#and like i cannot blame kemp at all for not trusting him

[vickyvicarious]

“I made a mistake, Kemp, a huge mistake, in carrying this thing through alone. I have wasted strength, time, opportunities. Alone—it is wonderful how little a man can do alone! To rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end. “What I want, Kemp, is a goal-keeper, a helper, and a hiding-place, an arrangement whereby I can sleep and eat and rest in peace, and unsuspected. I must have a confederate. With a confederate, with food and rest—a thousand things are possible. “Hitherto I have gone on vague lines. We have to consider all that invisibility means, all that it does not mean. It means little advantage for eavesdropping and so forth—one makes sounds. It’s of little help—a little help perhaps—in housebreaking and so forth. Once you’ve caught me you could easily imprison me. But on the other hand I am hard to catch. This invisibility, in fact, is only good in two cases: It’s useful in getting away, it’s useful in approaching. It’s particularly useful, therefore, in killing. I can walk round a man, whatever weapon he has, choose my point, strike as I like. Dodge as I like. Escape as I like.” Kemp’s hand went to his moustache. Was that a movement downstairs? “And it is killing we must do, Kemp.” “It is killing we must do,” repeated Kemp. “I’m listening to your plan, Griffin, but I’m not agreeing, mind. Why killing?” “Not wanton killing, but a judicious slaying. The point is, they know there is an Invisible Man—as well as we know there is an Invisible Man. And that Invisible Man, Kemp, must now establish a Reign of Terror. Yes; no doubt it’s startling. But I mean it. A Reign of Terror. He must take some town like your Burdock and terrify and dominate it. He must issue his orders. He can do that in a thousand ways—scraps of paper thrust under doors would suffice. And all who disobey his orders he must kill, and kill all who would defend them.”

There's so much going on in this conversation. First, the obvious irony of Griffin telling Kemp how he understands now that he needs a helper he can trust, while Kemp is trying to ensure he gets caught in the next few minutes. Griffin saying that he will be easily imprisoned once caught but that he's hard to catch, as Kemp frets over whether they will be able to catch him now. That's pretty obvious, and both funny and also sad. It's perfectly understandable for Kemp to want Griffin to be caught even before he talks about this plan, but it sucks that Griffin's sincerity is just completely bouncing off him. Griffin is for the first time trying to make a connection with someone (something that could potentially turn this situation around) but he's been rejected from the start.

But there's also... what is Griffin talking about? This goes from 'yeah, Griffin, you shouldn't be going it alone' to 'no Griffin not like that holy shit' real damn fast. And it's really interesting in the context of the rest of his behavior, because... this really doesn't seem to match it throughout most of the book so far.

Griffin has used plenty of violence before now. He defaults to threats or physical harm when he feels too vulnerable or powerless. But while he's been reckless and careless with it, there has never really been premeditated malice to anything he does. He's not scheming evil upon others. He's mostly reacting, again, often in what seems a kind of panic. When he gets most violent, at least. He has done harmful things with forethought, but those are mostly limited to theft, and are informed by selfishness and a lack of consideration/awareness of potential consequences.

He also has been consistently motivated by curing his invisibility. He wants his resources back, and privacy/freedom to work in order to do just that. He very quickly decided making himself invisible was a shortsighted mistake, as he encountered drawback after drawback in the immediate aftermath. He also wasn't motivated by any particular single goal of seizing power when he made himself invisible. He was deeply depressed and clinging to 'seeing it through', and then panicked when he came into conflict with his landlord. His paranoia about his invention was intense, but that too is linked to him seeking control over his own life, not others' as such.

So then, why this turnaround? Well, last chapter he said this:

"I had one hope. It was a half idea! I have it still. It is a full blown idea now. A way of getting back! Of restoring what I have done. When I choose. When I have done all I mean to do invisibly."

So, now it seems Griffin's motivation has shifted. He no longer wants immediate relief from invisibility. Instead, he wants to do things while invisible first. He wants to establish a Reign of Terror, to take over a town by utilizing his invisibility in the only way he can see it being of practical use: murder and the spreading of fear. But he says that as a 'must' as 'judicious'. So it's still not for the pleasure of it. Then, why?

First, I frankly don't believe Griffin is actually capable of enforcing the kind of siege he describes here. Physically maybe (depending on how unprepared others are), but emotionally I don't think he could keep it up. He'd collapse, he'd succumb to the guilt he clearly does feel at times. When he's not in a constant state of high emotion (largely fear, which with Griffin transitions seamlessly into rage) he wouldn't be able to keep murdering people so coldly and logically. He can of course work himself up over time, and can hold a grudge, which might be enough to get him started enacting this plan, but I don't believe he could see it through all the way. Still enough to do monstrous things, of course, just not enough to be effective at establishing his goal. (And even that shows his typical lack of forethought. Does he think that no one else would help them? That this town would just succumb to him in total isolation?)

