”
2 Shame related more to feelngs of inferiority, submissiveness and being
smaller.
3 Shame was associated with a sense of weakness, encouraging hiding rather
than (as for guilt) reparation.
4 Shame produces more confusion over how to act appropriately.
5 Shame involved greater self-focus (e.g. physical sensations) and
self-consciousness.
6 Shame produced a greater sense of being under scrutiny.
7 Shame invoked more anger with a greater desire to punish others, compete
and/or hide with desires for revenge.
8 Guilt was more likely to be linked with moral and ethical evaluations.

However, shame did not last longer than guilt. Furthermore, there was a ten-
dency for both to fuse and co-exist. Overall, there is some evidence that shame
should be considered as related to hostile–dominance–submission or status-
attacking and humiliation. This involves the perception of self as powerless
248 Some blocks and pathologies

in potentially hostile encounters. Guilt, however, relates to a different form of

self-worth and status evaluation (derived from evolved co-operative evalua-
tions) involving an internal monitoring system to avoid transgression. Shame can
invoke hostility, whereas guilt can be a response to having used hostility (inap-
propriately). This may offer further evidence for the distinction of self-esteem
based on power (relating to competitiveness) and reciprocal altruism (relating to
co-operativeness). Again, I think it useful to ponder the evolutionary relatedness
of competition and co-operation.

Belief systems derived from co-operation

and reciprocal altruism
Many theorists have suggested that vulnerability to psychopathology can be clas-
sified in two ways: (1) vulnerability relating to needs for attachment and nur-
turant figures (see Chapter 7); and (2) vulnerability relating to needs for power,
autonomy or specialness (see Chapter 13). However, it has been suggested that
in addition to these concerns individuals relate together in terms of co-operation.
Consequently, it is useful to articulate some of the issues relating to morality
(and its development), the role of altruism as a source of personal evaluation and
the global judgements of self in terms of good or bad. Many psychotherapists
have been interested in the moral struggles of their patients and indeed, morality
(distinguishing right from wrong) was a central concern for Freud. Others such
as Gilligan (1982), Kegan (1982) and Ryle (1982) have been more specific on
how moral struggles are often the key to the suffering self. More recently, Glantz
(1987) has indicated how beliefs about reciprocality can dominate the patient–
therapist dialogue.
Blatt et al.’s (1982) concept of a self-critical vulnerability to depression may
come closest to the idea of a moral self, but this theory confounds narcissistic
(power) concerns with moral ones. In Beck’s (1983) discussion of the patterns
of symptoms associated with the sociotropic versus autonomous modes, there
is, interestingly, no mention of guilt. He does suggest that the autonomous mode
tends to be more self-critical, but this seems to relate more to anger with the self
for having failed to achieve. However, as Brewin (1986) points out, we must
distinguish attributions of causality from those of morality. For example, I may
blame myself for not having passed an examination but this seems to be of a dif-
ferent order to blaming myself for having been aggressive to someone, not help-
ing or having let them down; or sexual infidelity, dishonesty or desires to reduce
support to someone because they have become a burden. In these latter cases, the
issues relate to a perception of personal rights and entitlements, and guilt will act
to reduce feelings of entitlement.
Let us therefore suggest that some self-evaluative systems evolved from recip-
rocal altruism and provide novel ways of evaluating the self in relationship to oth-
ers. These modes of evaluation occur because of our ability to evaluate ourselves
as moral agents, capable of evaluating right and wrong (Kagan 1984) and desiring
 Some blocks and pathologies 249

to be seen as an agent of value to others from which we may obtain prestige (Hill
1984), i.e. increase social attention-holding potential. In reality, the co-operative
mode does not function distinctly from the attachment or competitive mode.
However, for the sake of argument, I would like to present a pattern of beliefs
that may relate the co-operative and reciprocal altruistic way of relating to others.
What then are the characteristic beliefs that are related to the co-operative mode?
As a preliminary endeavour we can outline the following basic characteristics of
the co-operative mode. Because this chapter is concerned with suffering they are
presented in their moral negative form.

1 Relationships (sociability) are central to personal meaning, but these need

not be intimate or nurturant as in the sociotropic type, although these indi-
viduals may seek close relationships and have high fears of rejection and
abandonment.
2 Co-operators do not see life as a struggle for power or autonomy over others
(as may Type A’s). Rather they try to earn prestige and self-esteem by being
of value to others. They have high needs to feel involved and of use, capable
of contributing and being seen as having status as a contributor. There is a
focus on what the self has to offer with, at times, a need to be needed to feel
secure. This may imply that co-operation somehow blends with care-giving
schemata.
3 Co-operators tend to worry about burdening others, being a nuisance, out-
staying their welcome, i.e. fears of exploiting or taking too much from a
relationship; they think very much in terms of entitlements and evaluate rela-
tionships in terms of reciprocal interactions.
4 They tend to monitor self-value by perceptions of reliability, trustworthiness
and equal give and take. They have difficulty (like the autonomous type) with
unconditional receiving; will try to pay for help and tend to feel obligated if
help is given unconditionally; and worry about burdening the therapist or
being unreasonably aggressive or demanding.
5 They tend to evaluate self in terms of good or bad in a moral sense.
6 The co-operative mode is more conflict-ridden and moral dilemma-prone
than the sociotropic and competitive modes. They are more likely to come
from or to gravitate to moralistic religions.
7 Co-operators ruminate on transgressions and guilt; seek redemption, look to
therapist to cleanse “sin” rather than for love.
8 They judge behaviour in “ought” and “should” terms, again with a focus on
moral correctness in relationships. There can be more questioning of moral
problems in the world. There can also be more concern with duty (e.g. to fam-
ily and friends). The more a sense of duty dominates intimate relationships,
the less spontaneous and pleasurable such relationships are likely to be.
9 They may come from family backgrounds where affectionate displays have
been low and there has been little in the way of recognition. The family
has been “hot” on duty. These individuals tend not to show the aggressive
250 Some blocks and pathologies

grandiosity of the narcissistic personality but do appear to have high needs

to seek esteem and recognition and can be highly achievement oriented. But
what they seek here is appreciation rather than (hostile) power or dominance.
These individuals do not wish to control social attention by fear.
10 They often dislike argument and assertiveness, preferring a friendly “talk
it through” way of dealing with conflict. They fear being misunderstood or
egotistical and selfish, and tend to conceal aggressive feelings (like the socio-
tropic type). However, they enjoy debates with someone they feel will not be
damaged by their “power”.
11 They can be aggressive on behalf of the underdog or cause which may act as
a morally acceptable cover for aggressive, dominance behaviour.
12 At times they can show sharp withdrawal from a relationship which involves
being let down, or if present in a sociotropic type, may make many allow-
ances for another’s bad behaviour.
13 They may gravitate to the helping professions and like to be in a position
where it is possible to give to others and be in control via altruism. They
take pride in doing more than the minimum required. Achievement is judged
more by being of value to others, with a focus on social helping, rather than
in personal achievements. However, if there are strong autonomous needs
in the personality, these individuals also seek to rise to high status in their
profession.

It must be emphasised that the co-operative mode is not independent of other

modes (attachment or competitive) of being in the world. The more disordered a
person’s personality, the less moral and reciprocal altruistic themes are likely to
be present in the belief system. These beliefs tend to go with a certain stage in
moral development (Kegan 1982).
I would stress, therefore, that these beliefs rarely exist separately from other
modes, but they represent a different domain of self-evaluation which is linked
with both intra- and interpersonal evaluations. When individuals who have
highly articulated moral beliefs get depressed, they tend to focus on their badness
(whereas sociotropics focus on their lack of love and lost object, and competitive
individuals focus on their inferiority) and on rejection and living as being cast out
for not being “good enough”. Of course, in reality all of these themes are more
like a cake mix than anything else; they mingle together. But like cake mixtures,
some will vary in one direction or another.

Overview
According to Kegan (1982), the manner by which the linking and distancing
dynamic is carried out, reflects a relationship between a child’s stage of develop-
ment of (moral) competency and the environmental responses to the changing
social patterns that are emerging in the child. The role of the environment is to
foster and nurture the child in accordance with the requirements of the child – a
 Some blocks and pathologies 251

dynamic of holding and letting go. With time, the self and the environment become
increasing differentiated yet also integrated. Kegan’s book is an elegant attempt to
pull these central concerns together. The idea that in order to understand another
it is necessary to understand the stage of personal evolution that the person is at,
the characteristic way that self and other are conceptualised and perceived, is
important. We cannot assume that simply because a person has reached maturity
in years, they will automatically have the most complex capabilities of self–other
differentiation that are potentially possible in humans. The style that individuals
use to construe themselves, others and the interrelationship of each, represents a
developmental process. Within these dynamic processes, evolutionary biosocial
goals are being defined, refined and articulated. What begins as a personal search
for autonomy and status may become interpenetrated with a recognition of the
autonomy and status of others, which may either be threatening to us or become
the source of fundamental human rights.
This leads us back to Leary’s (1957) theory of adjustment level and potential
reasons for why certain states of adjustment are chosen. It also links with Beck’s
notions of self–other schemata (see Chapter 4). The interaction between self–
other schemata (me as positive, others as negative, or vice versa) represents not
only a current state of construction, but points to a personal history of relation-
ships which have shaped cognitive affective development.8
More research is needed on how moral constructions of self, derived from the
capability to evaluate self as a reciprocal agent, interpenetrate attachment and
competitive aspects of a personality. How are both of these needs modified by
developmental and moral changes? At present this remains unclear but, as indi-
cated, behind a system of morality which organises an individual’s relationships
with the world, one may find a different set of power and/or attachment needs.
Sometimes altruistic actions are a way to another’s affections, sometimes they are
a way to control others for power purposes.

Concluding comments
The last two chapters have attempted to advance the idea that the evolution of
co-operative behaviour (possibly related to reciprocal altruism) has introduced
important modifications to both attachment and power (dominance) behaviour.
Chance (1988) has called this the hedonic mode. This in turn is reflected in human
patterns of social organisation and individual, internal moral-self construct sys-
tems. Our increased prosocial competencies allow us to understand others as sep-
arate human beings, to learn from them, to be reassured by them and to give and
to gain confidence in relationship to them. We also develop a sense of self which
provides us with an internalised sense of value and entitlement. These capabilities
depend on the capacity to “get close” to others in order to work co-operatively and
this in turn is only possible with substantial changes in power relationships. Our
capacity to deal with close proximity may well relate to the degree of safety we
felt in our early care-eliciting stages of development (see Chapter 6).
252 Some blocks and pathologies

Some theorists have examined the importance of adult–adult support and sense
of belonging by developing our understanding of attachment relationships. Heard
and Lake (1986) have pointed out that adults have different needs in regard to
adult relationships. They make a distinction between supportive and companion-
able relationships. They suggest the following (p.431):

The goal of companionable interaction is reached whenever an individual

construes from the emotive messages sent by companions, that they are tak-
ing interest in and showing appreciation of his contribution and the way he
is making it; and at the same time, realise that the interest he is taking in the
contribution of his companions is also appreciated.

Hence as we consistently argued in Chapter 10, co-operation rests centrally on

issues to do with sending and receiving signals confirming a sense of value and
appreciation. Just as the recognition of young and the inhibition of cannabalistic
behaviour was a quantum leap forward in social evolution, so too this capacity
to engage in co-operative relationships must be seen as equally important. When
developed in relationship to morality and positive affect, at its extreme all people
of the earth are seen as our brothers and sisters. Moreover, our compassion can
also be spread to other non-human species. There are few individuals who are not
touched, saddened and angered at the ritual slaughter of whales and other species.
In this book I have approached the issue of co-operation from a different direc-
tion to that of Heard and Lake (1986) but one which should be seen as com-
plementary to, not in competition with the “attachment dynamic” approach. My
approach has been to consider co-operation as related to the inhibition of power
(hostile dominance). It is this aspect that is so profound in evolution and in no
way can it be compared to the social co-operation of ants, few of whom can pro-
create and none can think of themselves as autonomous individuals. Regarding
co-operation as an inner triumph over primitive hostile dominance behaviour, we
are able to understand why status remains a central issue in our difficulties in co-
operating. In the co-operative domain, status and prestige (the capacity to create
a positive image of self in the mind of the other) relate less to assertiveness or
hostile strength and more to having value (Hill 1984) and being capable of creat-
ing a sense of status via appreciation. This in turn, relates to the ability to elicit
interest and various forms of positive (“no threat”) attention from others. When
this is not forthcoming the individual may be forced to obtain status and a sense
of control and resource-holding potential in the world via more primitive (hostile
dominance) tactics. In Chapter 13 we will examine Heinz Kohut’s ideas, espe-
cially his concept of the exhibitionist stage in child development, and suggest this
as the forerunner to the capacity to feel an inner sense of value, to create in the
mind of the other a positive image of self.
Co-operation in humans is an inclusive fitness strategy which may be subject to
genetic variation (Rushton et al. 1986). As such it can be argued that humans must
be biologically motivated to co-operate. But, by recognising that the potential
 Some blocks and pathologies 253

for power (hostile dominance) is not removed by co-operative tendencies but is

inhibited, then it becomes possible to understand a number of things. First, the
failure to internalise a sense of value can lead to an impoverishment of co-operative
ability. Second, that in order to co-operate, the individual has to be sure that in get-
ting close to the other(s), he does not at the same time open himself up to attack,
ridicule, humiliation, hurt or injury from the other(s). The more unsure an indi-
vidual is of his own sense of value and the less he trusts the other(s), the greater
the recourse to deception.
Individuals therefore use deception, false revealing or hiding to protect the self
from attack or status loss. However, the focus of attention in such situations is
self-protection and can lead to problems in co-operating. We will recall that with
self-focussed self-protective (e.g. agonic) behaviour, attention is directed away
from creative exploration, which is a necessary condition for full co-operative
enterprise, towards being on the lookout for potential threat and attack. All of
these factors point to the very central issue of maintaining trust and status of
both patient and therapist in the therapeutic relationship (Horowitz and Vitkus
1986). Co-operation and reciprocal altruism must also be controlled by internal
mechanisms controlling exploitative and power behaviour. This relates to the
potential for guilt, the loss of the sense of being good and desires to make repa-
rations (Crook 1980). In psychopathological states, guilt seems to have become
maladaptively amplified leading to preoccupations with transgression which the
individual feels unable to repair. This in turn relates to a sense of loss of value
and sense of entitlement. Guilt and shame can become the spirals into depression
especially in societies which stress self-control and achievement.
We drew attention to the fact that individuals develop moral schemata of them-
selves which act to guide interpersonal behaviour. These can give rise to problems
in how individuals attempt to link and relate to or to separate from others. They
provide a source of much conflict. To be socially skilled one must be able to make
and break relationships. In psychotherapy one hears many stories of people who
found themselves drifting into marriages because they were unable to offend their
parents or to cope with hurting their future spouses. Sometimes apparent moral
stances can actually hide a good deal of hostile dominance striving, submissive-
ness or unmet needs to be loved. In psychotherapy, there is the opportunity, via
trust, to get behind deceptions and encourage revelation and in this sense we may
see how an individual is both attempting to maintain a good sense of self by fol-
lowing moral action yet at the some time is inhibiting a good deal of his own
nature. Psychotherapy offers the opportunity and the arena for the individual to
come to a new understanding of both himself and others and to develop a more
compassionate view of the other as well as of himself.

Notes
1 In many cases of social anxiety patients believe that others can “see into them”. When
not psychotic, this involves the evaluation that they cannot conceal how anxious they
are; people can see them sweating, “acting funny” or whatever. In a job interview, for
254 Some blocks and pathologies

example, a person may become progressively more anxious if he feels he has lost his
confidence camouflage and the interviewers can see him as a trembling unconfident
individual. However, the signals that the anxious person believes are being picked up
are external. If the person became more psychotic, these signals would also involve
thoughts and feelings (mind reading, thought broadcasting). At root these anxieties
relate to fears of being uncamouflaged where the other “can see me”.
2 Such internalised critiques which attack status from within so to speak, probably acti-
vate the defence system. It readies the individual for possible attacks from outside.
3 Attributional style undoubtedly reflects these kinds of evaluative processes. I remem-
ber well a depressive who consistently downed herself as a mother and blamed her-
self for her teenage daughter’s chaotic life style. This was extremely difficult to shift.
After six months of therapy, she began to express more hostile feelings towards her
daughter. As an off-the-cuff remark, I said to her once: “You know I think you have
been angry with your daughter since the day you walked in here.” She paused and
then looked at me intensely and said, “I guess that’s right but I would never have told
you because then you would have thought what a horrible person I was.” Only when
she had gained sufficient trust (i.e. safety) with me was this interpretation possible.
It turned out that she had, indeed, felt angry all along. The self-downing was actu-
ally about her anger and not the things she had or had not done for her daughter. She
had a fear of revealing hostility in the belief that I would desert her on the spot and
also because she herself regarded it as evidence of her poor mothering. I eventually
concluded with her that she rarely believed her own self-downing (apart from that
related to her anger) and that it was in fact a public performance on her part to facili-
tate an encouraging, caring and sympathetic response from me. It should be added
that it was precisely her lack of firmness and assertiveness with her daughter that
produced a number of her daughter’s problems. As therapy progressed, anger was
accepted and she became more assertive and firm with her daughter, to which her
daughter acted out more, which gave us both a troubling time. However, eventually
her daughter settled down to the business of learning self-autonomy and separating
from mother. I have had my doubts about the relevance of laboratory based studies of
attribution to clinical depression ever since. I am often reminded of Nietzsche’s view
that no one accuses himself without having a secret wish for vengeance.
4 It is fairly easy to apply these simple laws to power politics. One of the major issues
in arms control relates to the detection of cheating with constant claims of deception
and cheating by one side over the other. Complex secret service operations are aimed
at detecting cheating. The more power oriented any particular group is, the more a
perceived cheat may be experienced positively since it provides the justification for
invigorated competitive and power plays. These may be to build up one’s own armies
or whatever. Any anger here seems related to competitive desires and not genuine dis-
appointments in a failed linking endeavour. It follows therefore that those individuals
who are more power oriented will tend to be more motivated towards the detection of
cheating in a straightforward competitive way. This may lie at the route of difficulties in
forming alliances with old enemies. Unless the biosocial goal is genuinely one of link-
ing then it may be very difficult to develop trust.
5 See Brewin (1985) for a detailed discussion of attribution theory in relation to depres-
sion, and also Brewin (1988).
6 In object relations theory, guilt arises from the depressive position when the child is able
to recognise (fantasise) the effects of his own hostile impulses.
7 In fact, this may involve a subtle combination of guilt and shame to the extent that
one needs to “overpower” the other with threats before they will accept a self-blaming
explanation.
 Some blocks and pathologies 255

8 These relations are subtly represented in brain patterns of organisation with which
trauma, drugs and other physical agents may interact. Unfortunately, we do not know
how drugs may facilitate or hinder the developmental process. Clearly, high levels of
disorganisation and affective arousal in the CNS may mitigate against change. The cen-
tral focus of the individual will be towards internal control rather than towards learning
about other people. It is one thing for a one-year-old to experience impulsivity in behav-
ioural and affective states and quite another in the case of the adult. The one-year-old
will have a level of development of the CNS which makes such impulsivity rather shal-
low, short lived and easily extinguished. But once the brain has grown to maturity the
“power” in the system is considerably greater. The adult can never regress to the state of
the child because biology will be forever changed by the state of growth.
Chapter 12

Competition
Status, power and dominance

Power and dominance are concerned with separating, differentiating and, to a

degree, spacing functions. There are a number of different but related aspects
to the social dynamics of power-competitiveness and the hierarchical organisa-
tion of interpersonal relations. Harper (1985, p.33) discriminates between power,
dominance and status in the following way:

While power and dominance are undeniably highly overlapping phenomena,

power does not necessarily imply dominance as in the case of the “Gentle
Giant” or the “benevolent despot”. Power is generally considered the abil-
ity to influence others to do what one wants. Dominance, however, probably
always involves some component manifestation of power, especially as it is
based on the coercive, expert, legitimate, and referent aspects of power . . .
Finally, status refers to the position assigned or accorded a person in a hierar-
chy by other members of that social organization. Again, while status, domi-
nance, and power are all strongly correlated, there are exceptions such as in
the instance of a titular king or queen who may have great status without any
power or dominance except in perhaps a social sense. Thus, status is at least
the appearance of power.

What Harper is describing here is a differentiation between what an individual

may do to others (use power) and what others bestow on the individual. Status is
therefore related to the image in the eye of the other; a social recognition of some
distinction of value between one individual and others. Status can be bestowed by
tradition and pertain to some recognised position or (symbolic) role; and/or status
can be bestowed by the recognition of talent, competency or skill, etc. In human
culture, these two domains have resulted in the institutionalisation of status by
function (e.g. doctors). They relate especially to the concept of authority and
respect which are concepts closely aligned to status. Status can also be reduced
via symbolic as well as actual means. In these cases we would speak in terms of
stigma (Goffman 1968).
 Competition: status, power and dominance 257

Status
To acquire the institutionalised symbols of status and authority, the individual
must prove that he can perform the functions that society demands of him (e.g. by
passing exams). Showing that he can perform these functions leads to the acquisi-
tion and social recognition of status (Goffman 1968; Argyle 1983). Once achieved,
individuals may use their socially defined status either benevolently or with hos-
tility. Indeed, as discussed later, the bestowing of status via symbolic means or
role designation (the donning of a uniform) can lead individuals who may not
have previously shown excessive dominance behaviour to behave exploitatively
or, indeed, sadistically.
Individuals may aspire to don the symbolic mantle of status from within which they
then feel safe to use power. The use of power may or may not have been involved in
the acquisition of status. The bestowing of status, especially when institutionalised,
provides defensive safeguards for the use of power, e.g. the tacit knowledge of
belonging to the same group, etc., who will work together to protect their own inter-
ests. This often involves protecting individuals whose status is defined according to
the function that the group share. It is commonly recognised that groups of this form
are strongly oriented to control their own disciplinary actions over members. Status
in humans, therefore, is closely tied up with social roles and functions.

Status and altruism

Hill (1984) provided an interesting discussion on the relationship between altru-
ism and status which aptly captures the social domain of recognition and positive
social attention holding. This bears centrally on the aspect of sociocultural pres-
tige. In the summary of his paper he puts this view succinctly:

Sociocultural fitness is defined in terms of contribution to the concept pool

mediated through the ability of individuals to gain prestige and thus, to influ-
ence the concepts of their fellow group members. It arose from biological
fitness when the evolution of articulate speech enabled dominant individuals
to influence the concepts of other group members, so that the attention paid
to them, which had complemented their sexual dominance and hence, their
superior biological fitness, now promoted their sociocultural fitness. The
proximate mechanism through which sociocultural and biological evolution
are related is the quest for prestige by individuals and this often keeps socio-
cultural evolution “on track” biologically.
It is concluded that individual rather than kin selection has been a major
factor in the evolution of much human altruism since individuals need to
be well integrated with their group if their biological fitness is not to suffer,
and altruistic behaviour helps to achieve this by maintaining their prestige or
increasing it, depending upon the relevant role expectations.
(p.17; italics added)
258 Competition: status, power and dominance

This excellent article analyses many of the domains of altruistic behaviour in the
light of personal sociocultural fitness. It provides a link for the important relation
between bestowed status and the capacity to influence the behaviour, thoughts
and affects of one’s fellows via altruism (e.g. to acquire leadership and increase
social attention-holding potential). The essential ingredient here is contribution to
the concept pool but this depends on providing something that others appear to be
in need of. The role of status as a powerful influence involving the ability to con-
trol the thoughts, ideas and experiences of others was noted some time ago. For
example, Ellenberger (1970) points out that it was extremely unusual for servants
to be able to hypnotise their masters, but the reverse was common. However, this
may relate more to dominance than altruism.
Hill (1984) introduces the important idea that prestige is gained by directing
the attention of others. This is very close to the concept of social attention-holding
potential (SAHP). In Chapter 3 I argued that this was related to resource-holding
potential. In humans then, the ability to exert control over the behaviour of others
requires first that their attention is directed to you and then, via various signals,
you can engage following states, or what Gardner (1988) calls alpha reciprocal
states (see pages 56–59). These can have powerful effects on the problem-solving
orientation of followers. Just as dominant animals tend to inhibit certain individual
explorative acts in subordinates, so having high SAHP can influence how others
construct their social worlds. The Jones Town massacre (see page 182, note 1) is a
terrifying example of SAHP used negatively. Ghandi is a positive example. Patients
tend to adopt the explanations of their therapists. Indeed, many believe that having
patients change their explanatory schemata is a key to successful therapy.
Another reason why status may be highly sought is for hiding aspects of the
self. I recall talking to a very obsessional patient about why he needed to suc-
ceed in academic life. His answer was this. Sir Isaac Newton acted as judge for
the Royal Mint. If people were caught forging, he was extremely punitive, even
having the offenders hanged. Yet no one remembers this or is interested because
he is so well thought of in other areas that it never seemed relevant. Everyone
regards him with admiration when in fact he was rather cruel. (I don’t know if
this is true but the explanation is most interesting.) My patient had actually had
many hostile difficulties and when his father had died, he recalls having lain in
bed in terror, thinking his father could see him from heaven and knew all his son’s
evil thoughts. Achievement was the road to redemption. To be redeemed is to be
forgiven and regain SAHP.
To those who take on leadership roles, there is always a danger that they will
become overidentified with their function, i.e. lost in the myth of the group’s pro-
jected need. This is a moral issue for therapists (London 1986).

Greatness is a transitory experience. It is never constant. It depends in part

upon the myth-making imagination of humankind. The person who experi-
ences greatness must have a feeling for the myth he is in. He must reflect
what is projected upon him. And he must have a strong sense of the sardonic.
 Competition: status, power and dominance 259

The sardonic is all that permits him to move within himself. Without this
quality, even occasional greatness will destroy a man.
(From Dune, by F. Herbert 1978)

In more down-to-earth terms it is not good to take oneself too seriously. Being
caught in the myth of the expert tends to lead to arrogance and a failure to listen to
or acknowledge others. When a therapist was once called an “expert” on human
problems he responded “Well, ‘x’ is an unknown quantity, and ‘spurt’ is a drip
under pressure.”

Status and leadership

We now consider the close links between status and leadership. Crook (1986) pro-
vides an interesting evolutionary analysis of leadership. He points out that leaders
may be chosen if they are perceived to have certain skills or are capable of perform-
ing certain functions advantageous to the group. In other words, leaders are chosen
according to the purpose to which they can be put. Sometimes this may be no more
than offering a structured, stable hierarchy which is known to reduce aggressive
behaviour. In humans, status is also related to function and as such, related to context.
The delegation of power and control is complex. Husbands who say they are
autocratic at work, but “allow” their wives to make decisions at home are still
behaving autocratically. “Allowing” leaves no doubt as to who is actually in con-
trol. Thus we should distinguish the concepts of leadership, respect and authority.
All relate to influence, but authority is usually invested with power.
In Chapter 10 we discussed the role of status support as being central to friend-
ship and co-operative behaviour. There are however, a number of other aspects to
status which are central to human relationships. The first of these pertains to the
relationship between respect and status. Status and leadership functions may be
bestowed freely and with genuine pleasure as to a benign teacher (Einstein), or
for what we perceive to be wisdom. Status can be confirmed for altruistic acts and
lifestyles. Jesus is possibly an archetypal figure in this regard. It was of course a
hallmark of Jesus’ life up to and including the crucifixion to refuse to use “power”
to exploit others and cause them suffering in any physical sense. Many were dis-
appointed in Jesus’ unwarlike role as the Messiah and some never accepted him.
Hence, status tends to be bestowed if it provides the populace with something they
feel they are in need of, be this a philosophy of life, deeper wisdom, a better way
to relate to one’s fellows, entry into heaven or whatever.1 Once bestowed, leader-
ship status tends to provoke following and/or modelling behaviour in others.

Prosocial leaders
All leadership functions to control attention of conspecifics: who leads, who
follows, who pays attention to whom for what, and the consequences of behav-
ioural interactions. The work of Leary (1957) and Chance (1984, 1988), suggests
260 Competition: status, power and dominance

two different archetypal styles which are noted in leader–follower interactions.

These may be labelled prosocial (or co-operative) and hostile (power). Prosocial
leadership is marked by what Chance has called the arousal of the hedonic mode
in the social infrastructure. There is an inhibition or deactivation of defensive
systems (i.e. reduced arousal in punishment, attack, fight/flight systems and so
on). These may occur via group expression of reassurance signals which alter
the activity of septo-hippocampal BIS, and possibly recruits activity from the
cingulate cortex.
When prosocial leaders operate, the social interactions are marked by altru-
ism, co-operation, joint endeavour and creative initiative. Based on the work of
child psychologists, Chance (1984) notes that for children demonstrating proso-
cial leadership, interactions are mutually reinforcing, with the offering of help,
advice and gifts together with high levels of reassurance behaviour. Aggressive
bouts tend to be of short duration and are rarely initiated by prosocial leaders. The
affective tone is one of pleasure and enjoyment, excitement and task engagement
(e.g. co-operative play). The behavioural orientation is on sharing in joint activity
and ideas, with concerns for fairness and playing by the rules.
This interactive style seems to be marked by increasing approach behaviour and
initiations by leaders and others. With the inhibition of defensive systems, derived
from the provision of safety (reassurance) signals given out by prosocial leaders,
there appears to be a liberation of attention towards creative problem solving.
Cognitive and problem-solving capabilities can now be directed to external activi-
ties rather than be defensively self-focussed. The hedonic mode also changes the
proximity behaviours of participating members with a preference for close rather
than defensive distancing. Chance (1988) suggests that it has been this mode,
the evolved capacity to reduce attentional focus to self-defensive needs, which
marks a major step forward for the evolution of (creative) human intelligence. In
other words, the less time individuals need to spend focussing on self-defensive
aspects, the more opportunities there are for exploration and the development
of co-operative and problem-solving skills. This mode is important for therapy.
Hence, prosocial leadership involves major components of co-operation and care
giving. In adults, prosocial leadership may be captured by the idea of “making
safe”. Making safe is a major concern for psychotherapy (Mackie 1982).
When highly developed, prosocial leaders use their status to inspire, encour-
age and nurture talents and competencies in others. The focus is on the growth
and development of others. Notable religions which encapsulate this style are
Buddhism and Taoism. These kinds of social religion use status to encourage
individuals to work on themselves or within themselves. The general communica-
tive style is regarded as one of warmth and kindness, and indeed, in Buddhism, a
major meditative procedure is to focus on what is called “loving kindness.” These
kinds of styles may inhibit sensory-motor patterns underlying power and submis-
sive displays.
The prosocial leaders however, walk a narrow path between becoming care-
giving mediators (and hence inhibiting the growth of personal competency by
 Competition: status, power and dominance 261

performing on the person’s behalf) and using power – coercing people into activi-
ties with threats of punishment. Unfortunately some Christian teaching bears on
the latter, especially with its hell and damnation components alongside decrees to
submit to God’s will. In more enlightened religions, spiritual experience is never
a question of submission but rather one of discovery and freedom.2 If we note
Hill’s (1984) concept of sociocultural fitness as working through prestige, then
we can see how prosocial leadership may succeed here. Furthermore, in so far as
the competencies (for joint action to exploit environmental resources) are raised
by co-operative action, then any individual who facilitates this is doubly benefit-
ted. In the first place, he gains prestige within a group (they see him as helpful
to them). This leads him to be able to direct the attention, ideas and behaviour of
others, but more than this, he gains a better team to hunt with and a more loyal
set of subjects – this being the case because power behaviour is reduced and
affiliative responses activated. The use of altruism and reassurance which inhibits
power competitiveness is a biosocial strategy which has major advantages over
power competitiveness. However, all things cast a shadow. Indeed, the greater the
degree of loyalty and affiliation that may be invoked by a friendly, affectionate
follower–leader relationship, the more difficult it may be to challenge the leader’s
beliefs. In so far as psychotherapists are bestowed the advantage of being a pro-
social leader, i.e. bestowed authority, then awareness of the moral dilemmas of
therapy is essential (London 1986).

Power and dominance

In the last section, we discussed primarily the issue of status as something
that is bestowed. In this section we will switch attention to more individual-
istic (egocentric) power and dominance concerns. In part, dominance refers
to the consequences of the use of power. Power and dominance are related
to hostility, fear and coercion – what Chance (1984) calls the agonic mode.
For Price (1988) this kind of dominance behaviour relates to the activation of
more primitive social forms derived from ritualistic agonistic behaviour (see
Chapter 3). Hence, dominance may be obtained by fear: the tyrant or arche-
typal bully. Whether one would wish to say that such individuals do have status
is a debatable point. In these relationships, the attention of others is directed
towards avoidance of injury or humiliation. These relate to Leary’s description
of hostile dominance.

Power leaders
Power leaders tend to operate in the hostile domain (Leary 1957). Their pri-
mary concern is egocentric, egotistical, self-protective and power oriented. They
also tend to be more oriented to direct expressions of resource-holding poten-
tial (e.g. sexual and economic) than prosocial leaders. In their social interac-
tions, they activate defensive patterns in others (which we may speculatively
262 Competition: status, power and dominance

suggest involve septo-hippocampal systems). The social attention of others is

on the avoidance of attack, humiliation and ridicule. For extreme cases, Chance
(1984) outlines four main characteristic interpersonal patterns that manifest in
these interactions:

1 Dominant aggressors: These individuals get their own way by behaving

aggressively. As children, these types fight often and social attention is
focussed on the most aggressive person. They offer little help or much in
the way of reassurance behaviour. Any appeasement is probably submissive
gestures from others. In children, one finds little co-operation at the heart of
their groups. When overpowered they may become isolated and the object of
humiliation themselves.
2 Dominated aggressors: These individuals shift between isolation and aggres-
sive encounters. Presumably, they are strong enough to exert some power
over some individuals but not strong enough to become top rank. Specu-
latively, one of the archetypal forms would be that of the “henchman”, the
assassin or sadist who masks sadistic behaviour behind following orders.
3 Dominated frightened: These individuals (especially as children) are charac-
terised by a high frequency of crying and demonstrating features of isolation
and appeasement with offerings to more aggressive, dominant individuals.
These types may have problems of anxious attachment. The focus is to try to
signal to power leaders “no threat” and submission.
4 Dominated isolated: These individuals are characterised by long periods of
isolation which can last for years. In clinical terms they may be depressed or
schizoid. Their interpersonal appraisal systems are highly attuned to threat
and its avoidance. Withdrawn, isolated children tend to be the most unpopu-
lar especially if they are also aggressive. States of isolation may relate to
Gardner’s (1988) depiction of omega states. In Gardner’s view the more
schizoid personality relates to an outgroup omega state.

As in Leary’s (1957) model, these styles are highly localised on the hostile
dimension which interacts with dominance and submission. Individuals who are
dominated may stay within the group but at the same time try to make efforts to
avoid attack by submission and appeasement (with increased braced readiness).
Others may become more isolated trying to reduce threat by leaving the group.
Why these different styles have become articulated within a person’s interper-
sonal repertoire remains an open question. Maybe genetic or constitutional factors
play a role (Rushton et al. 1986), or there may be a developmental arrest (Kegan
1982) such that some children are very limited in their capacity to engage in
social interaction in prosocial and co-operative ways because they lack sympathy,
empathy and moral development. Maybe parental abuse may constitute a serious
source of such personality distortion.
It should be remembered that we are not talking about categories here but
dimensions. Some individuals may not display overt aggression but may use
 Competition: status, power and dominance 263

language and labelling with symbolic attacks, e.g. “You’re silly”, or “You’re
an arsehole”, etc. Humour can also be recruited for egotistic and power-related
designs. The power person gains his advantage over others by his potential
for humiliation (sometimes via humour) and the capacity to hook up, however
mildly, sensory-motor patterns underlying submissiveness. In a public arena
humour used in this fashion will evoke such patterns (e.g. looking away, gaze
avoidance, embarrassment and so on). In normal contexts, however, hostile
dominance does not always invoke hostile submission (Orford 1986). In fact,
if status is at stake, hostile dominance may elicit hostile dominance. Neverthe-
less, social context may play a major role. One may not wish to react to hostile
dominance with hostility in a public arena in case this affects one’s persona
(Baumeister 1982). Institutional power hierarchies can also make it difficult
for dominance to be directed upwards, e.g. a junior doctor being ridiculed in
front of others. Be this as it may, we can see that status and/or authority need
to be clearly separated from power and dominance. It is the focus of atten-
tion and the activation of safety or defensive systems within an interpersonal
framework that are the criteria for making such a distinction. When defensive
interactions are the group style then members will be cognitively attuned to
cues (CS’s) predicting punishment, i.e. there is a sensitisation in the septal
hippocampal systems and this may also relate to increased cortisol found to
be higher in group members in which power displays are prominent (Chance
1984).

Dominance and recognition

Dominance is dependent on social recognition. Serious problems may emerge
when an individual attempts to dominate another and use power over the other
which is not accepted/recognised (Price 1988). Under these conditions, serious
fighting may ensue. For example, in many animals, scent marking of territory
provides important signals of dominance position. This is often carried out by
urinating and defecating. Such scent marking facilitates the recognition of sta-
tus. Dr Diane Bell of the University of East Anglia recently told me of how
during one particular experiment, a dominant male rabbit was removed from
its group. During its absence a new male rose to top rank and scent marked. On
its return the originally dominant animal, though still the physically stronger
was hounded and viciously attacked to the point of death. Without its scent
(pheromones) present in the environment it was not recognised as the dominant
animal. Furthermore, the animal seemed unable to defend itself adequately or
behave as an alpha male in territory not marked by its own scent; it seemed
to have lost confidence in itself. Hence, Bell believes that scent marking may
have allowed for a kind of “confidence field” which facilitated the expression
of dominance behaviour as well as serving as a stimulus for the recognition by
other animals of dominance and possibly inhibiting their own alpha behaviours
when this signal is present.
264 Competition: status, power and dominance

Power and sadism

The way humans use power and the signals of power to dominate others can be
taken to horrific extremes. A recent television documentary (14.1.86) on torture
highlighted the processes involved in becoming a torturer. First, there is ideal-
ism and a wish to belong to a power elite. This is fuelled by exaggerations of
personal power and efforts to manipulate hatred towards the opposing forces,
often with many paranoid elements. These are held in place by one’s own fear
about what would happen to one if one did not comply. All these are deliberate
efforts to disabuse the would-be torturer of any developed sense of morality and
to block sympathy and compassion by dehumanising the victim, i.e. rendering
him of very low status. In these situations the use of urination and excrement is
sometimes associated with these appalling acts (hence note the issue of biologi-
cal signals).
In interview, many torturers admitted that the goal of torture was not just the
extraction of information but to humiliate and reduce the status of the victim: “to
make the victim the lowest of the low”; “to break his or her spirit”; “to psycho-
logically destroy them by acts of outstanding power”; “to show the victim that
he or she counts for nothing”. Torturers also revealed that there was humour and
pleasure in these actions for at least some of them.
Give somebody a role and all things are possible. Dominance can always be
used to humiliate. More worrying perhaps is that it is not necessary to undergo
any particular process of sensitisation before humans can be induced to com-
mit cruel, dehumanising acts. In the 1960s a series of major experiments by
Milgram (1974) demonstrated just how easy it is to get individuals to deliver
serious and painful electric shocks to confederates. The main motive here
seemed to be a desire to obey authority and to comply, even if this caused
distress to the perpetrator himself. Milgram noted that very few of the subjects
in his experiments directed a moral rebuke to the experimenter requesting the
delivery of these (supposedly) dangerous and painful electric shocks to the
victim.
In another experiment, Zimbardo simulated a prison environment with students
arbitrarily assigned to either prisoner or warder roles. Within a fairly short time
the donning of these roles resulted in behaviours that were not far short of the
torturer’s mentality. Sabini and Silver (1982) have picked out some telling aspects
of Zimbardo’s work:

The guards could be characterised as falling into one of three groups. There
were the tough but fair guards whose orders where always within the pre-
scribed rules of prison operation. Then, there were several guards who were
the good guys, according to the prisoners, who felt genuinely sorry for the
prisoners, who did little favours for them and never punished them. And
finally, about a third of the guards were extremely hostile, arbitrary, inventive
in their forms of degradation and humiliation and appeared to thoroughly
 Competition: status, power and dominance 265

enjoy the power they wielded when they put on the guards uniform and
stepped out into the yard big stick in hand.
(Zimbardo 1971, p.14 as quoted
by Sabini and Silver 1982)3

These issues have been well discussed by Sabini and Silver (1982) and will not
be taken further here. However, it should be noted that they regard these issues
as basically moral ones. This is in accord with our discussion of co-operation.
Suffice it to say that power dominance provides a great potential for evil, but
nevertheless, we must not lose sight of the underlying biological aspects of these
kinds of situation. Torture, in a sense, is a creative effort to humiliate another, tak-
ing to extremes the induction of fear through power. Maybe the sadistic guards
had a way of signalling assertive behaviours which the good guards felt unable to
compete with or to override. Indeed, work on dominance suggests the presence
of powerful non-verbal signals which can influence social behaviour but in the
absence of full conscious awareness (Dovidio and Ellyson 1985). If this is so, then
perhaps a clearer analysis of the intercommunicative styles between the submis-
sive and the dominant would be useful. Remember the old saying “all it takes for
evil men to prosper is for good men to do nothing.”
What is certainly morally reprehensible is that fact that many armies through-
out the world will deliberately use tactics to inhibit moral reproach in subordinate
soldiers. A recent BBC documentary called “Haunted Heroes” interviewed indi-
viduals who had been sent on special missions to Vietnam. The training involved
extreme forms of degradation, beatings and the use of special techniques to
mobilise hate. Many of the subjects of this indoctrination were unable to reinte-
grate themselves into American society on their return and received some abuse.
Although our great capacity for plasticity, flexibility and creativity can be used
in the service of co-operation and love, it also has a shadow side. We cannot
escape the fact that the most phylogenetically regressive tendencies can also be
summoned up and creatively exploited (see Bailey 1987 for development of this
thesis).

