Self-help as a glocalised therapeutic assemblage

Introduction

Self-help is a highly visible and influential phenomenon in contemporary societies. It is a paradigmatic example of the broader therapeutic culture, referring to the cultural domination and authority of psy-knowledges in making sense of human life and the social world (Illouz, 2008; Rose, 1990, 1998). As a multi-mediated and multifarious cultural practice, self-help circulates in the form of books, motivational speeches and seminars, reality TV and talk shows, and women’s and lifestyle magazines. It draws together psychological, spiritual, religious and scientific systems of knowledge in the attempt to act upon and transform one’s relationship with oneself and others (see Foucault, 1988). It problematises and probes selfhood by formulating ‘ethical substances’ in need of therapeutic intervention, introducing techniques of knowing and working on the self, and offering normative ideas of how we should live our lives (Foucault, 1990: 32).

This article explores self-help as a global form that has ‘a distinctive capacity for decontextualisation and recontextualisation, abstractability and movement, across diverse social and cultural situations and spheres of life’ (Collier and Ong, 2005: 1, 4). More specifically, we examine how two core features of the globally circulating self-help – the ‘bullet-point’ narrative form and the idea of positive thinking (Woodstock, 2005) – are domesticated in Russia, and how the genre transforms as it is articulated with a set of locally and cultural historically embedded discourses. Our analysis draws on bestselling self-help literature written for the Russian reading audience, published during the 2000s, and interviews with readers of this genre. We argue that self-help can illuminate the negotiation of cultural values in Russia. As an influential cultural form, it contributes to creating narratives and symbols through which people make sense of themselves and imagine possible lives and selves.

The article makes both empirical and theoretical contributions to the existing literature on therapeutic culture and self-help. First, it contributes empirically by moving beyond the anglophone cultural sphere that has dominated the scholarship on self-help (Madsen, 2014; Nehring et al., 2016) to explore self-help in contemporary Russia. With this move, the article contributes both to an emerging field of research on the transnational circulation of self-help (Nehring et al., 2016), and to scholarship probing the dynamics of therapeutic knowledges and practices in the post-Soviet context (Honey, 2012, 2014; Lerner, 2011, 2015; Lerner and Zbenovich, 2013; Matza, 2009, 2012, 2014; Mazzarino, 2013; Salmenniemi and Adamson, 2015; Salmenniemi and Vorona, 2014; Zigon, 2011a, 2011b). In particular, it continues developing the line of argumentation that has emphasised the intrinsic and vibrant circulation, co-existence and interaction of global and historical discourses in the post-Soviet space (see Lerner, 2011; Lerner and Zbenovich, 2013; Zigon, 2011a, 2011b).

The second empirical contribution of this article is that it addresses readers’ engagement with self-help literature, an issue largely neglected in existing scholarship. Accordingly, it will analyse how Russian self-help readers make sense of the genre, and domesticate and negotiate transnational cultural flows.

The theoretical contribution of this article consists in attending to the neglected transnational aspect of self-help and therapeutic culture (Nehring et al., 2016). We propose to examine self-help as a glocalised therapeutic assemblage to capture the process whereby a disparate set of discursive practices, irreducible to a single logic, is assembled and interweaved together in Russian self-help (see Collier and Ong, 2005; Li, 2007; Zigon, 2011a, 2011b). Glocalisation, a concept originally coined by Robertson (1995), refers to ‘the merging of global and local cultural forms as globalizing cultural forms descend upon different polities, societies and cultures, setting in motion dynamics of appropriation, hybridization and competition’ (Nehring et al., 2016: 33). Assemblage thinking is an attempt to avoid reductionism and essentialism ‘through a concentration on the historic and contingent processes that produce assemblages’ (Dovey, 2010: 16, cited in McFarlane, 2011: 209). In the space of assemblage, a global form is one among a range of elements (Collier, 2006: 400). We understand self-help books and their authors and readers as engaging in the labour of assembling heterogeneous discursive elements and domesticating the globally circulating features of this genre. By conceptualising self-help as a glocalised therapeutic assemblage, we seek to underline the transnational and multidirectional constitution and movement of self-help. ¹

We suggest that Russian self-help as glocalised therapeutic assemblage emerges through a series of domestication strategies. By adopting the analytical lens of domestication, we seek to highlight ways in which global self-help articulates with a web of culturally and historically sedimented discursive practices. Domestication can be understood as a complex process of articulation in which heterogeneous elements from different systems of meaning with diverse trajectories are sutured together and made intelligible (Salmenniemi and Adamson, 2015). In this process, things that may initially be perceived as ‘foreign’ become familiar (Alasuutari and Qadir, 2014: 14). The process of domestication transforms the global form and contributes to its further movement and transformation (see Stenning et al., 2012).