But why does he even want it? I think it actually reflects all his same motivations until now. He feels cornered and he reacts badly, lashing out at others. As the rejection builds all around him, as his options dwindle, as his fear and helplessness grow - he consistently reacts by escalating and proving everyone's worst assumptions about him correct. And right now, even though he has found Kemp and thinks he can mostly trust him, it's not enough to make him feel safe. There are lots of people actively hunting him, now. And he can't just stay in Kemp's rooms forever. He would hate the idea, would feel imprisoned. He doesn't think much of stealing from others, but absolutely hates being stolen from (and he has so little, that the loss feels correspondingly huger), especially something like his books which contain the key to freeing him. So being here is a brief reprieve but he's still deeply afraid. And that makes him deeply angry. And so he wants revenge, he wants to punish them (in general, who make him feel afraid - and Marvel in particular, who has 'betrayed' him).

He also quite likely knows even with his idea it will take an unknown but likely significant amount more time to perfect his cure. So even if all he wanted was to be cured, he would need a safe place to work until then. And the tension is so high right now, his fear of being betrayed is so strong, that I don't think he believes it would be possible to do the necessary work unless he has the town cowed under his invisible heel.

“I don’t agree to this, Griffin,” he said. “Understand me, I don’t agree to this. Why dream of playing a game against the race? How can you hope to gain happiness? Don’t be a lone wolf. Publish your results; take the world—take the nation at least—into your confidence. Think what you might do with a million helpers—”

This line is also key. Kemp urges Griffin to confide in others. All his considerations of the usefulness of invisibility were from the perspective of a lone man against a cruel world. Very selfish and very assuming of a hostile environment. This too is reflected in Griffin's treatment of the few people he has reached out to - Marvel and Kemp. In both cases, he seeks understanding and sympathy. But he also seeks it at metaphorical gunpoint, by threatening them with what he could invisibly do to harm them. It's because as much as he may pour out his heart to Kemp here, he doesn't fully trust him. He doesn't fully trust anyone. By collaborating with them, all he is doing is giving them power over him, and that means they have power to hurt him. So instead he clings to his own power to hurt them first.

In Griffin's eyes, there is no such thing as an equal relationship. There is such thing as trust rewarded, or even given freely. And so in order to ensure his own safety he has to be the one in charge. He has to convince Kemp that they will both reap great rewards, he has to be able to hurt him and get away should anything fall through.

It all ties in perfectly with his backstory of being an outsider (albino, not socially adept at all), and being poor (in many ways powerless). And of course, it is such a self-fulfilling prophecy of terrible outcomes. If you only give violence, you're only getting violence in return. Someone has to let their guard down first, someone has to be willing to trust and be vulnerable for things to ever change. But Griffin is convinced that would be a mistake to ever fully do. And as much as I want to tell him he's wrong, his experiences corroborate that view. Everywhere he goes, he's experienced rejection and hate, or nosiness and distrust at best, no matter how much he tries to be on his best behavior. Every time he even partially lets down his guard or reaches out to others, they turn on him. And of course so much of that is because of the way he never fully relaxes, the way he always keeps a threat hanging over their heads, but he's not gonna see that. All he's gonna see is that he's been right all along. That he truly is in this alone. That he has to be selfish and he has to hit first and hit harder because he is outnumbered and if they catch him he won't be able to get away.

[bluewatsons]

Ryan Kemp, Relating to the other: truth and untruth in addiction, 11 Euro J Psychotherapy & Counselling 357 (2009)

Abstract

The author argues that relations between addicts and others are dominated by untruth. Lying is explored with regards to its origin in the primordial desire for love, while it is argued that the addict regards every question posed to them as a question about their lovability. The place of deception in Twelve-Step Fellowship movement is noted and it is also argued that the latter’s notion of ‘rock bottom’ can be understood existentially as that place where truth cannot be denied. It is further argued that addiction itself is a form of untruth, which distorts or destroys the ambiguous lived tension of existence. This form of relating leads to the destruction of self-esteem, the development of shame and distrust and the breakdown of relationships. Truth is replaced by false narratives that are individualistic and alienating. Instead of ‘dwelling in truth’, the addict instrumentally alters their moods to suit their own needs. The addict escapes from this position by hitting ‘rock bottom’, accepting the process of truth and by opening up to the other. These notions are relayed through an exploration of phenomenological theorists and a grounded example.

Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort. (Jean Cocteau ‘On Invisibility’, Diary of an Unknown, 1953)

Introduction

The aim of this paper is to explore the relations that addicts have with others. Almost all mental health problems affect the realm of relationships. Depressed individuals turn away from those around them. Paranoia makes for cautious, if not fearful forms of relating. Obsessive types become caught up in themselves and their practices oblivious often of the other. However the affect of addiction on human relations is of another order. It is far more damaging and destructive than the former examples. There are many reasons for this and we will explore some of these below. But this paper will make a bold and controversial argument about what is at the core of relations that addicts have with others. This argument may perhaps be seen as prejudicial, even judgmental or moralistic. The claim is that addicts become very comfortable with untruth. Or put another way they able to tell lies very easily. And their relationships break down not just because they use drugs, drink or gamble. Not just because they steal from and neglect those they love. They break down because there is created in their relating a form of fundamental distrust, which undermines the natural functioning of interpersonal being. The intent here is to use existential-phenomenology, supplemented to some degree by psychoanalysis,

A few precautionary notes are required. Firstly, there is obviously more to addiction than interpersonal relating. Other dimensions include the role of the body (Kemp, 2009a), temporality (Kemp, 2009b) and the relation to things. For the purposes of explication and brevity this paper restricts itself to the issue of relationships, fully aware that the existence of the human subject requires a complete description to be phenomenologically sound. Secondly, what is presented here relates in the main, to severe forms of addiction. However it is my experience that even those with less severe forms of addiction, struggle with the same issues. Thirdly, obviously what is presented here does not apply to every addict no matter how severe. I would however argue that untruth always manifests itself somewhere in addiction, even if not in relationships.

Two issues of language and process needs clarifying. Firstly throughout this paper I make use of the word ‘addict’ and ‘the addict’. This is not intended to be seen as diagnostic or as some form of ‘vocabulary of denigration’. Perhaps the term ‘individual subject to addiction’, or ‘the addicted subject’ may be more acceptable. However such phrases are stylistically clumsy, but more importantly they are far from the words which are often adopted by those suffering from the condition which I am hoping to explore here. In summary my use of the term ‘addict’ is meant to describe an individual who has adopted a particular lifestyle and thus been drawn into a particular way-of-being which is commonly called ‘addiction’. Finally, I should clarify that what is presented here stems from my experience of working with severe addicts almost exclusively for the past nine years. I have not interviewed or collected accounts or conducted any formal research. I have however spent thousands of hours seeing individuals and conducting groups and it is this experiential knowledge that I bring to the arguments presented here.

In the spirit of phenomenological description we will ground what follows in a concrete case example.

Cathy was in her late twenties when we began to work together. She was born to Irish immigrant parents who both drank heavily. Stringent Catholicism was also very much part of her upbringing. She began using cannabis in her early teens and by her late teens had graduated to heroin and crack cocaine. She became pregnant and married in her early twenties. Her two children were both removed from her care by social services. Soon after this her marriage ended. She returned to her parent’s home but after stealing from them, she was thrown out. She lived with various boyfriends, friends and slept on the streets for many months. She had a spell working as a street prostitute. She managed to get into rehabilitation through a ‘rough sleepers project’ but relapsed six weeks after completing. She had however achieved enough stability to then enroll in a methadone maintenance program, where I started to work with her. At this point she reported having no friends, ‘only acquaintances who will screw me any chance they get’. She had no contact with her parents who ‘hate me for being a junky’. She had not seen either her ex-husband or her children in many years. ‘I don’t really trust people, everyone has always screwed me or let me down’. She was however able to admit that she was also very lonely.

The course of the psychotherapy was uneven. Cathy engaged well at first. She appeared to get very dependent on me, then would disappear for several weeks. These periods would coincide with relapses into heavy drug use. She would then assume that the therapy was over and ignore me if she saw me in the clinic. After being invited back for further sessions she would act as if the break in treatment had never happened. It took probably a year of active and patient engagement before the therapy really ‘began’.

Cathy would lie to me about numerous issues. She would deny drug use and then later admit she had used. This is a common issue with addicts. However she would also lie about trivial matters. She would lie about being late, about who she had been spending time with, about the progress of her projects. Later she would admit these lies and argue that she feared what I would think of her if she told the truth. She did not seem to worry what I might think of her lies.

What was gradually revealed in the therapy was a deep sense of mistrust of me, and all others she met. She described herself as having no self-esteem. ‘Basically I feel like a worthless piece of shit’. And she expected to be treated that way. The nurse who handled her methadone treatment found her extremely difficult to deal with. She was either completely dependent or openly hostile and dismissive. I felt she was always a short step away from an outburst of rage. Over the course of three years Cathy came to trust more and use drugs less. She was not completely trusting (nor completely abstinent), but did manage to make some friends in a Gaelic language course she took. She wanted to start an intimate relationship, but never managed this while I was seeing her. I felt she was close to such a move, but that this would require some significant courage on her part.