Functions of leaders for followers

For there to be leaders there must also be followers and a full evolutionary analy-
sis requires consideration of the inclusive fitness benefits gained by both follow-
ers and leaders (Barash 1977; Crook 1986; Gardner 1988). “Acts of following”
are complex and occur for many reasons. Involved are issues of recognition of
status, authority or power. Acts of following involve following advice, instruc-
tion, modelling, etc., right through to preparedness to sacrifice oneself to danger
and death, or to kill others (as in war).
However, the predisposition to follow casts a serious shadow as Milgram’s
(1974) work on obedience shows. Following tends to inhibit an individual’s own
capacity for reasoning and acting morally (Sabini and Silver 1982; Kennedy and
266 Competition: status, power and dominance

McKenzie 1986). This evolutionary adaptation born from group living may, in the
end, cost us dearly for we go to war in our tens of thousands, often out of loyalty
to our group and leaders (Dixon and Lucas 1982). In similar numbers we work on
the weapons that can destroy us all. Even our logic is quite bizarre. For example,
during the Falklands conflict, one minister said that we must send a task force to
the South Pacific to show the enemy that force does not pay. Taken logically this
can only mean that we should have been defeated (to prove to the other side that
force is indeed useless).
It is unlikely that individuals are prepared to follow another unless the other is
seen to have some dominant position. When this is socially confirmed and agreed,
all kinds of psychological benefits may be bestowed from following. Here I will
not distinguish between following prosocial versus power leaders, but the context
should be clear for each point taken up.

1 By supporting status and authority figures in the present, one can hope that
one day one’s turn will come, or at least, that one’s genetic relatives (one’s
kin) will, at some date in the future, be at a point of high status with the asso-
ciated biological and sociocultural benefits. Hence, one may comply now in
order for oneself or one’s kin to have power later. Kegan (1982) for example,
notes how low-ranking children often become the more aggressive individu-
als when a new child appears to take up the role of low ranker.
2 Co-operating with status and authority figures who appear to have power may
be useful in order to form helpful alliances. These may be used for one’s own
protection at some point later. For example, Crook 1980 (pp.125–126) argues
that: “An animal that has attained high rank is commonly used for social
support by others in distress and especially as a refuge when an individual
is under attack. Furthermore, since hierarchies may be structured more by
avoidance than assertion, the dominant animal tends to participate less in
these interactions but when he does so it is with considerable effect.”
3 Various institutions and professional hierarchies have vested interests in
maintaining their hierarchies (“the old boy network”). As noted before, the
promise of being able to don the mantle of status by joining some functional
group enables people to have a degree of security about their social presenta-
tions that they may not otherwise have. Indeed, they may suffer quite distinct
social anxieties yet behave assertively, even aggressively, when the signals
are operative in their environment to sanction their dominant acts.
4 Since it is the case that in some primate groups dominant animals tend to
avoid subordinates (Crook 1980), then by supporting dominant others one
may reduce the risk of being injured, humiliated, ignored and/or excluded.
Doing what parents want avoids punishment and loss of love. Doing what
God wants avoids ending up outside the gates and taking the lift to the base-
ment. Following can also be an act designed to evoke love and appreciation.
5 Another reward for supporting status figures or a status hierarchy may be
derived from the power of association. By complying with dominant others
 Competition: status, power and dominance 267

or those who have status, one can bathe in the glory of their success which
one may not feel able to achieve oneself. Glory by association is a complex
issue and relates to group dynamics. The efforts of parents to help their chil-
dren to aspire to obtain status may be seen in this light, i.e. parents encourage
(threaten) children to follow certain pathways; the child gains prestige which
reflects positively on the parents. What the parents regard as prestigious the
children are encouraged to pursue – even if this is in conflict with the child’s
real desires (hence identity abuse).
6 An important advantage of allowing oneself to be controlled by status figures
is that it removes the problems of moral conflict. Conforming to the values
of others relieves one of the responsibilities of one’s own sense of moral-
ity and of deciding what is right and wrong. “If the Queen believes x than
I can believe x without troubling myself with the moral dilemmas involved.”
This was often the case for Milgram’s (1974) subjects (see Sabini and Silver
1982). Status figures can be sought out to provide knowledge which will
reduce individual moral dilemmas. Status figures (including therapists) may
be sought out to provide certainty, reduce doubt and resolve powerful moral
conflicts. Yet, it may be just these kinds of conflicts which promise to be
rewarded with growth – if they are struggled with.
7 If one acknowledges that one’s superiors may actually have superior knowl-
edge, talent or strength then in times of stress one may actually be able to shift
the burden of responsibility on to them by care eliciting. In other words, sta-
tus figures may be sought out to shift responsibility for things which should
be personal. A typical example of this is the use of doctors. It is only recently
that we have been encouraged to take more responsibility for our own health
and illness prevention. Hence, conformity and allowing oneself to be led
has many psychological appeals. The passivity inducement in some medical
practices, be these for childbirth or whatever, attests to the way dominance
and status can inhibit individual coping efforts.
8 Finally, one may conform to authority and status because one evaluates
something of value that will be of personal benefit, i.e. the sports person
agrees to his training being worked out by someone else (coach). It is impor-
tant at this level that collaboration is the basis of conformity. It is here that
all good therapists use their status. It is where the therapists says, “I will put
my skills at your disposal.” Out of this interactive style grows the capacity to
challenge ideas and beliefs. As Beck (personal communication) points out, if
the collaborative empirical approach is lost then every effort should be made
to regain it.

Following others can lead to inhibition of one’s own individual problem-solv-

ing or moral capabilities. For example, dominant animals tend to make many
of the main decisions of the group, e.g. direction to explore. This tendency for
creative and autonomous problem solving to be deferred to another of higher sta-
tus is well noted in psychotherapy groups (Kennedy and McKenzie 1986). For
268 Competition: status, power and dominance

educators who wish to train people to think for themselves the use of status needs
to be handled cautiously, to encourage creative individual ideas which can be
exchanged without invoking defensive power or status protection interactions.
This involves the way a teacher handles challenge to his ideas and theories. This
dialectic is well articulated by Foucault (1984) (see Chapter 10).

Submission
Submission should not be confused with the more positive prosocial acts of fol-
lowing where one willingly bestows status on another and then follows and com-
plies. Such acts are based on co-operative collaboration. However, following a
threat, an animal may escape and flee for a time but not completely out of the
safety of the group and may need to return to the group some time later. This
involves returning to the source of the threat. Chance (1988) calls this reverted
escape.
Submissiveness allows for the capacity for groups to exist based on rank. Sub-
mission allows low ranks to remain within a social unit while at the same time
being able to express a socially communicative state which may reduce the poten-
tial for injury and attack. Mitchell and Maple (1984) suggest that submission is
characterised by the following behaviours: withdrawal-flight, crouch, scream,
gaze-avoidance, repetitive-peaking, ceasing ongoing activity under challenge and
a preparedness to give way. These behaviours are not learned but are uncondi-
tioned responses to social events and signals. They are part of the innate social
repertoire of higher social animals. As such they are conditionable to selective
stimuli in such a way that the sensory-motor patterns mediating submissive dis-
plays can become highly activated in some contexts.
These relationships have also been well studied by social skills theorists
(Trower et al. 1978; Argyle and Trower 1979; Argyle 1983). Human submissive
behaviours are mediated via gaze, body posture, proximity behaviours, voice tone
and volume, clarity, type and speed of messages, silences and so on. Buss and
Craik (1986) have listed a number of what they call submissive acts (eighteen
in all). For example, “I agreed I was wrong, even though I wasn’t”; “I accepted
verbal abuse without defending myself”; “I was not able to tell a friend I was
angry with her”. Some of Buss and Craik’s acts reflect not only submissiveness
but compliance. All these signals and acts reflect a particular cautiousness to the
offering of threat signals or failing to send appeasement signals (e.g. frequent
thanks for small favours).
However, some submissive responses are aversively arousing to a dominant
individual (e.g. silences). Giving a lecture to a group and getting no “feedback”
can be interpreted negatively. Hence, humans have an innate preference to fill the
gaps (Trower, personal communication). Those who are locked into agonic modes
may not be able to use friendship signals (remember dominance and love–hate are
separate dimensions). This reflects the issue of attributing intent (see Chapter 3).
Some of my patients say, “He may act friendly but he still thinks I’m a fool”;
 Competition: status, power and dominance 269

“others are only friendly if they can get something out of you”; “people cover up
their true feelings”. Hence, these patients are unable to adapt to friendship signals
because they are “at the ready” to change, fight or avoid and submit should there
be a switch from friendship to hostility. The fact that they may be partly respon-
sible for this switch may go unnoticed. They tend to be low on trust and locked
into self-defensive attentional styles.
For these patients, having them gather evidence of whether they are liked or
not rarely works because they often do not believe the data they get: “people lie”.
Hence, they go on paying attention to selected elements of their social discourse.
Often, these problems relate to projection of their own negative view of them-
selves onto others and progress cannot be made until their own view of them-
selves changes. That is, when they stop self-deceiving, downing and lying, they
are more able to believe that others may be friendly too.

Submission and shame

One of the factors which will inhibit the requirement to submit to others is trust.
The greater the degree of trust between two or more people, the less dominance
or submissiveness becomes necessary and the less one fears revealing or allowing
aspects of oneself to be observed by another. The behavioural and sensory-motor
patterns (or PSALICs) that have evolved to make submission possible are those
that are articulated and activated in states of shame. In severe cases of shame, one
will see the same behaviours an individual manifests in submission, i.e. strong
desires to escape/withdraw (i.e. not reveal or explore further), gaze-avoidance,
crouch (a tendency curl up the body and look down) and peaking (rapid shifts
of looking to the therapist and then away again) and increased aversive arousal.
Other aspects include the experience of being “frozen to the spot”, the mind going
blank, disorientation and so on. There may also be a cessation of activity as in the
sudden ending of a dialogue between therapist and patient. The central focus is
on the negative image of self that is created in the mind of the other. (Recall the
discussion of shame in Chapter 11.)
It should also be recalled that submission involves an effort to reduce potential
physical injury, i.e. it is self-protective. In some theories of psychopathology, this
function is seen as important in so far as shame involves a patient’s withdrawal
into himself which is seen as an ego-protective act (Mollon and Parry 1984).
Hence, the two domains that impose on shame are: (1) a focus on the physical
self; and (2) the other as a source of attack or symbolic attack (humiliation).

Shame and the internal dialogue

Because shame relates primarily to submissiveness and not reciprocal altruism,
the internal dialogue of some patients with shame problems tends to be hostile,
and in the extreme, sadistic. One can only ponder why some patients have sadis-
tic power–submissive dialogues with themselves and against themselves, even to
270 Competition: status, power and dominance

the point of self-injury. Hence, we must distinguish two rather different types of
internal self downing (these may relate to distinctions between behavioural versus
characterological self-blame, Brewin 1988): (1) one which focusses attention and
cognitive evaluations on social rules (reciprocal altruism) to avoid exploitation of
others, cheating, relating to morality and so on; and (2) one that focusses attention
on a more primitive social rank and of being in an inferior position. This theme is
captured in a patient’s description of a therapeutic event. The patient was asked to
go into detail on images of an episode of social anxiety. The patient says:

. . . As I described the incident, he probed for images and feelings and

helped me relive the experience. The palms of my hands became sweaty and
I became aware of a choking sensation in my throat. I experienced that all-
too-familiar feeling of panic and desperation that so often left me paralysed.
I had this image of myself as this pathetic little creature, worthy only of con-
tempt . . . I was able to verbalise some painful self-critical thoughts related
to that image . . . For the first time I had a profound and clear sense of what
I was essentially doing to myself.
(From Greenberg and Safran 1987,
pp.5–6; italics added)

Another form of submissive dialogue, which appears more conscious, was

given by a depressed suicidal woman (Firestone 1985, p.443):

. . . I tell myself things like “Just be quiet. Don’t say anything. Don’t bother
people with what you have to say. Just stop talking. Shut up. Just don’t say
anything, okay? Just don’t bother me okay? I don’t want to hear anything
from you”.

Both examples highlight the fact that the submissive routine can be fuelled
from within. Price (1988) calls this an internal referee. Importantly the individual
attacks him/herself in the role of a hostile dominant. If you ask people to write
down their internal dialogues they will often use the pronoun “you” as if talking
to, or being spoken to by, some other person (as in the preceding example).
The internal dialogue need not be verbal and not fully conscious, but its impact
can be devastating. In other words we can treat ourselves as objects and bring to
bear our socially developed constructs which can be used to develop an internal
relationship.4 Furthermore, it is not unusual to find that individuals who have
these kinds of dialogues with themselves tend to project them. That is, they react
to others as if others thought of them the way they think about themselves. The
nature of the internal dialogue is examined in more detail in Chapter 14.
There is one further speculation which I would like to share. Consider the inter-
nal dialogue of the two people described above. Now it has been suggested that
paranoia is a defence against depression (Zigler and Glick 1988), and that para-
noid people have low self-esteem (low RHP). My speculation is this: Suppose
 Competition: status, power and dominance 271

that low self-esteem not only increases the sense of vulnerability to others, but
also tends to activate a hostile internal dialogue similar in form to that described
above. Suppose also that the person is not able to locate the origins of this dia-
logue as coming from within himself. Would that be the position of the paranoid
state? Such a view may be similar to the object relations theorists who see the
paranoid-schizoid position as an earlier defence to the depressive position. At this
point this intriguing question must be left for further research.

Overview
Shame relates to submission and the innate schemata regulating ritualistic agonis-
tic behaviour. The behaviours of the shamed, embarrassed and socially anxious
bear comparison with those animals exhibiting low status and yielding signals
(Gilbert and Trower 1990; Trower and Gilbert 1989).
Attention is self-protective to withdraw and avoid injury. However, we may also
come to evaluate ourselves with internal evaluative systems designed by evolu-
tion for social use but directed at the self as an object. We can literally torture our-
selves. These pathologies are often serious, especially if they involve self-injury.
These represent severe disturbances in construct systems controlling dominance
evaluation (e.g. related to inferior–superior evaluations). Like some immune dis-
eases, these aggressive evaluative styles (designed to fight for dominance) do
not seem to recognise the self as its own. They attack the self in the manner of a
dominant reptile attacking another which has encroached on its territory.

The psychobiology of status,

power and dominance
We have noted many times now that most social species, including humans, show
a marked predisposition to organise themselves into rank order. In this chapter we
have proposed that ranking constitutes an innate predisposition for the construc-
tion of social interactions. Humans can have status bestowed on them, or they can
attempt to dominate others by the use of power. Hence, humans inherit construct
systems (archetypes) which endow them to attend and respond to social events in
terms of ranking (Leary 1957; Argyle 1983; Price 1988). These construct systems
are presumably coupled up with sensory-motor patterns which form the core of
PSALICs relevant to the construction of rank (Gardner 1988).
The psychobiology of ranking behaviour is immensely complex and still not
well understood. It relates to many interacting factors such as previous history
of success or defeat, context, species strain, age and so on. Many different neu-
rotransmitters are involved and many interactions occur in the acquisition, main-
tenance or loss of rank. Changes in NA, DA, 5-HT and ACh are just some of
the many neurotransmitters that have been shown to play a role in dominance-
relevant behaviours. Our examination here is very brief but will touch on some
central issues thrown up by psychobiological research.
272 Competition: status, power and dominance

Weiss et al. (1982) report some interesting work of Salman (1980) on the
relation between status and tyrosine hydroxylase. Salman found that there were
important negative correlations between tyrosine hydroxylase and the dominant
position of rats in an open colony. The highest correlation was found in the locus
coeruleus (the locus correlus is in the R-complex) but lower correlations were also
found for other brain areas (hypothalamus amygdala, frontal cortex, substantia
nigra, straitum and olfactory tubercule). The biological changes associated with
induced helplessness also appear to inhibit dominance behaviour (Seligman
1975). Fighting in rats is one response that may reduce the effects of induced
helplessness procedures (Anisman 1978). Such data give limited evidence to the
overlap between helplessness and the evolution of the yielding subroutine.
Haber et al. (1981) examined the effects of amphetamine (which increases
catecholamine turnover) on the social behaviour of rhesus monkeys. They
found amphetamine increases arousal and hypervigilance to social animals.
However, the behavioural effects were directly opposite between dominant and
subordinate animals. Dominants increased in threat, chase and attack behaviour
whereas subordinates increased in various submissive gestures (fear grimace,
turning away, etc.). These behaviours were the result of drug effects rather
than subordinates submitting more because dominants were challenging more.
This data confirms Price and Sloman’s (1987) view that changes in hostility in
depression represent dominance relationships. Furthermore, it is known that the
effects of this drug have variable effects in human depressive states (Silberman
et al. 1981; Gilbert 1984).
The second finding was that all drug animals increased their time in proxim-
ity to their closest associate, but not other group members. Maybe this was an
effort to increase or stabilise their RHP. Hence, increases in catecholamines result
in heightened arousal and distorted attention to threat and danger (i.e. activate
agonic systems). Additionally, there is activation of coping responses which are
subject to social dominance on the one hand, and to perceptions of a safe other
(close associate) on the other. Presumably, any naturally occurring stress which
activates the catecholamine system (Anisman 1978) would tend to produce simi-
lar effects. Haber et al. (1981) sight their data in regard to a model of paranoid
states.
In a different paradigm, Raleigh et al. (1984) examined the relationship between
plasma 5-HT and social status in vervet monkeys. There remains some controversy
as to the relationship between blood 5-HT and CNS 5-HT activity. Nevertheless,
their findings are of interest. In dominant males, blood levels of 5-HT were higher
than in other males, in one case being twice as high. Research has shown that
5-HT blood levels are reasonably stable over time as long as the social hierarchy
is stable. However, these researchers report that removing the dominant male with
or without visual access to the group, resulted in major decreases in blood 5-HT
levels, in some cases falling to levels similar to those in subordinate animals. The
details of this complex biological process is less relevant here than the finding
that social and environmental events had such major effect on 5-HT. This research
 Competition: status, power and dominance 273

suggests that blood levels of 5-HT are state dependent consequences of active
occupation of the dominant male position. The hypothesis that some depressions
are related to disturbances in 5-HT and that some depressions are related to defeat
and low status (Price and Sloman 1987) suggests an interesting link. Moreover,
the biological changes noted may not be primary causal agents of the disorder but
responses to social environmental events or perceived changes in social status and
evaluations of RHP. When the world chess champion loses a game, he says: “ . . .
usually, I win. If I win a tournament or match, or the world championship there
is great celebration . . . If I lose, it is very bad. I can’t eat, can’t sleep and I must
understand why this has happened . . . but I never blame my coaches or anyone
else because I know it is my fault. Maybe I say to myself some bad words.” (Gary
Kasparov 1986)
We see, at least in this case, the change of state invoked by defeat and with
it the release of a hostile internal dialogue. Changes in 5-HT would appear to
alter response facilitation and this has been labelled the “impulsive hypothesis
of 5-HT” (see Soubrie 1986). Low 5-HT in the context of a dominance or high
power-seeking personality may provide some of the conditions for the expression
of hostile dominance behaviour (Mandell 1979). On the other hand, low 5-HT
in those more sensitive to avoidance of attack (subordinates) may show hostile
submission.

Endocrinology
The endocrinology of dominance–submission has been reviewed by Henry and
Stephens (1977), Leshner (1978) and Price (1982). In general terms, ACTH lev-
els tend to be higher in subordinate animals compared to those occupying higher
social ranks (see also Chapter 5). Changes in ACTH may be quite variable under
conditions of challenge but rise following defeat. Previous history would seem to
exert an effect on the HPAC system. Sassenrath (as quoted by Henry and Stephens
1977) found that infants weaned under conditions which produced increased cor-
tisol responses showed an increased tendency towards submissiveness later in
life, whereas lower cortisol infants showed the reverse. Hence, early exposure
to social events which produce heightened cortisol activity may have long-term
effects on the prominence of social avoidance learning and the preparedness to
act submissively under confederate challenge (see Henry and Stephens 1977 for
a further review).
Leshner (1978) has distinguished aggressiveness and avoidance of attack and
points out that these may be independently related. ACTH may affect aggressive-
ness along with androgens, but corticosterone seems more involved in the avoid-
ance of attack. He says (p.88) “. . . . because in intact animals ACTH and corticoid
levels ordinarily co-vary, changes in pituitary–adrenal activity affect both aggres-
siveness and avoidance tendencies, and they do so in opposite directions. How-
ever,. . . . these two behaviours are controlled by different hormones.” Leshner
suggests that a detailed consideration of the pattern of hormonal responses to
274 Competition: status, power and dominance

dominance and status defeat reveals that aggressiveness and submission are not
opposite ends of a continuum; each can be manipulated separately. This may sup-
port Leary’s (1957) idea of two dimensions, one for dominance and one for hos-
tility. It would be interesting to know if hostile depressives can be distinguished
from non-hostile types in terms of their hormone profiles.
The findings from endocrinology are extremely relevant to the study of psycho-
pathology. Take for example Cochrane and Neilson’s (1977) finding that endog-
enous depressives tend to show a more specific inhibition of aggressiveness than
reactive depressives. What springs to mind is that these patients may be more
affected by the avoidance of attack. This may be mirrored in their higher cortisol
responses and early escape from dexamethasone (see Chapter 5). Such tendencies
may be more associated with self blaming rather than other blaming but only if
the level of aggressiveness is high. It would follow therefore, that such patients
have high levels of aggressiveness but that these are under inhibitory control, or
are directed at the self (see Gilbert 1984 for an alternative to psychoanalytic con-
cepts of anger turned in). There is evidence that depressives are generally more
punitive (Blackburn 1974).
One hypothesis here is that some depressions and personality disorders may
manifest through psychobiological pathways involved in status defeat (Price and
Sloman 1987). Under these conditions, individuals may show high profiles of
avoidance of attack behaviour but not necessarily reductions in aggressiveness or
hostility. Indeed, depressives often show increased hostility to subordinates, e.g.
children or spouses. This increased irritability to children and spouses may be a
source of negative self-evaluation setting up a vicious circle. This may also offer
clues as to why, for some, aggressive acting out is sometimes serious, especially
in those patients who make violent suicidal attempts. These, on the evidence
available, seem related to 5-HT reduction (van Praag 1986). At the present time,
the relationship between biological changes relating to dominance and loss of
status (defeat, loss of social control) and how these might release hostility which
may also be inhibited (avoidance of attack) or directed at subordinates or treating
the self as if it were a subordinate, needs further research. All I have been able
to do is point the reader to some tantalising clues. Somewhere in this area is the
source of shame and depression and hostility directed at the self, either in dialogue
form, or with a knife.

Overview
Psychobiology offers important clues for further research. To exploit this, we need
to pay particular attention to the psychobiology and evolution of group-living
animals who organise themselves into ranks. These ranking organisations have
important effects on individual biological processes according to the social posi-
tion an animal occupies. Furthermore, to enable ranking to be evolutionarily via-
ble, there must be innate information-processing systems which co-ordinate the
psychobiological states and behaviours of group-living animals (e.g. evaluation
 Competition: status, power and dominance 275

of relative RHP). As therapists, it is these innate information-processing systems

we wish to understand more clearly: how they work; how they are projected;
how they are directed against the self; how they are involved in shame, depres-
sion, social phobia, etc.; and most important, how we can view them for what
they are – evolutionarily primitive responses which the individual has somehow
fallen back on (Bailey 1987). Here lies the opportunity to deactivate them. Maybe
an internal sense of value, or prestige which relates to inner models of social
attention-holding potential (gained in youth) is the key. If this can be put into
long-term memory, perhaps from therapy, then the individual may individuate
and come to organise himself in ways that are evolutionarily more advanced and
lead to a happier, more self-accepting life. To put the matter simply, “models of
self” operate within psychobiological systems controlling evolutionary strategies
and archetypes.

Gender: status, dominance and power

Darwin noted that there are important gender differences in sexual competi-
tive tactics. Male-to-male competition is often direct competition in many spe-
cies involving threat, challenge and attack or submission displays (Buss 1987).
MacLean (1985) has outlined precise postural coding to these behavioural displays
in the lizard. Complex signalling mechanisms have evolved to ritualise challenge
and submission and much power and dominance behaviour is concerned with
sophisticated processes of signalling intent, competency, retreat and submission.
Females also form status hierarchies though these tend to be along kinship net-
works and are less aggressive. Dominant females tend to have more offspring and
to commence breeding earlier. Subordinates appear to have inhibitions to their
physiological breeding capacity which may relate to the stress involved in actu-
ally being in a subordinate position (Shively 1985). Males and females vary as to
the personal qualities that bring status (e.g. strength versus beauty) (Argyle and
Trower 1979; Sadalla et al. 1987; Buss 1988).
It has often been thought that male dominance hierarchies are determined
purely by inter-male agonistic behaviours, but in a fascinating paper on primate
ranks, Shively (1985) has pointed out that it is far more complicated. In the first
place, in any sexually reproductive encounter, half of the participants are female
(not so strange when you think about it!). Recent research suggests that females
control the sexual access of males and this may not always be in strict relationship
to male rank. Indeed, one of the predictive factors related to the subsequent rank
of a male is the interest and activity shown by females. Shively notes research that
has attempted to identify the parentage of offspring using biological markers. In a
two-year study it was found that primate males that produced the most offspring
in the second year of the study were actually lower-ranking males of the first
year but became higher ranking in the second year. Such data may suggest: “that
changes in rank position may typically follow rather than precede reproductive
success”. Males who were to go on and assume a dominant position in the future
276 Competition: status, power and dominance

sired more offspring early in their careers. In fact, a number of studies indicate
that although the number of offspring is indeed related to rank, it would appear
that rank may follow reproductive success. In chimpanzees females allow copula-
tion with many males (Bailey 1987).
It is now believed that males and females operate via different inclusive fitness
strategies (Barash 1977; Buss and Barnes 1986; Sadalla et al. 1987). Sociobi-
ologists argue that human males are more concerned with beauty and breeding
capacity and females with the masculine capability to provide for offspring (e.g.
economic status). This is mirrored in many courtships and marriages throughout
the world. Furthermore, in most human groups, marriage and mate selection take
place before the male has achieved sociocultural dominance. His “potential” is
often an important guide rather than his current social status. How might a female
evaluate status potential? In a series of experiments, Sadalla et al. (1987) inves-
tigated sexual attractiveness of high and low dominance targets. Subjects were
asked to watch interactions between two people (played by actors) and evaluate
a number of characteristics of the target actor. In the high dominance scene, the
target actor enters a room, sits close to another actor, takes a up a relaxed and
open posture (leaning slightly backwards), engages in gestures with low rates of
head nodding. In the low dominance scene, the actor selects a chair further away
from the other, leans forward with head bowed (hence presumably giving less eye
contact) and allows the other actor to engage in longer communications.
Results suggest that dominance enhances sexual attractiveness ratings of males
but has little effect for females. However, the authors note other studies that sug-
gest that high dominance in females can reduce ratings of attributes such as like-
ability (but this may depend on who does the rating for such qualities). It will
be recalled that Leary (1957) regarded dominance and hostility as independent
dimensions. Sadalla et al. (1987) found that varying the characteristics of aggres-
sion and domineering, did not positively correlate with sexual attractiveness but
tended to reduce ratings of likeability and desirability as a spouse.
It may be therefore, that in primates, females pay more attention and allow
greater sexual access to those males who exhibit certain classes of dominant behav-
iour. However, dominance and aggressiveness must be distinguished because in
chimpanzees females tend to shun aggressive males and prefer the friendly domi-
nant (Chance, personal communication). Dominance behaviours may suggest to
the female that the male has a good chance of rising in the dominance hierarchy.
This extra attention given by females may increase the dominance behaviour of
males via confidence. In humans however, other characteristics such as proneness
to aggression, trustworthiness, etc., would also be important to the desirability rat-
ing of a spouse. Nevertheless, from a purely sexual point of view, attractiveness in
men would seem to be linked to dominance behaviour. It may be that those subject
to spouse abuse are less discerning in their choices (possibly because of neglect
and hostility in early life) and confuse sexual desirability with lovability, and
hostility with dominance behaviour. Hence, they may fail to exclude dominant
partners who are also hostile prone.
 Competition: status, power and dominance 277

It is only men who rape and prostitution for heterosexuals is demanded by

men far more than by women. Moreover, prostitutes can sometimes be asked to
engage in activities which reflect power and dominance issues, e.g. sadomasoch-
ism (Janus et al. 1977). The degree to which internalised status or self-esteem is
related to sexual activity and the type of sexual activity requires further research.
Clinically, one frequently finds women who complain that men use sex as a kind
of relaxation, to overcome the strains of the day and can become quite grumpy,
even depressed, if access is refused. That is, women see these men as using sex
for personal reasons and seem to intuit that this is something to do with the male’s
self-esteem and status. Women, on the other hand, may be looking for a more
committed form of interaction which involves not necessarily true concern for
the partner but certainly a commitment from them. Females appear more likely
to fall victim to a loss of sexual interest when sex is construed as a pleasure to be
given or withheld. The evolution of sexuality (including orgasm) is also of interest
because this relates to the kind of action that is necessary to achieve a satisfactory
sexual life (Scott-Brown and Scott-Fordham 1987; Wilson 1987).
The cognitive evaluation of the meaning of sex is important here. Anger and
power difficulties in a relationship may lead men to demand more sex and women
to refuse more (although the reverse also occurs and probably relates to the domi-
nance relations between them). Loss of sexual desire in females can sometimes
be interpreted as hostility by men. However, more research is needed before such
a view could be accepted. Another area requiring research is in regard to sexual
behaviour, personal identity and self-esteem. Person (1980) offers an interest-
ing airing of some of these issues from a psychoanalytic perspective. However,
sexual behaviour may reflect attitudes that are influenced by biological (inclusive
fitness), cultural and social learning factors. The sexualisation of emotional needs
seems more common for men than women, which may relate to the biological
aspect of gaining access, which in turn relates to inclusive fitness. Gaining access
(or exerting control over female sexuality) seems more related to self-esteem (or
status) for men than for women. An historical analysis of literature reveals how
often women have been regarded as sexual objects who must be controlled by the
male to gain status and power (Aers 1988).
The interaction between the genders, both in terms of gender-typic and spe-
cific sexual behaviour, and the effects on the self-esteem of each remains an
untapped research area. Medieval knights would joust for a lady’s favour or wear
her colours into a contest. The mythic theme of the hero striding to conquest to
win the hand in marriage of the king’s daughter is another variant on this theme.
Jungian therapists believe that the hero’s journey, inspired by desire for a female
(search for the anima) is an archetypal theme at the heart of love, chivalry and
masculine individuation. More down to earth, I certainly recall that as an adoles-
cent, prestige in the eyes of one’s peers could be won by dating desirable females.
Such encounters were the subject of bravado, jokes and envy. Greenfield (1983)
has written a fascinating analytic account of the role men play in the psychologi-
cal development of females. She points out that different types of female–male
278 Competition: status, power and dominance

relationship are essential at different points in the life cycle to enable females to
individuate. A more clearly researched area is the role marriage plays in the self-
esteem of men (Type A’s; Price 1982). It would seem that Type A’s use their wives
as stress absorbers and view them as subordinates. Other work has shown that
there can be a major ego collapse in high-status men when difficulties or losses
occur in their marriage (Bird et al. 1983).
Sexuality in particular, and male–female relationships in general, can be used in
different ways for different reasons by different people. Some like to have a flow
of partners, others a stable relationship. For some, sexual behaviour is a major
theme of self-esteem and security while for others this is less so. Sex can be used
to dominate others, or by withholding access, to punish. Sex can be evaluated
as a yardstick of masculinity/femininity or as a component of one’s lovability/
desirability. Self-esteem can be related to many and varied evaluations of self as
a desirable (sexual) object. The sexual body can be used to attract or to compete.
Anorexics, for example, are highly sexually competitive with other women (e.g.
take pride in their thin shape and ability to diet), but are much less interested in
actual genital sex. Sexual desire may increase under stress, especially in males, as
a way to boost self-esteem or security, or it can decrease.
The above is only a brief outline of the human variants of sexuality. My main
concern has been to engage the reader in consideration of the interactional nature
of sexuality and how it relates to biosocial goals of power-dominance, self-esteem
and other psychological processes (see Efron 1985 for a detailed discussion). Of
special interest is the relationship of male dominance behaviour to the female
propensity to allow or disallow access.

Gender differences and competition

The study of gender differences in social competition is often confused with issues
of aggressiveness. However, aggression is only one of the many tactics employed
in the pursuit of competitive advantage or status. Females may be as competi-
tive as males in certain contexts but may be socialised into the use of different
tactics. Some evidence suggests that men are more egotistical in their dominance
acts and view these as more positive traits. Women are more prosocial in their
dominance acts, using helpful rather than self-serving acts, and view egotistical
traits negatively (Buss 1981). Nicholson (1984) has reviewed much of the current
work on gender differences including that relating to aggression and dominance.
Social factors are, in general, immensely important for determining the expres-
sion of dominant acts. It may be that males more easily learn or are more readily
reinforced for egotistical behaviour than females. The biosocial interactions are
complex.
Brinkerhoff and Booth (1984) have proposed a number of issues that need to
be addressed in this area. These include: (1) whether males are more stressed in
dominance encounters than females; (2) whether males engage in more domi-
nant encounters than females; (3) whether high dominant males exhibit more
 Competition: status, power and dominance 279

stress than low dominant individuals; (4) whether awareness of threat to status
makes a difference to the profile of responses; and (5) whether there are gen-
der differences in various response profiles following winning and losing. Their
research suggests that for males, recognition of status threat is more stressful
than when status threat is unrecognised. Women who recognised status threat
were less stressed than men. Same-gender dominance encounters are generally
more stressful than opposite-gender encounters for both men and women. In
same-gender encounters, men did not significantly differ from women in their
tendency to engage dominance behaviour. Hence, in understanding dominance
behaviour, gender differences do seem important and, interestingly, women can
be just as competitive and dominant when acting with other women as men can
when acting with other men. A great deal may depend on whom is competing
with whom (male–male, female–female or male–female), for what (territory,
food, protection, status) and in what context. Moreover, the degree to which
females and males exhibit physical signals of challenge and aggression may
differ. An important aspect of this relates to issues of power. It has been sug-
gested that many differences in male–female behaviour are actually related to
the social contexts of power. A thought-provoking paper on this is Hare-Mustin
and Marecek (1988).
There are many other factors which determine the way in which dominance
and competitiveness are expressed. For example, factors such as the stability of
the relationship in which conflict takes place together with the familiarity the
participants have with each other may play a significant role. The presence of a
social audience introduces the desire “not to lose face” or alternatively to avoid
being seen as aggressive. Parents may deal with a child’s difficult behaviour in
public with patience, only to beat them when they get home. Competitiveness
and dominance behaviours with strangers may follow different rules than com-
petitiveness and dominance with familiars. Institutions may prescribe rules for
dominance behaviours allowing some individuals to “pull rank”. In some con-
texts, e.g. in sport, there may be a fair degree of “hyping up” before competitive
acts take place. Some individuals may be more and others less aggressive with
friends than strangers, and context and the pre-competitive state (mood, state of
physiological arousal or efforts to make up for past grievances) will all have an
effect on competitive behaviour. Those incompetent at competing in public and
social arenas may try to be so in intimate and personal arenas, e.g. meek at work, a
tyrant at home. Outcomes of dominance encounters will also effect fantasies (e.g.
for revenge, to be a hero, etc.)
The second issue related to gender differences and competitiveness, concerns
the so-called feminine and masculine personality. Brown (1986) gives a very
good review of these studies in his chapter entitled “The androgynous personal-
ity”. Generally speaking, it has often been assumed that feminine and mascu-
line characteristics are opposite ends of a single dimension. Brown points out
that among the factors of temperament that have been labelled as masculine are:
independent, assertive, and dominant instrumentality. The factors associated with
280 Competition: status, power and dominance

femininity include interpersonal sensitivity, compassion and warmth. However,

research suggests that these two factors tend to be independently related rather
than representing dimensions of a continuum. Indeed, it is possible for individu-
als to have both high masculine and high feminine traits, hence the concept of
the androgynous personality. Moreover, if we were to take a Jungian stance, the
integration of the anima (female characteristics of the male personality) and the
animus (male characteristics of the female personality) is a necessary integration
for full maturity. An essential issue is the capacity to switch behaviours appropri-
ate to context. Although masculine and feminine traits may be independent, cog-
nitive evaluations may be invoked such that feminine trait behaviours are seen to
conflict with a masculine persona (and vice versa).
The way individuals identify with the cultural stereotypes of their own sex
and the implication for this in terms of behaviour has been examined in many
studies. To take but one example, Tice and Baumeister (1985) suggest that indi-
viduals who identify with high masculine traits are less likely to offer help to an
individual who appears to be in difficulty. (In this experiment it was a member
of a group apparently having a choking fit and calling for help.) They suggest
that masculine subjects may fear embarrassment and loss of poise and that the
maintenance of status (the image they wish to create in the eyes of others) may be
a powerful inhibitor of certain kinds of behaviour. Such studies do not allow us
insight into whether individuals would wish to help were it not for fear of loss of
status. Such effects would be crucial to understanding pathology. Individuals who
would like to be more compassionate, understanding and helpful to others but
who feel constrained in maintaining an identified role may be under more stress
than individuals who do not feel such constraint. Such evaluations create dilem-
mas and conflicts (Baumeister 1982; Ryle 1982).