In this article, we flesh out the dynamics of the Russian self-help genre as a glocalized therapeutic assemblage. We suggest that the Russian books domesticate positive thinking and the bullet-point narrative form by articulating them with discourses familiar from Russian and Soviet cultural history. We have identified three domestication strategies. First, we shall show how the bullet-point form is domesticated by articulating it with the discourse of culturedness (kul’turnost’), which transforms the accessible and ‘to the point’ form into a detailed and multilayered intertextual narrative. This construes the implied reader as a ‘cultured person’, willing to engage with scientific, historical, cultural and philosophical systems of knowledge. The second strategy places positive thinking in dialogue with discourses of suffering. The authors either posit positive thinking as an alternative to suffering, or emphasise positive aspects of experiences of suffering indispensable to spiritual self-transformation. The third strategy rests on the interplay between the Russian discourse on spirituality (dukhovnost’), rooted in Orthodox spirituality, folk magic and the ‘Russian soul’, and the discourse of consciousness (soznanie), grounded in both Soviet scientific rationalism and transnational New Age spirituality.

Both the bullet-point narrative form and positive thinking are negotiated by Russian self-help readers in various ways. While some find positive thinking empowering, others consider it profoundly misguided. However, what unites readers is their aversion to simplified and universalistic accounts and authoritarian exhortations. In self-help, they seek food for thought and explanatory frameworks that acknowledge the social embeddedness of individuals and provide more complex and subtle solutions.

The rest of the article will unfold as follows. The next sections of this article offer a historical contextualisation of therapeutic discourse and self-help in Russia, and present the research materials and methods. The domestication strategies of the bullet-point template and positive thinking are then analysed in detail, while the concluding section draws together the main empirical and theoretical arguments developed in the article.

Self in Soviet and post-Soviet Russia

Unlike in post-war Western societies, where psy-knowledges and psychotherapeutic practices gradually gained ascendancy as the primary sources of authority in understanding the self and social relations (Illouz, 2008; Rose, 1998; Hazleden, 2003, 2011; McGee, 2005), these knowledges and practices occupied a marginal position in Soviet society (Lerner, 2011; Lerner and Zbenovich, 2013; Matza, 2009). However, the ideas of self-transformation and work on the self were articulated in Soviet and Russian culture in a variety of ways. Soviet society had its distinctive socialist tradition of ‘work on the self’ (rabota nad soboi), which manifested itself, for example, in advice manuals seeking to make the Soviet masses more ‘cultured’, and in individual self-training programmes (samovospitanie) offering guidance on becoming a more devoted communist (Kelly, 2001; Kharkhordin, 1999). Soviet advice books addressed a diverse set of themes and target audiences, and although many of them were ‘mouthpieces’ of state ideology, some also bore resemblance with the famous self-help author Dale Carnegie’s books by emphasising social harmony (Kelly, 2001: 251). Psychotherapeutic and psychoanalytical discourses, however, were largely absent in Soviet advice books (Kelly, 2001; Lerner, 2011).

In addition to Soviet practices, work on the self has also been an integral part of Orthodox moral theology (Zigon, 2011a), as well as of the Russian tradition of ‘esotericism’ (see Hanegraaff, 1998; Honey, 2006; Rosenthal, 1996). Although the Soviet state embraced atheism and labelled religion and spirituality as ‘vestiges of the past’, alternative healing and religious practices were also practised during the Soviet era and remained an important dimension of Soviet everyday life and subjectivities (Honey, 2006, 2012; Lindquist, 2006; Tiaynen, 2013).

Only in the aftermath of the demise of the Soviet Union did the therapeutic discourse, and self-help literature as its key cultural vehicle, begin to circulate more widely in Russia (see Kelly, 2001; Ries, 1997). Today, self-help constitutes a highly popular and visible element of the Russian cultural landscape (Mazzarino, 2013; Salmenniemi and Vorona, 2014; Salmenniemi, 2016). As our analysis will elucidate, Russian self-help books draw together elements from traditional religions, New Age spiritualities, ² folk magic and psy-knowledges. This eclectic mix is a typical feature of the self-help genre in general (Heelas, 1996, 2008; Redden, 2002; Woodstock, 2005), as well as a distinctive characteristic of the contemporary Russian cultural sphere (Dubin, 2004; Etkind, 2009, cited in Lerner and Zbenovich, 2013: 848).