What this brief case study reveals is the devastating effect that addiction has on relationships. Cathy had virtually no healthy relationships. The move into prostitution, it could be argued, is only possible when the other becomes completely non-human. And also when the self is experienced as equally non- human. Certainly this was true in Cathy’s case. The issue of lies was never transparent to Cathy. She would only comment that learning to lie was part of being an addict. Cathy would blame those in her lives for having failed her. No doubt there was some truth to this. However I am sure they would tell equally disappointed tales – tales of promises never kept, money stolen and trusts broken. In the work I have done with families of addicts these are the tales told first in any work with them. The anger and disappointments are incredibly palpable. This was equally true for Cathy and for many clients like her. Before these aspects of addictive interpersonal relating are explored further, let us examine the nature of inter-human relating in a more general sense.

The phenomenology of relationships

As human we are inescapably related to other humans. There is no escaping this fact, even if we choose to avoid others. It is a constituent of our most basic, fundamental existence, or as Heidegger argues ‘being-with is an existential constituent of being-in-the-world’ (1927/1996, p. 117). From the moment of birth, perhaps even in utero, we relate to others. The human infant is, unlike all other mammals, completely dependent on its care-givers for its survival. These early relationships form a fundamental prototype, which structure future relationships. Psychoanalysis has spent the better part of a hundred years studying this fact. After this however the infant is slowly socialised into a thoroughly human world. In fact the child is not fully human until he is able to embody a stance of being-together-with-others (Kwant, 1960). And this capacity to be-with-others develops out of true human relationship, not just physical nourishment. Human nourishment, love, and trust makes for the transition to being-human. Because of this everything with worldly meaning, such as society, labour, even the body, is based upon the foundation of human being-together.

Every genuinely human activity is interwoven with an orderly field of worldly meaning. But such a field of meaning is at our disposal only through others, through society. There our human existence is always an existence through others. (Kwant, 1965, p. 68)

Meaning cannot therefore be divorced from inter-human contact. Existence is then partially understood as ‘the unity of the reciprocal implications of subjectivity ‘and’ the social body . . . [where the] ‘social body’ is the quasi-effect of a ‘way of doing things’ – initiated and carried by others, but a ‘way’ in which I as a subject was not first involved’ (Luijpen, 1969, p. 282). There is therefore a certain anonymity to my being which is attained by the fact of taking up various practices from the human community into which I am born. These practices are lived as natural and prereflective. To truly grapple with one’s being, one must understand these embodied practices. To understand oneself, one must also understand others. There is therefore a reciprocality to being- with-others. Thus ‘the characteristic of encountering the others is, after all, orientated towards one’s own Da-sein’ (Heidegger, 1927/1996, p. 111 emphasis original). This allows Heidegger to argue: ‘Knowing oneself is grounded in primordially understanding being-with’ (1927/1996, p. 116).

Relationships with others also structure our relationship with non-human things (Kwant, 1960). The world and things are coloured by our relational stance to others. As van den Berg puts it: ‘Interhuman relations manifest themselves as physionomies of a world, as nearness or distance of duties or plans, of objects’ (van den Berg, 1972, p. 67–68). The nature of addictive being- with-others is revealed both in actual interpersonal relationships, but also in the quality of the ‘world’ inhabited by the addict.

The nature of lying and untruth

Lying is common in myths, literature and religion. The biblical tale of Eden is a tale of law, transgression and lies. It founds the religions, which are most crucial to occidental existence. What can we draw from the biblical tale of Eden? Perhaps that moral knowledge (good versus evil) is bound to the issue of truth and untruth; that the first man and woman are tempted by what is forbidden which will potentially bring a new experience. This temptation is not dissimilar to the desire of the addict for a change in their experiential range. And the consequences are no less devastating in many cases. Two more examples from popular folklore and literature are pertinent. The first is ‘the boy who cried wolf’. Claiming falsely that there was a wolf eventually ended in the downfall of the boy. The human community requires honesty and trust to be at its core for the community to function as community. The other tale is that of Pinocchio, the puppet whose nose grew whenever he lied. However the puppet was eventually to attain life, full human life. Does this latter tale suggest that on the route to full humanity, lies are inevitable? Also perhaps that the eventual attainment of subjectivity is founded on experiencing and integrating the consequences of lies.