Gender schemata and pathology

The last point raises the question of the relationship between gender schemata and
pathology. Here, I would only wish to offer some rather general clinical observa-
tions. The first observation is that gender identity is moulded in childhood and this
can have both positive and negative effects. The attitude towards sexual feelings,
the exploration of sex for the self and the avoidance of demonstrating gender-
related traits can be important factors in pathology. In one particular female case,
her attitudes to her own femininity were confused. She had been brought up with
a rather weak, manipulative and controlling mother figure. She tended to view
women rather negatively as somewhat whingeing and controlling people. In a
desperate effort not to be remotely like mother, she had chosen to close down all
identification with her femininity, became asexual, competitive and ambitious and
would never allow herself to show feelings of need. Such feelings she regarded
as being “awfully female”. In consequence, there were many negative attitudes
and dislikes to herself as a woman. In cognitive psychotherapy, it was necessary
to explore some of the positive functions of femininity, and to help reduce the
 Competition: status, power and dominance 281

conflict between being successful and being a woman. She had often thought she
should have been a male.
In another case, a male who had grown up without a father had developed
stereotyped ideas about the power, assertiveness and control of men. On the one
hand, he believed that he should himself be assertive and powerful, yet on the
other, he had a fear of physical injury and saw himself as quite unmasculine.
During therapy it emerged that he had a dislike of men and tended to overidentify
with what he regarded as feminine qualities. However, this tended to lead him
into positions where he was unable to mobilise his own assertiveness in work
situations and could not cope with his own aggressive and destructive feelings of
anger. When he had such feelings, he would tend to evaluate himself as bad (like
the men he disliked) and would feel like crying. Again, psychotherapy needed
to examine the basis for his negative attitudes to his masculine self. It became
clear that these arose because father had left the family when he was six months
old. Subsequently, mother had blamed father for all kinds of difficulties and had
frequently warned him not to turn out like his “old man”. As a result, he had been
unable to integrate his own fairly assertive and competitive side to his personality.
He was, in fact, a highly talented man but in a world where he needed to assert and
defend himself, he felt quite unable to manifest his talents with confidence (fear
of being like the “old man” – the unlovable one). Under constraint and challenge,
instead of getting up and fighting for his rights he would revert to complaints
(“why couldn’t these rotten men understand his needs”), have fantasies of revenge
and power over other men, and would spend long periods of time justifying his
fantasies (i.e. “they are rotten”). (See also Hare-Mustin and Marecek 1988 for a
discussion of gender issues in therapy.)
This brief scenario points to the fact that cognitive psychotherapies will some-
times need to examine gender schema-related difficulties. These involve the
way individuals evaluate their own gender, their own capacity for anger, asser-
tion and aggression, the relationship between masculinity and femininity and the
demonstration of feeling and so on. Individuals who attempt to design for them-
selves public presentations fall into the trap of making much of themselves into a
shadow. They may either overidentify with gender stereotypes, or be in rebellion
against their gender.

Competition and sibling rivalry

The embryos within the tiger sand shark compete within the mother’s womb until
only one is left. In some species of heron, parents will only feed the young if they
lie within the ring of the nest. Some chicks compete by trying to push a sibling
beyond the ring ensuring that it remains unfed. The runt of many litters do not
usually survive unless the mother makes special access available. Humans do
not normally take things to this extreme, but nevertheless, sibling rivalry is a
significant source of family friction. Not only competing between themselves but
competing for parental attention can be source of many family disputes. Adler
282 Competition: status, power and dominance

(1938) was one of the first to highlight the importance of sibling rivalry on the
subsequent development of the child. He suggested that sibling competition was
for parental attention, and dependent on these experiences, a child could grow to
have significant power needs or to retreat in the face of competitive endeavour.
MacLean (1985) suggested that play was a significant adaptation, which helped
to reduce serious fighting in infants who shared the same nest and mother. Play
provides the arena to learn social co-operative rules. Parents can help to reduce
competitiveness between siblings by making “special time” available to each one.
In this chapter, it has been argued that status, power and dominance are about
control of the attention of others. As children grow, they become increasingly
more concerned with the issues of resource sharing. They are particularly con-
cerned with who gets what and issues of fairness, at least as far as treatment of
themselves is concerned (egocentricity). Competitive behaviour relates to con-
text. For example, when our first born started school, she would often return in a
more competitive mode. Whether this was due to her recent peer group interac-
tions, fatigue or the fact that she needed to make an impact because her younger
brother had been at home with Mum all day is unknown. At the weekends they
were far more likely to play co-operatively if left to themselves. Research sug-
gests that maternal style may be an important factor in sibling aggression. For
example, a high degree of interference in sibling contests can lead to high levels
of aggression. However, parents who help first-born children focus on the needs
and feelings of the second born tend to promote a more friendly style (Dunn and
Munn 1986; Weiss 1986). The tendency for a parent to overprotect or side with
the younger child can reinforce more aggressive competitive behaviour. Sensitive
parent handling can help children to become more empathic and aware of the
separateness and needs of others.
In clinical practice one often hears stories of just how powerful sibling compe-
tition has been in shaping self-esteem. Some appear to develop a sense of inferior-
ity because they perceived that a sibling was more favoured. Some develop high
achievement or power needs for similar reasons, or because they were the favoured
child and have tried to competitively live up to these expectations. Some children
may have had their aggressive, competitive behaviour reinforced by pampering
leading to the spoilt, narcissistic individual. The way people cognitively explain
to themselves any difference in parental favouring is important. Sometimes these
explanations are gender linked, e.g. “my parents did not want a boy/girl”; “I was a
disappointment to my parents because while my brother (sister) was good at sport
or school, I was not”; “my sister (brother) was favoured because she was prettier
than I”. These set up powerful attitudes which mediate the appraisal of the ability
to influence positive social attention from others.
Sometimes people feel resentful because they believe different rules have been
applied to their brothers and sisters, e.g. “I was the first born and had a diffi-
cult time getting to be allowed to wear makeup while my younger sister had a
much easier time of it.” Such individuals may come to construe life as a personal
struggle and are more likely to feel envious of those who appear to have an easier
 Competition: status, power and dominance 283

time. It is also probable that young children do not accurately remember how they
were treated when they were at the age of a younger sibling. They may perceive a
mismatch to the standards and expectations applied to them and those applied to
younger siblings. Favouring of a child in terms of parental investment may occur
because the child is ill or requires extra attention. Overall, there are many ways a
child could come to see him/herself as more or less favoured by his parents. The
explanations of these differences (e.g. gender, talent, physical beauty, autonomy
and so on) may lay down powerful schemata for evaluating self in relationship to
others in terms of the sources of personal value, shame or inferiority proneness.
(See especially Plomin and Daniels 1987.)
As a clinical example, a patient complained that her mother had often pointed
out what a difficult child she had been in relation to her sister. My patient presented
as a rather ambitious and autonomous lady and it had been true (she thought) that
she had not taken to limits well. The parents on the other hand were (from her per-
spective) very controlling. The younger sister was far more passive and accept-
ing of this control, which the parents labelled as being more loving. My patient
continually ran into attitudinal conflicts that to be more autonomous was to be less
lovable. In her efforts to balance her autonomy with parental approval, she had
got to university but had agreed to read a subject of her parents’ choice rather than
her own. Because she knew she had cheated herself she was always unhappy at
this. To escape her parents’ control she had made a poor marriage by joining with
someone who appeared to be controllable (passive) but she was quite unhappy.
This spouse rarely argued with her but at the same time was prone to sulk and be
very isolate and secretive. When friction arose in the marriage she would interpret
this as due to her autonomy causing unlovability and subsequently became very
depressed.
There are a number of other very important factors which bear on sibling rela-
tions. Unfortunately, space constraints only allow the briefest of outlines.

1 Sibling death can significantly reduce the kind of attention given to surviving
siblings. Research shows that it is not so much so the death itself but rather,
how the parents respond to it and the surviving children that may cause sub-
sequent difficulties. If we stay with an evolutionary analysis, then a switch
in attention (either too little or becoming overprotective) may invoke various
dynamics of sibling rivalry. Psychoanalysts have emphasised the possibility
for hostility to be aroused by loss of attention following the death of a sibling.
This hostility may appear in fantasy and also become the source of guilt and
shame.
2 The syndrome of the replacement child. Stillbirth or infant death which is not
worked through can lead to desires to have replacement children. These chil-
dren may grow up with a sense of living as a replacement and have chronic
difficulties with self-esteem, identity and authenticity. In our circle, we know
a couple who lost a daughter at three months and then went on to have two
sons. The mother openly discussed that each time she got pregnant she hoped
284 Competition: status, power and dominance

for a daughter and was disappointed by a son. Children may try to live up to
the fantasies and expectations of how the sibling would have been had they
survived.
3 The accidental birth. That children are often informed they were “accidents”
is known to cause serious difficulties in some cases. Of special interest is the
child born when siblings are into advanced childhood. How these children
experience and cope with the dynamics of sibling rivalry is unknown apart
from clinical anecdotes. In one of my own cases, a patient had siblings ten
years older than she and grew up to believe that only she was the proper
caretaker for her parents. She would actively attempt to stop her siblings from
taking much interest in her elderly parents and see herself as something of a
martyr and berate her siblings for taking little interest in their parents.

In Chapter 3, we showed that in cognitive therapy it is useful to gain insight

into a patient’s schemata of self and others. Exploring the sibling relationships,
the presence of deaths in the family and child order often throws up very valu-
able information. Such an investigation should be carried out routinely. Conflict,
however, is only part of sibling relationships. A very interesting account of the
mixtures of aspects to, and importance of siblings is given in McConville’ book,
Sisters (1985).

Overview
An individual with siblings carries important models of him or herself as a mem-
ber of a family. This experience of sibling interaction and also the perceived treat-
ment of the child by the parents in comparison to the siblings set the ground for
important self and social referent schemata. (For further, more detailed discussion
of these issues see the very useful Hartup 1986; McConville 1985; Plomin and
Daniels 1987; Dunn 1988). Kohut (1977) has discussed the importance of positive
mirroring (the admiring responses of the parent) towards the child’s exhibitionist
behaviours. These, I believe, act to internalise status-controlling models of the
self by providing the child with an internalised sense of his or her own social
attention-holding potential (see Chapters 4 and 13). Sibling rivalry may signifi-
cantly affect this internalisation of social attention-holding potential. This results
in an increased tendency to use primitive status control systems rather than having
an internal sense of value and appreciation of others.

Concluding comments
We began this chapter by considering the distinctions between status, dominance
and power. Status may be bestowed by others in which case it tends to invoke
friendly following and affiliative behaviour. These structures of social relation-
ship are based on co-operative exploration and mutually reinforcing encounters.
This represents the hedonic mode (Chance 1988). Hill (1984) has suggested that
 Competition: status, power and dominance 285

altruism can advance sociocultural fitness via the accumulation of prestige. In the
ideal world, social relationships would aim to maximise the individual prestige of
all, providing an internalised sense of value and appreciation which would affect
the sense of social attention-holding potential.
However, the hedonic mode of social interaction is a newcomer on the evolu-
tionary stage and more primitive forms of dominance acquisition (i.e. strategies
for securing competitive biosocial goals) exist (Bailey 1987). One may act as a
potential agent of punishment and threat. Others obey because they are frightened
to act otherwise, and if they do not, hostile interactions break out. This relates
to the agonic mode. We also looked at the evolutionary aspects of submission.
Submission is an innate strategy designed to avoid injury in the face of a more
powerful other who is perceived as an agent of (potential) threat. The behavioural
and psychobiological routines of submission can be triggered automatically by
the evaluation of the potentially injurious other. Many forms of psychopathology
relate to power–dominance–submission (or agonic) domains.
The psychobiological evidence suggests that 5-HT may be significantly related
to psychopathology, especially in so far as it disinhibits hostile forms of conflict
resolution. On the other hand, endocrinological research suggests that hostility
may be high but inhibited by avoidance of attack. These dispositions relate to the
evolution of dominance rank (Price and Sloman 1987). However, moral reasoning
can also play a role in hostile inhibition. As yet, we know next to nothing of the
psychobiological organisation of morality.
We then proceeded to explore the fascinating new work relating status and rank
to male–female interactions. Females appear to exert powerful effects on male
ranking and we need to explore in more detail how sexual behaviour in men and
women is related to individual efforts to stabilise or enhance self-esteem. After
all, sexual access is a form of social attention holding. I have not discussed the
psychobiology of sexual behaviour although the biological changes associated
with copulation may also have effects on status (esteem) regulation. Finally, we
noted that competitive biosocial strategies take part in normal family life. These
encounters may have a powerful influence on whether status and social atten-
tion-holding potential remain locked within primitive power strategies or become
modified by moral and altruistic pursuits (internalising a sense of appreciation).
There is a very little doubt that we, as human beings, hold the place we do by
virtue of our co-operative abilities, yet we have not won the battle over hostile
dominance, and it is these more primitive capacities that threaten us. Our co-operative
side has allowed us to harness nuclear energy. Unfortunately, without better con-
trol of the agonic side of our mentality, we may have sown the seeds of our own
destruction. If we believe that the bestowing of status in part protects against
hostility, then in any conflict resolution, these concerns should be paramount.
This requires a recognition of the other and a preparedness to listen and develop
dialogue. Many hostile disputes take place on religious as well as socio-economic
grounds. Religion has the power it does for in many of its forms it is agonic, using
threats, punishments and excommunications, or promises to invoke compliance
286 Competition: status, power and dominance

and following. It cruelly plays on the most significant fears of humans – death,
loss of status and abandonment. This does not mean that life in the universe is
unspiritual and purely materialistic (Wilber 1983a, b), only that currently, spiri-
tual authority figures are often dangerous for it is through the agonic mode that
obedience rather than individuation is sought and requested. As Jung suggested
in his (rather obscure) “Answer to Job”, it is not God who has created man in his
own image, but man who has created God in his own image. Humans understand
God only as a reflection of their own psychic structure and in this humans are
constrained by the social relations and discourses that shape them.
But humans are born with a disposition to follow and comply. This relieves
them of individual responsibility and its associated anxieties. We cannot undo
what evolution has done, nor can we remove the defence or dominance systems,
but we can learn to override or integrate them. This requires both individual action
and social action. All enlightenment causes a change in our relations with author-
ity. In psychotherapy, it is this change in both the inner and outer authority rela-
tions that are sought. Kohut (1977) has recognised something well known to those
not embedded in analytic or medical orthodoxy. It is clear that analysis became
a model for autocrats who neither knew nor understood what the dynamics of
human nature were about (Eagle 1987). Yet, Jung had already highlighted many
of Kohut’s (1977) concepts (Samuels 1985).
As I was finishing this chapter I noted a passage in van der Post’s (1976) reflec-
tion on Jung. It highlights the immense value of a form of friendly dominance,
i.e. acceptance and interest in the other. Jung’s approach is in contrast to the dis-
passionate and often aloof stance often taken by modern-day analysts. It demon-
strates the importance of valuing the other and of giving social attention to the
other. Jung was presented with a simple soul whose main problem was that her
community had:

poured scorn on all her simple beliefs, ideas, customs and interests. Accord-
ingly, he got her to talk to him at length about all the things she had enjoyed
and loved as a child. As she talked, almost at once he saw a flicker of inter-
est glow. He found himself so excited by this quickening of the spirit of a
despised self, that he joined in the singing of her nursery songs, and her ren-
derings of simple mountain ballads. He even danced with her in his library,
and at times, took her on his knee and rocked her in his arms, undeterred by
any thought of how ridiculous, if not preposterous, would be the picture of
him in the eyes of orthodox medical and psychiatric practitioners.
(van der Post 1976, p.59)

After a few days, the girl was restored to health never to relapse. When a local
doctor asked how he achieved this miraculous outcome, van der Post says Jung
replied, “I did nothing much, I listened to her fairy tales, danced with her a little,
sang with her a little, took her on my knee a little, and the job was done.” But the
local doctor never did believe him.
 Competition: status, power and dominance 287

Notes
1 For those who followed Jesus, however, especially Paul, the essence of the message
was far more power centred. Paul was an autocrat before his conversion on the road and
was concerned with the punishment and ridicule of Christians as they existed within
the Jewish framework. Even after his conversion, frankly, Paul’s personality remained
autocratic. It was Paul’s version of Christianity that led to the Roman Catholic Church,
which made for the development of power elites and demise of the gnostics. The moral
in this perhaps is that one should always beware those who have sudden conversions
that do not originate in learning and experiences of slow transformation. The messenger
can become more important than the message.
2 Psychotherapy, like the religions, uses status to encourage development and change. It
is necessary to enable the patient to stop avoiding the steps necessary for change. This
is true for all psychotherapies. The difference between them lies in the learning experi-
ences deemed necessary to facilitate change. On the other hand, pain for the sake of it
(no pain, no gain) can easily become an excuse for sadistic exploitation of another’s
distress. Psychotherapists can behave in very power-oriented ways. One patient told
me of how another therapist had often made her feel backed into a corner and never
seemed to be happy until she had been made to cry. The approach based on collaborative
empiricism developed by Beck (Beck et al. 1979) she found a refreshing and encourag-
ing approach that allowed her to engage and explore her distress without feeling that she
was being placed in an inferior position. Indeed, exactly the same technique (e.g. infer-
ence chaining) can be viewed helpfully by one patient, but as quite overpowering by
another. Prosocial therapists go at the speed of the patient, but keep an eye on the poten-
tial for a collusion of avoidance.
3 A colleague of mine, Mrs Lawrence, points out that the “big stick in hand” is a rather
obvious phallic symbol when looked at psychoanalytically. Moreover, some research
has highlighted the fact that some high-status men can demonstrate serious disturbances
in sexuality in a sadomasochistic direction (Janus et al. 1977). Indeed, the relationship
between sadomasochism, torture and sexual deviation needs further research.
4 My impression is that the internalised sadistic dialogue is part of the arousal of a hos-
tile-dominance class of schema which are directed against the self. Like Jung, I suspect
that intense activation of one aspect of the dimension also activates its opposing pole
(i.e. the more the elements of power dominance behaviour are activated, the more also
the submissive aspects are activated). This, to me, explains why many patients with
shame problems also have compensatory fantasies of revenge, power, hate and so on.
In fact, Jung suggested that in the unconscious of every conscious inferiority complex
there lies a superiority complex and behind every conscious superiority complex there
lies an unconscious inferiority complex. Hence, the autocrat fears humiliation though
he may seek it sexually. The withdrawn submissive type may come to fear his own
vengeful feelings and can evaluate these as evidence of how bad he is. As discussed
elsewhere, these kinds of phenomena probably relate in a manner outlined by catastro-
phe theory (Gilbert 1984). It should not be forgotten that in any prison the most violent
and sadistic murders have often been committed by the most quiet and withdrawn
individuals.
Also, we should not forget the pathological disturbances of self attack. I always
remember an experience I had as a nursing assistant some twenty years ago when I was
asked to assign and book in a young man who was admitted for self-mutilation. Dur-
ing this admission he showed me multiple scars on arms, legs and neck. In discussion
with him he admitted both shame and pride and that he oscillated between high levels
of aggression and isolation. But one thing that has stayed with me was the idea he
expressed that when he became tense or angry he felt that if he cut himself and could see
blood flowing he felt the world around him became safer; it reduced his tension. He felt
288 Competition: status, power and dominance

less vulnerable. Could it be, I asked myself later, that this inflicting of a wound was an
intuitive awareness that he could reduce attack by showing himself to be injured? Was
this a kind of safety or submissive signal? That is, once he had attacked himself then he
could expect no attacks from outside. Much more work needs to be done on the relation-
ship between sadistic behaviours towards the self and how these may flow out of our
innate propensities for power dominance.
Chapter 13

Some psychopathologies of
status, power and dominance

Theories of psychopathology
Few students reflecting on the basis of human nature have not been impressed
with the human “will to power” as Nietzsche called it. Similarity Price (personal
communication) has suggested that we need a term for “up hierarchy motiva-
tion”, which reflects motivational processes to increase RHP. Alfred Adler coined
the terms inferiority and superiority complexes (Ellenberger 1970). Leary (1957)
regarded dominance–submission as a central dimension of personality. More
recently, McClelland (1985) has written extensively on the power motive as
one of the primary human motives. In political philosophy, the issue of the rela-
tion between exploiting (master) and exploited (slave) has been a central issue
for many centuries and was articulated so fully by Marx. Foucault (1984) has
also analysed in depth, the issue of power and authority as social phenomena.
Although Foucault has little interest in the issue of “human nature”, preferring a
historical analysis of cultural structures, the tendency for social animals to exert
power to acquire dominance and control over others is ubiquitous.
The evolution of communicative states designed specifically to signal power
over others, which operate as signals of control, spacing and access to resources
has been a prime mover in the evolution of social behaviour (Chance 1980, 1984,
1988; Crook 1980; Gardner 1988). These signalling control systems relate to the
evolution of ritualistic agonistic behaviour (RAB) (Price and Sloman 1987; Price
1988). When individuals engage the world with heightened biosocial competitive
needs, the innate information-processing systems serving RAB become important
sources of an individual’s self-esteem and control of social behaviour. Impor-
tantly, in humans relative RHP is co-ordinated by complex social comparisons
(Swallow and Kuiper 1988). The targets we select to compare ourselves with may
either increase or decrease our sense of relative RHP (self-esteem). In fact it may
be necessary to be more discriminatory in investigating how esteem is evaluated.
Although the evolution of attachment and co-operative enterprise has made
it possible to move beyond primitive contests, i.e. status gain via altruism (Hill
1984), this has not removed the enormous power of evaluative systems relating
to dominance and RAB to be attentive to rank, power and social aggression as
290 Status, power, dominance

central domains of control (Bailey 1987). These evaluating systems continue to

be powerful organising structures within the human mind (Ellyson and Dovidio
1985). The more individuals fail (and are failed by others) to develop the prosocial
options of human nature (secure attachment, co-operative, moral and empathic
ability which gives rise to a sense of inner value and safety), the more active (or
less inhibited and less modified) may be the primitive hostile dominance options
for sociocultural advance. In this chapter, I wish to propose that there is an under-
lying commonality that relates a number of apparently different disorders. These
disorders all relate to particular sensitivity to dominance and RAB. They have
been labelled in various ways such as narcissistic, special, dominant goal, Type A,
self-critical, autonomous and so on. These are all related to the construct systems
that are concerned with dominance control where the chosen defence behaviour is
fight. In other words, status is gained or lost by competing with others and these
individuals are acutely attentive and sensitive to these aspects.
We know that status has two aspects: (1) status as bestowed by others and
derived from a sense of friendship and value; and (2) dominance as obtained by
force. In relation to the first, individuals tend to judge themselves by the status
that is bestowed or reflected back at them, e.g. “my value depends on my value to
others, or how others see me, or the image I create in the eyes of others”. These
are judged by friendship and other close proximity behaviours. This need not
involve hostile tactics, but rather, when deliberately pursued can be most altruistic
as in the search for prestige (Hill 1984). This sense of value is probably learned
in childhood.
On the other hand, if no matter how one tries, it appears impossible to find
a willing bestower of status, or if one has experienced early relationships as
essentially hostile, then power tactics may be the only strategy to protect against
exclusion, loss of RHP, abandonment and possibly injury. Until an individual has
accommodated himself to a social world, in which there will always be more
powerful others, then a satisfactory adaptation may not take place.
The basic propositions therefore, can be outlined as follows:

1 Various forms of psychopathology are the result of dysfunctional amplifica-

tion of the construct systems evolved out of ranking PSALICs and RAB (the
obtaining and maintaining of positive estimates of RHP).
2 The general perception of these individuals is that the world is populated
with powerful others with whom one must either compete, struggle, fight or
be forced to submit. These individuals must either engage in a struggle for
control or be defeated or isolated.
3 RAB psychobiological defence systems are activated by these constructs
(fight-submission-flight). In this sense, individuals function predominantly in
defensive modes.

Having outlined the basic propositions, we will now examine a number of theo-
ries which highlight the importance of dominance evaluations in various theories
 Status, power, dominance 291

of psychopathology. We should note that none of the theorists to be discussed

present their views in terms of a theory of social (dominance) hierarchy. We begin
our review with the existential approach.

Existential theories
The existentialist writer and psychotherapist, Yalom (1980), has distinguished
two kinds of interpersonal styles for dealing with death anxiety. These are called
“The Pursuit of the Ultimate Rescuer” and “The Pursuit of Specialness”. We met
the former in Chapter 7 and our attention here is with the Pursuit of Specialness.
The description aptly describes the interpersonal style. These individuals seek dis-
tinction with a dread of ordinariness. They may be low on empathy and expect to
be treated as special. They tend, especially under stress, to view others as hostile.
This gives rise to various defensive and coping styles throughout life which are
reflected in compulsive heroism, workaholism and narcissism. In each of these
styles, aggressive (fight-defensive activation) may be mobilised to ensure that the
individual can exert enough power over the social and non-social world to keep
alive their sense of invulnerability.
The existential concern to relate psychopathology to defences against death
anxiety is fair enough, but it is doubtful that our primate cousins seek dominance
as a tactic to try to cheat death. That this may occur in humans reflects the creative
use that we can make of innate motives, but it does not explain such motives.
Therefore, the existential approach is species specific and not easily incorporated
into psychobiological theory. It is constructed on the meaning-making capabili-
ties of humans. But there is no reason to assume that this meaning-making cannot
be created from below (so to speak), recruiting phylogenetically old evaluative
systems into the service of a conscious being, aware of his own death. Others
(e.g. Hanly 1985) have also expressed reservations about the existential approach.
Nevertheless, within the therapeutic relationship, the themes of freedom, mean-
ing, isolation and death do present themselves in powerful ways.

The ego analytical approach

The ego analysts, Arieti and Bemporad (1980) have suggested three types of vul-
nerability to depression. These are dominant other, dominant goal and a more
chronic form of personality difficulty characterised by many taboos (e.g. on
pleasure). We have discussed the dominant other mode in Chapter 7. Here our
attention is with the dominant goal types. Arieti and Bemporad outline the char-
acteristics of these individuals in the following way:

These individuals invest their self-esteem in the achievement of some lofty

goal and shun any other activities as possibly diverting them from this quest.
Originally, achievement was rewarded by the parents, and so high marks for
some outstanding performance was sought as a way to ensure support and
292 Status, power, dominance

acceptance. In time, the individual selects some fantastic goal for himself
which he then pursues frantically, apparently for its own sake. However,
closer scrutiny reveals that the achievement of this goal is burdened with
surplus meaning. The individual believes that the goal will transform his life
and, possibly, himself. Attaining his desired objective will mean that others
will treat him in a special way or that he will finally be valued by others. Just
as the “dominant other” type of depressive individual uses fantasies of the
relationship to derive a feeling of worth, the “dominant goal” type of depres-
sive individual obtains meaning and esteem from fantasies about obtaining
his objective. Both types also use these fantasies to eschew ratification or
meaning from other activities in everyday life. In contrast to the “dominant
other” type, this form of depressive personality is usually seclusive, arrogant
and often obsessive. In addition, this form of personality organization is com-
monly found in men . . .
(p.1361; italics added)

Arieti and Bemporad discuss the developmental aspects of the dominant goal
and dominant other types in the following way:

On reviewing the childhood of depressive adults one does not find the dis-
organization of families of schizophrenic or psychopathic adults. Rather, the
family structure may have been too stable, with little tolerance for individual
deviation from an expected norm. One parent was usually dominant and the
rest of the family accepted a submissive role.
(p.1364)

Note the use of the term “the submissive role” – the importance of being con-
stantly confronted with powerful others to whom compliance is expected. This
compliance may be enforced by threats of punishment or the withdrawal of
approval or love. However, the role of submissiveness in children who go on to
become pathology-prone requires more research. A retrospective study by McCra-
nie and Buss (1984) suggests that control, submissiveness and inconsistent affec-
tion were high in the backgrounds of both dominant-other and dominant-goal
types. However, dominant-goal types also experienced their parents as requiring
more achievement and achievement was used to regulate self-esteem. It may also
be that if a child experiences lack of control in his early care-giving relationships,
as he grows he may find that he can obtain control (e.g. direct the attention of
significant others including parents, teachers and peers) by accomplishment, be
this academic, athletic or whatever. Since status is about the capacity to direct
social attention towards the self, then this may be a good tactic. However, he may
find himself in significant difficulty when he is unable to interpose his achieve-
ments (role) between himself and another, e.g. during intimacy. The experience
of intimacy may again arouse the fears of being controlled, abandoned, shamed
or whatever.
 Status, power, dominance 293

Analytic formulations
Blatt et al. (1982) have also articulated differences in depressive vulnerability.
These are labelled: (1) dependency; and (2) self-criticism. The vulnerability of
dependency we noted in Chapter 7 and here we focus on the self-critical dimen-
sion. Blatt et al. regard self-criticism as a developmentally later onset of vul-
nerability and it is characterised by activities of self-rebuke and self-criticism
for failure to live up to internalised standards. These individuals are marked by
evaluations of inferiority (note the rank evaluation) and a sense of worthless-
ness (lack of status-value). Blatt et al. developed a questionnaire (The Depressive
Experience Questionnaire) to tap into these underlying different styles. From this
research they were able to identify self-critical types. A review of their clinical
records (Blatt et al. 1982, p.120) revealed that individuals who are high on self
criticism are characterised by:

social isolation, intense and self-critical involvement with work, professional

and/or academic strivings, feelings of worthlessness and failure, a history of a
very critical or idealised parent, obsessive and paranoid features, anxiety and
agitation, acting out (sex, alcohol and aggression), fear of loss of control, child-
hood history of enuresis and bowel difficulties and feelings of being a social
failure. Members of this group made serious and violent suicide attempts and
most often were diagnosed as “depressed with psychotic features”.

Blatt et al. also noted that individuals could be high on both dependency and
self-criticism (see also Zuroff and Mongrain 1987). These researchers offer an
important discussion of the relationship between psychologically based classifica-
tions and psychiatric nosology (e.g. Feighner and DSM III). They point out that
psychiatric phenomenology lacks any consistent theory of etiology or functional
meaning. In other words, our understanding of psychopathology cannot advance
unless we go well beyond the phenomenological approach.

The cognitive approach

Beck has described two types of vulnerability which underlie depression (Beck
1983) and anxiety (Beck et al. 1985). These are social dependency, discussed
in Chapter 7, and individuality (autonomy). Beck regards autonomy as relating
to a person’s desire to maintain a sense of independence, mobility, control over
personal rights and freedom. This involves protection of his domain and defining
his own boundaries. The salient characteristics of the autonomous mode are the
following (Beck 1983, pp.273–274):

1 Has a set of internalized standards, goals, criteria for achievement and

highly specific set of self-rewards or acceptable rewards from others.
The standards and goals are different from and often higher than the
294 Status, power, dominance

conventionally accepted norms. This person must thus judge himself

more stringently than he does other people.
2 Is less susceptible to external feedback than the socially dependent per-
son; thus is less influenced by praise or criticism; by the same token is
less subject to corrective influences and may proceed in counter produc-
tive ways – oblivious to the effects on his action on other people.1
3 Is less sensitive to other people’s needs and wishes (although he may
believe that he is aware of other people’s feelings and may care about
them). Does not rate well on accurate empathy.
4 Is action-orientated, emphasizing DOING rather than THINKING.
5 Is less reflective than the dependent type.
6 Is focussed on getting positive results and places less weight on possible
negative consequences of actions.
7 Tends to be direct, decisive, and positive, often dogmatic and authoritar-
ian.
8 When not depressed, has high level of self-confidence and self-esteem.
9 Wants freedom to initiate action, dislikes being held back, blocked, or
deterred from doing what he wants to do.
10 Strongly prefers that his options are open rather than making permanent
commitment.
11 Adapts better than social dependent persons to situations or relationships
in which there is a good deal of variability and/or ambiguity.
12 Dislikes externally imposed directives, deadlines, demands or pressures.
13 Most common “cause” for a rupture of interpersonal relations is a belief
that he or she was trapped or forced to do something against his or her
will.
14 Dislikes asking for help.
15 Self-esteem based on attributes that facilitate independence, action and
versatility.
16 Unless has a serious physical illness, is less concerned than average
about physical illness or death.
17 Judges own worth by success in fulfilling specific role expectations (stu-
dent, employer, employee, parent, child).
18 Obtains pleasure from “doing” and reaching goals.
(Reprinted with permission of Raven
Press and A.T. Beck)

When the autonomous type becomes depressed he is more likely to be hos-

tile, to respond to the constraint of hospitalisation with agitation, is more pes-
simistic about the capacity to be helped and is more concerned with personal
ineffectiveness. More recently, Beck and his colleagues (1986) have developed a
personality scale called the “Sociotropic and Autonomous Scale”. The develop-
ment of questions (60 in all) on this scale, when subjected to factor analysis, has
revealed three major factors pertaining to autonomy. These factors are labelled:
 Status, power, dominance 295

(1) individualistic or autonomous achievement; (2) mobility/freedom from con-

trol by others; and (3) preference for solitude. Threats to any of the domains out-
lined above can result in anxiety (Beck et al. 1985).
Given the way we have discussed competitiveness in terms of status, power and
dominance, it is difficult not to be intrigued by the possibility that the construct
systems outlined by Beck are human adaptations to a primitive style which has as
its root territorial control and dominance ranking. The freedom of territorial con-
trol may well have become amplified and symbolised in many different domains
by human adaptation. Nevertheless, the underlying dynamic seems to me to be
one of competitiveness.
It will be noted that individuals using competitive schemata (or in Beck’s terms
autonomous schemata) are particularly attentive both to the role of others as
potential detractors from freedom and status and toward themselves as being able
to maintain control and status.
At the present time however, research is equivocal on this issue. Although it has
been found that sociotropy has a clear association with responses to life events
(Robins and Block 1988) and depressive symptoms (Robins et al. 1989), the same
has not been found for autonomy. In fact need for others and fears of displeas-
ing others are both measured by the sociotropic aspect of this scale. However,
fear of displeasing others may relate to a dominance–submissive dimension sug-
gesting that sociotropy has both an attachment measure and submissive measure
within it. (See the case of Mrs A and Mrs B on page 149.) Hence the relationship
between autonomy and the dynamics of competitiveness require further research.
This scale does make useful predictions of the beneficial effects of coping styles
in regard to life events (Reynolds and Gilbert 1991).

Summary
These four different ways of conceptualising vulnerability to psychopathology
can all be seen to impinge on certain key issues. In my view, these key issues are
to do with dominance, rank, control and freedom. In other words, they all load
heavily on Leary’s (1957) depiction of the dominance–submission dimension.
Having outlined some of the different theoretical approaches to status, power and
dominance (although admittedly these theorists do not discuss the issues in this
way) we can now look at some specific psychopathologies which reflect the issues
we have been discussing.

Type A personality
It would be inappropriate to engage detailed discussions of the classification of Type
A because the concept is still evolving and changing (Price 1982; Mathews 1982). The
psychobiology is also more complex than originally thought (Herd 1984). Eysenck
and Fulker (1983) suggest that many of the components of Type A behaviour pat-
terns do appear to correlate together but not in a manner that justifies categorical
296 Status, power, dominance

distinctions of personality type into Type A and Type B. Moreover, they believe that
the Type A construct is not distinct from other personality attributes. Some compo-
nents relate to the dimension of extraversion and some to the dimension of neuroti-
cism. Hence, they believe that standard personality-measuring instruments can be
better used to study these individuals. Certainly, having two or more dimensions of
personality rather than one would seem advantageous. If one wanted to study the dif-
ferences between Type A and (say) narcissistic personality disorder then this may be
important. The distinction between Type A and its shading into personality disorder
is confused and probably they are dimensionally related within the population rather
than categorical. Research on Type A has fallen victim to much of the difficulty in
psychology, in that we have no generally accepted view on what the salient dimen-
sions of human nature are. Type A behaviour has been the subject of a considerable
amount of research. There is no doubt that this style activates the defensive systems
as outlined in earlier chapters (Henry and Stephens 1977; Price 1982; Herd 1984).
Type A’s are seen to be preoccupied with the struggle for resources and sta-
tus. Self-esteem regulation is through the success (or otherwise) of competitive
endeavours. The perfectionistic obsessionality of some of these individuals can
usually be traced to cognitively mediated beliefs that the person must perform to
a point of being beyond attack and beyond rebuke. Whereas cognitive schemata of
care elicitors are to avoid being “beyond help”, cognitive schemata of obsessional
Type A’s are to be “beyond attack”. It is the perception of others as evaluators
ready to compete, attack or reduce self-esteem (RHP) that makes the competitive
schemata the most powerful inputs to self-esteem regulation. Some Type A’s also
have considerable problems with trust, preferring to maintain control over situ-
ations even in the presence of a more skilful helper (Miller et al. 1985). Obses-
sionals showing Type A attributes are often preoccupied with who is trustworthy
and who is not. Part of this relates to the tendency to see others as subordinates,
or less able/competent.
There is considerable doubt over which components of Type A behaviour most
confirm risk of heart disease, but one piece of research suggests that it is anger
directed at the self (Dembroski et al. 1985). The risk of depression in Type A’s is
usually believed to operate through the process of vital exhaustion (Price 1982;
Falger 1983). Appels and Mulder (1984) found that “imminent myocardial infarc-
tion” was over four times higher in subjects exhibiting syndromes of vital exhaus-
tion and depression. Hence, certain types of depression and heart disease may
show an important link in both biological and psychological factors. Analysts
since Freud (1917) have regarded “anger-in” as a cause of depression. The prob-
lem here however, is that anger directed against the self, or anger with the self
has been implicated in many forms of illness, both psychological and physical.
Furthermore, we should make the distinction between someone who is angry with
himself and someone who inhibits assertive behaviour. These two components
may or may not correlate in some individuals. Anger with self and low assertive
behaviour probably have quite different physical consequences. Anger with the
self may be activating under certain circumstances, whereas inhibited assertive
 Status, power, dominance 297

behaviour does not activate action in the same way. Inhibited assertiveness can be
related to moral beliefs or relative dominance position.
Much Type A research seems to tap into concepts proposed by others. For
example, needs for specialness (Yalom 1980), autonomy (Beck 1983), compul-
sive self-reliance (Bowlby 1980), self-criticism (Blatt et al. 1982), narcissistic
personality and needs for power (McClelland 1985), and so on. Strangely how-
ever, McClelland (1985) mentions only one paper on the relationship between
the power motive and Type A, which found no association between them. Price
(1982) has presented a comprehensive overview of many avenues of work aris-
ing from Type A research and this will be used as a basis here. Her work is essen-
tially a cognitive and social learning theory approach and makes a very valuable
and brave attempt to integrate Type A research into mainstream psychological
theory.

Personal beliefs of Type A’s

Price (1982) has outlined the following personal beliefs that characterise Type
A individuals:

1 My sense of personal well-being (peace of mind) depends upon my be-

ing a worthwhile (lovable, respected) person;
2 My worth is not constant – it fluctuates;
3 My worth is determined by how I feel about myself;
4 How I feel about myself is determined primarily by what others think
about me (or what I think they think about me);
5 What others think of me is determined primarily by what they see me do
(my achievements);
6 Therefore, in order to have a sense of personal well-being (peace of
mind), I must achieve a lot, so that people will think well of me, so that
I will feel good about myself. In short, my sense of self-esteem is a direct
function of my observable, tangible accomplishments.
(p.67)

Price goes on to suggest that these formulated beliefs produce three basic
propositions:

1 My worth is not constant, so my sense of well-being is always in

jeopardy;
2 People, including myself, can add or take away from my worth;
3 Because everyone’s worth fluctuates, at any given time, my worth is
greater than that of some, and less than that of others.
(p.67)

A similar set of beliefs could characterise narcissistic disorders.

298 Status, power, dominance

Characteristics of Type A
The fear of insufficient worth and the need to prove one-self by accomplish-
ments is a prevailing hallmark of people labelled Type A. Furthermore, accord-
ing to Price (1982) they believe that there is no universal moral principle and
that all resources are scarce and therefore have to be struggled for. This lack of
moral cognitive schemata may again point to lack of empathy and developmen-
tal arrests in moral thinking (Kegan 1982). There is increasing evidence that
one of the most amplified traits of the Type A person is interpersonal competi-
tiveness (Yarnold and Grimm 1986). In other words Type A’s emphasise those
biosocial strategies that evolved from intrasexual competition and involve high
concerns with expressing RHP often through RAB (see pages 43–50). Because
the pursuit of achievements is to prove self worth and acquire dominance there
are many tactics especially designed to direct and control social attention and
autonomy. The Type A behaviour pattern is believed to produce a number of
components which include: (1) ambitiousness; (2) setting excessively high
standards; (3) high driving behaviour; (4) competitiveness; (5) aggressiveness;
(6) time urgency; (7) impatience and irritability; and (8) speech and motor
behaviours mostly of an activated form (Price 1982). Powell and Friedman
(1986) offer a more comprehensive listing (see Table 13.1) which appears very
close to both neurotic extraverts and narcissistic personality disorder, although
for personality disorder one should keep in mind the age at onset and chronicity
(Rutter 1987b).

