Arquivo de psychology | Page 17 of 20

The “Motivational Therapy”

It is amazing to see that exactly in the century immediately following the eruption of the geniuses of modern psychology, the so-called “motivational therapy” is so successful. “Overcoming problems”: this is the impossibility—when we consider real psychological traumas—transformed into a product in the marketing era. When the means for a drastic deepening in the understanding of the psychology of the human being, of the origin of traumas arise, and when there is the possibility of using cognition to alleviate their unwanted effects, reduce their means of action—and never overcome them, eliminate them—man turns his back on knowledge and opts for the path of childhood, exchanges analytical prudence for happy psychology, psychology whose practice is summed up in “thinking positive” and acting like a child in the face of the traumas that overwhelm, sometimes without emitting a signal. Everything seems evidence that geniuses, when they appear, do it in vain…

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Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov

Vladimir Nabokov is an author who shakes me like few others. His Lectures on Russian Literature have given me a very strong and ambiguous impression. Then, interviews, like that of the Paris Review, consolidated the image I have in mind of him: a giant, but of an arrogance that escapes my understanding. And I simply do not understand some stones thrown by Nabokov, as in Dostoevsky in particular: I remain on the wall judging them envious or expressing intellectual honesty. Whatever: my mind suffers from this unbearable need for judgment; I do not. For I open Lolita and, repeating what I said a few days ago: one page is enough to perceive myself before a great writer, one page is enough to impress me with wonderful, elegant prose, brilliant in style and powerful in content. Nabokov’s prose, in Lolita, is endowed with the body that the English language seems to lack. And that is not the only reason why the work shines: Nabokov teaches the pairs of his century that writing about moral corruption does not demand the corruption of the language. Lolita digs deep: these are frightening pages about the psychology of a pedophile, ambiguous from the beginning, either by the controversial moralism, or by the behavior of Humbert Humbert, the protagonist, who oscillates between sarcasm, love, dissimulation, and desire, terribly corrupting a young girl and installing in our heads the infamous doubt: has he really corrupted? The mere questioning is the confession of immorality that inhabits our minds. And the masterpiece is the full proof that in man the hideous mixes with the sublime.

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The Clash Between Vanity and Conscience

Some natures impress by the complete absence of the clash between vanity and conscience. Perhaps by the very weakness of conscience, which justifies seeing it ignored by the most popular currents of psychology. In some, it seems simply that it does not manifest. But it is incredible to think of someone who, not once in his life, prays for the pettiness of his own conduct, for the motivators of his own “will”. To do so and not proceed with condemnation would be understandable, but the fact is that, in most people, there is not the slightest trace of conflict.

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Reality and Dream

I incline to think that human contentment springs from the encounter between reality and dream. I say and think immediately of D. Quijote. There is a winding border, apparently very ill-defined, that unites the real with the imaginary and seems to be the progenitor of satisfaction. The dream itself seems to me to be powerless if it lacks a connection with the concrete. A bridge is needed, a link, albeit in the form of hope, of “it will happen”. Otherwise, the practical quickly crushes the imagined, generating discouragement and shame. This, of course, in healthy minds. On the other hand, reality will always be weak because it is insufficient: it also needs an amplifier, something to embellish and tone up the crudeness of the concrete. And this, even in a subtle way, is nothing but fantasizing the real. That is why I am intrigued to what extent D. Quijote did not live what he dreamed of, or to what extent he actually lived. Crazy or master? I lack the answer…

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