There is little doubt that there is an evolutionary advantage to being able to lie and deceive (Lemma, 2005; Smith, 2004). When lying first appears in the developmental progression of children is unclear. Play is in a certain sense untruth. A block of wood becomes a bus, the couch a mountain, your brother a bank robber. But certainly at some point the child knows it is lying. And the context for this lying is crucial. Usually it is in the context of transgression. ‘Did you do that?’ which is answered: ‘No’. The child does not wish to disappoint the parent, does not wish to receive the punishment, which may just be a disapproving look. Lying is used to keep love alive for the child. Later it may be used in other more selfish ways, but at inception it is related to love and transgression. Lying does however imply that the child has acquired ‘theory of mind’. In other words that the other is perceived as having subjectivity. To be able to lie is to exist therefore in an intersubjective world. Others are not objects, but subjects who have feelings, intentions and motives, which are to some degree transparent and to some degree opaque. Theory of mind is acquired by the child roughly when language is acquired. Does lying begin with language as is often argued (Smith, 2004)? Perhaps it can be argued that before the acquisition of language we only can use deception, but not lies (King, 2006). Language is therefore a symbolic system capable of untruth. If language is the ‘house of being’, as Heidegger (1947/1993) contests, then is humanity ‘at home’ in untruth? We shall return to this question presently.

If we return to the issue of when lying starts, we could ask ourselves: Are addicts always being asked a question? The question could be: Are you using? This is likely to result in a lie. But what if the question were more broad than that? What if any question was heard as: ‘Are you using?’ But not asked in a direct informational sense, but rather in the sense of: ‘Are you being good?’ or ‘Are you worthy of love?’ And the addict is not able to trust in themselves enough to tell the truth, to risk knowing what the reply will be. Perhaps ‘trust in one’s self’ is too vague a phrase. The issue at stake here is that of shame. Psychoanalytic researchers have also highlighted the issue of shame in relation to lying (Deutsch, 1982; Mollon, 2002; Wilkinson & Hough, 1996). Psychoanalysis links the phenomenon of pathological lying for the most part to issues rooted in early development (Deutsch, 1982; Lemma, 2005; O’Shaughnessy, 1990; Weinschel, 1979). There is therefore either a breakdown in Oedipal resolution or the internalisation of a lying, untrustworthy object (Lemma, 2005; Weinschel, 1979). However the case being made here is that the lying employed by the addict is not necessarily part of a character pathology, but is intrinsic to the process of addiction itself. There is no doubt that issues of shame and self-worth are central to the use of the lie. Addiction however is itself a form of untruth. For what addiction wishes to do is tell a false tale of affect. The ambiguous tension of existence, exemplified through mood or attunement, is undone through addiction. How one feels when under the influence of an addictive process is not ‘real’ in the authentic sense. Taking drugs alters the way one feels, drinking does the same, gambling excites etc. In fact these practices are undertaken precisely to alter mood. They cover over the truth with artificial feelings.

This issue of honesty is noted by Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) and its sister twelve-step organisations. In the Big Book (AA, 2001) the chapter, ‘How it Works’, spells out the famous twelve steps to recovery. But it starts with some serious qualifications:

Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manner of living which demands rigorous honesty. Their chances are less than average. There are those, too, who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recover if they have the capacity to be honest. (AA, 2001, p. 58 emphasis added)

The twelve steps work apparently, but only for those who attain a relationship with honesty. This honesty is first to themselves and secondly to others. Although not stated in the passage above, this relation is inherent in various of the twelve steps. This includes the steps to do with the moral inventory and the steps involving making amends. Without the capacity to take a relation of honesty, the addict is unlikely to succeed in recovery. It may be worth commenting that the twelve-step fellowships are only one route to recovery from addiction. There are many others, including psychotherapy. Certainly it is this researchers experience that those that combine psychotherapy with AA or NA engagement (for example) are more likely to succeed with their recovery, at least in the medium term. But no doubt these movements have helped hundreds of thousands more individuals than psychotherapy has and is a repository of some considerable wisdom with regards addiction processes.

The nature of truth

Heidegger relates truth to the Greek aletheia. This word can be rendered as unconcealment or unhiddenness. In this sense we have a conception of truth as a process – a process that leads from concealment to unconcealment. Truth then is the movement towards un-concealedness. It is not a static object or final state. Truth is an attempt at constant dis-closure of ‘the true’. Truth then becomes a certain openness (Richardson, 1967) as opposed to a certain closed-ness. Luijpen (1969) argues truth brings ‘light’ to bear on the phenomenon in question. However this ‘light’ is never a total laying bear of the issue and there is always a ‘darkness’, which is retained even with repeated attempts at dis-closure. Truth then is never finished or complete but continually unfolds in time. It is also apparent that truth is continually bound to untruth (Luijpen, 1969). Light is only possible because of the play of darkness. But there is a manner in which truth ‘acts’ to produce effects, which reveal it as truth. The product of truth is therefore ‘useful’ or ‘fruitful’ (Luijpen, 1969).

