“To hold as ’twere the mirror up to nature”
There has always been a special affinity between psychology and literature – and with good reason. One of my graduate school professors remarked that writers have made some of the best psychologists. (Although some psychologists have made lousy writers.) The reason for this may be easy to see: understanding character and human (inter)development are core elements of both professions. Ancient myths, for example, remain compelling today not because of what the gods do, but what the humans do. Whether the hubris of Odysseus or the insatiable curiosity of Orpheus or the single-minded righteousness of Antigone, their vibrant human struggles connect to us thousands of years later.
Here I’ll compare and contrast what writers and psychologists do. In the future, I may post about specific writers who show human nature so well that a psychology professor could create a class on their words.
Psychology and Literature: Similarities
Nonjudgment:
A writer describes two people on a pleasant walk in the park. Now they’re engaged in a tirade of verbal abuse. A psychologist meets with someone who feels helpless; now, the person expresses hostility. Writers and psychologists must approach each with nonjudgment. This is a challenging skill: we are taught to have opinions, about just about everything. What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite food? Do you like to read? Do you like to play games? Am I your best friend or just a friend? Would you rather have few things to do but all the time to do them in, or lots of things to do and very little time? Chances are, you have opinions about all of these. And that’s generally okay.
Judging a person is different. We form opinions based on ideas, feelings, experiences, and all sorts of unconscious “gut” processing. And while blue will still be blue tomorrow, you will not still be you tomorrow; you will be tomorrow’s you. With new experiences, actions, and perspectives. Once you place judgment on a person, you have fixed them in place. Your relationship is now dead. (Of course, you both continue to change, so it can be brought back to life!) In therapy, the therapist’s judgments kill the ability to foster change for the participant. For writers, judgments render characters inert.
For example, the writers of Marvel’s WandaVision identified the complex struggles that come at the intersection of grief, trauma, and power. Through Wanda we see the heartrending consequences. The writers of Dr. Strange in the Multiverse of Madness then judged her through sexist tropes of motherhood and feminine moral weakness. She was reduced to a stock villain.
Holding the mirror to life:
Psychology and literature are peculiar play-worlds where we set up a test-chamber for reality. In both, we set up similar dimensions and dynamics to the ones we are trying to understand. While these structures can be realistic, they can also be wildly fantastical. Even in therapy there is room for this play. Writers and therapists specifically target certain themes, exchanges, and qualities. And then play them out. In both fiction and therapy, there’s a tendency for lines to get blurred, and not because of delusion. The feelings one has in therapy, and even towards a fictional character, are quite real. Writers talk about “killing their children” when they discard a meaningful passage that is not working. Readers may write ‘Mary Sue’ fan fiction to rekindle personal connection after the loss of being cut off from a character or world once the story ends. In therapy, intense relationship feelings can develop. These feelings can lead to boundary violations, including sexual relationships. Boundary crossings are one of the most common ethical violations for therapists. These feelings are very real, which leads us to the first contrast between writing and therapy.
Holding the mirror to life: differences
A writer’s created worlds are fictions. As a result, their ethical responsibilities are abstract. A murder mystery writer, for example, has not actually committed murder (I hope). A psychologist, however, treats a real, experiencing person. The consequence is that writers have the freedom to shine their mirror almost anywhere, while psychologists have obligations to hold individual and community wellbeing first and foremost. Boundary violations may come out of real feelings, but they can likewise do real harm.
Even writers have some obligations. For example, Asher’s Th1rteen R3asons Why explored the complicated and frightening world of suicide, including its causes by and impacts on a community. Suicide is a very important and impactful topic and worthy of writing about. However, researchers have explored the potential for ‘suicide contagion.’ When given only the how and why of suicide, others facing similar challenges might see the character’s actions as a solution. This is called the Werther Effect. When given resources and hope, however, there is a reduction in suicide (the Papageno effect; see Sorensen et al., 2022). Asher had an ethical obligation to walk a very fine line. He had to show Hannah’s very real motivations without glamorizing them, and while showing that she had (and we have) alternatives. And while not an obligation, nonjudgment of all involved should still be a goal.
More similarities and differences between psychology and literature coming next time…