Fear of faith: A reflection on ‘Family therapy and fundamentalism’

Introduction

The following is a series of musings that the paper ‘Family therapy and fundamentalism’ has engendered within me. Although they arise from the deep discomfort that I experience when I read the paper, they are in no way intended to be disrespectful to the author, for whom I have great admiration; nor to the task that her paper seeks to address which is to explore the limits of family therapy, in this instance, when working with ‘fundamentalist families’. However, I do believe my experience and thoughts are a useful counter-point within the broader context of considering how diversity of religion and spirituality are addressed by mental health professionals in a society where religious diversity is often an uninvited and usually ignored guest.

I should also be clear that I define myself as a ‘person of faith’. In my case, this faith may evoke some contradictory views among many Western therapists because Buddhism is largely viewed as a ‘way of life’ rather than a ‘faith’. It is, of course, the fourth largest religion in the world (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_religious_populations). Although there is no ‘saviour God’ in Buddhism, there are rituals, scriptures, different sects/schools, religious practices and ethical codes of conduct: all of which are hallmarks of a religion. Equally, although there is no ‘heaven’ as a goal, there is a conviction that human beings can achieve a state of consciousness that is beyond self-interest and is deeply connected to the fabric of existence. Pursuing the path to this state requires both faith and doubt as well as intense gratitude to the discoverer of the path: Shakyamuni Buddha.

I am going to side step the difficulty of the phrase ‘fundamentalism’ but start my musings by beginning with how I read ‘Family therapy and Fundamentalism’ as a person of faith. I will then refer to some systemic ideas about the ‘problem’ of fundamentalism for secular therapists. Finally, I will suggest that we are confusing a number of agendas in this debate none of which actually help therapists work with ‘fundamentalist’ families.

Discomfort and faith

There are a number of reasons why a person of faith reading ‘Family therapy and fundamentalism’ might feel uncomfortable. Of course, there is nothing wrong with being uncomfortable: either as a therapist or as a person of faith. My opening quotation demonstrates that doubt and discomfort are all part of the spiritual path. However, when our discomfort comes from feeling excluded, we are probably experiencing unhelpful discomfort.

I would like to start with a phrase a student used while we were discussing religious diversity in a clinical case review session within a training group of family/systemic therapists:

‘This couple have very strong religious views’, she declared.

I was interested in this phrase and began to use the session to deconstruct what it meant. Very quickly, the group (and the student) arrived at an understanding that what she meant was that she did not share the religious views of the couple. As the conversation progressed, another implicit meaning emerged: the student saw a direct line between these ‘strong religious views’ and the relational difficulty that the couple had come to therapy with. I want to call this assumption ‘the belief causation’ assumption by which I mean that it is assumed that the particular belief of the individual/couple/family has a role in causing the problem that is presented to the therapist. The implication, therefore, is that a solution to the problem requires the suspension of the belief. As the group conversation continued, the student finally admitted, ‘I think they are just plain wrong in their beliefs’. As a learning conversation designed to increase systemic self-awareness, the conversation was a success. But what about the couple on the receiving end?

I think I hear a similar perspective in ‘Family therapy and fundamentalism’. There are a number of reasons why, as a person of faith, I recoil from this perspective. One is that it implies that anyone who believes anything other than ‘scientific’ rationalism must be deluded, or must suffer some kind of impaired psychology. It would seem to me that an element of humility is an important factor in assessing ‘where we stand’ in relation to other people’s beliefs. The claim that scientific rationalism is ‘better’ than any other belief also needs to be treated with caution when we assess the ethnic cleansing undertaken in the name of reason and nationalism in the 20th century. Another reason to be discomforted about this perspective is that it implies superiority over people of faith (including myself) that might so easily turn into actions designed to control them. Finally, if the secular therapist does harbour ideas like the above, which are indirectly critical of faith, then the therapeutic alliance with the family is going to be compromised.

These then are my immediate ‘emotional’ reactions to reading Sherbersky’s paper. On a more ‘rational’ level, I would like to return to the ‘belief causation’ proposal. In fairness, Sherbersky does not assert this proposal. However, when Frosh (1997) talks about fundamentalist families using therapy to ‘lure the errant member back to the truth’ (p. 427), and Sherbersky herself comments that sometimes the therapist becomes an advocate to help a family member leave the religious community, it is hard not to think this supposition is given some credence. It would seem to me to be almost impossible for ‘fundamentalist families’ to be discussed by ‘rationalist’ Western mental health professionals without an implied superiority and the implication that their beliefs must cause psychological problems. It might be thought that if these beliefs do not cause distress to individuals, then the whole community/culture must be beyond hope!

Just as with the student, I would want to deconstruct this ‘belief causation’ proposal. Surely, we must recognise that psychological problems are caused by an interaction with a far larger system than ‘just’ religious beliefs. Otherwise a similar mode of thinking is in place that once ascribed the ‘problem’ of gay sexual orientation to something going wrong in the family. Such thinking is unacceptable. When it comes to problems presented to mental health professionals, a wider contextual understanding is always required. This context will include social expectations, family history, individual vulnerabilities and many more. In particular, I want to turn to the social context.