It could be argued that there is certain tension in Heidegger between truth revealing itself by an attitude of ‘letting-be-ness’ (gelassenheit) and revealing itself through a more active process of meditative thought. Of course if truth were just ‘there’, there would be no need for phenomenology (Heidegger, 1927/ 1996) or for any method in fact. Truth will always require a certain effort because Dasein is ‘equiprimordially in truth and untruth’ (Heidegger, 1927/ 1996, p. 205).

Unconcealment occurs only when it is achieved by work: the work of the word in poetry, the work of stone in temple and statue, the work of word in thought, the work of the polis as the historical place in which all this is grounded and preserved ... [and] this struggle for unconcealment, which even in itself is continuous conflict, is at the same time a combat against concealment, disguise, false appearance. (Heidegger, 1961, p. 160)

Here Heidegger also acknowledges the, perhaps at times active, forces of darkness or concealment which are constantly at play in the process towards truth.

There is therefore also a certain ‘willing’ which is needed to set up the condition for the releasement, serenity or letting-be-ness required for things to fully reveal themselves (Richardson, 1967). The later state is however free of ‘willing’ or any active process of engagement. The work of truth then is the creation of an open-ness to being which is not naturally ‘given’, but is ‘there’ for Da-sein to take up if allowed. A good question to pose now would be whether addiction allows this process of truth to come to be? Is there a ‘letting- be-ness’ inherent to the state of addictive being? Addiction is a constant striving to acquire and consume substances (drugs, alcohol, food etc.) or experience processes (gambling, sex, shopping etc.). It is constant and unrelenting. As was noted earlier, drugs are consumed to change the way the addict feels. So in no way does the addict allow the current state of being ‘to be’. Being must be altered. This leads to a state of mind, which is in no way characterised by a gentle acceptance of being. It repudiates what is given and insists on instrumentally imposing its own choice of affect. It is a completely technocratic state of being.

It is perhaps therefore not surprising that addicts are unable to be truthful with regularity. In a phenomenological sense they ‘dwell in untruth’ more than the common soul. And especially if the questions posed relate to their addiction, there is little chance of truth. Addiction is almost by definition untruth. It seeks to cover over truth, masks ‘the real’ of being and conceals that which ‘is’ for the subject. It is a ‘closing’ of the subject to the truth of their being.

Addiction and relationships

What we have discovered so far is that untruth is linked to being. There is no escaping some form of ‘darkness’ in our existence. Truth however is a movement towards the ‘light’ of the unconcealment of phenomena. Humanity was also uncovered as constituted by being related to others. We can exercise our freedom in this regard, but it is always a choice of how to relate, not whether to relate. In addiction the other is chronically alienated and foreclosed. In fact addiction is a form of relating where the ‘drug’ becomes the other that is primary. Lying as a mode of engagement acts to keep the human other ‘out’. It is a form of closure. It may be important to consider whether the ‘closure of the other’ happens through addiction first, which results in the pursuit of lies, or whether the lying pre-exists the move into addiction. Perhaps addiction is a way to cope with the alienation initiated by a deceitful interpersonal style. These questions are not answerable however and in all likelihood both trajectories happen.

We must of course place a certain trust in the structures of intersubjective life. Without that trust relations break down. As our case study illustrated trust was completely lacking in Cathy’s interpersonal relations. The addict must however construct a narrative, which compensates for and makes sense of this state of affairs. The addict then conceals themselves in lies. They accept their own fictional story as true, and thus lose themselves perhaps to a point of no return. What is really concealed in this process is the self. What is grossly apparent is the lies, the conflict and the talk of ‘what could have been’. The self is protected, but the addict loses in the bargain. We can also recall that Sartre (1943/2003) noted that the prototypical lie is the one told to the self. He referred to this as bad faith. This type of lie covers over what the subject does not want to know about themselves. In the case of addiction the wound covered over is that of shame. There may be more than shame, but in my experience there is always at least shame present in addiction. And this shame is denied - concretely and actively in the process of addiction itself. The effect of the addictive process is to hide the shame and the affects connected to it. However as van den Berg notes shame ‘does not exist as a purely psychic quality. Shame is . . . that which envelops the body like clothes. Shame resides in the walls of the body.’ (van den Berg, 1972 p.53). Shame can literally be seen in the body and is embodied in the interpersonal process itself. It is exemplified most obviously in rage and violence (Gilligan, 1996). Some of this rage and violence is aimed at others, but much is also aimed at the self. Addiction is undoubtedly a form of self-violence.