Table 13.1 A Selected List of Common Type A Behaviours, Attitudes and Environmental
Determinants Likely to Emerge in Group Members During Group Discussions

Overt Behaviour Hostility

Relives anger about past incidents

Hypersensitivity to criticism
Argues tenaciously to win small points
Annoyance at trivial errors of others
Defensiveness/rationalisations
Strong opinions
Challenges validity of statements of others
Short-tempered
Edginess
Time urgency
Interrupts others
Poor listener
Polyphasic behaviour, thoughts
Rapid, accelerated speech
 Status, power, dominance 299

Overt Behaviour Hostility

Environmental Trivial situations which are uncontrollable, unexpected

Determinants Driving a car
Waiting for someone who is late
Waiting in a queue
Interpersonal challenge
People who talk too much with nothing to say
Incompetent telephone operators, shop assistants, waitresses/
waiters, bank clerks
Engaged tone on the phone
Ongoing struggle with family member, work associate
Signs and Symptoms of Tense body posture
Physiological Reactivity Fast, jerky movements
Repetitive movements: knees jiggling, finger tapping
Expiratory sighing
Tic-like grimaces
Covert Attitudes and Egocentrism: dominates conversations, interested in self only
Beliefs Suspiciousness: distrusts others’ motives
Competitive: belittles achievements of others, perceives other
group members as adversaries
Resentment: harbours feelings of ill-will
Prejudice: stereotyped generalisations about groups
Deterministic world view: believes self to be a pawn of the
environment rather than active determiner of fate
Short-term perspective: deals with problems from immediate
consequences
Belief in inherent injustice: acts like the policeman of the world

Source: Powell and Friedman (1986). Reprinted with kind permission J. Wiley and Sons Ltd.

Price (1982, p.97) suggests that Type A’s can be envious of other people’s
accomplishments (“their gain my loss”): “. . . middle class Type A men may
behave aggressively by attempting to diminish other persons’ achievements,
undermine their confidence, belittle their efforts, find flaws in their work, discredit
their ideas, or deny them the attention or assistance they need in their work.”
These people are also prone to envy and when these behaviours are directed at
a spouse can lead to significant depression in their spouses. Indeed, psychiatric
hospitals and outpatient departments are full of women who recount that their
husbands behave exactly in this manner to them. In other words, their relation-
ships are marked by dominance–submissive interactions. Price also suggests that
many of these behaviours, along with self-righteousness and self-justification, are
300 Status, power, dominance

efforts to protect the self from potential injury (much as we discussed guilt and
justification, but here, justification is to avoid shame). When Type A’s are blocked
or need the help of others, far from this being a potentially pleasant opportunity
for friendly co-operative enterprise, they feel resentful. Having errors pointed out
to them is viewed as shameful rather than helpful.
Price discusses some (to date admittedly limited) data that the more extreme
and pronounced Type A’s at least, are the result of demanding, aggressive moth-
ering where fathers are absent or passive. There seems to have been a failure
to acknowledge the child as an individual, autonomous person. However, these
kinds of mothering styles are noted for many forms of psychopathology and we
do not yet know what determines whether a child will go on to become a Type A
(dominance striving) or more socially anxious.
Most therapists will confront the attitudes outlined by Price (1982) many times
a day. They are often the central focus for therapeutic work. In cognitive psycho-
therapy they are seen in terms of “have to” and “must” forms of thinking: “I have
to excell – I must never be a failure or ordinary”. However, it is useful to appreci-
ate that these cognitive styles are embedded in deeply ingrained desires for supe-
riority and control over the environment and interpersonal attention/approval/
admiration. The desire and display of grandiosity, believed to be a hallmark of the
narcissist, is a natural response in centring self-value in achievement and social
competitive endeavours. Status must be won “in the eyes of others” – the grandi-
osity of the narcissist is an effort to do just this.
This issue of the relationship between the beliefs outlined in the previous
section and innate competitiveness, especially its relationship to RAB, is often
missed in cognitive theory. This is important if we are to make links between
psychotherapeutic theories and biological theories (Chapters 4 and 5). The inter-
nal models of self that control Gray’s (1982) BIS are related to sensitivity to
dominance cues and signals. Price (1982, p.68) also makes the following point:
“Persons classified as Type A appear to be very reluctant to abandon their belief
that their self-worth fluctuates, even though by doing so they could avoid a sense
of low self-worth. The reluctance may occur because to abandon this belief
would entail giving up their belief in their superiority over certain other people
in their environment.” I would add that to give up this belief involves giving up
the potential for superiority and also the fantasies of grandiosity! In terms of
survival, the Type A’s motto is “I must win to survive; I cannot trust my survival
to others.” This of course may be true of lower species and it is a sad reflec-
tion that all the modifications to hostile competitive behaviour that evolution
has facilitated (nursing, care eliciting, co-operation) remain dormant potentials
for interpersonal relating. Maybe it is only in a caring empathic relationship that
these potentials can be activated.
Therapeutic practice may be aided if the therapist has a conceptualisation
of this thinking style as one that relates to competitiveness and status needs.
It allows him or her to anticipate a number of potential therapeutic problems,
especially the great reluctance individuals have in giving up this belief. The
 Status, power, dominance 301

tendency in these clients may be to become impatient, angry, competitive, envi-

ous, resentful, etc., with the therapist or significant others. This relates to the
fact that these emotions are associated with the hostile dimension of interper-
sonal relating. Fears of shame and humiliation (loss of status) may produce
difficulties in the therapeutic alliance. Moreover, some individuals may become
highly approval seeking of the therapist but this is different from what may
occur in individuals whose primary problem is care eliciting. These individuals
are seeking an “admiring” therapist, not a caring or protective one. Type A’s
want prestige (admiration) rather than dependent care, even though during ther-
apy, issues of caring and needs for intimacy usually appear as the patient begins
to explore the reasons behind his competition. Indeed, Type A’s and high-status
men may use work to avoid intimacy (Price 1982) but be significantly injured if
marital partners are lost (Bird et al. 1983).

Narcissistic personality disorder

Narcissistic personality disorder is a highly complex and controversial area of
psychopathology (Russell 1985; Adler 1986). In this short discussion, we will
only touch on a few elements in order to present a view that social competitive-
ness is the central difficulty for narcissists. First, a look at how the disorder is
classified would be useful. The DSM III suggests the five following criteria:

1 A grandiose sense of self-importance or uniqueness.

2 A preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty
or ideal love.
3 Exhibitionism, the person requiring constant attention and admiration.
4 Cool indifference or marked feelings of rage, inferiority, shame, humiliation
or emptiness in response to criticism or defeat.
5 At least two of the following characteristics of disturbances in interpersonal
relationships: entitlement (expectation of special favours without assum-
ing reciprocal responsibilities), interpersonal exploitativeness, relationships
that characteristically alternate between the extremes of overidealisation and
devaluation, and lack of empathy.

From analytical theorising, especially the work of Kernberg and Kohut, Adler
(1986, pp.430–431) gives a succinct description of these patients:

These patients tend to be extremely self centred, often needing praise and
constant recognition in order to feel momentarily good about themselves.
Rather than feeling a sense of their own worth or value, they require repeated
bolstering from the outside. In their relationships with people, they tend to
be exploitative and insensitive to the feelings and needs of others. Their
behaviour can be superficially charming on the one hand and arrogant on the
other. They expect special privileges from those around them without giving
302 Status, power, dominance

anything in return, yet they can feel easily humiliated or shamed and respond
with rage at what they perceive to be criticisms or failure of people to react in
the way they wish. Some may alternate between letting people see their vul-
nerabilities and aloof distancing, while others maintain their arrogant exterior
much more consistently. Many describe their inner world as empty and feel
that they are “fakes”. Some also have frequent episodes of hypochondriacal
symptoms. Many can elaborate active fantasies about magnificent success
in love, sex, beauty, wealth or power. They often devalue people they have
previously idolised and tend to “split”, i.e. see people as either all good or all
bad, or alternate between these extremes.

Adler’s description highlights status evaluative and power-hostility compo-

nents, the use of others for self-valuing purposes and a comparative lack in the
functionings of the more prosocial aspects of human nature (empathy, moral
thinking, care giving). Leary (1957) described this pattern also as narcissistic (see
page 66). Kegan (1982) suggested that a lack of moral development can result
in symptom presentations not dissimilar from those we might call personality
disorder.
An individual may appreciate that he is not the most talented, assertive or char-
ismatic of individuals in the world but may still be able to regulate self-esteem
by deriving positive self-evaluations from other functions and social roles (e.g.
as friendly, helpful, understanding and caring of others). A real advantage of this
means that he can be more sensitive to the context of relationships. Those with
narcissistic disorders, however, tend to turn all interpersonal relationships into a
context of competitiveness; e.g. how does this person add to or subtract from my
value, prestige and status?
Russell (1985) and Adler (1986) have published important reviews compar-
ing the work of the analytical writers Kernberg and Kohut. Kahn (1985), in a
superb paper, compared the work of Kohut and Rogers. Kohut is of special inter-
est to cognitive therapists because his conceptualisation of selfobjects is poten-
tially translatable into schema theory. Moreover, his developmental ideas promise
exciting possibilities to understanding the origins of particular types of cognitive
schemata. I will try to make a few elementary links between Kohut and cognitive
theory here.

Developmental aspects
Kohut (1977, 1982) suggests that during development, the child passes through a
stage of exhibiting a grandiose self. This grandiose self is presented to the parent
(mediator) who feeds back to the child delight and pride in the child’s activi-
ties. This is referred to analytically as “mirroring”. Mirroring allows the child to
internalise a conceptual/belief system of self as valued for performing/doing in
the eyes of others. Kohut refers to the “gleam in the mother’s eye”. In my view,
mirroring is about the control of attention, the capacity to direct positive (other)
 Status, power, dominance 303

attention to the self (through the exhibition of talent, skill or physical attributes).
This is the domain of status. Parents, in effect, are the earliest bestowers of status
which becomes internalised as positive memories and expectations of self as an
agent of prestige.
It is quite interesting to note that even in adulthood many individuals may have
a slightly grandiose view of self in that they tend to see themselves more posi-
tively than others see them (Mischel et al. 1976; Lewinsohn et al. 1980). This
is referred to as the “warm glow effect”. Hence, just as Bowlby points out that
attachment and care eliciting are not necessarily pathological processes when
present in adulthood, so some desire at least for self-valuing from others and the
tendency to see oneself as slightly more positively than others see one are also
not pathological.
The grandiosity of the child is expressed principally through exhibitionist
behaviour. I remember well my own children’s delight at discovering and per-
forming new activities with “Look at me, Daddy. Look at me!” My children, at
least, could be quite angry if I did not look and admire. When we were teaching
my children to play cricket, every good shot was immediately followed by a look
in our (the parents’) direction to confirm positive evaluation. Delight tended to
follow our admiration of their behaviour. Just as care giving and care receiving in
the mother/child interaction is a kind of dance between the two, the exhibition-
ism of the child and the parents’ admiration of the child’s talents is also a kind
of dance. However, it is important to notice that the child is not using mediators
to serve as caring or nurturing agents. In the exhibitionist stage the child targets
behaviours at mediators for non-physical and non-nurturing caring reasons. The
child is seeking confirmation of self value through action and doing. The key to
this is to make the link with status. The parent bestows status and self value to
the child by admiration, pride, recognising the separateness and autonomy of the
child. Hence, power and hostile status are in some way modified by early experi-
ences. Furthermore, this internalisation of value allows for co-operative devel-
opment to proceed, because, as Chance (1988) points out, attention is directed
away from (or liberated from) self-protective (agonic) styles towards prosocial
(hedonic) interactive endeavours.
We should note that the sense by which children feel they can control the atten-
tion and admiration of their parents seems important to later achievement striving
(or lack of it). The film producer Michael Winner (1987) makes this interesting
observation:

I don’t know how other people regard me. They probably think I’m rather
thrusting. As a youngster, when I was doing this showbiz column, my mother
would always make me feel very unappreciated. She’d ask me who I’d inter-
viewed that week and I’d start to tell her about Louis Armstrong or Sophie
Tucker. But before I could get any more out, she’d be telling me about her
hand of poker the night before. Maybe it gave me this great ambition of push
forward, to make people realise I exist.
304 Status, power, dominance

It is also the case that exhibitionist behaviour is a major constituent of peer

group relationships – at least it was when I was growing up. Preparedness to do
“dares” earned much esteem. The parents’ function is not just to enhance self
value but perhaps to facilitate confidence to be assertive and exhibitionist with
one’s peers. This may well facilitate a preparedness to show off and take leader-
ship roles in peer group interactions. Furthermore, the caring behaviour a parent
shows a child may be modelled by the child with his peers. This is reinforced by
the fact that this behaviour may increase popularity. Be this as it may, the essen-
tial purpose of the parents’ support of the child’s exhibitionist behaviour may be
to provide the child with knowledge about the positive outcomes of action in the
world, i.e. confidence. That is, the child becomes able to predict the social behav-
iour of others by observing parental response, especially to the “showing off”
of certain competencies. For Kohut, successful navigation of this stage leads to
competent assertiveness and ambition. Presumably, the child will also model the
parents in this regard (see Kahn 1985).
The fact that it is exhibitionist behaviours that are crucial at this stage of devel-
opment rather than care eliciting suggests that social attention tends to be directed
towards the physical characteristics of the child in action. When things go badly
between parent and child, the emotion that may be aroused is one of shame or
incompetence. Here, the focus is on the attributes of the self in action (not moral
behaviour which underlies guilt). Mollon and Parry (1984) have highlighted the
role of shame in depressive disturbances which have high narcissistic vulnerabili-
ties. The withdrawal and anger of these patients is seen as a protection against the
experience of a vulnerable self and to protect against further injuries. Moreover,
Mollon (1984) has highlighted the importance of shame as arising from negative
appraisals of how the self is perceived in the eyes of others, especially the physi-
cal characteristics of the self.
Although those with narcissistic disorders have self-esteem focussed on needs
for specialness power and the avoidance of shame, their latent schemata are of
inferior self-attributes. This presents approach/avoidance conflicts. Status in the
eyes of others is highly sought but with expectations that others will be humiliat-
ing rather than valuing because the self does not actually possess the qualities that
others value.2 Beck’s (1967) idea of latent cognitive schemata can be used here
to see that there are basically two types of schemata operating. One involves self
perceptions (I need to be strong, superior, dominant and must struggle to be so).
Yet at the same time, there are expectations that significant others may be more
powerful, humiliating or uninterested. In other words, it is beliefs about others
and not just beliefs about the self that must be dealt with in the therapeutic rela-
tionship. In an effort to defend against the hurt that might be inflicted by others,
they are rendered subordinates. Unfortunately, others do not always concur with
this role, invoking rage and increased agonistic behaviour in the narcissist. In guilt
problems, these issues do not come up so much because it is the self-evaluative
style that is primarily distorted. That is, the self is seen as powerful and feels
guilty because it has harmed others.
 Status, power, dominance 305

In a way, it is not surprising that these patients often have serious sexual dif-
ficulties. This, I suspect, is because the sexual activities of competitive schemata
are innate and the individual seems to derive a sense of power and dominance
through sexual behaviour. In other words, having rather few other attributes that
can be utilised to substantiate self-esteem, the dimension of sexual behaviour
plays a central role. Sexual exploitativeness is often linked to cognitive schemata
of inferiority. Drugs, including alcohol, can be used to increase feelings of domi-
nant control and counteract powerful feelings of inferiority and anxiety.

Other developmental theories

Kernberg is much more Freudian in his theory of the development of narcis-
sism. He sees narcissism developing from the oral stage and related to parental
abandonment and rejection. As a result, the child experiences envy and rage at
the aggressively withheld source of gratification. In consequence, the child with-
draws into himself and comes to believe that only he can be relied on trusted and
therefore loved. Karen Horney differed from Freud’s view of narcissism which
Freud saw as self love (libido directed toward the self). Ellenberger (1970, p.640)
puts her view succinctly. He says:

. . . . like Adler, she also departed from the traditional classifications of neu-
roses still adhered to by Freud. She knows of only one genuine neurosis with
several types of development . . . the compliant (or submissive), and aggres-
sive type guided by the will to power, and the withdrawing type. These neu-
rotic types of development are traced back to specific childhood situations.
As for the Oedipus complex, Karen Horney, exactly like Adler, admits that
it sometimes exists but explains it as a type of development of an initially
spoiled child. Narcissism, she explains not as self-love, as Freud does, but as
self-admiration, that is admiration for an idealized picture of oneself.

Similarly, other writers such as Millon (1981) (as quoted by Emmons 1987)
view narcissism not as the result of parental devaluation but rather as the conse-
quence of overvaluation. The child is treated as special, deserving of much atten-
tion and led to believe that he or she is lovable and perfect. First-born and only
children are particularly vulnerable to this kind of overvaluation. Hence, there
would appear to be two possible sources of narcissism. One relates to underin-
volvement and devaluation and the other relates to overvaluation and parental
overinvolvement. In the latter theory, the parents may fuel the child’s narcissistic
needs as a projection of their own. In other words, through the child’s grandiose
behaviour the parents may benefit from the child’s achievements. We need to
be slightly cautious of this view of narcissism because children may be spoilt,
but also overpowered by peer interactions. They may behave in an arrogant and
aloof manner with peers which reduces the opportunities for learning about co-
operative friendship. Being spoilt may involve rather little real love and little
306 Status, power, dominance

effort to help a child develop co-operatively. Children may model a parent’s sense
of specialness (economic or religious, e.g. a “chosen” people), and again come to
treat others as subordinates.
Narcissism has been a source of debate for many years. Russell (1985) offers a
comparison of Kernberg’s and Kohut’s theory. Samuels (1985) offers a compari-
son between Kohut’s view and Jung’s view, and Kahn (1985) compares Kohut
with Rogers. In my presentation, narcissism relates to the prominent organisa-
tion of primitive hostile–dominance innate mechanisms for self-defining and con-
struction. That is, one is dealing with a person whose attentional structures are
highly agonically controlled, with a focus on gaining and maintaining relative
RHP by the exercise of hostile control over others.

Research on narcissism
Research on narcissism is still in its infancy. Many psychoanalytic speculations
are still to be put to empirical validation. However, Emmons (1984, 1987) has
presented some interesting data. First, some degree of positive self-evaluation
is necessary and when part of a co-operative endeavour, forms the recognition
of being of value. In other words, narcissism need not mean egocentric or con-
ceited, but, “simply recognising one’s own contribution to positive outcomes
without overtly exaggerating one’s accomplishments to others.” (Emmons
1987, p.16) Hence, a distinction between pathological and non-pathological
forms of narcissism is important. Work with the narcissistic personality inven-
tory (NPI) suggests a positive relationship between narcissism and Eysenck’s
dimensions of extraversion and psychoticism. A factor analysis of the NPI sug-
gested four separate factors labelled exploitativeness/entitlement, leadership/
authority, superiority/arrogance and self-absorption/self-admiration (Emmons
1984). Emmons (1987) suggests that it is primarily the factor of exploitative-
ness/entitlement that contributes to pathological forms of narcissism (i.e. a
failure in care giving and co-operative competency). He suggests that this fac-
tor is related to “neuroticism, social anxiety, and interpersonal styles of aggres-
sive/sadistic and distressful rebelliousness”. Other work has shown that this
factor is negatively associated with empathy. Such data may again support the
distinction between prosocial leadership and power leadership. Although as
Adler (1986) points out, some narcissists can be superficially charming, under
threat they may retreat to hostile (rage) tactics to get what they want. In other
words, stress activates the defence system which reveals the high fight type
coping response.
In general one of the common threads that comes through from many theoreti-
cal stances on narcissism is exploitativeness. Exploitativeness comes over time
and again and was a characteristic of Leary’s (1957) description of the narcissistic
adjustment style. This suggests developmental arrests which are most compre-
hensively described by Kegan (1982). He points out that narcissistic individuals
are characterised by a failure in the development of moral thinking and empathic
 Status, power, dominance 307

capabilities. To put this another way, individuals may have highly developed com-
petitive goals but are not able to co-operate in any genuine sense. They cannot
bestow status on others unless in doing so this benefits themselves. They have
difficulties with trust, they are poor empathisers, and above all their coping strate-
gies are aimed at the protection of dominance. Lacking the capacity for altruis-
tic behaviour, their dominance-seeking endeavours are nearly always based on
power. What research there is therefore, suggests that it is not a grandiose self as
such that causes the problem, but how the individual relates to others.

Possible relationships between Type A and

narcissistic behaviour
There may be a number of elements of the cognitive style (value being determined
by competency) that both Type A’s and narcissistic personalities share. Clearly
however, there may be important differences between the two. As a speculative
start to the discussion I would like to suggest the following differences:

1 Type A’s tend to have less disturbed family backgrounds. Usually, competi-
tive behaviour has been positively reinforced or the individual is attempting
to outcompete a sibling or parent. Those with narcissistic personalities on
the other hand often show serious disturbances in their early life, often from
broken homes and a lack of empathic and emotionally caring parents. Type
A’s usually suggest their parents were caring to some degree.
2 Type A’s show more “addiction” to work and are able to plan and carry
through goals to fulfilment despite minor setbacks. There is a reasonable
belief that they are competent and if anything, they are indeed arrogant and
grandiose. They enjoy and cope with leadership and do not, unless or until
major obstacles come along, devalue themselves. They are often quite suc-
cessful. Those with narcissistic disorders however, may aspire to high goals
but are less able to carry them off. They are easily demoralised and engage
in more fantasy of achievement rather than engage in actualising long-term
goals. They tend to give up easily and are less successful and engage in more
significant-other blaming and self-hating behaviours. Type A’s rarely “hate
themselves” although they may see themselves as failures when depressed.
3 Because the parent/child relationship is less disturbed in Type A’s there is
usually more moral and altruistic development. Hence, they tend to form
therapeutic relationships more easily and are generally more able to work at
emotional difficulties. On the other hand, they may tend to end a therapeutic
relationship rather early. Type A’s are less shame prone, although they may
experience guilt. Those with narcissistic disorders on the other hand, are espe-
cially shame prone and have more difficulties with long-term relationships;
they are considered far more impulsive and act out. Acting out in Type A’s, if
it occurs, tends to be socialised, whereas in personality disorders it may not
be. In a sense, just as we would make a distinction between socialised and
308 Status, power, dominance

unsocialised behavioural disorders, so we might be able to make a distinction

between socialised competitiveness and unsocialised competitiveness.
4 Type A’s are able to cope with ambivalence more easily and have a fuller
range of emotional expression. On the other hand, some believe that Type A’s
suffer from alexiathymia: for example, as may the individual who raises his
tone, bangs the table but denies that he is becoming angry.
5 Care-eliciting endeavours are also rather different. Type A’s focus more
exclusively on the desire to maintain a strong self image and tend to see emo-
tionality as signs of weakness. They would not risk emotional behaviours,
impulsive or otherwise, if such behaviour constituted any threat to their status
of themselves in being seen as weak. They often pride themselves on being
emotionally in control. Those with narcissistic disorders, on the other hand,
oscillate between grandiose efforts to demonstrate competency and control
over emotions on the one hand and needs for others, infantile dependency,
collapse and emotional acting out, on the other.

As suggested, these are only speculative comparisons which research would

need to investigate. In any case, the distinctions between Type A behaviour and
narcissistic behaviour probably exist in a number of dimensions. Moreover, given
some current descriptions of Type A, these distinctions may represent a mild ver-
sus severe dimension of variation in narcissistic disorder.
Another comparison between Type A and personality disorder has been offered
by Garamoni and Schwartz (1986). This paper is an important one for anyone
working in this area. It points out the major overlaps between Type A and com-
pulsive personality patterns. They note that unlike narcissistic people, control of
emotion is paramount to both types, as are devotion–addiction to work and many
other characteristics. Once again, however, I would suggest that all these prob-
lems reflect, to differing degrees, issues pertaining to social ranking functions. As
Price (1982) says, Type A’s see themselves in a struggle, a competition, and all
efforts are made to win that contest.
The perfectionism noted for some narcissists, compulsives and Type A’s is
understandable in that it puts them beyond rebuke and attack. In my clinical prac-
tice, the fear of leaving a “chink in the armour” through which they may be vul-
nerable to criticism or loss of (admiring) approval is a central concern. Order
makes the world more controllable and predictable.

Concluding comments
Much suffering reflects various disturbances in a person’s sense of autonomy,
individuality and competitive competence. Some feel easily threatened by oth-
ers and suffer various anxieties (Beck et al. 1985; Tuma and Maser 1985; Heim-
berg et al. 1987; Gilbert and Trower 1990; Trower and Gilbert 1989). Others
feel they have lost and are losers (Beck 1976; Price and Sloman 1987; Gilbert
unpublished). Others are caught in competitive dynamics and become confused in
 Status, power, dominance 309

their (physical) self-identity (Orbach 1986). Yet others become paranoid or take to
drugs of various kinds to try to increase their sense of self-worth. In this chapter
we have not tried to separate out individual disorders, but have tried to look at
underlying factors which many states of suffering have in common. All, in one
way or another, feel a chronic sense of loss of safety and assurance in themselves
as social beings and with their fellows.
This chapter has focussed on some of those disorders that appear to relate to
a particular class of beliefs and evaluations. These attentional-evaluative mecha-
nisms are deeply embedded in the dominance aspects of human nature. Atten-
tional mechanisms and psychobiological processes are controlled by the various
routines evolved to co-ordinate ritualistic agonistic behaviour. We investigated
the idea that Type A’s see life as a struggle and self-esteem appears to be regulated
by mechanisms in the brain controlling dominance and the evaluation of relative
RHP. The personality is controlled by agonic defensive behaviour. Depression, if
it occurs, relates to the activation of defeat or yielding subroutines of RAB. With
the loss of incentives relating to competitive advantage there may be little in the
way of other incentives to modify depressive states (e.g. friendship capability).
It is extremely common in my experience that many Type A’s and narcissistic
individuals, especially those that have a modicum of success in life, are at the
same time, intensely lonely. They may have many acquaintances but few if any
people they can talk to about their intimate fears, worries, sadnesses and con-
cerns. They show many of the blocks to co-operation discussed in Chapter 10 and
are especially concerned with hiding and deceiving. If they do begin to discuss
their more intimate fears, they may do so in such a defensive manner that in the
absence of a trained listener, the depth of their need is missed. Sometimes others
who share their social environment have come not to expect these aspects and
hence they are not taken seriously. If these individuals are relating to sociotropic
types, especially in marriage, the idea that the dominant other may have clay feet
is fearful. Hence, the relationship produces a kind of collusion: “you keep your
anxieties to yourself.” The sociotropic spouse can be guilt inducing of any inti-
mate needs or fears that the more “dominant partner” may have.
Competitive type individuals need to be clear that the therapist is going to
behave neither as a subordinate nor as an overpowering other. These patients can
paradoxically end their therapy if they see their therapist as easily manipulated,
shallow or incompetent. One patient put it this way: “it’s like playing squash.
In order to develop your own skills and grow, you want to find people who are as
good as you – who neither beat you easily nor are overpowered by you.” In other
words, during the early stages of therapy, therapists have to be able to “match”
the patient almost as a kind of game, making sure that they are neither beaten nor
overpowering. In other words, the therapist must ensure that he adjusts to the pace
of the patient. In the analytic literature there is debate on how far therapists should
be admiring of these patients. In my view, a certain degree of admiration in the
form of valuing should be facilitated provided it can then point back to the need
for the competitive struggle. Also, these patients need to begin a dialogue with
310 Status, power, dominance

people close to them outside of the therapy relationship (Powell and Friedman
1986). If this does not happen, then after a period of time the patient may start to
use the therapy as a form of companionable relating but this is not transferred to
the outside.
The central question to all of these kinds of difficulties is this. Why have infor-
mation processing systems and evaluative styles which are related primarily to
ranking behaviour become so amplified in the personality? I think the answer
is that evolution has provided humans the capacity to acquire status (social
attention-holding potential) that does not depend on power, but on altruism and
friendship (Hill 1984; Heard and Lake 1986). That is, we can internalise a sense
of our own value and our capacity for appreciation. However, in order for these
to become capable of inhibiting more primitive RHP regulating systems, they
need to be practised. When returning adult animals to the wild, there are always
fears that the animal will not survive. Instinct for hunting, for example, is not
enough. They have to be trained by exposure to adult models, i.e. many instincts
need some form of modelling to become effective. Similarly, prosocial behav-
iours of humans require training and these occur through the long periods of
dependency the child has with its mediators and early peers. Since parents and
teachers are the first models that the child engages during its development, they
will model for the child a sense of the child’s status and values. In Kohut’s terms,
this is the “gleam in the mother’s eyes”. These become internalised and coded in
long-term memory. They relate to the exhibitionist stage and are encoded with
affects related to the receiving of empathy, trust and pride, from another. This
in turn activates the safety system and enables attention to be turned outwards
(away from a focus on self-protective and self-defensive needs). As the child
engages his peers, the greater the personal constructs are coded in safety systems,
the more attention is directed to co-operative play, friendship formation and the
greater the capacity for the development of morality and empathy. To state it
briefly then, there is a knock-on effect such that the safer a child feels with his
early authority figures, the safer he is likely to feel with his peers, provided the
authority figures have not overprotected the child. The safer he feels with his
peers, the more practised he becomes in co-operative prosocial activities and the
more reinforcing and pleasurable are such activities. These individuals are able
to use companions in status-enhancing ways (Heard and Lake 1986). In this way,
the more primitive information-processing mechanisms which are concerned
with the gaining and losing of dominance via competitive fighting become inhib-
ited and modified.
On the other hand, the more defensive a child is with his peers, the more atten-
tion is regulated by the defence system. This in turn becomes encoded in long-
term memory and has a number of effects on the structures of self-esteem:

1 It renders the individual more attentive to threat rather than friendship cues.
2 It renders the individual less practised in positive, enjoyable, hedonic,
co-operative activity.
 Status, power, dominance 311

3 It renders the individual more prone to signal either dominance or submissive

signals.
4 This in turn evokes more dominance behaviour from others (Leary 1957)
which appears especially true for children (Kegan 1982).

The outcome is that without wishing to, these individuals may be less able to
send friendship (as opposed to submissive) signals.
What Bowlby did for attachment behaviour, Kohut has done for competitive
behaviour. Kohut, of course, does not talk in terms of evolutionary mechanisms
in the way that we have here. However, my argument is that humans have the
ability to internalise value via the appreciation and empathic recognition of their
parents. They are able to translate this style of relating to their peers and so are
able to inhibit and make redundant primitive competition for status. They are able
to model empathic reasoning, internalise it and construct a sense of self which is
based on status supporting rather than status attacking. This capacity is seen in
very few other species (Chance 1988), and yet it is the key to human success and
wellbeing. Those who come to therapy have either lost this internalised control
(i.e. have very low self-esteem) or have never had it. The role of therapy is to help
them renegotiate the world in such a way that they can begin to feel good about
themselves as agents of value. It is most important to recognise that these con-
cerns are not about care eliciting. The individual does not wish to find a mediator
who will look after him or indeed, necessarily love him. These concerns are to do
with finding competency, finding appreciation and value, and being an agent of
goodness in one’s own right.

Notes
1 For example, there may be a mismatch between level one and level two according to
Leary’s (1957) system of different levels.
2 It is interesting to note that the use of the couch for severe personality disorders of this
form is not recommended by Kohut. Kahn (1985) notes that these kinds of patients
prefer face-to-face contact. It seems to me that the patients may need to read the emo-
tional displays on the face of the therapist to acquire certain kinds of social knowledge.
This may be in much the same way as my children’s good cricket shots were nearly
always followed by “looking at” us (the parents). It might be remembered here that, as
discussed in Chapter 6, in an ambiguous world, children will often look to their parents
for cues as to what to do as, for example, with the crossing of the visual cliff.
Chapter 14

Beyond the power of reason

Social mentalities
Throughout this book we have been concerned with the evolution of psychobio-
logical processes. We have put the view that the human mind is made up of a vari-
ety of competencies laid down at different points over millions of years. The aim
has been to convey the notion that humans have a set of evolved competencies
(archetypal potentials) which furnish the substance of our meaning making. In
this chapter we look in more detail at the case for separate competencies (mentali-
ties), yet also explore the degree to which integration of these separate mentalities
can and does take place. Integration, we shall argue, is a property of the psychic
system. This concern is examined in more detail in the second half of this chapter,
on the self. First, we return to the importance of there being separate competen-
cies within the human mind.
We are at a point of radical change in psychological theorising. The study of
mental functioning over the last century has given rise to the important idea that
the human psyche consists of multiple special process systems designed to do
particular jobs. Human minds are not single entity systems. Ornstein (1986, p.9)
puts this point clearly:

The long progression in our self-understanding has been from a simple and
usually “intellectual” view to the view that the mind is a mixed structure, for
it contains a complex set of “talents”, “modules” and “policies” within . . . All
of these general components of the mind can act independently of each other,
they may well have different priorities.
The discovery of increased complexity and differentiation has occurred in
many different areas of research . . . : in the study of brain function and locali-
sation; in the conceptions of the nature of intelligence; in personality testing;
and in the theories of the general characteristics of the mind . . .

Ornstein (1986) suggests that the human mind is organised in increasing levels
of complexity. The most basic level is that of the reflexes and set reactions. Above
them lie “domain-specific data-processing modules”. These are not flexible but
 Beyond the power of reason 313

are crude forms of pattern analysers which operate automatically. They are con-
cerned with the extraction of meaning via contrast analysis. At the next level exist
the talents which are single ability systems, e.g. for language, playing a musical
instrument, and so on. Talents are slower, more flexible and more open to change.
Above them lie “small minds” which are again, special functional systems but
which can be wheeled in and out of consciousness as required. Consciousness
may act as the screen for the projection of data and evaluations carried out by
small minds. Consciousness does not have access to all small-mind data at any
one time. Hence, consciousness is controlled by one or a small number of small-
mind evaluative systems. What happens in consciousness is an exaggeration of
information stored at other levels.
These ideas are mirrored in different ways in many other theories. Jung’s notion
of archetypes may also be regarded as special purpose information processing
systems. Howard Gardner (1985) suggests the idea that the human mind is made
up of multiple intelligences. Each “intelligence” contains a core processing mech-
anism to do a particular job. These core mechanisms are influenced and developed
by the surrounding social culture that it relates to. Fodor (1985) has suggested
the term “modality of mind” to highlight the idea of varied, separate and special
processing capabilities. Hence, the emerging paradigm is that the human mind
is a fragmented organisation of mixed special purpose processing capabilities,
intelligences, talents and so on. Another, perhaps more familiar way of dissecting
the human psyche is in the tripartite system of preconscious, unconscious and
conscious. This system is applied to levels of attention and awareness (Dixon
1981; Epstein 1982). It is a system that has most in common with psychoanalytic
theories although the operation of the different levels is described somewhat dif-
ferently (Epstein 1982). Such distinctions are useful but fail to grapple with the
issue of innate special purpose information processing systems and how these are
psychobiologically coded.

Encapsulation
A major issue of current research taken up particularly by Ornstein, Howard
Gardner and Fodor is the degree of “encapsulation” of these special purpose pro-
cessing capabilities. That is, how open are they to background information lying
outside their special processing concerns? For example, no matter how much one
knows about the Ames room, the experience of this visual illusion is not altered.
In this sense, the perceptual process is encapsulated from background information
(Fodor 1985).
Leventhal (1984) (see also Greenberg and Safran 1987) suggests that the core
elements of emotional experience are to be found in sensory-motor patterns (see
page 31). These are shaped by experience into emotional schemata and cognitive
schemata. As a rule of thumb affect plays an important role of encapsulation of
information processing. For example, the greater the degree of aroused affect, the
more difficulty there is in using logical reasoning. In these situations, we may say
314 Beyond the power of reason

people are responding at a “gut level”, and are not thinking clearly; we suggest
a cooling-down period, and so on. An affect comes on line with particular styles
of appraising and information processing (Zajonc 1980, 1984; Tomkins 1981)
which are difficult to change so long as the affect remains highly aroused. Stress
and strong affect disrupt higher centres leading to a regression to more primitive
forms of response (e.g. fight/flight; Bailey 1987) and a failure in the inhibitory
control of higher centres (e.g. logical reasoning).
A different approach is that of state-dependent learning and retrieval (Reus et al.
1979; Bower 1981; Teasdale 1983; Gilbert 1984). Here, the evidence suggests
that what is learnt in one brain state is better recalled in that state. Sometimes this
may be an emotional state or a state induced by drugs. (A famous example is of a
character portrayed by Charlie Chaplin who only remembers a friend when he is
drunk.) Different brain states are associated with different encoding and retrieval
strategies (Reus et al. 1979; see also Iran-Nejad and Ortony 1984, for an innova-
tive approach to these issues). In Chapter 5, we examined how the pre-existing
physical state of an organism had a major effect on the elicitation of responses to
excitatory stimuli. Physical state is therefore also a key factor in encapsulation.
Epstein (1982) does not use the term encapsulation, preferring to use ideas of
preconscious processing. Nevertheless, he provides a good example of it in his
discussion of reflections of rapists:

. . . Both rapists said they felt badly about what they had done . . . They said
that in their normal state of mind they could not comprehend how they could
brutalize another human being, but they knew that they would do it again if
they were in the same emotional state of frustration and anger that preceded
the rapes.
(p.240)

. . . when asked if a more severe penalty for rape would have deterred him,
one of the rapists said that considerations of punishment would have made
no difference because, when he was in the state that led him to rape, nothing
could stop him. He pointed out that after rape he wept and despised himself
for having brutalized another human being, but before the rape, concern for
the victim’s and even his own welfare never occurred to him.
(p.241)

However we may wish to formulate the issue of encapsulation, it is a crucial

concept to our understanding of psychopathology (Bailey 1987). We do not yet
understand why specific individual evaluative response options appear to become
autonomously activated leading to rape, murder, depression, and so on. Delu-
sions are also highly encapsulated belief systems which are virtually impossible
to break in to. Furthermore, as Ornstein (1986) suggests, although we may try
to teach patients different skills to overcome difficulties, we are also engaged in
helping people to evaluate events in a different way. In other words, we are trying
 Beyond the power of reason 315

to teach them how to switch out of one special type of appraisal and use another.
However, this must involve working with the affect that encapsulates these evalu-
ative competencies.
Cognitive therapists and rational emotive therapists, by and large, focus on
logical reasoning and behavioural practice as the lever out of pathological states
of mind. There is some evidence that this works best for people who, in their pre-
morbid states, already demonstrate the talent for logical reasoning to overcome
life’s difficulties (Moorey 1987) and who can readily recognise the rationale of
the cognitive approach. Psychoanalysts on the other hand, believe that the faculty
of logical and moral reasoning should be suspended to allow unconscious evalu-
ations and desires to come into consciousness and be integrated. In other words,
they need to be projected onto the screen of consciousness. Hence the use of
free association. Whereas cognitive psychotherapists are more interested in tech-
niques to change dysfunctional thoughts, analysts are more interested in “reveal-
ing” to the patient the basis of his suffering. Gestalt therapists (Perls 1971) and
affect therapists (Greenberg and Safran 1986) suggest that penetrating the mean-
ing and images encoded within an affect is necessary for change. Jung believed
in bringing into consciousness, attitudes and appraisals that are part of archetypal
meaning making. For example, the hero archetype tends to appraise the self and
the outside world in ways related to needs to excel in one way or another or to
identify with some hero figure (idealising). Archetypes give rise to “complexes”
(combinations of images and ideas bound together by affects). The more autono-
mous a complex, the more encapsulated it becomes from other possibilities of
evaluation.
Whatever therapy appeals to us most, each therapy in its different ways is try-
ing to decode the special purpose information processing systems that have taken
charge of the psyche. In addition, there is an effort to open the person up to alter-
native ways of examine and evaluating himself and others. Put briefly, we are all
confronted by the problem of encapsulation in one form or another. Therapists
differ greatly in their methods for the “de-encapsulation” of meaning making.
Some stress action, while others stress insight. To my mind both are necessary to
a greater or lesser degree depending on the individual. In many cases, one has to
recruit affect (Greenberg and Safran 1987).