Fundamentalism and secularism as systemic processes

There are strong contextual reasons why fundamentalism has now become a subject for therapists to debate. This debate occurs with the background of civil wars that have engulfed many states since the ‘Arab Spring’, 9/11, and the massacres in Paris. There is greater media coverage of the rise of groups who use violence to destroy their religious and secular opponents. I need to say that my reflections in no way condone this behaviour. However, I think there is overwhelming evidence that this development has a direct link to the attitudes adopted to faith by secular societies. Armstrong (2000) has made the case that ‘fundamentalism’ has existed within the three Abrahamic religions for many centuries. She argues that fundamentalism is an attempt to ‘re-sacralise an increasingly skeptical world’ (Armstrong, 2000, p. xi). She proposes that fundamentalism grows out of the secularisation of the world and as such it exists in relationship to these processes. She also catalogues the rise of fundamentalism within oppressed cultures which have been colonised either by the dominant Christian culture or (more recently) by the secular West. She says that

fundamentalisms . . . are embattled forms of spirituality which have emerged as a response to a perceived crisis. They are engaged in a conflict with enemies whose secularist policies and beliefs seem inimical to religion itself. (Armstrong, 2000, p. xi)

As such, she maintains that there is a recursive pattern: the more that secular pressures come to bear, the more fundamentalism grows. The opposite is also true: the more fundamentalism grows, the more stringent secularism becomes.

I suggest that it is impossible for western secular therapists to escape this systemic process. Once they evoke a concept of the ‘fundamentalist family’, they inevitably find things wrong with it. In this process, patterns of behaviour are ascribed to the label ‘fundamentalist’ which might be perfectly common in other family forms.

For instance, Sherbersky (2016) comments that ‘many fundamentalist religious groups share specific characteristics that are common to cults’. Indeed, she writes that by definition, they ‘must share certain core characteristics’. These include a lack of flexible boundaries which ‘pose a threat not only to the structure of the family, but also increase the risk of family members transgressing and being exposed to ideas and behaviours that may go against theocratic thinking’ (p. 13). She also asserts that fundamentalist families exhibit a particular approach to gender politics including ‘the assumption of men’s right to dominate’. She references research that argues that these patterns increase abuse and violence.

I would like to draw attention to previous attempts to describe certain ‘kinds’ of families. Minuchin, Rosman, and Baker (1978) famously argued that psychosomatic families caused anorexia, uncontrolled diabetes and other psychosomatic illnesses in childhood. Steinglass (1987) also suggested that there was an alcoholic family. Unfortunately, the intervening years have shown that this kind of theory is not supported by research (Eisler, 2005). In fact, most UK research has suggested that a number of trans-theoretical factors such as high warmth and low criticism are better indicators of child outcomes than the ‘type’ of family (Department of Health, 1995). Moreover, family therapists have learnt to be cautious in ascribing a family problem to a family system (Roffman, 2005). In other words, I am saying that there are multiple forms of ‘families some members of whom hold fundamentalist religious beliefs’ and they are not all the same. Nor do I believe that these families can be distinguished from any other ‘kind’ of family by the level of warmth or criticism.

What are the limits of therapy?

At its core, Sherbersky’s paper is seeking to answer the question, ‘are there some families that family therapy cannot help?’. Or perhaps more specifically, ‘are there certain attitudes/views within families that make family therapy/therapy in general unlikely to help?’. The answer is a resounding yes. Most family clinicians have their own list of qualities, presenting problems and family structures that they know challenge their skill. Indeed, there are many books which catalogue the learning that is achieved by analysing these cases (Kopp, 1976). Even the most successful ‘evidence based’ family interventions have their ‘failures’ (Green & Latchford, 2012). It is more helpful to adopt a case by case review of these situations rather than ascribe the ‘failure’ to a totalising description such as ‘fundamentalist families’. Sometimes an aspect of the family belief system may conflict with therapy; sometimes a gender related belief will challenge the therapist’s ability to work with a family; sometimes the legal requirement under which we all work will mean that ‘dialogical therapeutic help’ cannot be undertaken and safeguarding or vulnerable adult procedures need to be invoked; sometimes finding a ‘shared sense of purpose’ (Friedlander, Escudero, & Heatherington, 2006) in the therapy is a problem. I do not think ‘fundamentalist families’ have a monopoly on these circumstances. To argue that such ‘failure’ is the product of the families’ beliefs seems to conflate factors that may have nothing to do with faith and everything to do with the context of secular therapy.

Perhaps what I am saying is that sometimes difference does compromise therapy. But also, sometimes the way we frame that difference produces this compromise. I think when it comes to categorising ‘fundamentalist families’, this is one of those situations.

Conclusion

Sherbersky challenges therapists to explore their limitations and find a way of working with the most difficult situations that can arise in our clinical practice. Her challenge has provoked a response within me which I hope will accentuate the value of her own explorations in the minds of others. My reflections are offered in the spirit of dialogue so that exploration can continue not with greater certainty but greater hesitancy and uncertainty. As I said earlier, it seems to me that humility is a valuable quality when we address spiritual and religious beliefs.