Is modern psychology contributing to a less kind world?

Our increasingly complex and technological world has paradoxically brought us closer together while isolating us more than ever. Our economic system and the ideals of rugged individualism together contribute to a world where each person is primarily responsible for themselves. This is not only antithetical to the picture of shalom painted in the Bible, but also to positive mental health outcomes. Health is created within community, never in individuals alone. Meaning is created in context, never in isolation. The self is designed for and developing toward the telos of reciprocal relationship with others, community, and God.

Somewhat ironically (after three years of training in providing psychotherapy), I suspect that the advent of psychotherapy has contributed to this problem of individualism and isolation from others. While psychotherapy ostensibly supports the creation of mental health within people, it often does so by viewing individuals as hermetically sealed, isolated subjects—recipients of a technocratic service. In contrast, true health, both individual and social, emerges from reciprocal relationships embedded within the expanding layers of our environment.

Because we have “technologized” mental health in this way, it has become commonplace to view kindness as a professional service. The process of commodification has reconstituted kindness as something psychotherapists offer within the confines of their offices, or the government provides through social services. But the truth is that being therapeutic is nothing new. It was not invented in the late 1800s by Sigmund Freud, nor in the 1940s and 1950s by Carl Rogers, nor by any of the psychotherapeutic theorists who followed. Being therapeutic is a natural mode of being human. All good human relationships are therapeutic (Patterson, 1964). Professional therapy is merely the formalization of this mode of relating. Therapists are not meant to be a professional class of people qualified to be truly kind, but are meant to be one of many who fill the archetypal role of the healer which has been present in each culture in one form or another.

Yet in our world today, kindness is treated as if it belongs only within the scope of professional duty, evidenced by the phrase, “I’m not your therapist,” which we commonly use to distance ourselves when someone seeks a deeper relationship than we’re willing to offer. The latent message is clear: the kind of emotional reciprocity you’re asking for falls outside of what I believe should exist in a non-professional human relationship. The interest in creating boundaries supersedes the natural pull of the human heart. 

We often disguise this in legal or professional terms—framing it as a matter of liability or personal boundaries. We fear that if we allow someone to open up to us and things don’t go well, we’ll be responsible. But the truth is more disturbing: by holding each other at this distance, the outcome is graver than we imagine. The harm of isolation far outweighs the risks of mutual reciprocity—of opening ourselves to shared interiority with one another (Volf, 1996). Our insistence on maintaining our impermeable boundaries paradoxically does nothing to alleviate the emptiness that psychotherapy so desperately seeks to fill (Cushman, 1990). 

Creating a kinder world 

Christian theology and our obligations to each other.

Turning to the Bible, we are confronted by the story of Cain and Abel. After Cain murders his brother, and Abel’s blood cries out to God from the ground, God asks Cain, “Where is your brother?” Cain responds, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” The answer, of course, is yes. We are our siblings’ keepers. And, we are all Cain, attempting to displace our responsibility onto an absent other. 

It‘s common to critique an attitude of sacrificial service and self-emptying as rooted in spiritual abuse, which seeks to leave nothing of the individual for themselves. We can’t sidestep this valid critique; instead, we must move through it to reach a new understanding. The truth is that we must care for ourselves and care for others simultaneously; neglecting either leaves us unbalanced. The answer to our problem is neither to give to others solely under the guise that God will provide for us if we provide for others, nor to make the self the exclusive locus of our service. Instead, we must find harmony between the two, allowing each to strengthen the other. The power of the Spirit stagnates in the self but flourishes as it flows out and in through our willingness to give and receive.

Care for the self as we care for others – the model of Jesus

Turning to the story of Jesus, we observe his withdrawal from the crowds to solitary places, followed by his return to the crowds in service, performing signs and wonders. This pattern serves as a model for our own use of spiritual power. The chief lesson from the life and narratives of Jesus is that we require both solitude—wilderness and silence—and self-giving, fully breaking open and pouring ourselves out. In these acts of reciprocal service to each other, we have the pleasure of truly encountering God in our midst. It is only there that God is found.

How should we live, or what should I do about the homeless guy I see every day?

Recently, I was riding the metro through Los Angeles as it rained. From my seat, I was acutely aware of the tension in the rain: the dry hills and burn scars visible on the distant mountains, and the passengers around me who had slept outdoors the night before, riding simply to stay dry. A man sat down next to me, damp from the night and smelling faintly of alcohol. We started talking. I learned his name, his hometown, and about his family. I shared something of myself—my name, my history, my family, my own experiences. He mentioned he’d had a few drinks the night before because it’s hard to sleep outside in the cold and wet. I told him I understood, knowing that my understanding was only partial.

At some point, he looked at me, tears in his eyes, and placed his hand on my shoulder. He said, “You’re an angel. You’re an angel.” With tears welling in my own, I replied, “No, you are—you are.” We held this playful argument, now crying openly, for at least a minute before reaching a gentleman’s agreement: we would take turns. We both figured we couldn’t be angels at the same time, but it seemed perfectly acceptable to trade off.

I confess this attitude—this ability to show up, hold space for another, truly encounter a stranger in the mundane, and in so doing finding God—is not my default setting. Left to myself, I would have preferred to keep my head down, put my headphones in, and read my book. But something in the story of Jesus and the community he sought compelled me that day. It was a small thing—I didn’t change that man’s situation, but perhaps I changed that moment for him. And the truth is, we can all take turns caring for each other. This is not only the world God calls us to create; it is the only world truly worth living in. 

Things to consider as you move forward 

1. Do you offer yourself in the service of others? Do you allow yourself to receive the offerings of others?  
2. What would it look like for the boundaries between yourself, others, your community and God to be strong but permeable?
3. If you encounter a person whom you find needy, distasteful, or maybe a little frightening, how do you respond? Is it in line with your ethics and values? If not, what’s one small change you could make to bring your responses closer to your ideals?
4. Are there small ways, like offering a smile or buying a cup of coffee, that you can do to meet God in his dwelling place–at the margins?