The mentalities of biosocial goals

The cognitive experimental theorists are primarily interested in cognitive pro-
cesses (memory, thinking, language, etc.). To some extent there is a tendency
to make special purpose processing systems into entities, whereas in brain state
theory and state dependent learning theory, these special purpose processing
capabilities would be seen as relating to patterns of brain functioning. The affect
theorists are interested in the role that affect plays in the organisation of psycho-
logical processes. In this book however, we have taken yet another perspective.
Our concern has been with the social; the evolution of social roles and the innate
316 Beyond the power of reason

knowledge and rules governing these roles. Russell Gardner (1988) has given us
the idea of PSALICs which are related to a special readiness to engage and enact
a social role which acts as a meaningful communication to self and other conspe-
cifics. Gardner points out that the recognition of facial expression (for example),
obeys largely innate rules (Eibl-Eibesfeldt 1980). This suggests a good deal of
preparation in the recognition and enacting of behavioural patterns to establish
role relationships. The power of the style of delivery of a message exists because
of special information processing capabilities for the decoding of social acts.
For example, during a Reagan–Carter debate, those who watched the interaction
thought that Reagan had done best (won). On the other hand, those who only read
the transcripts of the debate thought Carter had done best.
To what extent can we borrow the ideas emerging from cognitive and affect
psychology and apply them to our theories of biosocial goals? Although we must
be cautious in the absence of hard evidence, I think we can indeed use these ideas.
Chance (1984, 1986, 1988) for example, has suggested two very different types of
mentality (agonic and hedonic) which arise from a confluence of innate species-
specific capabilities and the social organisation in which that individual is a mem-
ber. The agonic groups are noted for their hierarchical structure of attention and a
preponderance of threat and defensive coding. The hedonic groups, however, are
noted for their mutually reinforcing social structures and their reassurance giving.
In other words, the signals that individuals attend to, respond to and emit are quite
different according to whether the social group is agonic or hedonic. Moreover,
Chance believes that this plays a central role in the organisation of the various
capabilities that exist within each individual member. In agonic groups, attention
is focussed on threat, concealing and fighting or avoiding, whereas in hedonic
groups attention is focussed on sharing, reinforcing and developing.
For Leary (1957) we noted how power and love were regarded as central organ-
ising processes involved in social interactions. From his work, theorists have
come to believe that it is the degree to which love and power are given or with-
held to self and others that make up our major forms of social interactions. The
work of McClelland (1985) has been concerned with the identification of primary
human motives, of which power and affiliation are central motives. In this book,
we have gone a stage further. We suggested that inclusive fitness gave rise to dif-
ferent domains of social activity which required innate competencies to be able
to exploit that social domain. In other words, to borrow Howard Gardner’s useful
way of conceptualising the human mind, we can say humans have multiple social
intelligences or competencies.
The term that I am going to use here is “mentality”. This term is used to suggest
a special-purpose appraisal system or competency for evaluating self and self–
other interactions. These appraisal systems are very much based upon particular
roles, be they care giving, co-operating or whatever. A social mentality provides
instruction about what to attend to in self and the other and what to exhibit, or
display in order to fulfil a particular role. A mentality also reflects the incentives
that are being pursued. A mentality reflects a preferred emotive-cognitive pattern
 Beyond the power of reason 317

and in this sense could be linked with Leventhal’s (1984) concept of a sensory-
motor pattern. In other words, social mentalities are emotive-evaluative patterns
(Leventhal and Scherer 1987). Logical reasoning is a separate talent that may be
“recruited in” to a social mentality. Mentalities give rise to different states of mind
(Horowitz and Zilberg 1983). Mentalities are also directly linked to psychobio-
logical state (see Chapters 4 and 5).
The four biosocial goals outlined throughout this book represent core elements
of human nature. Although these are by no means comprehensive or describe all
that the human mind is capable of, we have suggested that these biosocial goals
throw up most of the difficulties found in psychopathology. Following on from
our arguments, we can suggest that biosocial goals underlie separate social men-
talities. For example, when the mentality of agonistic competitiveness is promi-
nent, much of the attention is focussed on opportunities to compete and outdo
the other, or to avoid being put down or negatively evaluated. Affects are usually
energising (often hostile) unless defeat is expected or encountered. Attributional
style, when competing, is to blame the other and, in various ways, seek to down-
grade the other. This mentality is not only noted in its non-verbal signals but also
verbal signals are often associated with “put down” terms like “dumbo”, “burk”,
“turkey” and so on. When defeat is encountered however, there may be an activa-
tion of a yielding subroutine or submissiveness. When this mentality gets under
way, withdrawal, anxiety and depression become prominent and the attributional
style is negatively focussed on the self. The reason for this, as Price (1988) point
out, is to create in the mind of the loser the state which inhibits a further escalation
of fighting. In other words, yielding is co-ordinated and operated from within the
loser. Without this, animals would simply not accept the outcome of a conflict and
when recovered would go back and rechallenge. Each social mentality is designed
to create a role which is co-ordinated from within.
When the care-giving mentality is prominent, the attentional focus is on the
other to provide him with what is necessary to survive or prosper. In other words,
compared with competing, care giving provides a completely different way of
acting, feeling and thinking about the role of self and other and the nature of the
interaction. When a co-operative mentality is prominent, we seek to share with
others, seeing the other as neither stronger nor weaker than the self and we are
prepared to be reinforced by friendship (reassurance) given and received. Our
conscious aims become controlled more by the desire for justice, sharing and
participating rather than the desire for power.
Our various mentalities (or innate potentials for the construction of social roles)
evolved to co-ordinate action specific to social contexts. These, as we have argued
throughout the book, are related to care giving, care eliciting, competing and
co-operating. The implication of this is that what is experienced as reinforcing
depends very much on the mentality controlling the interaction(s). For example,
when using our competitive mentality (seeking dominance), we may be reinforced
by the perception that we have silenced the other and made him comply, withdraw
or back down. However, the same behaviour by the other, if we were trying to be
318 Beyond the power of reason

co-operative or caring, would not be reinforcing to us and instead, we might feel

sorry or guilty, because we had violated our desire or moral rule. Therefore, what
is socially reinforcing to us depends very much on the mentality being used and
this depends on the prominent biosocial goals and incentives being pursued.1 This
relates to the organisation of the personality (Chance 1986) which in turn relates
to the organisation of brain states. The degree to which these mentalities are elic-
ited from the outside, by the group structure and relations, has been emphasised
by Chance (1988).
Ornstein (1986) has pointed out that “small minds” have access to conscious-
ness but not all of them at one time. A similar suggestion can be made for our
mentalities. Indeed, it is actually quite difficult to compete, co-operate, give care
and elicit care all at the same time. And when faced with ambiguous social con-
texts, we may find ourselves switching about in our mentalities. At one point we
may try to co-operate with others, but if they appear to be unco-operative we may
either withdraw or start to compete. When the activation of a specific mental-
ity tends to encapsulate itself from other mentalities (possibly via the power of
affect, or by the very fragile supra-ordinate, integrative schemata of self) we may
observe regressive states of mind (Horowitz and Zilberg 1983; Bailey 1987). If a
person is not able to “switch off” this mentality, he remains stuck in a regressive
state and increasingly organises data in terms of the prominent (encapsulated)
mentality.
Of course, it is rare that a single mentality dominates all of psychic life,
although in some forms of psychopathology it may. Leary (1957) pointed out, for
example, that there tend to be “patterns of adjustment”. That is, individuals tend
to use one type of mentality for dealing with the major domains of social life.
During development, however, we tend to engage in increasingly sophisticated
efforts to blend together our different mentalities and to reduce conflict between
the pursuance of different goals. For example, with moral development, hostile
competing is balanced with various constraints imposed by our co-operative men-
tality. We may wish our voice to heard and listened to (i.e. gain sociocultural
advance and positive social attention holding) but may be wary of any damage
or hurt we may inflict on others in the process. We may come to seek prestige
and desire to be appreciated and valued rather than pursuing hostile dominance.
On the other hand, if we become too wary of the damage or hurt we might inflict
on others or too caring and guilt prone, we may find it quite difficult to resist the
demands of others and, to use a layman’s term, feel “dumped on”. In other words,
as makes sense in evolutionary terms, a good part of our social life involves trying
to decode the issues of context. To help (or hinder) us in our endeavours, we have
a long developmental history which provides some information on the context
appropriateness of different aspects of our different mentalities. In other words,
we will have been reinforced or punished for caring, care eliciting, competing or
co-operating.
In some forms of psychopathology, key elements of specific mentalities (or
social intelligences) seem to be missing or are inhibited in the presence of strong
 Beyond the power of reason 319

affect (e.g. rapists perhaps). Sometimes certain biosocial goals and incentives do
not seem prominent in the organisation of the personality. Ornstein (1986) gives
an insight into this with the following example of a psychopath. Dan had gone to
a restaurant with a friend and on arrival had yelled at the waitress, telling her the
food was not good and demanding to see the manager. When the manager arrived
he continued to be abusive. The friend who was with Dan at the time asked him
whether he was really interested in the food or whether he was just trying to cause
trouble. He also asked him how he thought others felt about him as a human
being. Dan’s answer was this (p.137):

Who cares? If they were on top they would do the same to me. The more you
walk on them the more they like it. It’s like royalty in the old days. It makes
them nervous if everyone is equal to everyone else. Watch. When we leave
I’ll put my arm around that waitress and ask her if she still loves me, pat her
on the fanny, and she’ll be ready to roll over anytime I wiggle my little finger.

Apparently, something like this did happen, but for our analysis one should note
the extreme hostile competitiveness of this behaviour and also the sexual impli-
cations involved. This looks very much like a competitive (agonic) mentality at
work. When wondering how Dan had got like this, Dan responded in the follow-
ing way:

I can remember the first time in my life when I began to suspect I was a little
different from most people. When I was in High School, my best friend got
leukaemia and died and I went to his funeral. Everyone else was crying and
feeling sorry for themselves, and as they were praying to get him into heaven,
I suddenly realised that I wasn’t feeling anything at all. He was a nice guy
but what the hell. That night I thought about it some more and found out that
I wouldn’t miss my mother and father if they died and that I wasn’t too nuts
about my brother and sisters, for that matter. I figured that there wasn’t any-
body I really cared for, but then, I didn’t need any of them anyway so I rolled
over and went to sleep.
(p.139)

There are many ways we can consider the organisation of the psychopathic per-
sonality. There is considerable evidence that they are less sensitive to aversive
stimuli. It also appears that they are low on empathy and, as Dan makes clear,
seem to have little or no capacity for acting in any co-operative or caring way. It
is this combination, rather than low sensitivity to punishment by itself, that makes
the psychopathy. Psychopaths are more interested in power than being loved or
appreciated. Perhaps in order to be caring, one has to have felt cared for in early
life. In other words, the whole attachment system needs to be available. Be this as
it may, there are various reasons why the psychopath is missing these particular
forms of social intelligences or mentalities. Some argue that it is innate and relates
320 Beyond the power of reason

to genes. Others argue that it may relate to birth trauma, especially loss of oxygen
causing cortical damage, and others argue that it is learned as a result of trau-
matic early experience. In all likelihood, the psychopath simply is biologically
without the more later (phylogenetically speaking) developed social (hedonic)
mentalities. I do not think it would be pointing too fine a point on it to see Dan’s
behaviour as a predominance of a reptilian brain in human form (Bailey 1987).
He controls the behaviour of others by setting up contexts to make others fearful
of him. The psychopath is not short on reasoning in this domain.

Innate knowing
The idea that humans are born with innate potentials for meaning making has
always fascinated me. This has been a central idea in philosophical enquiry, trace-
able to Plato. Kant believed that meaning making is created by “things” conform-
ing to pre-existent patterns within the mind. These pre-existent patterns for the
construction of meaning he termed schemata. These are “procedures of imagina-
tion by which pre-existing categories of understanding are applied to incoming
perceptions.” They are a set of “a priori principles, conceptions that are already in
the mind: they inform us about what something means” (Goldstein 1985, p.164).
This links us with concepts such as archetype (Jung followed Kant and Plato in
his approach), and also with concepts such as symbols of representation. Our
concern here is the degree to which innate meaning-making competencies are
recruited into the social construction of the self and its experiences; the way indi-
viduals come to “know” both themselves and others.
The idea that each biosocial goal has a different, innate mentality, which
involves a special way of appraising, evaluating, structuring and constructing role
relationships is crucial. It provides us insight into prepared ways for self-organisa-
tion, self-evaluation and role enactments. The easiest way to highlight this aspect
of the theory is by considering again the yielding subroutine of ritualistic, agonis-
tic behaviour. When conspecifics are engaged in competing for resources, there
is a continual monitoring of the strength of each against each. In other words, we
see the operation of a very particular kind of appraisal system (see pages 43–47).
At some point, one will evaluate that he is outpointed or overpowered and that
to continue will result in serious injury. Interestingly enough, the more serious
and pronounced the yielding subroutine, the more usual it is that at one time the
defeated animal was a high-status animal (Price and Sloman 1987).
Whereas the defeated animal simply acts and biologically responds to defeat
with yielding, the human subject may have conscious access to his own yield-
ing. In other words, what is projected onto the screen of consciousness is a read-
out of the instructions contained in a biosocial mentality. The innate knowledge,
or innate evaluative style, of the yielding subroutine are, “give up, you’ve lost;
behave like a loser” (Price 1988). It is this information which gets sent into con-
sciousness (i.e. “think like a loser”). Whereas the animal simply behaves submis-
sively, the human subject thinks about himself submissively and judges himself as
 Beyond the power of reason 321

inferior, unable, weak, incompetent, etc. He appraises himself in terms of worth

and (in)capability to achieve. The desire to achieve can be related to a more primi-
tive desire to obtain resource-holding potential. As Ornstein (1986) makes clear,
when such data come into consciousness, it is usually in very exaggerated form.
Moreover, the conscious “thinking” of oneself in the role of the defeated, may act
as an internal positive feedback mechanism which keeps the yielding subroutine
switched on. Hence, our ability to think of ourselves as “losers” is a potential,
given a priori. Furthermore, it has its own physiological state and control mecha-
nisms. If a person becomes lost or stuck in the role of the “loser”, he may falsely
identify with this (archetypal) state and way of being in the world. Apart from
greater self-awareness of his state, it is little different from the defeated state of
any animal. If our patient says, “this is the real me”, then the therapist’s job is to
redirect attention to ask not: “is this the real me?”, but “is this all that I am (have
been or can be)?” The yielding subroutine is indeed one symphony we can play –
it is as real as that of the winner, lover, helper and so on.
I hope enough has been said here to provide some suggestions on the nature
of innate social mentalities. Different mentalities will construe roles in different
ways. To an outside observer, one may regard a person’s evaluative style (self as a
failure) as illogical or irrational, but in my view it would be a great error to regard
these simply as errors of reasoning. We may, in the simpler cases, use the talent of
reasoning to override another mentality, but that is a different issue. Our rational
or reasoning talent is of late phylogenetic origin whereas our yielding subroutine
mentality is of a much earlier origin. Furthermore, reasoning is a talent not a bio-
social goal or primary motive. It should also be considered that in some therapies
such as rational emotive therapy, the therapist can rightly point out to a person
that equating a behaviour (e.g. failing a certain task) with a personal label (“I am a
failure”) is indeed erroneous. However, we must be careful not to mix our levels.
The logic of the primitive yielding subroutine is, in fact, specifically designed to
produce global changes to defeat. To a defeated animal, it is most important that
it recognises its subordinate status and does not get ideas above its station. Hence,
global self-labelling is not illogical to a primitive mentality; it was designed to do
just that. Moreover, the biological state that is activated in yielding has a powerful
effect on the evaluative style (Gilbert 1988a, b).
Sometimes, as Greenberg and Safran (1987) point out, people experience strong
affect to certain situations, but do not have conscious or language access to the
meaning or source of the mentality that is being used to produce that affect. You
may recall the example used in Chapter 11 of the socially anxious person who got
in touch with the images of his anxiety. He came up with the idea that, “I had the
image of myself as this pathetic creature, worthy only of contempt.” (Greenberg
and Safran 1987, p.6). By working with the affect, the patient came to articulate
an aspect of his innate (archetypal) knowledge, a way of knowing and perceiv-
ing himself in a particular role – the role of the defeated or the omega. Only then
could he reflect on and deactivate the power of this archetypal mentality by bring-
ing it into consciousness and thereby link it, or integrate it, with other mentalities.
322 Beyond the power of reason

Our mentalities therefore, are both personal and collective. The anti-predator
defence system and yielding subroutine we share with most species; the despair
over loss of a loved object with a few; and guilt and moral thinking we probably
share with none. When we engage a depressive person, what is revealed is both
something personal to the experience of that person, but also we observe a style of
knowing and being in the world which stretches back millions of years, is present
in various forms of life and which is brought into human consciousness. We are,
in Jung’s terms, seeing an archetypal experience, be it biologically, psychologi-
cally or socially triggered and be it mild or severe.
What we see in psychopathology then, is the result of the use of a particular
innate form of social mentality. The more encapsulated the mentality, the greater
(usually) the pathology. Our mentalities may well have been shaped, developed,
amplified and modified by cultural and learning experiences but their core mean-
ing and appraisal process are given innately. Therefore, psychopathology in many
ways represents a keyhole onto phylogenetic states of being. Through our psycho-
pathology we have conscious access to a phylogenetic history.

Summary and cautions

We can summarise some of these points in the following way:

1 The human psyche is made up of different mentalities. These evolved to

enable animals to become social actors in the social world. In other words,
the human mind is innately equipped with social mentalities (e.g. PSALICs)
which are role serving.
2 These mentalities and special-purpose appraisal systems have their own eval-
uative styles. Mentalities control attention and also provide knowledge about
self–other interactions. According to the mentality an individual uses, he may
be particularly attentive to cues signalling caring, co-operating, competing
and so on. Moreover, he may use these mentalities to judge the degree to
which he is himself successfully caring, care eliciting or competing.
3 These mentalities therefore, act as core referent points for self-knowledge.
In other words, not only does each mentality evaluate the actions and inten-
tions of others directed towards the self, but also evaluates the intentions and
actions being directed outwards.

The self
The concept of the “personal self” has plagued philosophy and psychology for
many centuries. In recent years there has been a rapid acceleration of interest
in the notion of the self, especially in social psychology (e.g. Baumeister 1982;
Goldstein 1985). Plato believed that there is a personal soul imprisoned within
the body only to be released at death. In older philosophical traditions, especially
 Beyond the power of reason 323

those concerned with the place of God in human affairs, the personal self and
the soul were never clearly separated and were often interchangeable concepts.
Psychological suffering was seen as the soul’s transgression against the desires of
God (Zilboorg and Henry 1941), i.e. a significant “other”. This led to a long tradi-
tion of viewing mental distress as sin rather than illness and to the importance of
atonement (a kind of suffering to cure suffering). Although illness may, in some
respects, be seen as a preferable explanation to sin, it is not without its prob-
lems. Wriggling out of these confusions is no easy task, especially since humans
appear to have great desires to seek redemption for personal suffering in terms of
appeasement to some external “other”. Hence, psychotherapy has often been seen
in the same arena as religious counselling (London 1986).
For our purposes however, the self is something that needs to be explained in
evolutionary rather than mystical terms; something that emerges from the evolu-
tion of biological forms rather than being pre-existent or independent of them.
This should not imply however, that transpersonal states of being or of mystical
experiences do not exist or do not have profound importance to people’s lives
(Wilber 1983a, b; Coxhead 1985), but only that human suffering relates solely to
activity in evolved mental functions. Hence, we approach the issue of the self as
the product of evolved properties of the psychobiological organisation of human
beings.
The idea of a personal self is central to very many schools of psychological
theorising. In the literature we have concepts such as self-actualisation, self-
determination, self-organisation, self-schema, self-intention, self-efficacy, agency,
and so on. In a fascinating approach to self-knowledge, Neisser (1988) has illumi-
nated five types of self-knowledge. These are: (1) the ecological self, derived from
time and place knowledge; (2) the interpersonal self, derived from the enactment
of interactive, interpersonal behaviour; (3) the extended self, derived from internal
memories and identification with routines; (4) the private self, derived from rec-
ognition of distinctiveness/differences in the experiences of the self compared to
others; (5) the conceptual self, derived from notions of a self concept which in part
is a combination of the other forms of self-knowledge and in part formed from an
appraisal of abilities, talents and aims/goals. From our perspective self-knowledge
rests on major construct systems that are interactionally focussed. Each mentality
we have discussed is role related. It seems impossible to consider the idea of a self
concept which, at the same time, does not include any reference to others. Even
if we consider the concept of autonomy or independence, we have also to ask the
question: independent of whom or what? In other words, freedom to, also implies
freedom from.

Self–other differentiation
The problem with concepts of a personal self is that this domain of debate cov-
ers a conglomerate of separate concepts and issues. In psychoanalytic theory it
is believed that the baby emerges from a non-differentiated relationship and, via
324 Beyond the power of reason

maturity and experience, begins to construct itself as a separate being. However,

this does not seem to be a valid view (Horner 1985). Although a baby may have
no separate self-awareness, this does not mean that it experiences a symbiotic
relationship with his care givers. The capability to distinguish self from others
is essential for the operation of social mentalities. Indeed, the human infant is
biologically prepared to exhibit certain classes of behaviour given the presenta-
tion of various external stimuli (e.g. the smiling face of the mother – see Chap-
ter 6). Hence, the baby comes into the world as a social being. Although animals
may not have any coherent competencies for self-identification (e.g. the ability
to recognise themselves in a mirror), it is more than likely that they do recognise
a difference, distinction and/or boundary between themselves and other conspe-
cifics. Hence, one concern of the self relates to the competencies for self–other
differentiation.
To put this another way, one aspect of self-appraisal lies in the capability to rec-
ognise boundaries between self and others. It lies with the perception of contrast
and difference between self and others. In primitive animals it may be no more
than this. For example, the subordinate is able to recognise the dominant and co-
ordinate his actions appropriate to that relationship. This does not mean that the
subordinate or the dominant have any coherent self-awareness. However, with the
development for the capacity of empathy, not only is it possible to gain insight
into the other, but one can gain insight into oneself. Having consciousness of this
ability allows for the development of a social presentation of self. Importantly,
empathy involves the capacity for understanding of both self and others (Gold-
stein and Michaels 1985). One aspect of the self therefore, relates to the complex
domain of the differentiation of self from others which makes social interactions
possible. Ryle (1982) has given a fascinating description of psychotherapeutic
procedures based on this kind of issue. With increasingly sophisticated forms
of conspecific relating, the domains and dimensions of differentiation and the
appraisal systems necessary to co-ordinate social roles within those dimensions,
also grew in complexity.
We can observe the importance of self–other differentiation and its role impli-
cations in religious behaviour. For some, the personal self should try to compre-
hend the intentions of God (decipher his or her messages via prophets or Popes
or reading of the signs, e.g. the entrails of some unfortunate sheep). In this way,
information is gained making it possible to enact a particular role or sequence
of behaviours. From here grows the desire to enact (in thought, word and deed)
the correct relationship with the “Commander”. Hence, the notion of Command-
ments, which are role scripts (not to steal from others or make off with their
spouses, etc.). Unfortunately, the reading of “the signs” and the deciphering of
God’s messages have often been no more than projections of power and domi-
nance role mentalities.
Suffice it to say then, that self-differentiation has, as its origin, the enactment of
the social role; the self and the other and the pattern of interaction between them.
Because we can enact various roles, we can experience ourselves as different
 Beyond the power of reason 325

actors. We can experience ourselves as the winner, the defeated, the victim, the
altruist, the care giver, and so on.

The dialogues of the self

The issue of self–other differentiation evolved from the capacity to enact different
roles, or, as Gardner (1988) calls them, PSALICs. These roles predate language
but form the basis for the acquisition of biological and sociocultural fitness. With
the development of language, symbolic thought and self-consciousness, extra
dimensions to the construction and experience of self are immediately opened up.
As many theorists have suggested self-consciousness, provides a kind of recursive
process, a mirror within. We are able to observe ourselves as objects and enact a
commentary on our thoughts, emotions and behaviours. We may praise or pun-
ish ourselves. We can re- run events in our minds and appraise them differently
from the time at which they occurred; hence, we may experience different affects
when recalling the event than those we experienced at the time of the event. We
can anticipate events and we can play with a variety of possible outcomes, fearing
some and hoping for others. Consciousness allows our different mentalities liter-
ally to talk to each other.
Many of these issues pertain to the development of the internal dialogue. Wat-
kins (1986) has given an interesting reflection on the developmental processes
of what she called imaginal dialogues and compares and contrasts the work of
Piaget, Vygotsky, Mead and object relation theorists. She makes the interesting
point that consciousness also has access to creative intelligence and reasoning. In
consciousness, we are able to create, around a skeleton of (archetypal) meaning
making, variations on a theme. This is seen most clearly in the creative endeav-
ours of the writer who allows different characters to form (in imagination) and
engage them in interacting sequences. Dreams may also be seen as the enactment
of fantasy roles. We may dream of ourselves as being loved, hated, inhibited,
threatened, abandoned and so on. The dream is a fantasy play that we script,
produce and act (Karle et al. 1980). The dream can be a cognitive-affective inner
dialogue; an enacting of roles. In fact, the human power for improvisation and
adapting of innate themes is profound.
For some, the inner dialogue is at the centre of the development and construc-
tion of the self. George Herbert Mead may well have been one of the first to
articulate how important the human ability for inner dialogue is. He says:

There is a field, a sort of inner forum, in which we are the only spectators and
the only actors. In that field each one of us confers with himself. We carry on
something of a drama. If a person retires to a secluded spot, and sits down and
thinks, he talks to himself. He asks and answers questions. He develops his
ideas and arranges and organises his ideas as he might in a conservation with
someone else. He may prefer talking to himself to talking to somebody else.
(As quoted in Watkins 1986, p.19)
326 Beyond the power of reason

The idea of conferring requires us to examine within, to listen to various apprais-

als, or to receive messages and communications from within. This provides the
potential for a high-level construction of meaning that seeks consistency. In my
view, conferring involves the ability to throw up on the screen of consciousness
alternative appraisals. These appraisals have an innate core of meaning but have
also been developed by life’s experiences, rather as Jung’s analogy to the crystal
(see page 37). The “voices” or appraisals of such dialogues are not passive and
passionless but are active and often charged with affect (see Firestone 1986).
For Mead it was the assuming of roles that led to the emergence of self-con-
sciousness (Farr 1980, 1987) and that at times, the assuming of these roles took
place within the same person. As for Gardner (1988), so for Mead. Social roles
create meaning via their intended effects on another. Mead, apparently “ . . . saw
the origins of language in gesture” (Farr 1987, p.5) as does Gardner (1988). Mead
believed that:

Mind emerges “naturally” out of the “conversation of gestures” and that this
occurred phylogenetically, in the emergence of the species and occurs again,
ontogenetically in the development of each individual. Mind arises through
communication by a conversation of gestures in a social process or context of
experience – not communication through Mind.
(Farr 1987, p.9)

At many points in our discussion, we see the interaction of many threads of

human mental life. There is biological and sociocultural fitness, the evolved
emergence of roles or PSALICs, the archetypal appraisal systems necessary for
co-ordinating these roles and their psychobiological responses, and there is the
development of language from gesture and of consciousness which allows for
different appraisal systems to speak and confer.
Farr (1980, 1987) makes a fascinating point that this conferring is often in
language although visual conferring can occur (as in dreams). It may be that it is
from this ability to inwardly confer allied with consciousness that a sense of self is
constructed. Generally, when we confer with ourselves we listen to a kind of inner
speech, but this speech is often not well coded in spoken linguistic form. Indeed, it
is sometimes difficult to know what our different mentalities are “talking” about.
To enable us to understand the inner speech, the inner appraisal systems arising
from our innate meaning-making capacities, there has grown a whole psycho-
therapeutic movement called psychoanalysis. The psychoanalytical endeavour is
focussed purely on listening and articulating. Image, affect and language are inter-
twined and many of our innate meaning-making processes are coded with affect
(Greenberg and Safran 1987). Whatever therapy is applied, there is a need to
suspend the moral mentalities and, at least for investigative purposes, the logical
reasoning mentalities. It is as if in some cases the language of the moral mentality,
concerned as it is with reciprocation, seeks to drown out all others. Consciousness
requires the linguistic articulation of archetypal appraisals. In cognitive therapy
 Beyond the power of reason 327

this can sometimes be obtained by inference chaining. (An inference chain is a

form of reasoning that looks like this: “If I fail my exams, others will think I’m
stupid; people don’t like stupid people therefore they won’t like me. Therefore
I shall always be disliked and not respected, etc.”)
The degree to which these archetypal appraisals are “deeply unconscious” is
a source of debate. It may be that a person judges himself a failure (as a person)
because of falling below some standard or perceives that, compared with others,
he is not doing so well. Whatever techniques we may use to alleviate his suffering,
we try to bring to his attention (usually via linguistic articulation and behavioural
practice) that (in this example) the person is being tyrannised by a competitive
mentality – a struggle for power, supremacy and control. That is, his suffering is
related to being overly controlled by an archetypal theme of dominance and needs
to control attention holding by the exhibition of competency.
Although therapies like Rational Emotive Therapy (RET) do not theorise in
these terms, nevertheless, they pay special attention to the language a person
uses. They are quick to pick up on dialogues such as “I must succeed; I demand
to be respected; I must be loved.” In Mead’s terms these would be gestures
and communications with the self. As long as the person is persuaded by such
crude, absolute evaluations arising from a primitive mentality, then he will be
prone to suffer. The difference between RET and the theory proposed here is
that the energising power of the “musts” does not come from errors of rea-
soning (although at one level they are indeed errors in the use of reason) but
comes from a kind of encapsulated appraisal system of primitive origin. That
is, they are problems of goals and role constructions. The person who must
succeed is driven by the will to power. The agonic states of being relate in turn
to pre-human group living and territorial breeding strategies. As mentioned in
Chapter 2, the strength of a belief relates not to cortical processes but to limbic
system activation (MacLean 1985).
In general, we can say that conferring with ourselves is a form of internalised
interaction. In many cases these interactions involve feeding consciousness with
different types of appraisal upon which the self constructs are developed. The
appraisal systems, originally designed to function interpersonally, now come to
function intrapersonally. Just as we can evaluate others as caring or hostile, so we
can pass these judgements of ourselves.
The reader will be aware that I have put together different types of theory (e.g.
structural, mentality, versus process, brain state). Structure and process models
require more detail than we can offer here. For example, changes in brain state
have a significant impact on the recruitability of mentalities. At this point, how-
ever, enough has been said to introduce the salient ideas. Another problem is that
we have given the impression that humans are very fragmented animals, where
various mentalities conflict and compete for control over action. To a large extent
this is probably true and is mirrored in our literary fictions. However, the psyche
is also a system and consequently has systemic properties. In the next part of this
chapter we look briefly at this aspect.
328 Beyond the power of reason

The development of the self

As the self grows, there is a gradual unfolding of competencies which allows the
child to understand and enact increasingly complex species roles (Neisser 1988).
The emergence of language, empathy, self-awareness and various memories of
previously experienced roles, provide important components of the skills neces-
sary to become a fully social being. Furthermore, as a result of these develop-
ments, the child becomes increasingly able to self confer, “as if in a role”, or to
prescribe roles to others as in play. In psychoanalytic theory it is the internalisa-
tion of the acts directed towards the child (usually by the parent) that become
internalised and the source of ego identity (Greenberg and Mitchell 1983). In
other words, the child comes to confer with himself in the style of relations expe-
rienced in transaction with others.
In Freudian theory, an aspect of this relates to the development of the super-
ego. Some analysts point out that the superego sounds remarkably like mother.
The more critical and hostile a parent–child relationship, the more likely it is
that the child will self confer in this manner and will also prescribe hostile roles
to self and others (including play objects, e.g. dolls). Conversely, the more lov-
ing the relationship, the greater the degree of internalised nurturing and support-
ive self-conferring. In a sense there is an internalisation of agonic or hedonic
gestures. The important issues are the degree to which defensive and agonic
mentalities become the habitual style for self-conferring, role prescribing and
self-understanding.
The child is not passive, waiting to internalise as if a tabula rasa. Rather, he is
going through a process of continual inward transformation. For example, Rutter
(1987a) points out that a three-year-old may be deterred from touching a forbid-
den object by appeals to the object’s fragility. But it is not until about age 5, that
appeals to the fact that the object belongs to another will have any effect. In other
words, until a certain age, the child is unable to construct himself in the role of
a respecter of another’s property. Parents need to understand these developmen-
tal aspects to avoid using age-inappropriate controls and appeals. The ability to
understand the nature of a role is therefore age related.
There are many developmental theories concerning the age relatedness of
understanding different roles (Bee 1985). As the child grows, he becomes more
able to distinguish himself from others and to relate in different domains. For
example, trust versus mistrust, guilt, autonomy, intimacy and so on. Kegan
(1982) suggests that what evolves over time is an increasing complexification of
self–other differentiations and ways of socially relating. This approach is called
a developmental constructionist approach. Kegan believes that, over time, there
emerge different constructions of the self. The self grows through transaction
with the environment as it becomes capable of understanding different aspects
of relationships. If the environment is nurturing and supportive of the change in
self–other differentiation complexity and role enactments (as the child begins to
act a more autonomous role, for example) then progress may be made. However,
 Beyond the power of reason 329

at each stage there is conflict between moving on to a new self organisation which
incorporates new competencies. This is because although something is gained
from the new self-organisation, something is also lost. For example, as the child
comes to give up idealising his parents, he may gain a greater sense of autonomy
and equality. However, he loses the safety of that all-powerful other on whom he
can rely and model himself and takes on increased personal responsibility. These
responsibilities include moral choices.
In general, the development of the self moves through stages of change as new
competencies and role understanding come into being. Recently, attention has
been focussed on the fact that the construction of the self can be future directed.
In imagination we construct ourselves in the way we would like to be in the future
(Markus and Nurius 1986) and also the way we would not like to be (Ogilvie
1987). With insight and foresight, the child comes to develop aspirations and ide-
als for how a future self would be. These are modelled and derived from the
cultural reinforcement practices. These become important incentives for the
development of a future self and are very important in the organisation of social
behaviour in the present (Markus and Nurius 1986) provided they are deemed real
possibilities.
If we invest a lot in a future self, an ideal, this can be helpful or harmful.
We may become locked into the pursuance of incentives which are age inap-
propriate. We do not allow a new self-identity to come through if it threatens our
overinvested incentives and social identities. An example may be of a teenager
who dreams of becoming a mathematician (perhaps to win parental approval).
He invests in his studies and gets to university. In the second year however, he
becomes progressively unable to study or sustain attention. He becomes restless
and seeks psychological help. Only painfully does he discover that his childhood
dream is no longer appropriate for him; that he finds mathematics boring and
would much rather be out with girls, studying literature, playing cricket or travel-
ling the world. What will it take for him to change and how will his significant
relationships support or punish this movement to change? The loss of a major
incentive may not only invalidate a whole chain of related incentives (Klinger
1977) but may invalidate a construction of self. This is particularly noted with the
loss of a loved object and can lead to the emergence of very different self–other
role schemata (Horowitz et al. 1980).
In general then, we can say the following. As the psyche develops and unfolds,
it engages a collective aspect (species specific) and a temperamental aspect (indi-
vidual). In other words, I arrive in the world with specific potentials for being me.
These potentials I largely share with others by virtue of being a human being and
the temperamental characteristics which may be individual to me. But the process
of becoming involves engaging a social world and learning about the meaning of
my collective role possibilities and temperament attributes. The social relation-
ships in which I find myself do not “add on” to me, but actually penetrate into
the structural dynamics of my biological form (Sroufe and Fleeson 1986). As
I learn and grow, my nervous system changes. As Adolf Meyer suggested, every
330 Beyond the power of reason

psychic change involves a physical change and vice versa (Rutter 1986). In the
early stages of my development, I have very little choice about how the “me-ness”
is to be educated and therefore little choice over how I will start to confer with
myself. My various capabilities are modified by interactions. With the growth of
the ability to imagine, reflect and anticipate, we may become more self organising
in our structure of intents. Parental aspirations or commandments may be dropped
or rebelled against; groups lose their appeal and new relationships are sought.
Within these new relationships we will become changed. In other words, in regard
to our personal selves there is also a selection of possible and potential selves;
that is, possible and potential forms of role which, in their enactment, become the
source for self-construction.2
Similar ideas have been developed by Oatley and Bolton (1985). They also
suggest that selfhood is rooted in social roles. Roles provide not only an identity
but also provide for plans, goals, hopes, expectations, etc. If the successful enact-
ment of a valued role is perceived to be impossible, or becomes invalidated by the
inability or refusal of others to validate (reinforce) the role, i.e. bestow value on it,
then depression may ensue. Vulnerability to depression can arise when the person
perceives himself to have few possibilities for successful enactments, alternative
roles that are limited to selfhood. In the view here we would suggest that it is via
the successful enactment of social roles that a person gains sociocultural fitness
(and this is dependent on social reciprocality to a role) and hence social attention
holding.