Shame is also transparent through the process of lying. And the lying leads to the further breakdown of trust and the severe straining of interpersonal processes. There is then a distance created between the addict and others. A distance which precludes trust, mutuality and love. And love is what the addict, like all humans, craves for more than for drugs. But when there is no love at least drugs can cover over this loss. It has been argued that addiction is a replacement for sex (Freud, 1928/1973; Loose, 2002; Melman, 1999), however in this researcher’s opinion it is a replacement for love. And love brings people together. ‘Love removes the distance between bodies, something like adhesion occurs, one begins to occupy one’s body and is invited to be that body’ (van den Berg, 1972, p. 69). This togetherness and reclamation of the body also opens up the world to be lived in new ways.

Other than opening up to love, is there any other way that the addict might encounter ‘the truth’ of their being? Obviously engaging in psychotherapy might lead them in that direction, but therapy is not very successful in the area of addiction. However there may be another place where truth is ‘met’. In the Twelve-Step traditions this place is called ‘rock bottom’. It is a place of total despair and desperation. Rock bottom is that place, that state of being, where addicts no longer believe their own lies. It is not easy to define what ‘rock bottom’ is, and when it is reached. This appears to be determined individually. It is the place where the negative consequences of addiction cannot be denied and ‘truth’ must be faced authentically. This state is often not held open for long, and addicts often backslide, but it is often the place where change begins.

Addiction as alienation

Addiction then is steeped in ‘untruth’. The subject in a sense embodies untruth when they become an addict. From then on the body and the self can no longer be lived as authentically mine. ‘Self-concealment is equal to leaving one’s body and the surrounding world to others in a self-chosen manner’ (van den Berg, 1972, p. 114). This leads to ever increasing alienation of addicts from those around them. It leads to being profoundly lonely. Van den Berg argues that loneliness is at the heart of all modern psychiatric illnesses:

The psychiatric patient is alone. He has few relationships or perhaps no relationships at all. He lives in isolation. He feels lonely. ... Loneliness is the central core of his illness, no matter what his illness may be ... If loneliness did not exist, we could reasonably assume that psychiatric illnesses could not occur either. (1972, p. 105)

Addiction can therefore be understood as a thoroughly modern malady, perhaps the quintessential dis-ease of our times. That is perhaps why it claims millions in the Western world. Every Western country faces the challenge of addiction and the ways in which addiction is manifest is growing. Drug addiction is the supreme example, so is alcohol abuse, but now there is also gambling, shopping, sex, eating and other addictions.

But the loneliness of which van den Berg speaks is not just thrust on addicts. It is claimed and insisted upon by them. They think of themselves as fundamentally individual and want to solve their problems ‘on their own’. They are notorious for rejecting help. This is recognised in the Twelve-Step movements. Here it is called ‘ego-centric’ (AA, p. 61). It is the notion that ‘I don’t need others, I can do this myself’. ‘Selfishness – self-centeredness! That, we think, is the root of our troubles’ (AA, 2001, p. 62). In these traditions the addict is helped by opening up to the other – the other as sponsor, as meeting (group) and finally as God. It is the opening up to relating and to love. Without the overcoming of the ego-centric nature, recovery is not possible.

Addicts act however as if they are not in relationships, not in a community, but as fully realised individuals. Addicts are notorious for rejecting society, its values and strictures. They often want to establish alternative forms of living, but seldom do. But perhaps behind this rejection of society, behind the aggression to community, lies a reciprocal truth. That is that society is equally aggressive and rejecting of certain of its subjects, particularly addicts. Gilligan (1996) argues that society often perpetrates a form of structural violence on certain of its members. This usually takes the form of class discrimination, racism, poverty and other inequalities. Over time this is incorporated, embodied by the individual as a deep sense of personal shame. Out of shame comes a sensitivity to rejection, dishonour or aggression. In turn similar emotions are lived in relation to society. It is not surprising that society cannot therefore be trusted. In a sense it is lived as an abuser. If this form of structural violence is also experienced in actual interpersonal situations then the shame and sensitivity are intensified and magnified. So the other, whether in individual or collective form, cannot be trusted or relied upon. The other inflicts shame and is responded to via the mechanism of shame – concealment. The addict hides themselves, from the other and themselves. And it is impossible to love that which is hidden.

Conclusion

Having described addiction as having a disastrous impact on intersubjective relating, there is no doubt this impacts on the therapeutic relationship manifested in the counselling or psychotherapy session. How does one proceed if the presence of untruth lingers between the parties? There is no easy answer to this, but certainly it has been my experience, since understanding addiction in the way presented here, that this process becomes easier. Not easy, as it is difficult not to be personally touched when dealing with deceit and deception. But much of this untruth is not consciously created and is, as related above, a result of profound self-deception. Management of counter-transference is therefore crucial and needs to be ongoing. Time plays a vital role here, allowing the unfolding of truth, as a dialogical reality. This is a reality aware of the ‘darkness’ that is inherent in the unfolding of truth thorough time. In this case truth which is the other.

