January 2017
It’s the time of the year when old beliefs, old paint, old
everything, and some new things, needs to be reassessed. Some are still good, but some just have to
go. In the midst of this sorting
activity I am mulling over the practice of NLP that is used by some hypnotists,
therapists, police interviewers, and salespeople, because it sounds like it has
substance. But does it?
I feel waves of
irritation and I wonder why. At the heart is the realization that NLP is a
technique that resists critiquing itself and its trainers seem happy promoting
it and collecting good money doing so.
Putting aside the ethics of this, that fact that it does not examine its
fundamental philosophies, core beliefs, and presuppositions is, to me, unconscionable. Everything, I think, should
be examined and critiqued.
I am aware that
there is a popular anti-critique movement afoot; a movement that resists
examination; thinking that “if it feels good, that’s sufficient”. We have, though, both a heart and a mind and
should use both. The “feel good” crowd often draw on an aspect of Phenomenology,
the “lived experience” bit to support this uncritical thinking, but Phenomenology,
on the contrary, has a very rigorous side to it. It is in fact a tool for deep
critique and as such is a really good place to begin the examinations of ideas.
Thus feeling irritated by something is useful.
Neuro-linguistic
Programming (NLP), sounds decent enough. I mean there’s the classy words of
“neuro” and “programming” (we’re like computers, aren’t we), with “linguistic”
thrown in to make an apparently convincing package. But take it apart, aided by
what its founders Bandler and Grinder say of it, and one can discover that it
lacks substance. They describe the triad
of neurology, language and programming as its basis and very broadly note the
following: neurology regulates how our bodies function, language determines how
we communicate with one another and our programming describes the models we
have of the world and which we work by; models which can easily be changed. The
programming bit suggests that we model ourselves on successful people to change
how we are (a problematic subject I may explore in another article).
Many NLP
practitioners rather arrogantly suggest that everything, from Parkinsons
Disease to Depression, can be treated with NLP, that is, with changing the
story of a person’s perceptions, but this is wrong. Not merely wrong, but
logically upside down: human conditions are not caused by the stories we tell
ourselves, there is a more complex physiology involved.
The stories we
tell of our particular problems do not have the power to make us ill (they can
exacerbate things), and so the stories we change are unlikely, in themselves,
to make us well again. A staphylococcus infection isn’t the result of negative self-talk; it’s an
invasion of bacteria. Further, the stories we tell are a bit after
the event of problems, or recovery, not
because of the stories themselves. Our capacity for story telling is strong,
but it is, after all, a meaning making process, an explanation.
I’m reminded again of the work of Zaporozhets and Leont’ev in their book Rehabilitation of Hand Function (1960) which is based on their research in Russia during WWII. What these neurophysiologists found was that the stories their patients told themselves aided their recovery, but the need to recover preceded the stories they told of their recovery. In other words, non-conscious processes plus desire were at work before an explanation for their recovery was manifested.
Good therapy,
whatever form it takes, needs to take a more holistic account of the problems
at hand and this is why I recommend to my clients that they get themselves
checked for physical problems (blood, hormone levels, etc) if their
psychological issues are affecting their lives in more ways than self talk
would suggest.
The critical eye
is paramount. A simplistic explanation for a problem is often not enough and I am critical of NLP for this
reason. Good counselling requires a deeper examination of things than merely
the stories we tell ourselves.