The self as an integrator

So far we have looked at the issues of self relating to: (1) self–other differentia-
tion; (2) the development of the internal dialogue arising from a socially interac-
tive life: and (3) the issue of unfolding competencies for role enactments which
feed back onto (1) and (2). The construction of a personal self emerges out of our
internal dialogues and role prescribing (to self and others) and this in turn rests
on a seedbed of evolved species-specific social mentalities. Because of this we
must be cautious of general terms such as self-efficacy or self-control for these
are related to specific attributes. An individual may have high self-efficacy in, say,
one-to-one caring, or believe himself to be of good moral fibre, but may be all at
sea when it comes to chairing a committee or taking on a leadership role. Indeed,
acting with authority may conflict with his view (role) of himself as caring.
At this point we can look at a different view of the self. This view is not primar-
ily concerned with self–other differentiation but rather with integration. In this
approach the self has a functional role rather than being a passive emergent prop-
erty of mind. The author most strongly identified with this view of the self is Jung.
For Jung the self was a special kind of archetype, responsible for differentiating
and integrating other archetypal potentials and thus, bringing into consciousness
multiple possibilities for being.
 Beyond the power of reason 331

Samuels (1985, p.91) suggests a working definition of the self as “the potential
for integration of the total personality”. As Samuels makes clear, the concept of
self is a key to Jung’s idea of individuation and personality. Individuation implies
“becoming oneself” and accepting those parts of oneself which one may at first
dislike:

Jung refers to the “achievement of a greater personality” . . . by such inte-

gration, though he acknowledged that the integration of the Shadow, imply-
ing acceptance of rejected, repressed and as yet unlived aspects of oneself is
painful, particularly when what is involved is the withdrawal of projections
onto other people. The self becomes an image not only of a more complete
person but also of the goal of life and in this context we can rightly speak of
attaining or realising one self.
(Samuels 1985, p.102)

There are indeed many thinkers who see this integrating and “becoming”
process as central to healthy functioning and adaptation (Graham 1986). This
approach is mirrored most in the humanists such as Maslow and Rogers, the
“self” psychologist Kohut and, of course, the existentialists. But what Jung tried
to express is that the art of becoming involves the integration of forms of being
that have their origin in pre-human life forms. It is this aspect which gives Jungian
theory its psychobiological potential.
Some writers, such as Horowitz and Zilberg (1983), provide an illuminating
discussion on how the self can regress to less differentiated states of being; that
the organisation of self-schemata is not at the level of a supraordinate (integra-
tive) organisation of different potentials, but becomes encapsulated by the activity
of one mentality. The suggestion is that there are supraordinate schemata of the
self which are capable of integrating a varied array of possible states of being (or
mind). Their approach seems to me quite Jungian, but sadly Jung is never men-
tioned. Many of the states of mind they discuss could be regarded as kinds of psy-
chobiological activations of (primitive) archetypal appraisal systems (mentalities)
which come on line in a rather encapsulated form. In other words, a person can
get locked into construing himself in only one role (e.g. the role of the defeated,
the abandoned, etc.).
Jung, of course, went much further and suggested that the themes of integration
had their own symbolic language, recognisable in dreams and fantasies and that
the self needed to bring into consciousness archetypal potentials that were uncon-
scious, i.e. to expand the awareness of a person’s varied potentials for being. He
also believed that the self should come into its own during the second half of life.
Returning to his religious and Platonic origins, the integration of the psyche rep-
resented for him a spiritual growth and set in motion the opportunity for the acqui-
sition of deeper levels of meaning and meaning making. For Jung, this bringing
together made more than the sum of the parts.
332 Beyond the power of reason

The mind as a system

When we begin to think of the concept of self in this way, we engage questions of
structural cohesion and systems analysis. It may be possible to regard archetypes
as forms of mentality, or potentials for the construction of social roles. These
potential constructions involve innate knowing and evaluating which may or may
not be conscious. They may also have their roots in sensory-motor patterns. How-
ever, when we come to consider the issue of integration, it is immediately appar-
ent that this is a systems property.
Leaving aside for the moment the complications of conscious knowing, it is a
fact that any system we care to think of has self-organisational properties. Atoms,
molecules, universes, cells and frogs are all examples of self-organising systems
(Bateson 1980; Jantsch 1980; Maturana 1983; Dell 1985; Schwartz and Wiggins
1986). These are all structural forms which represent different kinds of relation-
ships between constituent elements. For example, the organisation of electrons,
neutrons and protons make up a stable structure called an atom. Atoms vary in
their form and stability according to the arrangement of these components. In
other words, an atom is an identifiable, self-organising system (Jantsch 1980).
Atoms themselves become the components of higher and more complex systems,
namely molecules. Again, the structural cohesion of the molecule is determined
by the relationship between the atoms, e.g. how they are bonded together; some
molecules have tightly bonded atoms, others are less tightly bonded. A relation-
ship between molecules brings about a new structural entity (system), e.g. hydro-
gen and oxygen bring about the entity of water. Water does not exist at the level
of hydrogen or oxygen, but comes into existence from the structural cohesion (or
relationship formed) between hydrogen and oxygen. Molecules can form relation-
ships with other molecules to form compounds, and so the story goes on, creat-
ing ever more complex structures from systems (e.g. molecules) of systems (e.g.
atoms). These structures themselves have greater complexity and properties than
the systems from which they are created. Sperry (1986, pp.20–21) sums up the
current opposition to deterministic and reductionist philosophies in the following
way:

Opposed to this long dominant physicalist-behaviorist interpretation is the

view which I here uphold and which has recently been gaining increased
acceptance particularly in the behavioral sciences. It contends that the higher
forces and laws of causation as seen, for example, in classical mechanics,
in physiology, and in brain function and behavior, cannot be fully explained
by the laws of quantum mechanics or by the mechanics or laws or any other
ultimate physical force or field. The higher entities and their causal proper-
ties and laws of interaction are conceived to be causal realities in their own
right and not determined completely (though they are in part) by the causal
laws and properties of their components. The larger, higher, more molar
properties are perceived to be just as real, just as causal, and in many ways
 Beyond the power of reason 333

to be of more importance than are the more basic physical properties of their
subsidiary components. In this view the fundamental forces of physics are
only building blocks used in creating bigger, more competent entities and
forces. The patterning of the building components (i.e. their arrangement in
space and time) becomes a distinctive key factor in making things what they
are, and is not determined solely by the properties of the parts themselves.
To attempt to explain an entity in terms of its parts and then the parts in
terms of their parts and so on, results in an infinite regress in which one is left
at the end trying to explain everything in terms of next-to-nothing. At each
step of the way critical patterned components of causality are lost and the
explanation becomes less and less complete at each lower level.

In other words, what the newer sciences are suggesting to us is that the proper-
ties of the higher organisation of systems (structures) cannot be inferred from the
lower, nor are they mere epiphenomena of the lower. If this was so, water would
simply be an epiphenomenon of oxygen and hydrogen, and life would be an epi-
phenomenon of carbon, and carbon in turn would be an epiphenomenon of sub-
atomic particles. Hence, not only do systems have self-organising properties, but
systems can be derived from other systems (i.e. systems of systems). There is no
special ingredient in a life form which cannot be found in the universe as a whole.
What makes a life form distinctive is its pattern of organisation. The technical
term for self-organisation is autopoiesis.
Autopoiesis depends on the sufficient operation of contributing systems. For
example, if you remove all the iron from the human body, you end up with a
corpse. The other characteristic of systems is that they can change their forms.
Descartes’ example was of a lump of wax. If you put a lump of wax by the fire,
it melts and becomes a liquid, but we would not say that it is a different wax
(same wax, different form). Similarly, humans can be in different psychobiologi-
cal states. Even though they may experience themselves as being different (in the
extreme multiple personality disorder) it would be quite wrong to say they are
different.
In general the self can be viewed as a supraordinate system of systems. It rep-
resents the sum of the interacting components of lower systems (mentalities).
The self represents a pattern of organisation of component systems. When or if
this pattern of organisation changes then so does the experience of the self. The
greater the level of coherence in the self system (i.e. the more component men-
talities interact and are structurally related), the more robust is the self. This is no
different from, say, a good team, who are good because they play as a team rather
than a set of competing individuals.
Humans have team members (social competencies) stretching back to the rep-
tilian age. To progress and integrate we must become aware of these, listen to
them, not hate or glorify them, set them in their context, be honest about our trans-
gressions, learn from them and move on. In this way we are honest with ourselves
and others and are freer to choose in the process of becoming and unfolding.
334 Beyond the power of reason

Psychotherapy implications
Freud believed that health was marked by the ability to love and to work. In psy-
chotherapy this is a prominent concern. We can fear things which in reality are
safe, we may compete when it may be better to co-operate, we may submit when
it may be better to compete. We may fail to decode context accurately because
of applying inappropriate generalisations and rules from previous situations, or
because appropriate action appears to compromise our internal construction of
self. This may arise because of major conflict and distortion in the four forms of
construct system that have been outlined in this book. For example, people may
be overly concerned with their moral codes, be confused about when and how to
compete and assert themselves, with the feeling that assertiveness violates some
important component of their self-esteem. Alternatively, people may be dominated
by their beliefs that they need proximity to supportive others. This may be to the
detriment of their own capacity for independent action and may lead to submis-
siveness in conflict situations and unexpressed anger. Yet others view the world
as an essentially competitive exercise: “if you go down you go under”. Hence as
Beck et al. (1979) suggest there may be an inappropriate and overinclusive set of
social rules which are enacted relatively independently of social context.
Decoding context is also about deciding when and how to enact various classes
of social behaviour. We must decode the closeness and nature of our interactions.
It will be recalled that in Chapter 2 we made the distinction between intimate
personal social and public domains. An individual who is assertive in the public
domain may be at a disadvantage if he behaves in the same way to his intimates.
He may believe that expressing affectionate feelings compromises his sense of
being strong and independent, or even desirable to the opposite sex. One of my
patients was inappropriately caring (in a motherly way) in her sexual relations
and was prone to get involved with men with “broken wings”. These relationships
were fraught and unhappy and when they broke up she usually blamed herself for
failing to make enough allowances.
Whatever form a belief system takes, it carries implications for how a person
typical constructs his sense of self and the type of roles he habitually enacts
in the worldly. Leary (1957) called these “patterns of adjustment” (see pages
62–66). In other words, different archetypes are more or less prominent in
the person’s conscious construction of the self. “I am the kind of person that
believes, feels and does this” and “I am the kind of person who does not believe,
feel or do that”.
This aspect is crucial to psychotherapy. Beck et al. (1979) suggest that the ther-
apist can look at the advantages and disadvantages in holding a specific belief. In
Jung’s terms we would direct the person’s attention to the shadow side of their
beliefs by focussing on the disadvantages and the unseen snags and compromises
that are sometimes inadvertently being made. For example, in always trying to
be caring I may fail to be honest with myself or others or may express my griev-
ances in a passive-aggressive way which may be more harmful. I may think I am
 Beyond the power of reason 335

behaving for the good of the other when in reality I am simply maintaining my
own belief of what a caring person I am.
Resistance is not unusual if in changing belief, the person is also required to
invalidate major aspects of his construction of himself and his role behaviours.
As we saw in Chapter 13, Type A’s are very reluctant to give up their competi-
tive beliefs because this can invalidate their sense of (potential) superiority over
others. Some people fail to act assertively not because they do not know how to,
but because this seems to invalidate their view of themselves as kind, empathic
people who do not cause harm. Hence, as Kegan (1982) makes clear, change
involves not only gain but also loss; loss of our sense of being the person we are
(were). Change also involves changing the identifications we may have with our
role models. The kind of model we identify with when we were young may be
different from that when we are older. Our difficulty here is if those who share our
personal domains do not also change. If, for example, my wife and friends iden-
tify with tough no-nonsense role models I may find it difficult to change to a more
compassionate construction of myself, i.e. I suffer a kind of cognitive dissonance
in the process of my attempts to grow and individuate within a intimate/social
domain that does not reinforce this role change. Marriages run into this problem
quite frequently. Change may also mean changing the way we make our social
comparisons (Swallow and Kuiper 1988).
Change is more than just adding onto, or getting better. In psychological therapy
one must confront the fear of getting better and becoming different: will others
like me? Will I like myself? Will God like me? Brewin (1988) gives the example
of a tense man who knew it would be beneficial to relax. However, he rarely prac-
tised relaxation. It was discovered that for him relaxation meant being lazy and
slapdash and reminded him of a disliked father.
In helping people to embark on change, especially those with developmen-
tal/personality difficulties, it is important to spend some time collecting auto-
biographical data. This involves reviewing relationships with parents, what was
helpful and what they think was missing. The relationship with siblings is also
important. Autobiographical data are used to derive hypotheses about the under-
lying schemata of self and others. Were relationships basically competitive, or
hostile? Was there a poverty in the expression of affection? Was personal identity
compromised, etc.? In a sense we review the typical social roles and enactments
that have been part of that person’s life, and have contributed to the construc-
tion of self–other role models/schemata. At some point people need to see that
childhood is over; they will never find the all-loving mother/father. Sometimes a
good history session results in insights that the person brings to the next session.
In other words, we facilitate a structured review of the life history up to seeking
therapy. Being able to understand where base schemata may have come from
can facilitate the behavioural practice needed to engage change. In therapy I also
discuss some of the ideas expressed in this book and explain that human nature
is like the keys of a piano; it is difficult to play a good tune if you can only reach
a limited number of keys. We are then in a position to consider what this person
336 Beyond the power of reason

needs to develop; what is missing or is being avoided. This can be negotiated and
behavioural practice planned.

Base schemata 3
Finally some comment should be made on the issue of base schemata. I do not
think it helpful to have endless lists of base schemata. For me base schemata
revolve around the four central biosocial concerns that have been covered in this
book. The question is thus: on the (successful) enactment of which role(s) does
a person locate his self-esteem and sense of value/worth? As discussed in Chap-
ter 2, brought down to basics this involves the habitual ways a person spaces/
distances/distinguishes himself from others and the habitual ways a person links/
assimilates himself with others.
In answer to these questions there seem to be repetitive, social themes that
centre around the following issues.

Care-eliciting and attachment

Lovability, dependency, needs for proximity, fears of separation or the opposite;
avoidance of closeness/dependency/help seeking. These are usually (but not
always) relevant to the intimate domain of life (Chapters 6 and 7). Social/emo-
tional support (Brown and Harris 1978; Brown et al. 1986) is also an important
aspect here.

Care-giving
Mediating for others, facilitating their growth, putting their needs first, or its oppo-
site, failing to do so (Chapter 8 and 9). One should keep in mind here, with all
these biosocial goals, the distinction between intimate, private, social, and pub-
lic domains. So-called “do-gooders” for example may be energetic in pursuing a
cause for the underdog but may have little capacity for intimate caring, e.g. they
leave their children with others and rarely engage deep, intimate relationships.
They may also distort the nature of reality, putting a rosy glow on things and
the importance of their efforts. It is therefore debatable whether the hypernormal
personality in Leary’s (1957) conception (see page 64) is developed on the love
dimension.

Co-operating
Moral issues, working together and joint contribution, valuing and respecting
others, sharing, trusting and revealing to others, or its opposite, failing or the
avoidance of doing so (Chapter 10 and 11). Again the closeness of the domain is
important. Co-operative individuals in the social and public domains may act far
from co-operatively in their intimate relations.
 Beyond the power of reason 337

Competing
Asserting oneself, being independent, autonomous, taking leadership roles, or
failing to do so (Chapters 12 and 13). Again this is domain related. Individuals
may be quite submissive at work or with those they see as more dominant but be
aggressive or overcontrolling with their intimates, spouses and children.
We may exaggerate the importance of a biosocial goal/role in the construction
of self and suppress the pursuit of other biosocial goals. We can develop a nega-
tive attitude to the enactment of a social role in specific domains. For example,
the more important it is for me to be in control and be seen (and see myself) as
dominant, the greater my difficulty may be in listening to and seeing value in
other people. The more I need to be seen (and see myself) as caring, the more
difficulty I may have in behaving competitively. These, as Ryle (1982) points out,
are the source of our common dilemmas.
Therefore base schemata are rarely about individual goals and attitudes to them.
Rather an exaggerated attitude to one has a knock-on effect on the others. Often
there is an inverse relationship between the enactment of social roles; i.e. the more
I engage in care eliciting, the less I am likely to act independently/assertively.
We should not be surprised by this because the human mind evolved as a system
that facilitated response variety according to context. Base schemata in my view
should therefore be seen as patterns of attitudes relating to all the biosocial goals
(amplifying the pursuit of some and suppressing others) rather than as individual
attitudes. It is these patterns of attitudes (which represent the person’s organisa-
tion of their potential nature – archetypes) that forms the structural cohesion of the
self. This may be called the “autopoietic preference” of the person. When these
patterns of attitudes are seriously in conflict, and are not context sensitive, there
is the potential for this cohesion to fragment in the presence of affect and fantasy
(Horowitz and Zilberg 1983). When this occurs the responses tend to be primitive
in a phylogenetic sense.
Individuals can also be confused as to the strategies they should use to secure
their goal. Some may threaten suicide to maintain threatened relationships, others
may act in a hostile way to demand love or respect as if force alone will secure
their goal. Dr Macadam has used the approach of biosocial goals to explore ado-
lescents’ understanding of goal and strategy. She has found that adolescents in
therapy are often confused about these. They may seek love by pursuing achieve-
ment and suffer when their efforts appear to fail. As with adults, there can be a
failure in seeking validation for their beliefs, or the whole family is confused
about role behaviour: “If you loved me you would/wouldn’t, etc.” (see also
Bowlby 1980).
A typical confusion is related to the enactment of aggression. Some believe
that these signals provoke respect rather than fearful compliance (i.e. this is
a confusion between prosocial and power leadership; see Chapter 12). In fact
many of the more subtle strategies of human life represent blends of biosocial
goals. For example, assertiveness reflects a blend of competitive and co-operative
338 Beyond the power of reason

competence. We do not want the other to act as a subordinate but do wish to be

acknowledged and understood. Blending may only be possible if various compe-
tence are understood. Blending may only be possible if various competencies are
developed enough to be blended. In this example we would need to have some
empathic understanding of the effects our aggression is likely to have on another
and modify our responses accordingly.
Cognitive therapy (Beck 1967, 1976) and rational emotive therapy (Ellis and
Grieger 1977) attempt to help people free themselves from the restrictions imposed
by their own way of constructing their social roles and self-worth. It directs atten-
tion to what they think they must/should/ought or ought not, to do/feel/think. It
attempts to change a person’s labelling of good of bad and the consequent impli-
cations people derive for their sense of self-esteem/worth. It encourages people
to seek the evidence of their beliefs and to try different ways of behaviour. It
encourages the pursuit of preferences rather than absolute musts and shoulds.
And in regard to the more developmentally/personality disordered it encourages
a re-evaluation of the meaning of past experiences of social enactments (e.g. if
my mother didn’t love me it means I must be unlovable). For me these exercises
are about developing archetypal potential, which is progressive, developing and
integrating rather than regressive and disintegrating (Wilber 1982). It facilitates a
greater appreciation of context and appropriate responding.
If I have any disagreement with cognitive psychotherapy it is this. There is
a tendency in this approach to believe that humans can socially decontextual-
ise themselves and bestow value on themselves almost irrespective of the social
worlds they inhabit. Yet evolution has been a process of social adaptation that
rewards successful social behaviour. In humans I believe that our evaluations
of RHP have been changed by the evolution of our capacity for attachment, the
hedonic mode, and the importance of gaining not only by biological fitness, but
also sociocultural fitness. This concern I have labelled “social attention-holding
potential”. In many forms of suffering a person not only seeks personal approval
but also a sense of value and appreciation; that is, what they have to offer their
social domains is of value to others. The evaluation of being a burden, or of no
value/use to others is often a powerful theme in depression (Gilbert 1984). It is
sociability and not non-social individualism which is associated with wellbeing
(Argyle 1987), but again it is a matter of balance.
Consequently I am presently of the view that more work needs to be done on
how people develop and internalise a sense of value; that what they have to offer
is worthwhile. Indeed I would suggest that there is a difference between a personal
and instrumental sense of worth, which we may derive from a non-social activity
(e.g. a painting) and a social sense of what is worthwhile which is aimed at social
attention holding. The latter but not necessarily the former gives the sense of
personal belonging to (being a part of) a culture or way of life. The latter needs to
be linked up with notions of the importance of sociocultural fitness to human life.
It may be that for some people, we will need to radically rethink what we are
hoping to achieve in psychotherapy. Outward-bound types of activity (Marsh et al.
 Beyond the power of reason 339

1986) that facilitate the learning of mutual valuing and respect may be better are-
nas for this type of learning than many hours in individual psychotherapy. Helen
Johnson (personal communication) has told me of some of the major changes in
self-esteem and social functioning that can occur in mentally handicapped people
following outward-bound courses. People may become dysphoric about their life-
styles not because they are incompetent but because they view it as essentially
worthless in a social sense.
Other cultures seem to understand these issues better than we do and recognise
the importance of stages of initiation, ritual and ceremony (joint enactments) and
the social validation of a person as a socially valued entity. There may be serious
limits to the application of our knowledge if we insist on limiting ourselves to
individual work which does not at some time enable us to appreciate the impor-
tance of our sense of belonging to the social worlds that we inhabit. Hence we
return to Freud’s view that health is about our ability to work and love, but with
the proviso that this must be in the appropriate context.

Concluding comments
To summarise, we can say that the concept of the self is used to refer to very dif-
ferent issues. On the one hand there is the issue of self–other differentiation and
the way individuals come to know themselves through social processes. On the
other hand however, is the issue of self-becoming, the progressive unfolding and
developing of competency, and the systemic properties of self-organisation. Cen-
tral however, is the biological sufficiency of a person to do this. Integration then
is as much a biological feat as it is a psychological one. There are some biologi-
cal states that aid integration because they facilitate exploration and change (e.g.
safety and hedonic) and some which do not (defensive and agonic).
Given psychobiological sufficiency, the human system will become organised
at its most complex, if there is a sufficient environment of freedom to allow it.
This idea of the ability to “become organised at its most complex level” is central
to many teleological positions. However, it is important to recognise that there is
nothing mystical is this. The acorn will become the best oak tree it can be, given
genetic sufficiency and a nurturant environment. The acorn knows how to become
itself in its own domain of existence (Maturana 1983). We might say the acorn
becomes itself. The art of becoming is therefore the art of unfolding, complexify-
ing and integrating – and in this order.
Biological systems change their form by virtue of the internal dynamic prin-
ciples of development and via the modifications induced as are necessary to adapt
to the local environment. Acorns and humans are no different here. Hence change
represents a communication between internal and external processes. As is com-
mon in science, these two mechanisms (the internal, unfolding, integrating and
the controlling, determining and acting upon) have been placed as polar oppo-
sites in an unprofitable debate. Goldstein (1985) has articulated these debates very
well. He has shown how there have been different perspectives on change which
340 Beyond the power of reason

have been the source of great discussion. On the one hand there are positivists
who view humans as objects to whom an observational, scientific method can be
applied. In this view, humans change their structural forms only by virtue of exter-
nal events. These events represent causal agents, and are therefore open to manip-
ulation and study. The way to remove suffering is via manipulation of external
contingencies. In other words, humans are changed rather than being implicitly
changing in themselves. The teleological position however, views human life as
primarily subjective. It is a process of becoming and complexifying and one that
humans carry forward in time intentions. Furthermore, these intentions change
as a product of internal development and system complexification and organisa-
tion. Suffering represents the inability to change in accordance with the internal
dynamic organising principles of the person (Mahoney and Gabriel 1987). A per-
son’s development is thwarted or distorted away from their epigenetic paths (i.e.
the way they would grow given a sufficient environment).
We cannot examine the long history of philosophical debates which underpin
these rival positions. Suffice it to say here that they are false polarities. Humans
do change over time, but the question is how. There is no reason to assume that
change is always to the good or that the environment–persona interaction is not
the crucial element. What we have tried to do throughout this book is to ponder
the characteristics which have detrimental effects on the process of becoming
oneself.

Notes
1 We use a mentality to pursue a goal. However, sometimes an individual may think he
is using one mentality to pursue one goal (e.g. co-operative) while in fact he is using a
competitive mentality but denies his competitive aims and desires.
2 Family therapy is about changing the patterns of interaction (role enactments), such that
individuals within the family come to experience themselves and their interactions in
different ways. Different aspects of their natures become the source of the family dia-
logue, and in this way each “self” is changed.
3 There is one further important base schema which we have not discussed in this book
which concerns life/death (see Yalom 1980). This schema is often involved with other
biosocial goals, e.g. I cannot survive alone, etc.
Chapter 15

Conclusions and reflections

An overview
This book has tried to articulate some basic mechanisms of human nature. In this
effort we have tried to avoid the error of brainlessness versus mindlessness (L.
Eisenberg 1986). We have in effect tried to advance a psychobiology of mind that
is consistent with evolutionary theory. Before offering some personal reflections
on the implications of an evolutionary approach to human beings, it may be useful
to try to capture some of the essential points covered.

1 Evolution works as a process of natural selection. For both Darwin and Freud
it was the selection of the individual via reproductive (sexual) success that
was the prime mover. This concern is mirrored in Freud’s emphasis on libido
(sexual energy) as the fuel of neurosis. Freudian theory is therefore a drive
theory (Greenberg and Mitchell 1983).
2 Sociobiology, however, has pointed out that individual sexual success does
not account for the evolution of altruistic behaviour (kin and reciprocal).
From this arises the idea that there have evolved various competencies (e.g.
to protect and nurture young, and co-operate) which, with their successful
enactment, confer inclusive fitness. This approach accords well with the
ideas of Jung who pointed to the repetitive themes of our social life (to be
mothered, to relate to peers, to form sexual relations, to become a parent, to
grow old and die). Jung suggested that evolution gave rise to special-purpose
processing competencies, called archetypes, which enabled humans to enact
these roles by rendering such roles meaningful and motivating. However,
experience is crucial in determining whether the enactment of these roles
becomes positively reinforcing or is to be feared and inhibited.
3 Ethological theory has been concerned with the classification of the roles that
are enacted between conspecifics. These roles can be classified in various
ways, but here we have been particularly concerned with those that under-
lie ranking behaviour (and gave rise to particular forms of social defence)
and those that underlie nurturant and co-operative behaviour. These different
forms of social behaviour have been called agonic and hedonic, respectively.
342 Conclusions and reflections

It was suggested that we may represent the link between inclusive fitness
theory and the evolution of social roles with the concept of biosocial goals.
4 It was argued that biosocial goals cannot be pursued nor roles enacted, with-
out there also being evaluative competencies that are responsible for making
sense of the signals being emitted from target conspecifics and co-ordinating
appropriate behaviour towards them. It is these evaluative competencies that
link us to the concept of archetype, and the concepts derived from interper-
sonal, and cognitive-behavioural theories. Humans can formulate internal
models of enactments (roles) they would like to enact in the future. These
models guide behaviour in the present.
5 Ranking behaviour and the evaluative mechanisms that underpin it, remain
crucial to understanding many forms of suffering. Ethological work has given
rise to the idea that quite primitive animals are able to evaluate their relative
resource-holding potential (dominance, RHP) and respond to other conspe-
cifics on the basis of this evaluation. The importance of being able to evaluate
RHP may form the core mechanisms in our need to have self-esteem. Fur-
thermore, many forms of psychopathology can be regarded as the activation
of innate defensive psychobiological routines that have evolved as responses
to social threats (i.e. threats/losses to relative RHP and self-esteem).
6 Crucial to the enactment of any role, an animal must be able to evaluate if
the signals it emits are likely to produce punishment or positive reinforce-
ment. This leads us to the view that all the biosocial goals are embedded in a
defence or safety system. These systems function for the control of different
forms of psychobiological activity which are part and parcel of attentional
control and evaluative competence. This moves us away from thinking of
emotion, cognition and behaviour as if they function independently of each
other. For example, if defensive arousal is high, the individual is attention-
ally focussed on the possibility of threat and injury in the social domain.
The schemata (archetypes) that co-ordinate attention, evaluation, fantasy and
response are those that evolved for rank ordering.
7 Unlike some theories of psychopathology that focus predominantly on the
defence system, we have argued that a better understanding of distress comes
from understanding the enormous importance of the safety system and the
way we can make the world safe(r) for each other. By the sensitive use of
the self, as a mediator/care giver to the child, the child’s psychobiologi-
cal state operates predominantly in safety modes. The mother/care giver is
trusted, closeness is rewarding and the child is able to explore the world in an
essentially optimistic way. Subsequently other social beings (peers) become
the source of interest, joint exploration and positive reinforcement. Conse-
quently, the child’s unfolding competencies and social enactments that are
reinforced are primarily those of late phylogenetic social options; namely
attachment and hedonic. However, genetic/temperamental differences also
play a role but the interaction between care giver and child remains an impor-
tant factor in the child’s style of unfolding and development.
 Conclusions and reflections 343

8 In the hedonic mode, which uses co-operative competencies and mentalities,

prestige is gained via our ability to elicit positive social attention holding. In
this mode the individual gains access to various reinforcing social opportuni-
ties by being seen as an agent of value. Display is now not of fighting ability
or strength (RHP) as in more primitive species, but rather our displays are
designed to elicit positive, bestowing responses from others; i.e. we desire to
be appreciated. The exhibitionist stage provides opportunities for the devel-
opment of internal representations of a positive self-image in that it provides
memories of positive social attention holding to various enactments.
9 With this development, caring and empathic skills are incorporated into the
manner by which the self comes to construct and know itself. We engage the
social world optimistically, develop moral codes for conduct and are able to
recognise that other people also need respect and appreciation. The source of
our suffering now changes in such a way that we experience distress when
our own actions appear to invalidate our caring and moral codes, or the
behaviour of others is evaluated as evidence that we have no social value or
the important roles that are the basis of our self-esteem have been invalidated.
10 So then, in brief, our capacity for love and compassion and our ability to
make the world a better place, arise from an evolved system of competencies
that proved to be more advantageous than those of individualistic, hostile
dominance. Nevertheless, the earlier options are not removed by these newer
experiments of evolution and can easily break through, leading to suffering.
We may evaluate ourselves to be defeated or abandoned and in this way link
our personal evaluations into those primitive systems that control ranking/
loss. There is, as articulated elsewhere (Gilbert 1984; Bailey 1987), a set of
innate psychobiological response routines, which are part of our evolutionary
heritage, that we can recruit to these evaluations.
11 Mind evolved in large part from the capacity to engage in patterned interac-
tions (roles) of gestures. Out of this ability arose many of our human char-
acteristics, including our ability to represent roles to ourselves and construct
models of ourselves and others. We have also evolved an ability to enact an
internal commentary on our own role behaviours. We can talk to ourselves
in the language of the loved, the defeated, the victim, the dominant, etc. We
can energise this dialogue by making these roles into musts: “I must suc-
ceed, I must be loved, I demand other people notice me, I cannot survive
alone, I must never let others get one over on me, etc.” This type of dialogue
facilitates a greater activation of primitive response options and increases the
probability that roles are enacted with a greater recruitment of affect (e.g.
anger, anxiety, depression).
12 Because there are a large variety of potential roles that might be enacted in
any context, we may experience conflict in exactly how to act. For example,
we may wish to be assertive to someone but fear the loss of their future sup-
port, or we may think that to act out our fantasy/desire of being assertive/
aggressive would invalidate our model of ourselves as a kindly person who
344 Conclusions and reflections

does not cause another to suffer. Some individuals have very generalised
rules for their role behaviour (i.e. “I must never display aggression”, “I must
always be kind”, etc.) and have difficulty in recognising the importance of
context.

These then are some of the aspects of human nature that have been explored
in this book. Once again I must drop any claim to this being a comprehensive
analysis; it is more a sketch of what I see as the main themes of human life. Before
closing I would like to take this opportunity to outline some personal concerns
regarding an essential dialectic between ourselves as collective actors and our own
sense of individuality. This is also necessary to avoid the evolutionary approach
from being distorted in political discourse as has happened to sociobiology.

Personal reflections
We shall probably get nearest to the truth if we think of the conscious and the
personal psyche as resting upon the broad basis of an inherited and universal
disposition which is as such unconscious, and that our personal psyche bears
the same relation to the collective psyche as the individual to society.
(From Jung 1971, p.155)

Human nature represents a mosaic of possibilities. However, this mosaic is shaped

by the culture in which it unfolds and individuates. Culture is a complex concept
and it is probably more meaningful to think in terms of a way of life. People
identify with a way of life which represents a set of values and social rules. In
any one individual there are different components and levels to a way of life. For
example, people may identify on the basis of race, age, colour, ethnic history, reli-
gion, social and economic class, etc. These different ways of identifying with the
varied components of culture make up a person’s way of life and also their sense
of social self. It is our identification with a way of life that enables us to derive
a sense of self-esteem from judgements of social comparison, variation in our
actual self, ideal self and undesired self and perception of control (Brewin 1988).
In some religions, notions of personal control are reduced, for example. It is also
our sense of attachment and identification to our way of life that leads us to go to
war or attempt to repress those whose way of life seems alien and threatening to
our own because of its potential to invalidate that which we collectively value.
But whatever way of life we have come to value and identify with, a central
question is the degree to which we are prepared to utilise the competitive and
agonic possibilities to pursue and defend it.1 Furthermore, behind the pursuit of
a way of life lies a set of assumptions about what is collectively permissible to
maintain it, including the right of defence to the point of threatening the world
with nuclear war, or exploiting planetary resources that can only benefit the few
and may cause unknown suffering to future generations. Central to these pursuits
is the assumption that access to resources is paramount; that is, we appear to
 Conclusions and reflections 345

strongly endorse a sense of entitlement. If we wish to increase the possibilities for

our hedonic and co-operative mentalities, then we should be warned that there are
serious obstacles, arising from our biological history, in tandem with economic
values that we must learn to overcome. As a culture we must learn the hard lesson
of recognising that there are serious limitations to our sense of entitlement. We
must also recognise that it is not possible to use the dubious capitalistic concept
that each must be facilitated to compete more effectively. Planetary resources
simply could not sustain a global raising of standards to the most prosperous,
even if free competition could indeed achieve this. We have already lost half the
world’s tropical rain forests and pollution from industrial and agricultural produc-
tion is a serious problem.

Culture
Many thinkers, from Marx onwards, have seen that some very serious problems
can arise from the way a society organises its economic relations. Modern society
bears little resemblance to the cultures of the hunter-gatherer in which a good deal
of human evolution took place. The problems can be traced back to the growth
and development of agriculture and the importance of surplus. The nomadic life
of the hunter-gatherer evolved from a highly co-operative (primate) lifestyle
where major accumulations of resources were rare, because no one person could
significantly outperform his colleagues. To survive required co-operation both
instrumentally, and in the sharing (learning) of skills. Prosperity depended on
joint effort and a recognition of mutual dependence.
With the development of agriculture and surplus, land again fell into personal
ownership and surplus became a new way to gain and trade resource-holding
potential/power. From this arose a new communication of power which advan-
taged those who tended to think in the more reptilian-like styles of possession and
power. This reintroduced the possibility that biological advance (one can more
easily support wives and offspring) and sociocultural advance could be obtained
by what one individually owned and controlled. It was these new structures of
social life, centred on who owned what, that set the stage for a return of the primi-
tive ranking mentalities to flourish. Power was now less vested in wisdom and
contribution but rather in ownership.
Groups developed into hierarchies of haves and have nots (or as one commen-
tator has said, haves, have nots and have lots). Class structures evolved around the
basic issue of ownership and resource control. Control over resources went with
control over conspecifics. Consequently, various social commentators have seen
the history of modern society as a history in the uses and abuses of (possessive)
power.
Unfortunately a culture that regresses to the importance of the accumulative
and the possessive is a culture whose surplus may grow to the point of indecency.
One is put in mind here of the grain stores that are amassed in Europe while Africa
starves. It is a culture that becomes hierarchically structured in terms of power and
346 Conclusions and reflections

ownership. It therefore creates within itself the relations of envy, greed, power
striving, fear and comparative deprivation. It is a culture which purposefully
encourages its populace to think in terms of individual winners and losers, tougher
and weaker, superior and inferior. It is a culture of self-interest, individuality and
entitlement; of doing one’s own thing at almost any price. It is a culture that seeks
freedom for some but fails to recognise that such freedom may only be gained
by the exploitation of the many. It is a culture that sees its own salvation in the
production of more surplus and turns people and nature into objects of gratifica-
tion. It is a culture that loses its sense of the mythical and sacred (Campbell 1985)
and puts Nature to the rack. It is in effect a culture of primitive mentalities, where
creative intelligence is recruited into the service of exploitation, a culture in the
worship of narcissism (Lasch 1985) entrapped in its lack of caring (Smail 1987).
Children growing within such cultures are schooled in the surplus, accumula-
tive mentalities. As Hardyment (1986) suggests, it is not that we pay too little
attention to our children, but the wrong sort of attention (Chapter 8). Men are
locked into repetitive, time-structured occupations which preclude any significant
involvement with children (unlike hunter-gatherers). Women are trapped for very
many years in the socially prescribed role to which they are supposed to be lov-
ingly adapted, often existing in isolation. They too are trapped in the production
of surplus by liberating men to the work process who, now hooked on the power
and material resource holding, enter the furnace of production with increased
zeal. Women may even reinforce the ambitions of their spouses as part compensa-
tion for emotional neglect. Through the prosperity of the husband the family may
prosper economically. There may also be efforts to compensate their sense of
emotional neglect by having more children.
All of us in our different ways are encapsulated in a time-structured world of
our own making – when to get up, when to eat, when to go to bed, which days
are available for social recreation, and so on. The day is highly institutionalised
around our economic structures; school times, work times, shift times. Freedom
to choose is minimal, for the production of surplus must go on. This kind of
co-operation is more like insect societies than human. There is a failure to be
clear about the dimensions of individual and collective control and responsibility
(Sampson 1988). In our pursuit of things we lose sight of people. Many families
do succeed in navigating these troubled waters and, in spite of everything, manage
to provide loving, caring environments for their children and each other. Sadly,
however, the epidemiology shows that many do not, and in any case, no statistic
can reveal what a person’s potential was, be it for happiness/love/compassion or
for creative endeavour. No doubt we will continue to shrug our shoulders and see
the unfortunate casualties not in terms of people stranded in an unfit culture, but as
noble cultures having to put up with a growing number of unfit persons. Despite
our dedication to the culture of surplus, material resources are in fact only margin-
ally related to happiness and wellbeing (Argyle 1987).
The social values of culture help to recruit and shape the kinds of mentali-
ties and social roles that we all enact between ourselves. Consequently, they will
 Conclusions and reflections 347

shape our inner dialogues by which we will come to know and experience our-
selves. This has been a central theme in an approach to psychology called social
constructionism and contextualism (Sampson 1981, 1983, 1985, 1988; Gergen
1985). Sampson (1983) points out that personhood (as he calls it) is an essential
dialectic between the individual and his culture. He puts it this way (p.145):

The reality of personhood cannot be grasped by either the extreme pole of

individualism – in which the seemingly autonomous individual is the onto-
logical reality or prime mover, nor the pole of collectivism – in which the
individual is merely a mechanical copy of the underlying social order. There
is an essentially dialectical interpenetration of the subject and object in which
neither has full primacy.

Personhood arises from the interpenetration of the incorporated social world as

it is, with innate structural forms and innate autopoietic preferences. These twin
aspects are intermeshed and cannot be separated. Moreover, many of the predeter-
minates for social knowledge of self in relation to others are biologically prepared
for. These are the social roles, or PSALICs, that evolution has designed. Even
morality and altruism, long thought to be the product of cultural and reinforce-
ment history, can now be seen as the activation and unfolding of innate predispo-
sition in relation to culture (Kegan 1982; Kagan 1984).
Culture represents a superordinate system made up of other systems, i.e. peo-
ple. Furthermore, any one individual is a component in the system of culture,
constantly interacting, changing others and being changed. Mandler (1985, p.20)
puts it this way:

What is behind us apparently is the view of people as passive systems receiv-

ing information from a fairly static environment, people whose future course
of action is determined by the rewards dealt by an unexamined environment.
Recent trends point to truly symbiotic models of the organism and its envi-
ronment in which persons change as they change the social and physical
environment in which they act and in which the situational changes in turn
interact with individual action.

Towards the spiritual

Although culture plays so important a role in how we come to know and experi-
ence ourselves, it is vital that we should not see ourselves as constrained victims
sentenced to enact repetitive scenes on the scripts of culture. Indeed, throughout
history there have been powerful ideas and philosophies on how we may disen-
gage ourselves from the entrapment of our possessive mentalities. Early Christian-
ity and Buddhism stressed the idea that the roots of suffering lay in the acquisitive
mentalities, for in their nature they set people against themselves and against each
other. The desires to possessively own (lovers, status, worldly goods, etc.) give
348 Conclusions and reflections

rise to attachments and cravings (Crook 1980). In effect these philosophies warn
of the consequences of being dominated by resource holding and possessiveness.
Against this warning comes the concept of the spiritual quest; the pursuit of
self-knowledge gained by looking within and coming to “know thyself”. This is
called gnosis – knowledge via personal experience. Gnosis gives a deeper insight
and understanding into the inner potentials of the self. But even here there is
a danger. When encapsulated within certain forms of religious orthodoxy, these
pursuits become elitist, with scorn and aloofness towards the less enlightened who
are perceived to be the “unchosen”. Nevertheless, the most interesting aspect of
these philosophies is the suggestion that at some point in the life cycle there is
need for inner reflection. These spiritual philosophies provide us the recognition
that to progress through life on an unquestioning automatic pilot is to miss out
on important opportunities for change and individuation. To compensate for this,
many seek out alternative experiences, be these drug, hunger, exhaustion or medi-
tation induced. Whether these procedures are integrating or wisdom inducing is a
scientific question. Certainly for some they are quite dangerous and disintegrating
(Wilber 1982).
Behind many of the ideas of “knowledge through experience” is the notion
that consciousness has to be trained to attend to inner and outer realities in differ-
ent ways. Consciousness cannot be relied on to provide gnosis without training
(Deikman 1982). For example, McGhee (1988) has suggested the development of
an attitude of what he calls mindfulness through meditative practice:

What raises a person out of their ignorance and unregeneracy depends upon
bringing about the conditions under which their attention can be refocussed,
so that the content of their imagination is renewed. The development of
mindfulness brings about such a refocussing and sharpening of attention in
those areas in which it is blurred. What, among other things the practice of
meditation achieves, is a temporary cessation of thought itself, the silencing
one might say of “the usual preoccupations of the conscious mind”.