Research methodology

Our research strategy addresses self-help books and their readership as two significant agents in the domestication of the self-help genre and the shaping of the therapeutic culture in Russia. Our primary material consists of 14 bestselling self-help books written by four Russian authors and aimed at a general reading audience. These authors were chosen because they are particularly popular, prolific and well known in Russia. Each author represents a different strand of self-help. Gennadii Malakhov is one of the most well-known figures in the field of complementary and alternative medicine, particularly folk healing, and used to run a talk show on national television. Valerii Sinel’nikov is a psychotherapist, homeopath and New Age practitioner (in Slavic neopaganism), whose ideas are promoted not only through books and seminars but also through a network of self-help clubs. Andrei Kurpatov is a famous psychologist and psychotherapist, who has been running a number of popular psychology talk shows on national television. Finally, Nataliia Pravdina is a feng shui consultant and therapeutic trainer drawing on New Age and American-style prosperity self-help. What unites these authors is that their books address the central themes of the self-help genre: love, relationships, health, wealth and happiness. The popularity of these authors signals that something in their messages speaks to and resonates with the lived realities of the Russian reading public. Moreover, they are transnational therapeutic entrepreneurs, delivering seminars and talks abroad, particularly in former socialist bloc countries but also beyond, and some of their books have been translated into other languages. In this way, the writers contribute to shaping the transnational therapeutic culture.

Our second set of research materials consists of one-to-one and focus group interviews conducted with readers of therapeutic self-help literature in the city of Saratov during 2009–2010. ³ In total, 30 readers (21 women and 9 men) were interviewed, ranging in age from 20 to 70 years. Among them were students, medical doctors, teachers, psychologists, service personnel, housewives, pensioners and entrepreneurs. Most had read the books or they were otherwise familiar with the self-help authors addressed in this article.

We chose to focus on the domestication of the bullet-point narrative form and positive thinking ideology, since these are identified as core features of the genre in Louisa Woodstock’s (2005) in-depth historical study of the self-help genre. These features are also prominent in the analysed Russian self-help materials. In our analysis, we paid attention to ways in which these two generic features were articulated and explained in the texts, which enabled us to define the domestication strategies mobilised to make the books intelligible to and resonate with Russian readers. The interviews were then analysed by tracing ways in which the interviewees interpreted the bullet-point form and positive thinking.

Domesticating the bullet-point narrative

We now move on to analyse how the ‘bullet-point’ narrative form is domesticated in the Russian self-help texts. According to Woodstock (2005: 170), this refers to a form of representation that seeks to communicate meanings in a condensed and accessible form. With its ‘penchant for brevity and getting to the point’ (Woodstock, 2005), it has become particularly prominent in the genre since the 1990s, seeking to involve readers as participants, while accommodating their divided attention among myriad media outlets and their consequent desire for streamlined information (Woodstock, 2005). The most poignant example of this form is the numerical representation indexing specific stages, steps or modes. This template abounds in the Amazon self-help bestseller list, including such titles as The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love that Lasts, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom and The 48 Laws of Power.

The bullet-point form is also abundantly present in the analysed Russian self-help books, manifesting itself, for example, in ‘21 honest answers’ (Kurpatov, 2010a), ‘twelve steps towards oneself’ (Kurpatov, 2010b, 2010c), ‘three fatal instincts’ (Kurpatov, 2006), and ‘seven phases of strengthening psychic and life energy’ (Malakhov, 2007). It also manifests itself in the form of bullet-point lists and summaries of key ideas, as well as in illustrations visualising therapeutic messages (see, for example, Pravdina, 2007, 2009; Sinel’nikov, 2010a; Sinel’nikov and Slobotchikov, 2007). However, this bullet-point form, when domesticated to Russian readers, often transforms into a multilayered narrative drawing on a variety of Russian, Eastern and European cultural historical, philosophical, scientific and spiritual discourses. For example, Kurpatov’s ‘twelve steps’ programme expands into two volumes with abundant references to professional psychology, Russian classical literature, European philosophers, poets and writers, taking inspiration from Confucianism, Sufism, Indian philosophy and Buddhism (Kurpatov, 2010b, 2010c). In another book, the idea of ‘seven phases’ of strengthening psychic and life energy expands into a highly detailed account of Chinese philosophy, yoga breathing techniques, and Ayurvedic and Russian folk medicine, as well as Orthodox practices (Malakhov, 2007).

