My thoughts today start with an entertaining and thought-provoking quote on the matter of talent in acting from David Mamet, director, playwright and Pulitzer Prize winner.
“I am not sure I know what talent is. I have seen moments, and performances, of genius in folks I had dismissed for years as hacks. I’ve watched students…persevere year after year when everyone but themselves knew their efforts were a pitiful waste, and have seen these people blossom into superb actors. And time and again, I saw the Star of the Class, the Observed of all Observers, move into the greater world and lack the capacity to continue. I don’t know what talent is, and frankly, I don’t care. I do not think it is the actor’s job to be interesting…that is the job of the script. I think it is the actor’s job to be truthful and brave – both qualities that can be developed and exercised through the will.” (1997).
These interesting thoughts from Mamet can be applied to the art and craft of psychotherapy. I am sure that anyone who has taught psychotherapy for some decades can identify with Mamet’s portraits of students and talent. The student who seems less inspired, but years later becomes a reliable, valued therapist, while the impressive, scholarly, warm student never seems to gain traction in the day-to-day world of therapeutic practice.
In reflecting on Mamet’s observation of how some actors “lack the capacity to continue”, perhaps this points to the real learning ground of therapy. Perhaps therapy is learnt simply in the capacity to continue and to provide therapy over a period of many years. I would go further to add the capacity to provide therapy in a number of different contexts over many years, with some regular professional supervision, and continuing education. Maybe the capacities that emerge in that matrix, and the knowing that develops in that matrix, makes talent almost superfluous?
This brings us to truth and bravery. What are the roles of the therapist in relation to truth and bravery in psychotherapy? In so many ways, one simply has to be remarkably brave to be in the room, ready to discuss whatever comes up, to listen to what needs to be said and to ponder about what cannot be said. The bravery might include a tolerance of one’s own responses to difficult material and unforeseen emotional disruptions within oneself. And by quiet attendance and encouraging the client to be brave in their exploration, thoughts and feelings may arise that lead to distressing destinations, which by definition, have to be unknown.
And what of truth? Gregory Bateson once said that love could only exist where wisdom has a voice. I suspect that truth can only exist where love and wisdom have voices. Love, as defined by Humberto Maturana, is “the acceptance of the otherness of the other”, while wisdom, more differentiated than cleverness, takes a broader deeper view, a knowing of timing, a concern for unintended consequences and a respect for defences. Perhaps truth emerges in a context of bravery, love and wisdom.
It is paradoxical to consider that truth might emerge more readily in the space developed by the client and therapist, with the therapist being the one who has sat regularly and uncomfortably in the absence of all of those qualities, and still continued to work.
Dr Paul Gibney