Hence, the purpose of meditation is, in part, to reduce arousal, clear the screen
of consciousness from all the usual chatter of the survival-related mentalities
(“will I get the new job”; “was John getting at me in the meeting – I’ll teach
him if he was”; “the children’s reports were not so good this term”; etc.), and
allow consciousness to freewheel yet with focussed attention. This disengage-
ment from habitual forms of construing the world does, for some people, seem to
have very many benefits. On the other hand, I have met meditators who, to me,
seem as agonic as anyone else, and unless an individual is prepared to confront
the Shadow (his own potential for submissiveness, unkindness and evil) I doubt
whether much progress can really be made.
The spiritual quest is therefore noted by its focus on the personal and the sub-
jective constructions of reality. It looks particularly at the ways these may be
altered by various forms of training and exercise. On the other hand, in older
 Conclusions and reflections 349

psychological systems the spiritual quest was seen to be one of a journey which
requires the person to engage the world in particular ways. It is not a question of
sitting and contemplating the breath, but rather an issue of engaging life. Failure
to undertake the journey or to learn from it was believed to result in spiritual
stagnation. Today we may feel uncomfortable with terms like spiritual stagna-
tion but we might speak in terms of blocks to the development of self. That is, an
individual who clings to safety and who avoids the challenge of life through fear
or resentment can find his psychobiological development restrained. Some remain
preoccupied with past regret, disappointments or injustices or future fantasies of
repair, revenge and disaster. They do not live in the now but in their yesterdays
and tomorrows.
Although we can attempt, as we have throughout this book, to study mind objec-
tively, for personal transformation there must be movement within our subjective
domain. Reason by itself is not enough to furnish transformation. Rather we need
insight into our must’s and demands, and those possessive, control-seeking men-
talities of ourselves. Who or what do we trust?; What do we really want?; these
are the basis of our subjective knowledge. Einstein was once asked if he thought
we would ever understand the universe in purely physical terms. He is reported
to have replied, “Well, we might, but this would be like trying to understand a
Beethoven symphony in terms of the frequency distribution of the notes.” Hence
there is objective and subjective knowledge, but it is in the subjective domain that
personal transformation occurs. The art of individuation is not so mysterious but it
does require training and effort; it requires a certain type of attention and orienta-
tion to one’s inner life.
These views are crucial to psychological practice. If it is true that personality
does not change much over the life cycle (Costa and McCrae 1986) then this may
mean that left to themselves most people will use repetitive forms of coping with
life events because they don’t know any better. Change in the inner domain is not
assured simply by growing older unless the person is specifically concerned to
change. The same is true of physical health. Growing older does not mean becom-
ing fitter unless one makes the time and effort to promote fitness. As psycholo-
gists we should be more vocal in this concern. Unfortunately, unless people are in
some kind of distress they may prefer ignorance and prejudice to insight. This can
have serious consequences not only for themselves but also for those that share
their lives. If the power orientated obtain power then their own competitive and
hostile mentalities may wreak terrible consequences on many (e.g. Hitler), for the
rest of us remain essentially unconscious of what is going on. It is because we do
not recognise our own competitiveness and sense of entitlement that we give our
support to those that carry out these behaviours in our name. Jung (1971, p.158)
put this point clearly:

It is, unfortunately, only too clear that if the individual is not truly regener-
ated in spirit, society cannot be either, for society is the sum total of indi-
viduals in need of redemption. I can therefore see it only as a delusion when
350 Conclusions and reflections

the churches try – as apparently they do – to rope the individual into some
social organization and reduce him to a condition of diminished responsibil-
ity, instead of raising him out of the torpid, mindless mass and making clear
to him that he is the one important factor and that the salvation of the world
consists in the salvation of the individual human soul.
Resistance to the organized mass can only be effected by the man who is
as well organized in his individuality as the mass is itself.

In other words, although we can identify with a way of life our individuality
must not be lost in it. When this happens we either gleefully go along with pro-
moting our sense of being able to do anything we please, or we are silenced by our
fear of sanction and scorn; i.e. we submit. It seems to me that genuine enlighten-
ment, which is not derived simply from esoteric experiences or imitating parrot
fashion some current (sub)cultural philosophy, always produces a change in the
social roles that people enact. This involves a change in the construing of self
and other. It is in a sense the growth of the moral person, derived from empathic
knowing directed both inward and outward. Because (to a large degree) mind
evolved from gesture and communication, and because our most phylogenetically
advanced gestures are those facilitating co-operation, attachment and love, then
enlightenment usually moves us in this direction. However, any religion or politi-
cal philosophy which has its roots in personal, individual salvation, the promise
of being chosen, honoured or special to the exclusion of others, is to my mind
immediately suspect. This kind of individuality belongs with the reptiles.
In these matters, it seems therefore that any spiritual quest is a kind of ongoing,
developing oscillation between an insight into oneself and the other. As the Bud-
dhists say, “God understands himself through the eyes of the many.”
Enlightenment must be about valuing self and other and the enactment of roles
that confer this. Without the other, valuing may become merely self-promotion,
egocentric and exploitative; without valuing of the self it runs the risk of being
mere submission. The future of the world is in our hands because our co-operative
and intelligent abilities have enabled us to take it over. But to cope with this chal-
lenge we must find out who or what we are and take responsibility for what nature
has made us. A failure to use our creative intelligence in the service of evolution’s
more recent adaptations may mean that this little experiment will burn itself out.

Not nature but the “genius of mankind” has knotted the hangman’s noose
with which it can execute itself at any moment.
(From Jung 1971, p.156)

Note
1 At the time of going to press my video shop is stacked with films exploring various
themes of ritualistic, agonistic behaviour (Rambo, etc.). There is doubt about the role of
television on aggressive behaviour, but we know still less about more gradual changes
in attitudes to the fantasy acting out we observe. Currently in America, and in Britain
 Conclusions and reflections 351

to a lesser extent, current-affairs programmes are being scheduled which are purpose-
fully designed to encourage ritualistic, agonistic behaviour, in word and affect, if not
behaviour. These programmes often appear offensive to the individuals taking part. One
might have hoped that this medium for providing role models would be concerned with
the more difficult prosocial forms of conflict resolution. However, the pursuit of money
and ratings make such considerations rather secondary concerns. To reflect life, as some
claim, is I think to miss the point.
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Appendix 1

The monoamine system

How do monoamine systems work? For the most part neurotransmitter substances
have to be produced in the CNS (although this is not true for all). Usually, the
production takes place in the user cells themselves. The actual processes by which
one cell signals to another have a number of complex steps. These involve: (1) the
production of a neurotransmitter and its storage; (2) its release and re-uptake; and
(3) activity of the transmitter on receptor surfaces. Our attention here is limited to
the catecholamine systems (see Cotman and McGaugh 1980 for a more detailed
and excellent overview).

Production and storage

The processes involved in production of noradrenaline NA and dopamine DA are
outlined in Fig. A.1.
The first step in the chain of catecholamine production is controlled by the
uptake, via the blood supply into brain, of an amino acid called tyrosine. (For
5-HT the amino acid precursor is tryptophan.) These are obtained from various
foods. Cheese, for example, is particularly rich in tyrosine and should be avoided
if the patient is taking monoamine oxidase inhibitors (MAOI). Once inside the
cell, tyrosine is chemically changed (converted) into L-dopa by the action of
an enzyme known as tyrosine hydroxylase. L-dopa, in turn, is converted into
dopamine by an enzyme called dopa decarboxylase. At this point, the produced
dopamine is stored in tiny membrane sacs calls synaptic vesicles. There may be
many thousands of these sacs in any one axonal bulb. Each sac contains 10,000
to 100,000 molecules of dopamine (Iverson 1979). These vesicles are necessary
to protect the neurotransmitter from being destroyed (deaminated) by the enzyme
monoamine oxidase (MAO). This enzyme exists in the mitochondria of the cell.
This deamination process produces metabolites which can be measured in blood
or urine. Hence, one of the possible benefits of MAOI drugs is to increase the
storage of neurotransmitter by inhibiting the activity of MAO. Recent evidence
suggests that there may be more than one type of MAO enzyme.
376 Appendix 1

Fig. A.1 Storage and production of catecholamines

If the neuron uses noradrenaline as its neurotransmitter then once inside the
synaptic vesicles there is another enzyme called dopamine-beta-hydroxylase
which converts dopamine into noradrenaline. Various researchers have attempted
to use precursors such as tyrosine or L-dopa and research their antidepressant
effects. Although a powerful treatment for Parkinson’s disease, L-dopa has not
made much headway as an antidepressant. This may be for a number of reasons
to do with MAO activity or low levels of dopamine-beta-hydroxylase in vesicles,
implying that little gets converted into NA. L-dopa may have different effects in
bipolar as opposed to unipolar depression. This may imply that in bipolars, dopa-
mine plays a greater role in mood regulation than is normal. My thought here is
 Appendix 1 377

that just as early brain damage may be compensated for if it occurs early enough,
it may be that somehow, whereas in normals certain systems would select NA as
the transmitter of choice, in the bipolar, DA is selected instead. In other words,
during development there is a (perhaps limited) choice as to whether particular
neurons are going to be NA or DA active. This is a speculative view but not with-
out some foundation (Bunge et al. 1978).
The precursor tryptophan has also been used to load up the 5-HT system (Spring
et al. 1987). Although sometimes a useful addition, it does not have major antide-
pressant properties in its own right (Willner 1985). Reserpine is known to deplete
the synaptic vesicles of monoamines whilst the psychological stress of uncontrol-
lable shock may, as one of its effects, reduce the enzyme tyrosine hydroxylase
(Weiss et al. 1979). Reserpine can induce depression in a small number of cases
(Mendels and Frazer 1974).

Release and re-uptake

The next step in the signalling process relates to the release of neurotrans-
mitter. The depolarisation of the cell causes an influx of calcium ions which
triggers the synaptic vesicles to release transmitter into the gap at the end of
the axonal bulb and the surface of a dendrite (i.e. in the synaptic cleft). The
dendrite is the surface of the receiving cell. Cells may have many thousands of
dendrites picking up information from various sources but each cell will have
only one axon, i.e. it will have only one sending fibre. Once in the synaptic
cleft two further processes are important. First, the transmitter may be deami-
nated by an enzyme called catechol-o-methyletransferase (COMT), again pro-
ducing metabolites of the neurotransmitter. Second, there is an active pump
(called a sodium pump) which pumps neurotransmitter back into the axon. This
is known as a re-uptake mechanism. Most tricyclic drugs are called re-uptake
blockers because one of their properties is to block this uptake mechanism.
Hence, both MAOIs and tricyclics increase the availability of transmitter in
the synaptic cleft but in rather different ways. Tricyclics increase the contact
time of the transmitter in the synaptic cleft. Different tricyclics vary however,
as to their potency as uptake blockers – some quite considerably (McNeal and
Cimbolic 1986).

Activity at receptor surfaces

The steps in this process are outlined in Fig. A.2. The way the neurotransmitter
interacts with its receptor is highly complex though it can be considered as a
kind of key (transmitter) and lock (receptor) mechanism. If the transmitter fits
the receptor then a chemical process is initiated. There are believed to be three
important types of receptor in the catecholamine system known as beta (β),
alpha-1 (α1) and alpha-2 (α2), although others have been suggested (see Iversen
1979; Cotman and McGaugh 1980; Willner 1985; McNeal and Cimbolic 1986
378 Appendix 1

Fig. A.2 Receptor changes in a noradrenergic synapse (see text for explanation). VMA and
MHPG are metabolites in the breakdown of norepinephrine (NE)
From McNeal and Cimbolic 1986, with permission.

for a more detailed discussion). The β and α1 receptors lie on the surface of the
dendrite. This surface is called the post-synaptic receptor surface. When the
neurotransmitter fits into these receptors it can have either an excitory or inhib-
itory effect on chemical processes within the receiving cell. These chemical
changes are mediated through adenosine triphosphate (ATP) being converted
into andenosine monophosphate (or cyclic AMP – cAMP). This conversion
causes a release of energy needed for various chemical changes within the cell.
α1 receptors work in a different way to β receptors so that α1 is sometimes
called a “secondary messenger”.
The membrane of the axonal bulb is called the pre-synaptic surface and recep-
tors lying on this surface are called α2 presynaptic receptors. (The pre- and post-
synaptic reference indicates the side of the synaptic cleft the surface lies on.) β2
receptors are also sensitive to the release of their own transmitter; hence, some-
times they are called auto receptors. Through chemical processes these receptors
act to modulate the synthesis of neurotransmitter. Theoretically, sharp increases
in neurotransmitter cause the α2 receptor to send back messages to slow down the
production of neurotransmitter, possibly by having an effect on the enzyme tyro-
sine hydroxylase. In other words, α2 receptors are like supervisors monitoring the
levels of neurotransmitter in the cleft and signalling activity to speed up or slow
down back at the factory according to demand.
In research into the affective disorders, the super-sensitivity or sub-sensitivity
of these receptors have been the most recent focus of interest. (Whybrow et al.
1984; Willner 1985; McNeal and Cimbolic 1986, give good reviews.)
 Appendix 1 379

Overview
Over recent years there has been a growing awareness of the enormous complex-
ity of neurobiological processes. In this very short overview I have presented a
highly simplified account, sufficient I hope, to enable the unfamiliar reader to
understand some the of the issues and the jargon that are taken up in Chapter 4.
The references cited should be sufficient to allow greater exploration of the area
if this is desired. Whybrow et al. (1984) and Willner (1985) give encyclopaedic
overviews of the amine theories of depression for those interested. Gray (1982)
provides a similar service for theories of anxiety. In our analysis, the details of the
biochemistry are less important than their functional activity. Nevertheless, I hope
readers will appreciate the rationale of drug therapies. If we are to develop a truly
psychobiological approach to psychotherapy and our understanding of psychopa-
thology then at some point we will have to explore this level. We cannot long put
off the question of how psychotherapy works at biological levels (see Reiser 1984
for one approach to this challenge.)

The distribution of monoamine pathways

The development of a staining technique called histofluorescence has made it
possible for researchers to identify the pathways of the monoamines (and other
neurotransmitters). The cell bodies of the monoamines lie deep in the regions of
the brain known as the pons, medulla and mesencephalon. This is referred to by
MacLean (1985) as the reptilian brain or R-complex. From these cell bodies the
monoamines send out axons which project into all major brain areas. Sometimes
they project out from the cell bodies in bundles of fibres and there are different
bundle pathways (Kostowski 1980). For example, the NE dorsal bundle projects
in the thalamic, hypothalamic, hippocampal and cerebral cortex areas. Figure A.3
gives a useful though simplified outline of the main distribution networks of the
monoamines.
Although the monoamine terminals make up a very small percentage of ter-
minals in the brain (probably less than 4%) their effects on are behaviour pro-
found. It is in the manner of their projections and their involvement in so many
brain areas that makes this so. It raises intriguing questions as to why evolution
has arranged it thus and suggests, perhaps, the importance of co-ordination of
structural activity such that in some areas these transmitters are excitatory while
in others they are inhibitory. The reader will recall the points made in Chapter 4
that functional deficits in transmission can produce disinhibition effects.

Early neurochemical insights

In the 1950s and 1960s, two findings of the effects of drugs used in non-psychiatric
conditions opened the door for modern psychiatric neurobiology. Reserpine, used
in the treatment of hypertension, was reported to produce clinical depression in
380 Appendix 1

Fig. A.3 Schematic representation of monoamine network

From Warburton 1975; with kind permission of John Wiley & Sons Ltd.

10 to 15% of cases. Subsequently, others (Mendels and Frazer 1974) suggested

that this figure was too high and that sufferers usually had either a personal or
family history of psychiatric disorder. Nevertheless, understanding what reserpine
did in the brain was an obvious research endeavour. It was found that reserpine
depleted the stored level of the catecholamines, noradrenaline (NA) and dopa-
mine (DA) and the indoleamine, 5-hydroxytryptamine (5-HT). About the same
time, the drug iproniazide, used in the treatment of tuberculosis, was reported to
have mood-elevating properties. This drug was discovered to increase the central
availability of monoamines (NA, DA, 5-HT).
 Appendix 1 381

With the discovery of histochemical fluorescence as a way of staining and map-

ping different neurotransmitters in the brain (Dahlstrom and Fuxe 1964) it became
possible to study how these different neurotransmitter pathways innervated dif-
ferent brain regions. (See Cotman and McGaugh 1980.) A major discovery from
the use of this technique showed that NA existed in the lateral hypothalamus.
This had previously been identified as a reward or pleasure area (Olds and Milner
1954). These researchers had planted electrodes into the medial forebrain bundle
and observed the behaviour of rats who could, by lever pressing, stimulate this
brain area.
The idea that depressive disorders could be conceptualised in terms of pleasure
area dysfunction has been extremely influential. Some theorists (e.g. Klein 1974)
suggest that pleasure area hypoactivity is a characteristic of endogenomorphic
depression. In the analysis suggested here however, this would be seen as one of
many changes that take place. These kinds of depression seem to be switched into
defensive activation with a predominance in the “stop” mode. Catatonic states
may be a form of long-lasting freeze (stop) response.
When it is considered that even as late as the 1940s there was some con-
troversy over whether or not chemical transmission played a major role in
the CNS (as opposed to direct electrical transmission), then the achievements
of this era are astounding. While one wishes to give due credit to these early
pioneers, it has to be said that, as in all scientific advancement, these early
hypotheses were probably naive. This would not be so much of a problem if
the notion of activity in the pleasure areas did not receive such continued sup-
port as a model of depression. The problem with the hedonic tone theories is
that they are incapable of dealing with the evolution of certain social roles or
emotional behavioural displays (Gardner 1988). Moreover, many psychiatric
disorders involve changes in patterns of emotional experience and expression
(e.g. anger, anxiety, jealousy, hate, excitement, disgust, etc.). This suggests
changes in the way a person relates to others (i.e. a switch of PSALICs rather
than simple mood changes). Hence, it is useful to consider that much of this
early work actually involved identifying general changes in brain patterns
out of which a depressive disorder might arise. They were tapping into brain
systems which had evolved to co-ordinate (in large part) social behaviour
(Gardner 1988).

Current ideas on neurobiological mechanisms

The study of monoamine function opened up the field for a considerable research
effort into the neurobiology of mental disorder, especially of the affective dis-
orders. Drugs could now be produced and their effects on the CNS studied. It
is important to recognise that even now we still do not fully understand how
many of the antidepressants work, or indeed, whether the systems that have been
explored are the ones that are centrally involved in affective disorder. There is
much suggestive evidence, however, that they are (Whybrow et al. 1984; Willner
382 Appendix 1

1985). Nevertheless, since the 1960s our understanding of the monoamine sys-
tems and other neurochemical processes has proliferated.
It is of course the case that research has set off in this particular direction pri-
marily because the state of the art of research and technology confined it here.
As new techniques develop and new neurotransmitters and regulatory processes
have become known, it seems clearer that the monoamines relate more to general
processes of go–stop states rather than being disorder specific. Indeed, at the last
count somewhere in the region of 50 different neurotransmitters had been identi-
fied. More to the point, most now agree that it is patterns of activity, at many lev-
els in the brain and other biological systems, that give rise to specific syndromes
(Whybrow 1984; Whybrow et al. 1984).
The interested reader is also referred to Iversen’s paper (1979) which remains
a very clear and accessible introduction to neurochemical processes. Cotman and
McGaugh (1980) offer a good textbook on neuroscience. Whybrow et al. (1984)
and Willner (1985) also offer excellent texts in regard to the psychobiology of
affective disorder.
The reason we need to study patterns in the brain is because brain structures
evolved to function as patterned systems co-ordinating sequences of behaviour
(e.g. the yielding subroutine, the Alpha routine, the care giving routine and so on).
In 1984, I coined the term “psychobiological response pattern” to convey the idea
of innately laid down potential patterns of activity.
Appendix 2

Homeostasis and beyond

In Chapters 4 and 5 a distinction was made between baseline states (which pre-
pare or preselect in terms of increasing the accessibility of certain responses;
Bailey 1987 refers to this as priming), and the responses actually exhibited
to specific events. In this appendix, a brief look at factors that may influence
baseline states is offered. The concept of homeostasis is an important one in
psychobiology. We tend to think of systems being disturbed from some steady
state to which the system will settle back again after the initial disturbance.
However, this view is limiting in some important ways. In many respects the
CNS and endocrine systems are now regarded as oscillating dynamic systems
which show cyclic variability. A well known oscillating system is the circadian
rhythm, which expresses itself in fluctuations in various hormones such as cor-
tisol and melatonin and body temperature. Cognitive abilities may also vary
cyclically. It has long been known that “dawn raids” by the police are more
effective because victims are more easily disoriented and their resistance to
interrogation is at its lowest at this time in the morning. Major diurnal variations
of the symptoms of depression are prominent for some sufferers. These kinds of
data have led to the idea of there being “biological clocks” which activate psy-
chobiological processes according to some internal timing mechanism. Interest-
ingly, when allowed to free roll under experimental conditions, circadian clocks
tend to move to a 25 rather than 24 hour cycle. However, there are many other
biological rhythms which are called infradian rhythms, meaning longer than
24 hours. These rhythms are complex and include rhythms like the menstrual
cycle and also seasonal rhythms. As we shall see in the next section, these inter-
nally controlled oscillating systems, or biological clocks, can have profound
effects on human biosocial functioning.
Homeostasis is limited in that it does not take into account the role of biologi-
cal maturation. Animals develop and change biologically over time according to
preset genetic programmes. These developmental-biologic changes are interpen-
etrated by the environmental responses to the animal as the animal changes (Mey-
ersburg and Post 1979; Hofer 1981).
384 Appendix 2

Basically then, genetic programming predisposes animals to change their state

via development. This takes place in terms of changes in dendrite growth, syn-
aptic branching and so on, and is studied by the science of developmental neu-
robiology. It is also known that damage to various parts of the CNS can result in
changes in dendrite growth in other parts of the CNS. In other words, the state
properties of the organism are varied not only as a function of damage but also
as a function of how the CNS accommodates itself to and changes as a result of
that damage.
In many ways biological systems are not steady-state systems (Jantsch 1980).
In the sections that follow a brief overview is given to some of the more important
internal oscillating systems.

Oscillating systems within the

central nervous system
In Chapter 4 we looked at some organisational principles of CNS function in
terms of defence–safety and go–stop. However, to remain consistent we must
be wary of delivering an overly static machine-like view of human beings. To
remain true to our evolutionary story, that animals are evolved social organisms,
we would be advised to consider more fully the ecology in which this evolution
took place. In so doing, it becomes immediately apparent that ecologies are far
from static. Indeed, animals evolved in a world of constant fluctuation and cyclic
change. Consequently, we discover that many internal biological processes are
entrained to ecological fluctuation (e.g. light–dark cycles, seasons and so on).
These discoveries have given rise to the recognition of the importance of inter-
nal oscillating systems (Weiner 1982). Various bio-rhythms are known to have a
powerful effect on psychopathology. For example, the circadian rhythm not only
affects many hormone control systems such as cortisol (Levine and Coe 1985),
but is involved in depressive symptoms (e.g. diurnal variation). It is impossible
to do justice to this fascinating and important area here, but we can take a cursory
look at these phenomena to counteract any idea that homeostasis provides and
adequate base for psychological science.

Evolution in a world of changing seasons

The Earth is tilted on its rotational axis so that as it moves around the Sun
it experiences changes of season. These seasonal alterations result in ecologi-
cal changes of light, temperature, rainfall, etc., which have significant effects
on the ecology which require adaptation. Two primary adaptations have been
made to seasonal change. The first of these relates to coping and living within
a changing ecology. This has called into being the capacity to either leave an
inhospitable locale (migration), or remain within it until better times arrive
(hibernation). Today, we can observe migrators by sea, air and land in species as
diverse as fish, whales, birds and various mammals. Salmon, birds and whales
 Appendix 2 385

are, of course, great migrators. Unlike land mammal migrators, these species
rarely eat on their journeys, but live on energy stored in the preceding period.
During migration, there are changes in many physiological processes including
sleep, energy expenditure, rest time and so on. Distinguished from migrators
are the hibernators which use the reverse strategy. These species have evolved
the capacity to stay put. They do this by reducing energy expenditure, lowering
body temperature and sleeping more, all of which results in requiring less food
and maintaining the animal in a warm (nest) environment out of harm’s way.
Price (1972) gave an interesting discussion on how depression might relate to
these variations between moving on versus staying put. The second adaptation
is allied to the first yet separate. This relates to the timing of certain social
behaviours. It involves a species’ ability to maximise exploitation of favoured
breeding conditions when food supply and ecological factors are at their most
beneficial. Hence, behaviour leading up to breeding behaviour (the rutting sea-
son for reindeer, for example) and the delivery of and caring for young are sea-
sonally co-ordinated. In many species, dominance behaviour is also seasonally
amplified. Clearly, species that are able to nurture their young in favourable
ecologies are going to be advantaged. Infants born late in the breeding season
may experience parents absent for longer periods of time due the greater dif-
ficulty in finding food and their chances of survival are poor. Hofer (1984) notes
that an increase in maternal rejections, due to the need for foraging, adversely
affects despair responses to separation.
Clearly, to some degree, humans have evolved past the stage of showing breed-
ing and dominance cycles. On the other hand, since the brain structure of humans
can be traced back to reptiles and beyond (MacLean 1985; Bailey 1987), it is fea-
sible that some areas of the brain remain sensitive to climatic and seasonal altera-
tion. The exact nature of this sensitivity, however, is complex (Michael and Zumpe
1981). Take for example, the observation made by Kraepelin a century ago that
spring is often associated with mania in some individuals. Remember also that
Gardner (1982, 1988) suggested that the alpha state was a model for mania. The
question is what has been climatically triggered: a migratory–hibernatory cycle
or a cycle related to breeding and competing? Clearly, from Gardner’s model,
it could well be a primitive breeding-related cycle, especially since changes in
sexual behaviour are noted both in seasonally triggered dominance behaviours
and also in mania. Agitated depressions, on the other hand, may relate to factors
pertaining to migratory patterns (Price 1972). At this juncture, it would be unwise
to speculate too freely because there are many unknowns, but it may nevertheless
be the case that there are different cyclic forms to staying put and moving on ver-
sus breeding and competing. Some affective disorders may relate to mechanisms
controlling movement behaviour, whereas others may relate to breeding cycles.
Because these are interdependent they may be difficult to separate, or they may
work through some common pathways.
Although, as we shall see, it is usually temperature and light that are regarded
as the triggers for these cycles, the perception of the ecology may also play a role.
386 Appendix 2

Take for example the delusions of poverty noted in some depressives. One won-
ders if this construct system may be attuned to an evolved ecological sensitivity.
The critical question here may be whether animals have evolved the capacity to
begin their hibernation or migration in relation to ecological change, e.g. moving
on sooner if it has been a poor season but delaying if it has been a good season.
The suggestion here is that various appraisal systems may have evolved to evalu-
ate how good or bad a local ecology is, and if so, these appraisal systems may
become dysfunctional in some individuals leading to the perception of poverty
and deprivation in times of plenty. Although under current conditions and phy-
logenetic developments, these kinds of construct systems are now of little use to
humans (especially with the development of agriculture, storage and so on), they
may nevertheless exist as archetypal potentials ready to be activated under certain
conditions.
This view is in some accord with Beck’s (1987) evolutionary model. He views
depression as the activation of a primitive psychobiological program which serves
to avoid the depletion of energy before exhaustion and death. In the theory pre-
sented earlier, depression represents the activation of defence–stop. Because it is
defensive (i.e. self-protective) the sleep disturbance is understood; i.e. in a poor
ecology predators would be searching for food also. Not only would one need to
reduce foraging that was unproductive, but one would have to be awake at times
of predator activity – often the twilight hours. In the absence of hibernation one
would have to make sure that one didn’t become another’s meal. Some depres-
sions are often associated with desires to stay in bed (i.e. the nest or burrow) yet
be awake during dangerous hours.
In summary, we have seen then that there are two classes of behaviour which
seem to be important; one relating to migration and hibernation and the other
relating to breeding cycles. In the next section, we look at some of the evidence
suggestive of biological changes in background state triggered by various oscil-
lating systems.

The psychobiology of ecological

and climatic variation
In this section we are going to touch on some factors related to seasonality. The
reader should note that this is an immensely complex area and the cursory journey
we are about to take through it in no way does credit to this complexity. Sea-
sonality is part of a larger science interested in rhythms of various kinds, called
chronobiology.

Seasonality and biology

In previous sections we have looked at the evidence of changes in 5-HT in go–
stop systems and various disinhibition phenomena such as impulsiveness (Sou-
brie 1986). 5-HT may play a role in changes in dominance behaviours (see
 Appendix 2 387

Chapter 12). For example, if 5-HT does indeed play a role in the dominance
position of animals as Raleigh et al. (1984) suggest, then any evidence of sea-
sonal variation in 5-HT mechanisms would be of special interest. Egrise et al.
(1986) have examined seasonal variation in H-imipramine binding sites and 5-HT
uptake into blood platelets. They found that there were seasonal variations for
both parameters. However, in their measure of 5-HT they found that, compared to
normals, depressed patients showed significant decreases in May and September.
Egrise et al.’s paper highlights the fact that seasonal variation is noted in many
biochemical processes. The manner in which these biological shifts may come to
activate cognitive, behavioural and affective systems is of interest. It may be that
these shifts are capable of activating various cognitive, behavioural or affective
patterns which amplify the themes of dominance or defeat or deprivation. In other
words, these are shifts of baseline biological states from which certain responses
are more likely and others less so.1

Seasonality and aggressive behaviour

Michael and Zumpe (1986) explored seasonal variation in violent abuse of
women. Their results showed a clear seasonal variation with the highest rates
of violence occurring during the summer months. Their view is that in a sub-
group of men such changes may relate to ambient temperature. Whether or not
this occurs as a disinhibition effect in violently prone men is unknown. However,
again, the possibility of climatic sensitivity to certain behaviours is an impor-
tant research question. Moreover, an enquiry into seasonal biological alteration in
such men would be useful. Interestingly, these authors noted the possibility that
there are different seasonal patterns to spouse abuse as compared to child abuse.
It is unknown whether there may be a general tendency to brain state instability
such that climatic triggers produce catastrophic alterations of various brain states
(see Gilbert 1984 for a discussion of brain state instability). Overall, the relation-
ship between aggression and depression has always been an interesting one. The
possibility that 5-HT activity changes in relationship to season, and this in turn
disinhibits impulsiveness or hostility in a subgroup of people, is an interesting
research avenue.

Seasonality and affective disorder

The most researched seasonally related disorder studied so far has been depres-
sion (Kripke et al. 1983a, b; Rosenthal et al. 1984; Lewy et al. 1985; Wehr et al.
1985, 1986). As these researchers suggest, many biological functions seem
entrained to light/dark cyclic variation. Of special interest has been the hormone
melatonin. 5-HT is a precursor of melatonin. Melatonin appears to be concen-
trated in the hypothalamus and midbrain and may modify neurotransmitter inputs
for the hypothalamic control of various hormones (Gilmore 1981). This pineal
hormone increases during dark hours and decreases during light hours. Melatonin
388 Appendix 2

hormone change (among other hormone changes) is believed to play a role in

jet lag symptoms. There is also a seasonal variation to melatonin, being higher
in winter months and lower in summer months. The pathway that is believed
to operate in this mechanism is the retinohypothalmic tract. Melatonin plays an
important regulatory role in oscillating mechanisms (biological clocks). Rosen-
thal et al.’s (1984) paper gives an excellent airing of the issues and is well ref-
erenced. Rosenthal et al. note Kraepelin’s observation that some patients exhibit
clear excitement during the spring period only to lapse into depressive states dur-
ing the autumn. Their own research suggests that “a few single women reported
inability to keep a boyfriend in the winter but no difficulty in finding another one
during the following summer.” (p.73). Such observations might be expected if
these seasonally triggered changes are co-ordinated with (primitive) reproductive
social behaviours.
The typical symptoms of seasonal affective disorder (as it is now called) are
characterised by: hypersomnia, carbohydrate craving and overeating in addition
to mood and inergic variation (see Rosenthal et al. 1984, table 2, p.73). More
importantly, from a clinical point of view, there is the growing evidence that suf-
ferers of this condition can be helped by changing their exposure to bright inten-
sity light (Rosenthal et al. 1984; Wehr et al. 1986). However, the effectiveness of
light treatment may not be tied to seasonal affective disorder. Depressives (espe-
cially of the bipolar form) may benefit (Kripke et al. 1983a,b). Melatonin sensitiv-
ity to light might be high in this group (Lewy et al. 1985).
We have only begun to explore the role of light as a therapy for some patients
and how it works (Wehr et al. 1986).2 We do not yet know whether those who
benefit will be many in number or few; and whether only depression or other
disorders may also be helped. I have had one bulimic patient who showed clear
worsening of her cravings seasonally, which were completely cured if she went
on holiday to a southern country, but not if she holidayed in Britain or further
north. It may be that, in some cases, there is an internal oscillating process which
interacts with psychological and social vulnerability. For example, some patients
may be more easily able to cope with certain life events in the summer months,
but less able if these occur at a critical period, i.e. winter or autumn. At present,
the interaction between life event, type of event and season of exposure is still
being researched.
A few final speculations might be allowed at this point. Bradbury and Miller
(1985) presented a comprehensive overview of the relationship between season
of birth and schizophrenia. Although there are many methodological problems in
this research area, there does appear to be some evidence that winter births may
confer increased risk. These authors consider a number of possible explanations.
It may be that internal oscillating mechanisms are disturbed in some women, and
that internal biological shifts may have an impact on a developing foetus. In a
recent television documentary, Greshwin suggested that circulating progesterone
could affect the relative cortical-hemispheric development of the foetus. This, in
turn, could skew development towards left-handedness and allergy sensitivity.
 Appendix 2 389

May it be that other hormonal changes sensitive to climatic variation interact with
the foetus? Do mothers of schizophrenics show increased sensitivity to winter
depressions? What about increased risk of postnatal depression and psychosis to
mothers giving birth in the winter? These fascinating speculations must await
further research.

Internal oscillators
So far, it has been suggested that evolution occurred in the context of changing
climatic and ecological conditions. The timing of inclusive fitness directed goals
(mating, bearing young and competing) have similarly been entrained to seasonal
variation in line with alteration of biological mediators of these goals. Hence,
biological processes and the psychological phenomena that they support (affects,
cognitions, behaviours or PSALICs) may also be viewed as dynamic and rhyth-
mic. Some of these rhythms are short, some long, but how far are these rhythmic
alterations only relevant to those with affective disorders?
Eastwood et al. (1985) explored this issue by asking two groups of subjects
(an affective disorder group and a normal group) to record daily measures of
time slept, mood, energy and anxiety, over a fourteen-month period. They found
that the majority of subjects experience seasonal cycles. By seasonal, they sug-
gest “. . . not a periodicity that precisely recurs seasonally, but a rhythm that is
approximately or nearly seasonal in its recurrence.” (p.296)
The idea that there are seasonal-like cycles, which need not be clearly entrained
to external triggers (e.g. light) would perhaps suggest some continuation of infra-
dian oscillating mechanisms in the human CNS. These may have become less
sensitive to external triggers and less forceful in their amplification (perhaps due
to some phylogenetic development producing inhibition of these oscillating sys-
tems). In conclusion to their study Eastwood et al. (1985, p.298) suggest that
affective cyclic symptoms are universal, those with affective disorders varying in
the amplitude of their cycles rather than in the kind of cycle:

In the present study, 83% of patients and 79% of control subjects had signifi-
cant and sustained mood periodicities; more specifically, 60% of the patients
and 41% of the control subjects had significant mood cycles. These figures
are substantially higher than those found by a number of international studies
in the past decade, which varied from approximately 5% to 30%, depending
on the study, place, sex and type of prevalence.

If Eastwood et al. are correct that cyclic changes of mood are more common than
previously acknowledged, then one would like to know to what extent psychother-
apy would affect the amplitude of these cycles. Drugs did not appear to remove
the tendency for cyclic activity in Eastwood et al.’s study. However, although
super-sensitivity to light may be a biological marker for some affective disor-
ders, and possibly other disorders, it can not be ruled out that the amplification of
390 Appendix 2

these cycles is related to current state of incentive achievement. In other words,

changing the way individuals perceive themselves, removing vulnerability to low
self-esteem and lack of control, helping individuals to be less competitive, etc.,
may have the effect of removing the tendency for high-amplitude changes under
internal cyclic provocation. This is a highly speculative theory (and probably
something of a long shot), but again, it suggests that we cannot assume a dissocia-
tion between psychological, social and biological processes (Michael and Zumpe
1981). Moreover, because baseline biological states regulate long-term response
patterns (Leshner 1978), psychotherapy might be aimed at state changes rather
than immediate response capabilities. However, this is a complex and controver-
sial issue.

The menstrual cycle

Another major oscillating mechanism is the menstrual cycle. Some have sug-
gested that this cycle might constitute a good model for depressed states in some
women (Rubinow et al. 1986). It is known that there are numerous changes in
hormone and neural mechanisms throughout the various stages of the cycle, but
rather less in known about how these relate to psychopathology (Asso 1983; Col-
lins et al. 1985; Tam et al. 1985; Stout et al. 1986).
The degree to which these oscillating systems hook up into underlying
cognitive schemata and concepts that an individual may have and the attribu-
tions given to changes in state may be important. Some women may become
depressed during their menstrual cycles because they evaluate their changes in
state as making them unlovable; or, they may evaluate negatively the fact that
they are able to accomplish less; or, minor changes in anxiety may be amplified
by a cognitive route in the same way that panic patients appear to cognitively
amplify and catastrophise changes in physical sensations (Beck et al. 1985).
The degree to which shifts in state alter social relations, and the way social rela-
tionships may amplify or dampen these effects on psychological health require
further research.
Genetic sensitivity may also play a role. Breier et al. (1986) found that 51%
of a group of panic and agoraphobic patients experienced a worsening of the
condition in relation to their menstrual cycle. At present, I have a very anxious
patient who suggests that she is “two different people”. For fourteen days of her
cycle she is confident, able to go to supermarkets and so on, but for the other
fourteen days she becomes “a nervous wreck”. Whatever the source of these
effects, efforts to decondition her during her good days showed no carry-over
effect to her bad days.
I have noticed similar variation in some obsessional patients. No biopsycho-
social theory is complete without some means to accommodate such data. It also
remains to be seen if some phobias are more easily fear conditioned or extin-
guished at different points in the cycle. Recent research suggests this is indeed
the case (van der Molen et al. 1988). If so, behavioural therapists may need to be
 Appendix 2 391

more sensitive to the timing of their interventions. Changes in hormones during

the menopause may also act as one factor among many which increase risk of
psychopathology.

Overview
It is not only psychopathologies which are affected by internal oscillating mecha-
nisms. Many forms of diseases may show such an effect. Weiner’s outstanding
paper (1982, pp.499–500) on psychosomatic medicine puts the issue well:

The question of the timing of onset of disease may be intimately bound up

with our growing understanding of the fact that biological systems function
in a periodic and rhythmic manner. During evolutionary development these
rhythms have been selected out; endogenous oscillator systems have evolved
and are matched to natural frequencies that approximate important environ-
mental cycles. The dominant entrained frequency is circadian matching the
light–dark cycle – the length of the day is the periodic environmental cue.
Other cyclic patterns have been discovered – infradian, lunar, seasonal and
altradian. The endogenous oscillator systems, occurring in all living systems,
have led to highly complex time-periodic systems that provide the temporal
framework for biological integration.
The significance of these findings are profound with regard to our under-
standing of normal physiological and pathological mechanisms in Man. It
is no longer possible to ignore these rhythmic events as only minor fluc-
tuations about a daily mean. The evidence is overwhelming that these
periodic fluctuations are large and represent major temporal differences in
cell, organ and organismic states. Indeed, the biological system’s continual
change produces biological differences that represent differences of kind
not of degree.