I thought I would end by recognizing that what has been described here has already been noted by one of the masters of literature. Dostoevsky, perhaps the pre-eminent literary addict, speaking through the elder cleric Zosima to the debauched character who bears his own first name, Fyodor Karamazov, is ordered to stop his drunkenness, his sensual lust, his love of money and to close his taverns. But also he should stop lying.

The important thing is to stop lying to yourself. A man who lies to himself, and believes his own lies, becomes unable to recognise truth, either in himself, or in anyone else, and he ends up losing respect for himself as well as others. When he has no respect for anyone, he can no longer love and, in order to divert himself, having no love in him, he yields to impulses, indulges in the lowest forms of pleasure, and behaves in the end like an animal, in satisfying his vices. And it all comes from lying – lying to others and to yourself. (1880/2003, p. 55)

This simple paragraph sums up the argument of this paper. Untruth leads to the breakdown of inter-human relating, leading to the destruction of love for self and others, and the fall into addictive ways-of-being.

References

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[kierinthedancehallsbu]

Don't Put Your Blame On Me || Para

Mr. Kemp. Your audience is required by myself. Hoskin’s residence, pronto. R.E.

****************************************

“I don’t know what else I can say to you, doctor? I’ve told you, I lose myself, I don’t realise what I’m doing or even saying when I’m in that state...” Kier sat on the sofa, Rowan sat in the matching chair opposite, leaning forward with elbows digging into his thighs, his hands clasped but his indexes extended up and out, rubbing his lips. “This. This is what concerns me and why I wanted you over here swiftly. I have been dwelling on this, what you call ‘losing yourself’ and I don’t think anyone can trust that this won’t happen again?” Kier pushed himself upright, frowning heavily. “What are you getting at, Ellis?” It was evident that Kier was wary, tilting his head a little, Rowan remaining still with his eyes burning into Kier. With a soft sigh of composure, Rowan decided to be blunt, refusing to hold back. “I’m afraid, Mr. Kemp, that I’ll be re-admitting you to an institution to help resolve this issue of lack of control. You must understand that with two newborns in the house and many other people residing there, including children, that we simply cannot run the risk of this happening again. Lauren was lucky that your aim was inaccurate or else we would have had another Scott or what was his name, Doctor Drewingle?” Rowan had earned the narrowing eyes from Kier, but it didn’t stop him. “I am doing what’s best for everyone and right now, you being in public society in the state you are is unsafe and unlawful.”

Kier had listened and now he was responding to Rowan’s speech, standing up with both hand’s balling up into tight fists. “So if I refuse?” Rowan shook his head, momentarily remaining in his seat. “There is no refusing here. You either come quietly or I’ll force you. Your choice.” Hope came up behind Kier, her hand sliding up and over Kier’s shoulder to semi hold him in place, standing on her tip toes to speak to Kier quietly. “Do what’s right, Kier. Go with Rowan.” Hope flicked her gaze to Rowan, her eyes narrowing with her top row of teeth sinking into her lip. “Do what’s going to help you and your family, do what is safe...” Hope’s voice was soothing, her hand going to Kier’s shorter hair to stroke along. Hope continued to keep looking towards Rowan, her hand straying down to take Kier’s hand firmly in hers, her fingers tangling within Kier’s. “He’s chosen, Rowan. He’s going with you.”

Rowan stood up, smiling a little, sounding a little too happy. “Excellent. We’ll go now, I’ll have someone collect some things for you at a later date.” Kier lowered his head, his brows furrowing into a deep line across his forehead. “Do I not get to see Jenna? Or my girls?” Rowan stood directly in front of him, shaking his head with an upturned mouth to look sad. “Im afraid not, you know as well as we do that Mrs. Kemp will fight against my decision to do what’s best for you and her and it’ll all end up with an unnecessary battle of wills. Best way to do this is a clean break and when you two see each other again, you’ll be better. I can imagine the reunion now.” Rowan smiled and ducked down to look at Kier seeming his head was still hung low. “But first things first. Hope?” Rowan straightened up, catching her eye contact, giving her a small nod. “To ensure your full compliance, Mr. Kemp..” Hope pulled out a syringe from her back pocket in her jeans, swiftly bringing up the injection to Kier’s arm, guiding the needle into him to push the plunger in the syringe. Rowan looked at Kier, the blonde quickly raising his head up to stare at the doctor in disbelief before gradually slumping down against Hope. “Remember, your admittance to the institution is for your own good.”