Hence, we are beginning to have new ideas about psychopathology and other dis-
eases in terms of endogenous oscillator systems. It is not necessary (nor possible)
for us to go into the complex biological details of these oscillator systems. Rather,
we need to begin to enquire into the psychological implications.
In terms of Leary’s theory (1957) and Beck’s theory (1967), negative latent
schemata may be more easily activated at certain stages of cyclic endogenous
oscillation. If psychotherapy is capable of changing these latent schemata then the
pathological consequences of endogenous oscillator systems may be reduced. All
of this awaits future research. It may be that some effects of biological oscillation
are more easily controlled than others. I have had examples of women who expe-
rienced improvement in premenstrual difficulties following successful psycho-
therapy. My impression was that these women had problems with assertiveness.
This could of course be a quite spurious observation. But the idea that endogenous
changes of state run their course irrespective of psychological factors needs to
392 Appendix 2

be considered (Oaker 1988). Helping individuals make allowances to cope with

changes of state, to prepare for and re-evaluate such changes might be helpful, but
that’s an issue for research.

Notes
1 Seasonal variations in many hormones are also noted in many species (see for example
Gilmore and Cook 1981).
2 In fact, Wehr et al. (1986) present evidence that may cast some doubt on the melatonin
story in depression.
Author index

Adams, N. 113, 369 Barrett, K.C. 125, 126, 355

Ader, R. 9, 352 Barsky, A.J. 150, 353
Adler, A. 134, 145, 281, 352 Barton, R. 364
Adler, G. 301, 302, 305, 306, 352 Bateson, G. 332, 353
Adler, Z. 355 Baumeister, R.F. 11, 209, 263, 280, 322,
Aers, D. 277, 352 353, 372
Ainsworth, M.D.S. 140, 352 Bayer, S.A. 352
Akiskal, H.S. 77, 352, 373 Becall, S.K. 218, 230, 368
Akiskal, N.S. 158, 352 Beck, A.T. 10, 11, 13, 19, 46, 69, 71,
Alter-Reid, K. 189, 190, 352 72, 78, 79, 87, 92, 104, 109, 115, 118,
Altman, J. 79, 352 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 152, 159, 179,
Ammerman, R.T. 184, 186, 188, 352 211, 227, 231, 239, 248, 267, 287, 293,
Anchin, J.C. 75, 352 294, 297, 304, 308, 334, 338, 353, 386,
Andrews, B. 194, 352, 355 390, 391
Anisman, H. 85, 128, 272, 352 Becker, R.E. 361
Appels, A. 296, 352 Beckmann, H. 87, 353
Arana, G.W. 108, 109, 352 Bee, H. 121, 136, 205, 206, 209, 213,
Argyle, M. 54, 62, 72, 83, 88, 212, 213, 328, 354
257, 268, 271, 275, 338, 346, 353, 372 Beitman, B.D. 1, 177, 354
Arieti, S. 145, 291, 292, 353 Bemoporad, J. 145, 146, 291, 292, 353
Arrindell, W.A. 368 Berman, M. 10, 209, 354
Asroff, S. 366 Bess, B. 362
Asso, D. 353, 390 Bibring, E. 145, 146, 354
Augoustinos, M. 186, 353 Biehar, M.C. 352
Azar, S.T. 186, 188, 353 Bird, W.H. 278, 301, 354
Birtchnell, J. 146, 159, 176, 354
Bailey, K. 20, 21, 49, 68, 73, 89, 91, 94, Blackburn, I.M. 102, 274, 354, 356
110, 200, 265, 275, 276, 285, 290, 314, Blackwood, D.H.R. 356
318, 320, 343, 353, 383, 385 Blatt, S.J. 146, 248, 293, 297, 354
Bailey, W.H. 373 Blazer, D.G. 371
Baldessarini, R.J. 352 Block, P. 295, 369
Bandura, A. 46, 67, 83, 101, 179, 353 Bolton, W. 153, 330, 367
Barash, D.P. 11, 15, 42, 265, 276, 353 Booth, A. 278, 354
Barchas, J.D. 353, 361 Borduin, D.M. 154, 355
Barchas, P.R. 361 Boulton, M.G. 164, 165, 169, 354
Barnes, J. 366 Bower, G.H. 314, 354
Barnes, M. 276, 355 Bowern, D.J. 371
394 Author index

Bowlby, J. 41, 70, 94, 96, 117, 118, 119, Coe, C.L. 109, 116, 126, 128, 129, 135,
126, 140, 142, 148, 153, 154, 167, 180, 140, 148, 193, 356, 364, 384
183, 229, 234, 239, 297, 337, 354 Cohen, N. 9, 352
Bradbury, T.N. 354, 388 Collins, A. 356, 390
Brammer, G.L. 369 Conger, J.J. 35, 356
Breier, A. 149, 150, 354, 390 Cook, B. 360, 392
Brewin, C.R. 7, 48, 70, 163, 164, 174, Cooper, C. 221, 356
202, 218, 229, 230, 238, 248, 254, Corenthal, C. 374
335, 344, 354 Corriere, R. 363
Bridge, L. 355 Coryeell, W. 374
Brinkerhoff, D.B. 278, 354 Costa, P.T. 349, 356
Brown, G.W. 96, 109, 113, 129, 159, 195, Cotman, C.W. 99, 104, 356, 375, 377,
233, 336, 352, 355 381, 382
Brown, R. 202, 225, 279, 355 Coxhead, N. 219, 323, 356
Browne, K. 184, 186, 187, 188, 196, 355 Craik, K.H. 268, 355
Brunne, R.L. 352 Crick, F.H.C. 32, 356
Bryant, B. 372 Crook, J.H. 11, 15, 16, 23, 24, 35, 39, 41,
Buck, R. 29, 30, 355 49, 56, 60, 61, 198, 202, 204, 220, 221,
Bunge, R. 355, 377 232, 235, 236, 243, 253, 259, 265, 266,
Burbach, J. 154, 355 289, 348, 356
Buss, D.M. 11, 15, 38, 268, 275, 276, Cummings, E.M. 374
278, 355 Cutler, B.L. 374
Buss, J.D. 292, 365 Cutrona, C.E. 204, 356

Calloway, S.P. 357 Dahlstrom, A. 356, 381

Campbell, J. 346, 355 Daniels, D. 39, 143, 154, 283, 284, 368
Campos, J.J. 125, 126, 140, 355 Davis, P.W. 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104,
Capitanio, J.P. 120, 132, 169, 355, 369 105, 371
Carlton, P.L. 79, 85, 98, 355 Dawkins, R. 15, 202, 209, 226, 356
Carroll, B.J. 106, 107, 108, 355 Dawson, G. 106, 107, 363
Carson, R.C. 60, 64, 66, 69, 75, 355 de Coverley Veale, D.M.W. 113, 357
Cassisi, J.E. 352 De Souza, F.V. 357
Caton, H. 17, 170, 355 De Wet Vorster, D. 123, 357
Chalkley, A.J. 356 Deikman, A.J. 348, 357
Chan, M.Y. 372 Dell, P.F. 3, 332, 357
Chance, M.R.A. 14, 23, 41, 42, 45, 51, 52, Dembroski, T.M. 296, 357
54, 58, 80, 94, 95, 97, 123, 124, 204, Dent, J. 72, 372
212, 221, 243, 251, 259, 260, 261, 262, DePaulo, B.M. 68, 357
263, 268, 276, 284, 289, 303, 311, 316, Depue, R.A. 88, 357
318, 355 Dick, H. 356
Chaplin, W. 364 Diener, E. 211, 358
Charlton, B.G. 108, 356 Dilsaver, S.C. 87, 103, 128, 357
Charney, D.S. 354 Dimberg, U. 367
Charnon, K.L. 364 Dixon, N. 8, 313, 357
Checkley, S.A. 112, 356 Dixon, T. 266, 357
Chevron, E.S. 354 Dodge, C.S. 361
Chiodo, J. 371 Dolan, R.J. 107, 129, 357
Christie, J.E. 106, 356 Dorpat, T.L. 226, 227, 232, 357
Cimbolic, P. 365, 377, 378 Dovidio, J.F. 35, 57, 265, 290, 357, 358
Clancy, J. 367 Drown, D. 238, 371
Clark, D.M. 149, 150, 356 Dryden, W. 176, 178, 181, 357, 360
Cochrane, N. 102, 274, 356 Duke, M.P. 62, 357
 Author index 395

Dunn, J. 213, 282, 284, 357 Fogel, A. 162, 163, 164, 172, 196, 359
Dysken, M.W. 364 Fonagy, P. 357
Forrest, M.S. 63, 247, 359
Eagle, M. 167, 286, 357 Foucault, M. 23, 222, 268, 289, 359
Eastwood, M.R. 357, 389 Fox, R. 17, 18, 36, 209, 359
Ebbesen, E.B. 366 Frank, J.D. 177, 359
Efron, A. 7, 9, 123, 131, 137, 278, 357 Frazer, A. 366, 377, 380
Egrise, D. 358, 387 Freud, S. 102, 152, 296, 359
Ehlers, A. 365 Friedman, M. 298, 299, 310, 368
Eibl-Eibesfeldt, I. 23, 32, 78, 199, Friedrich, W.N. 184, 359
316, 358 Frijda, N.H. 35, 359
Eisenberg, L. 4, 77, 96, 341, 358 Fromm, E. 171, 227, 239, 359
Eisenberg, N. 70, 164, 167, 173, 174, 175, Fulker, D.W. 295, 358, 370
202, 208, 221, 241 Furnham, A. 70, 218, 229, 230, 354
Ekman, P. 30, 370 Fuxe, K. 356, 381
Ellenberger, H.F. 2, 6, 7, 28, 36, 177, 258,
289, 305, 358 Gabriel, T.J. 3, 340, 365
Elliott, G.R. 156, 361 Garamoni, G.L. 308, 359
Ellis, A. 48, 338, 358 Gardner, H. 3, 313, 359
Ellyson, S.L. 35, 57, 265, 290, 357, 358 Gardner, R. 10, 11, 14, 19, 23, 29, 35, 41,
Emery, G. 353 47, 56, 57, 58, 59, 61, 74, 75, 77, 159,
Emmons, R.A. 211, 305, 306, 358 178, 258, 262, 265, 271, 289, 316, 325,
Eneroth, P. 356 326, 359, 381, 385
Engel, B.T. 9, 358 Gardner, W.P. 364
Epstein, L.H. 371 George, L.K. 371
Epstein, N. 353 Gergen, K.J. 347, 359
Epstein, S. 313, 314, 358 Gershon, E.S. 371
Erdelyi, M.H. 1, 7, 358 Gewirtz, J.L. 118, 120
Essock-Vitale, S.M. 365 Giammarino, M. 374
Estes, D. 364 Gibbs, J.C. 205, 360
Evans, R.B. 8, 358 Gibbs, M.S. 352
Eysenck, H.J. 4, 295, 358, 370 Gilbert, P. 6, 7, 10, 16, 45, 55, 59, 74, 80,
Eysenck, M.W. 52, 72, 358 83, 85, 87, 88, 89, 91, 102, 109, 112,
117, 119, 126, 128, 149, 152, 159, 166,
Falger, P.R.J. 296, 358 178, 209, 215, 229, 246, 247, 271, 272,
Fallon, A.E. 78, 369 274, 287, 295, 308, 314, 321, 338, 343,
Farr, R. 34, 326, 358 360, 369, 372, 387
Fava, G.A. 102, 359 Giles, D.E. 109, 360
Feinberg, M. 355 Gillian, C.J. 369
Ferrier, I.N. 356 Gillie, O. 8, 360
Ferster, C.B. 2, 228, 359 Gilligan, C. 182, 207, 248, 360
Field, T. 118, 121, 122, 124, 126, 130, 135, Gillin, C.J. 371
178, 359, 369 Gilmore, D. 360, 387, 392
Fingarette, H. 226, 227, 229, 359 Glantz, K. 248, 360
Fink, G. 356 Glazer, H.I. 373
Finkelhor, D. 189, 190, 359 Goffmann, E. 256, 257, 360
Firestone, R.W. 270, 326, 359 Goldsmith, H.H. 355
Fisher, J.D. 171, 179, 225, 358 Goldstein, A.P. 173, 208, 324, 360
Fisher, S. 129, 153, 359 Goldstein, H. 3, 4, 70, 322, 360
Fleckenstein, P. 353 Goleman, D. 227, 360
Fleeson, J. 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 329 Goodall, J.V. 123, 133, 135, 136, 148,
Fodor, J.A. 3, 313, 359 242, 360
396 Author index

Goodman, P.A. 373 Hinde, R.A. 41, 43, 362

Gosling, J. 116, 360 Hoban, C.M. 370
Gottman, J.M. 193, 364 Hobson, A.J. 8, 365
Graham, H. 331, 360 Hodgson, R. 51, 368
Gray, J.A. 78, 79, 82, 83, 85, 92, 93, 106, Hofer, M.A. 17, 59, 91, 95, 121, 123, 125,
236, 300, 360, 379 127, 130, 131, 135, 136, 137, 143, 362,
Gredon, J.F. 355 383, 385
Greenberg, J.R. 117, 121, 147, 328, Hokanson, J.E. 63, 247, 359
341, 360 Holzmuller, B. 353
Greenberg, L.S. 30, 32, 270, 313, 315, Hoover, C.W. 357
321, 326, 361 Horner, T.M. 117, 122, 324, 362
Greenberg, R.L. 353 Horowitz, L.M. 68, 221, 253, 362
Greenfield, B. 277, 361 Horowitz, M.J. 55, 68, 152, 160, 317, 318,
Grieger, R. 48, 338, 358 329, 331, 337, 362
Griez, E. 150, 361 Hughes, W. 158, 360
Griffiths, H.W. 356 Humphrey, N. 362
Grimm, L.G. 298, 374
Grof, S. 8, 143, 361 Iran-Nejad, A. 314, 362
Guidano, U.F. 118, 139, 153, 154, 361 Iversen, L.L. 362, 375, 377, 382
Gunderson, J.G. 156, 157, 361 Izard, C.E. 29, 362

Haber, S. 272, 361 Jacobs, W.J. 7, 31, 106, 160, 362

Haley, W.E. 234, 361 Jacobson, A. 190, 245, 362
Hall, C.S. 36, 361 Jacobson, F.M. 373
Hall, E.T. 12, 13, 361 Janowsky, D.S. 364
Hall, J.A. 38 Jantsch, E. 332, 362, 384
Hallpike, C.R. 17, 361 Janus, S. 277, 287, 362
Hanly, C. 291, 361 Jimerson, D.C. 371
Hardyment, C. 164, 346, 361 Jung, C.G. 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 241, 344,
Hare-Mustin, R.T. 207, 279, 281, 361 349, 350, 362
Harlow, H.F. 122, 361
Harper, R.C. 56, 256, 361 Kagan, J. 27, 133, 135, 140, 143, 164, 183,
Harris, T. 96, 109, 113, 129, 336 205, 210, 248, 347, 362
Harrison, R.P. 353 Kahn, E. 302, 304, 306, 311, 362
Hart, J. 363 Kalin, N.H. 106, 107, 363
Hartup, W.W. 213, 215, 284, 361 Karasu, T.B. 1, 179, 363
Haykal, R.F. 352 Karle, W. 325, 363
Hazan, C. 132, 142, 361 Kasparov, G. 273, 363
Heard, D.H. 96, 132, 138, 143, 147, 154, Kaufman, J. 186, 187, 196, 363
159, 252, 310, 361 Kegan, R. 3, 12, 158, 206, 248, 250, 251,
Heimberg, R.G. 308, 361 262, 266, 298, 302, 306, 311, 328, 335,
Hellhammer, D. 84, 361 347, 363
Heninger, G.R. 354 Keller, R. 359
Henry, G.W. 2, 323, 374 Kellner, R. 150, 363
Henry, J.P. 48, 88, 101, 106, 109, 113, 115, Kemper, T.D. 96, 363
273, 296, 362 Kendell, R.E. 77, 363
Herd, J.A. 295, 296, 362 Kennedy, J.L. 218, 265, 267, 363
Hersen, M. 352 Kenny, D.A. 357
Hesse, H. 5, 362 Kenrick, D.T. 370
Hewer, A. 363 Kiesler, D.J. 62, 68, 75, 352, 363
Hill, D. 15, 77, 362 Klein, D.F. 42, 148, 150, 363, 381
Hill, J. 55, 209, 225, 249, 252, 257, 258, Klerman, G.L. 150, 353, 373
284, 289, 290, 310, 362 Klinger, E. 26, 28, 215, 329, 363
 Author index 397

Klinger, G.W. 363 MacDougall, J.M. 357

Koelsch, W.A. 8, 358 Mackie, J. 39, 95, 178, 260, 365
Kohlberg, L. 182, 205, 206, 207, 363 MacLean, P. 20, 21, 22, 24, 28, 44, 73, 80,
Kohut, H. 55, 252, 284, 286, 302, 90, 91, 94, 119, 120, 134, 162, 168, 169,
311, 363 275, 282, 327, 365, 379, 385
Kostowski, W. 363, 379 Macleod, C. 52, 72, 366
Kottler, J.A. 168, 363 Mahoney, M.J. 3, 340, 365
Kraemer, G.W. 126, 128, 136, 363 Maislin, G. 371
Kramer, P.A. 357 Mandell, A.J. 89, 91, 273, 365
Kripke, D.F. 364, 387, 388 Mandler, G. 7, 8, 28, 347, 365
Krupnick, J. 362 Mann, A.E. 6, 373
Kuiper, N.A. 48, 289, 335, 372 Maple, T.L. 268, 366
Marecek, J. 207, 279, 281, 361
Lachenmeyer, J.R. 352 Margraf, J. 150, 365
Lack, E.R. 366 Margulies, A. 178, 365
Lader, M.H. 372 Markus, H. 329, 365
Lader, M.M. 88, 103, 364 Marmar, C. 362
Lake, B. 96, 132, 138, 143, 147, 154, 159, Marsella, A.J. 241, 366
252, 310, 361 Marsh, H.W. 338, 366
Lamb, M.E. 140, 355, 364 Martin, C.L. 67, 367
Landgren, B.M. 356 Martin, P.A. 354
Lasch, C. 346, 364 Maser, J.D. 150, 308, 372
Lazarus, R. 30, 364 Maslow, A. 19, 366
Le Roith, D. 369 Mason, J.W. 366
Leake, A. 356 Massoth, N.A. 352
Leary, T. 36, 40, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, Mathews, A. 52, 72, 366
64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71, 74, 199, Mathews, K.A. 295, 366
211, 212, 213, 221, 229, 231, 245, Maturana, H.R. 3, 77, 332, 339, 366
251, 259, 261, 262, 271, 274, 276, McAdam, E.K. 206, 365
289, 295, 302, 306, 311, 316, 318, McCarley, R.W. 8, 87, 365
334, 336, 364, 391 McClelland, D.C. 27, 123, 200, 211, 289,
Lee, P.H.K. 372 297, 316, 365
Leff, J.P. 372 McConville, B. 213, 284, 365
Lennox, R.D. 374 McCrae, R.R. 349, 356
Leshner, A.I. 48, 56, 99, 106, 111, 113, McCranie, E.W. 292, 365
273, 364, 390 McCue, E.C. 116, 365
Levenson, R.W. 193, 364 McCue, P.A. 116, 365
Leventhal, H. 3, 29, 31, 32, 74, 120, 133, McDonald, C. 354
134, 138, 205, 313, 317, 364 McGaugh, J.L. 99, 104, 356, 375, 377,
Levine, C. 364 381, 382
Levine, S. 116, 356, 363, 384 McGhee, M. 348, 365
Lewinsohn, P.M. 154, 155, 303, 364 McGowan, C.R. 371
Lewis, C.S. 151, 152, 364 McGuire, M.T. 16, 365, 369
Lewis, H.B. 245, 246, 364 McKenzie, K.R. 218, 266, 267, 363
Lewy, A.J. 364, 387, 388 McKinney, W.T. 77, 126, 127, 128, 352,
Linnoila, M. 369 364, 365, 373
Liotti, G. 119, 139, 153, 154, 361 McKnew, D.H. 374
Lisansky, J. 359 McNally, R.J. 3, 42, 49, 365, 369
London, P. 258, 261, 323, 364 McNeal, E.T. 365, 377, 378
Lucas, M. 266, 357 Mears, C. 122, 361
Lynn, M. 204, 220, 364 Mefford, I.N. 353
Lynott, A.M. 371 Melson, G.F. 359
Lyons, J.S. 224 Mendels, J. 366, 377, 380
398 Author index

Merkelbach, H. 372 Oliver, P.V. 357

Meyersburg, H.A. 91, 95, 130, 136, 366, 383 Orbach, S. 309, 367
Michael, R.P. 366, 385, 387, 390 Orford, J. 62, 75, 212, 263, 367
Michaels, G.Y. 70, 173, 208, 324, 360 Ornsteen, M. 352
Milgram, S. 264, 265, 267, 366 Ornstein, R. 3, 312, 313, 314, 318, 319,
Miller, G.A. 354, 388 321, 367
Miller, S.M. 296, 366 Ortony, A. 314, 362
Millman, L. 369 Ost, L.G. 367
Milner, P.M. 367, 381
Mineka, S. 126, 127, 366 Panskepp, J. 120, 128, 367
Mischel, W. 303, 364, 366 Parad, H.W. 374
Mistry, J. 359 Parkes, C.M. 132, 151, 153, 367
Mitchell, G. 268, 366 Parry, B.L. 373
Mitchell, S.A. 117, 121, 147, 328, 341, 360 Parry, G. 246, 269, 304, 366
Mollon, P. 244, 245, 246, 269, 304, 366 Patterson, G.R. 186, 187, 188, 367
Mongrain, M. 146, 293, 374 Pauley, J.D. 369
Monroe, S.M. 88, 357 Paulhus, D.L. 67, 367
Montagu, A. 123, 366 Paykel, E.S. 373
Moorey, S. 315, 366 Payne, G.C. 374
Morelli, G.A. 372 Pennebaker, J.W. 218, 230, 367
Morgan, R.D. 374 Perls, F.S. 315, 367
Morris, D. 14, 20, 23, 32, 41, 55, 59, Perris, C. 154, 155, 368
148, 366 Perris, H. 368
Mulder, P. 296, 352 Person, E.S. 277, 368
Munn, P. 282, 357 Peselow, E.D. 369
Murphy, H.B.M. 241, 366 Peter, A.M. 357
Peterson, L. 144, 368
Nadel, L. 7, 31, 106, 160, 362 Petrovich, S.B. 118, 120, 368
Nadler, A. 359 Pickar, D. 369
Neale, M.C. 370 Pizzey, E. 194, 368
Neilson, M. 102, 274, 356 Plomin, R. 39, 143, 154, 283, 284, 368
Neisser, U. 3, 323, 328, 367 Plotkin, H.C. 17, 368
Nemeroff, C. 369 Plutchik, R. 27, 28, 29, 30, 368
Nias, D.K.B. 370 Pohorecky, L.A. 373
Nicholson, J. 278, 367 Polsky, R.H. 365
Nordby, V.J. 36, 361 Post, R.M. 91, 95, 130, 136, 366, 369,
Normansell, L.A. 367 371, 383
Nowicki, S.J. 62, 357 Potter, W.Z. 369
Noyes, R. 150, 367 Powell, L.H. 298, 299, 310, 368
Nurius, P. 329, 365 Power, M. 52, 200, 220, 368
Nurnberger, J.I. 364, 371 Pribram, K.H. 35, 368
Price, J.S. 10, 43, 44, 45, 47, 55, 79, 80,
O’Gorman, T.W. 367 100, 101, 102, 103, 105, 152, 162, 194,
O’Hara, M. 217, 367 261, 263, 270, 271, 272, 274, 285, 289,
O’Heeron, R.C. 230, 367 308, 317, 320, 368, 385
Oaker, G.M. 367 Price, V.A. 273, 295, 296, 297, 298, 299,
Oatley, K. 153, 330, 367 300, 301, 308, 368
Odling-Smee, F.J. 17, 368
Ogilvie, D.M. 329, 367 Quinlan, D.M. 354
Ohman, A. 41, 42, 46, 47, 49, 93, 367
Oldenquist, A. 204, 220, 364 Rachman, S. 30, 51, 94, 110, 368
Olds, J. 367, 381 Radke-Yarow, M. 374
 Author index 399

Raleigh, M.J. 98, 272, 369, 387 Saqi, S. 184, 186, 187, 188, 196, 355
Raphael-Leff, J. 165, 166, 369 Schalling, D. 90, 370
Rasmussen, K.L.R. 80, 369 Scheff, T. 28, 370
Reich, J. 367 Scherer, K.R. 30, 205, 317, 364, 370
Reiser, M. 369, 379 Schneider, L.H. 373
Reiss, S. 369 Schnell, S.V. 205, 360
Reite, M. 80, 126, 130, 132, 135, 355, Schoutens, A. 358
368, 369 Schuham, A. 354
Rescorla, R.A. 3, 76, 369 Schwartz, M.A. 332, 370
Reus, V.I. 109, 111, 314, 369, 371 Schwartz, R.M. 308, 359
Reynolds, S. 295, 369 Schweizer, E.E. 108, 148, 371
Richards, G.E. 366 Scott-Brown, M. 277, 371
Richardson, B. 190, 245, 362 Scott-Fordham, A. 277, 371
Rickels, K. 371 Seiler, C. 369
Rippere, V. 113, 369 Seligman, M.E.P. 80, 84, 85, 103, 110,
Risch, S.C. 364 272, 371
Robins, C.J. 295, 369 Shapiro, J. 194, 368
Rohner, R.P. 154, 162, 164, 165, 172, 180, Shaver, P. 132, 142, 238, 361, 371
182, 183, 184, 185, 189, 196, 369 Shaw, B.F. 353
Rosen, A.J. 364 Shiloach, J. 369
Rosenbaum, M. 154, 155, 364 Shively, C. 275, 371
Rosenberg, L.T. 356 Shorte, R. 369
Rosenthal, N.E. 369, 373, 387, 388 Sigal, J. 352
Rosenthal, T.L. 352 Silberman, E.K. 112, 272, 371
Ross, D.C. 355 Silver, M. 264, 265, 267, 370
Ross, R.J. 370 Simon, D.I. 89, 371
Roth, J. 99, 369 Simons, A.D. 113, 371
Roth, W.T. 365 Simson, P.G. 85, 373
Roy, A. 101, 102, 369 Sitaram, N. 87, 371
Roy-Byrne, P. 108, 369 Siviy, S.M. 367
Rozin, P. 78, 369 Sloman, L. 43, 44, 45, 47, 80, 102, 272,
Rubinow, D.R. 370, 390 273, 274, 285, 289, 308, 320, 368
Rubinstein, M. 358 Smail, D. 195, 346, 371
Rudorfer, M.V. 102, 370 Smith, P.K. 15, 16, 202, 371
Rush, J.A. 109, 353, 360 Snarey, J.R. 207, 371
Rushton, J.P. 211, 252, 262, 370 Soloman, E.P. 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104,
Russell, G.A. 189, 301, 302, 306, 370 105, 371
Russell, M.J. 227, 370 Soubrie, P. 90, 273, 371, 386
Rutter, M. 139, 143, 154, 156, 157, 160, Sperry, R.W. 34, 332, 371
298, 328, 330, 370, 371 Spring, B. 371, 377
Ryle, A. 147, 248, 280, 324, 337, 370 Sroufe, A.L. 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143,
154, 160, 329, 371
Sabini, J. 264, 265, 267, 370 Steege, J.F. 371
Sachar, E.J. 107, 370 Steinberg, C. 355
Sack, D.A. 369, 373 Stephens, P.M. 48, 88, 101, 106, 109, 113,
Sadalla, E.K. 275, 276, 370 115, 273, 296, 362
Safran, J.D. 30, 32, 270, 313, 315, 321, Sternberg, R.J. 192, 371
326, 361 Stevens, A. 9, 36, 39, 40, 118, 120, 122,
Salkovskis, P.M. 356 143, 371
Saltus, C. 362 Stokes, P. 101, 103, 106, 371
Sampson, E.E. 346, 347, 370 Stout, A.L. 371, 390
Samuels, A. 36, 37, 286, 306, 331, 370 Strickland, B.R. 234, 361
400 Author index

Suomi, S.J. 126, 127, 366 Weiss, M.L. 6, 373

Swallow, S.R. 48, 289, 335, 372 Weiss, R.S. 216, 282, 373
Swenson, C.M. 371 Weissenberg, M. 355
Weissman, M.M. 102, 373
Tam, W.Y.K. 372, 390 Weitz, S. 12, 373
Tarrier, N. 193, 372 Wenegrat, B. 9, 11, 15, 16, 40, 48, 58, 120,
Taylor, B.C. 353 121, 131, 133, 202, 373
Teasdale, J.D. 72, 314, 372 Whalley, L.J. 356
Thompson, P.J. 111, 372 Wheeler, K.K. 184, 359
Thompson, R.A. 364 Whitcher-Alagna, S. 359
Tice, D.M. 209, 280, 372 Whitton, J.L. 357
Tillich, P. 239, 372 Whybrow, P.C. 107, 373, 378, 379, 381, 382
Tjosvold, S. 23, 372 Whyte, L.L. 7, 374
Tomkins, S.S. 3, 28, 29, 78, 314, 372 Wicker, F.W. 247, 374
Trimble, M.R. 111, 372 Wiener, S.G. 356
Trivers, R.L. 14, 15, 202, 203, 226, 229, 372 Wiggins, O.P. 332, 370
Tronick, E.Z. 119, 124, 125, 135, 372 Wilber, K. 286, 323, 338, 348, 374
Trotter, R.J. 122, 143, 372 Williams, R.B. 357
Trower, P. 45, 74, 83, 149, 246, 268, 271, Williams, S.L. 353
275, 308, 353, 372 Williamson, P.A. 89, 372
Tucker, D.M. 89, 372 Willner, P. 85, 87, 89, 90, 374, 377, 378,
Tuma, A.H. 150, 308, 372 379, 381, 382
Twentyman, C.T. 186, 188, 353 Wilner, N. 362
Tyrer, P. 151, 372 Wilson, G. 277, 374
Tyson, R.L. 139, 372 Winn, S. 372
Winner, M. 303, 374
Uhde, T.W. 369 Winokur, A. 371
Wispe, L. 173, 174, 182, 374
van der Hout, M.A. 150, 361, 372 Woldenberg, L. 363
Van der Post, L. 286, 372 Wolfe, R.N. 200, 374
van der Molen, G.M. 372, 390 Wolpe, J. 150, 374
Van Hassett, V.B. 352 Wright, C. 356
van Praag, H.M. 90, 274, 373 Wright, J.C. 214, 374
Vaugn, C. 372
Vershure, B. 370 Yalom, I.D. 14, 27, 118, 144, 145, 152,
Vining, D.R. Jr. 18, 373 209, 227, 240, 291, 297, 340, 374
Vitkus, J. 68, 221, 253, 362 Yarnold, P.R. 298, 374
Young, J.A. 228, 374
Wachtel, P.L. 1, 373 Young-Eisendrath, P. 40, 75, 374
Wakling, A. 357 Yuwiler, A. 369
Wall, S. 352
Warburton, D.M. 373, 380 Zacharko, R.M. 85, 352
Waters, E. 352 Zahn-Waxler, C. 213, 214, 374
Watkins, M. 325, 373 Zajonc, R.B. 28, 30, 314, 362, 374
Webb, W. 357 Zeiss, A. 366
Wehr, T.A. 364, 373, 387, 388, 392 Zigler, E. 186, 187, 196, 270, 363
Weiner, B. 373 Zilberg, N. 68, 317, 318, 331, 337, 362
Weiner, H. 6, 35, 51, 112, 125, 130, 135, Zilboorg, G. 2, 323, 374
149, 161, 373, 384, 391 Zimmerman, M. 109, 374
Weingartner, H. 369 Zuckerman, M. 89, 374
Weisner, T.S. 164, 165, 373 Zumpe, D. 366, 385, 387, 390
Weiss, J.M. 85, 272, 373, 377 Zuroff, D.C. 146, 293, 354, 374
Subject index

abuse 184–95; marital 192–5; physical behavioural inhibition, system of 92, 93,
184–9; sexual 189–91 236, 260; guilt and 236; neuropsychology
affects 27–33, 172–5, 313–15; as amplifiers and 91–3; status and 260
28; biosocial goals and 27–9; care biological rhythms 124, 125, 386–90,
giving and 172–5; complexes and 32–3; 389–92; infants and 124, 125; internal
encapsulation and 313–15; as incentive oscillation and 389–92; seasonal
monitors 27–8; levels of processing and variation and 386–9
31–3; motives and 29–30; social signals biological states 110–13; see also defeat
and 29; value and 28–9 biosocial goals 13, 14, 17–18, 27, 39–41,
agonic mode 44–6, 47, 193–6, 316, 328; 61–2, 315–20; affects and 27–9;
marital relations and 193; mentalities archetypes and 39–41; classification of
and 316; the self and 328 24–7; incentives and 27; inclusive fitness
altruism: co-operation and 203–5; status and 17–18; interpersonal psychology and
and 257–9; see also kin altruism; 61–2; mentalities and 315–20
reciprocal altruism
anima 37–9 care giving 165–8, 176–9, 336; attitudes
animus 37–8 and 336; psychopathology and 167–8;
anxiety 74, 83, 148–51, 306; social anxiety psychotherapy and 176–9; styles of
74, 83, 149, 306; see also defence 165–8
system cognitive therapy 10, 71–3, 176–9, 315,
archetypes 36–41; biosocial goals and 334–9
39–41; Jung’s theory of 36–9 complexes 32–3, 38
attachment 117–20, 122–5, 131–3, culture 345–7
140–4, 151, 153; anxiety and 148–51;
biological rhythms and 124–5; evolution deception 226–35; beliefs and 228, 229;
and 117–19; depression and 151–3; self evaluation and 227, 229
development and 138–44, 153–6; forms defence system 42–6, 78–81, 113–15,
of 131–3, 140–4; morality and 250, 251; 126–33, 140–2; the agonic mode and
object relations theory and 121, 122; 44–6; attachment and 140–2; defensive
physical contact and 122–4; see also drift and 113–15; neuropsychology of
separation 91–3; nonsocial 42; responses of 78–81;
attribution 70, 71, 164, 187, 233–5, 238; separation and 126, 135; social 42–6;
abuse and 187; deception and 233–5; territorial 42–4
interpersonal psychology and 70, 71; defeat 44–6, 80, 320–1; depression and 45,
morality and 238 46, 80; resource holding and 43–4
autonomy 293–5; sociotropy and 295 depression 45–6, 108–9, 151–3, 330, 390;
autopoiesis 333, 337 attachment and 151, 153; cortisol and
402 Subject index

107–9; defeat and 43, 45; endocrinology and 169–71; motives and 18; the
and 101–2; the menstrual cycle and 390; reptilian brain and 20, 21
roles and 330 internal dialogues 269–71, 325–7; the self
dexamethasone 107–9 and 325–7; shame and 269–71
dominance 20, 22, 43, 56, 60, 62, 275–80, internal oscillators 389–90
289, 290, 295–300; co-operation and interpersonal circle 59–66; personal
204, 225; followers and 266–7; gender adjustment and 62–6
275–80; the interpersonal circle and
59–61; the reptilian brain and 20, 22; kin altruism 169–71, 201
resource holding potential and 43, 289,
290, 342, 343; social roles and 56, 60; leaders 259–68; followers and 265–8;
Type A and 295–301 power 261–5; prosocial 259–61
dominant goal 291–2 leadership 259
learned helplessness 84–8, 110; biology
ego analytic theory 145, 146, 291–2 of 87, 88; the parasympathetic nervous
empathy 173–5, 181, 208–9; guilt and 174; system and 103
morality and 208–9; psychotherapy and
178; sympathy and 173–5, 181 menstrual cycle 390–1
encapsulation 313–15, 318 mentalities 312–22
evolution 15, 19–22, 41, 43–4, 46, 56–9, monoamines 92, 126, 128, 271–3, 375–82;
168–72, 201–3, 277, 283, 345, 347; the dominance-submission and 271–3;
brain and 19–22; breeding structures go-stop and 84–91; separation and
and 41–6; care giving and 168, 169; 126, 128
co-operation and 201–3; morality and morals 205–11; evolution and 211;
211; roles 56–9; sexual selection and foresight and 209; rules and 205–6
15, 275–8; the social context and 10–11, motives 18, 29–30; see also biosocial goals
345–7
existentialism 144–5, 239–41, 291; care nurturing, styles of 163; see also
eliciting and 144–5; guilt and 239–41; care giving
specialness and 291
object relations theory 75, 121, 271
Facilitators 165–6
fight/flight/freeze and faint see defence panic 148–50
system, responses of parasympathetic nervous system 102–3
personal adjustment style 62–6
gender schemata 280–1 personality, and co-operation 211–12
guilt 235–48; culture and 241; personality disorder 91, 156–8, 301–8;
entitlement and 236–7; existential biology and 91; development and
239–41; justification and 237–8; morality 156–8; narcissism and 301–2; Type A
and 238; redemption and 241–3; shame behaviour and 307–8
and 243–8; submission and 243–4 physical contact 123
popularity, and aggression 214–15
hedonic mode 51–5, 204, 212, 221, 316, power: child abuse and 186, 187;
328; attentional structure and 52–5; co-operation and 207, 222, 223;
co-operation and 204, 221; friendship psychobiology of 271–4; in a
and 212; mentalities and 316; the self psychopath 319–20; sadism and
and 328 264–5; see also dominance
hypochondrias 150
reciprocal altruism 169–71, 202, 206,
inclusive fitness 15–18, 20, 21, 198, 248–51; beliefs and 248–51;
201, 209; co-operation and 198, 201; co-operation and 202, 203
evolution and 15–16, 18; kin altruism redemption 241–3, 349
 Subject index 403

regulators 165–6 shame 243–8, 269; helplessness and

reptilian brain 20, 21 245; submission and 247, 269;
resource holding potential 43–9, 321; see also guilt
co-operation and 204; self esteem and sharing 218
46–9, 321; submission and 270; Type A sibling relations 281–4
and 309, 310 social attention holding potential (SAHP)
revealing 218, 230, 241–2; confession 25, 53, 55–6, 199, 217
and 241–2 sociobiology 16, 17–18; see also inclusive
ritualistic agonistic behaviour (RAB) fitness
42–4, 289–90, 309 sociotropy 146–7, 211, 248–50, 295;
roles (social) 56–9, 317, 325–30; evolution autonomy and 295; co-operative beliefs
of 56–9; the internal dialogue and 325–7; and 211, 248–50
mentalities and 317–18, 328–30 space, use of 11–12
sympathetic nervous system 99–102
sadism, and power 264–5 sympathy 173–5, 193; behaviour therapy
safety system 49–52, 78–84, 96, 97, 135, and 175–6; empathy and 173–5, 181;
138, 158; attachment and 50–1, 135, guilt and 174
138, 143; the hedonic mode and 51–2,
53; neuropsychology of 94–5; responses teaching 217
of 82–4 torture 264–5
seasonal affective disorder 388 Type A 278, 295–301; beliefs of 297;
self esteem 46–9; depression and 48; characteristics of 298–301; narcissistic
resource holding and 46–9; social disorder and 307–8
attention holding and 55–6
self schemata 71, 72, 336–9; biosocial goals unconscious, history of 7–8
and 336–8; cognitive therapy and 72, 73
separation 126–34; psychobiology of 126–34 yielding 43–5