This transformation of the bullet-point form into a detailed narrative with dense intertextualities is a key feature of the Russian self-help genre. It emerges through articulating the bullet-point form with the Soviet cultural and aesthetic ideology of culturedness (kul’turnost’). Culturedness refers to a broad set of values and practices emphasising highbrow cultural engagement and competence. Reading and familiarity with the literary canon was a key aspect of the cultured person in the Soviet Union. Despite the boom of popular culture and the reconfiguration of aesthetic hierarchies, the ideas and values associated with culturedness continue to play an important role in contemporary Russia (Schimpfossl, 2014; Zavisca, 2005: 12–48).

We interpret the domestication of the bullet-point style, drawing on the discourse of culturedness, as serving as a strategy to negotiate the hierarchy between ‘popular’ and ‘highbrow’ culture. In addressing a ‘cultured person’ as the implied reader and articulating the bullet-point template with highbrow intertextualities, the books seek to ‘culturalise’ a genre generally regarded as ‘light’ and devoid of aesthetic or intellectual value. ⁴ In this way, culturedness as a domestication strategy can be interpreted as an attempt to redefine and claim value and legitimacy for the self-help genre.

These attempts to negotiate aesthetic hierarchies and domesticate the genre to the Russian cultural context found resonance among the self-help readers interviewed in this study. Many exemplified the ‘cultured’ reader implied in the books. In general, they were avid readers who, in addition to various kinds of self-help literature, also read fiction, history, professional psychology, philosophy and religious literature. Many had also practised a range of therapeutic techniques and participated in psychological training and self-help groups. Although some appreciated the accessible bullet-point form, a significant proportion of readers took a critical stand to it and sought more complex narratives. They were particularly critical of ‘foreign books’ that gave ‘very simplified’ advice, not always applicable to the Russian environment (for a fuller analysis, see Salmenniemi and Vorona, 2014). Moreover, the readers also proposed scales of quality, evaluating the authors’ educational credentials and expertise, as well as the level of competence and knowledge that the books expected from the readers. As Elena, a housewife in her late 40s, explained,

I don’t take Nataliia Pravdina very seriously … But it’s easy to read her books, and I gave her book as a present to my sister … I think that Doctor Kurpatov, and also Sinel’nikov are stronger … At the moment, Sinel’nikov is more understandable and more appealing to me … but Kurpatov is demanding. I guess I haven’t reached that level yet.

The interviewed readers were looking for ‘food for thought’ (pissha dlia razmyshlenii) in self-help literature, and new ways to understand themselves and the surrounding world. They voiced aversion to books that propagated ‘universal truths’ and gave categorical advice, stressing instead the context-bound nature of knowledge, experience and selfhood (see Salmenniemi and Vorona, 2014). They shunned ready-made solutions and orders on ‘how to behave’, and treated self-help books as ‘interlocutors’. Reading was experienced as an act of ‘horizontal dialogue’. One interviewee, Sergei, summarised a common view:

I particularly appreciate the experience of engaging in conversation (beseda) with the author, the moment of having an interlocutor (sobesednik). I feel the author is not attempting to be some kind of guru who is trying to convey to me some truths that I have to remember. [I like it] when the author communicates with me, maybe gives me some advice as a friendly interlocutor, as a person who understands me.

The Russian terms for conversation and interlocutor are symbolically rich and convey a cultural image of comfort and cosiness associated with intensive, intersubjective engagement. One author, in our sample, also defines his books precisely as a form of conversation (Kurpatov, 2010b: 7). This reflexive engagement with self-help can be read as a reaction to the authoritarian and didactic approaches to knowledge characteristic of the Soviet era (Rivkin-Fish, 2005: 93, 115), as well as reflecting a move from external to internal authority characteristic of both the therapeutic discourse and holistic spiritualities (Heelas, 1996). The interviewees did not want to be positioned as obedient and passive objects of knowledge, but rather as its active interpreters and evaluators.

Mythologies of happiness and suffering

In addition to the bullet-point format, the Russian self-help texts also domesticate the idea of positive thinking. In contrast to American culture, where an optimistic outlook and a belief in the power of ‘happy thoughts’ have constituted key elements of national identity (Ehrenreich, 2009; Woodstock, 2005; McGee, 2005), Russian culture has rather embraced hardship and poverty as sources of moral authority and symbolic recognition. Russian-ness has been symbolically aligned with the ‘art of suffering’, in both Western and Russian cultural historical discourses (Rivkin-Fish, 2005; Ries, 1997).

Positive thinking has been a key concept of the self-help tradition since the inception of the genre in the 19th century (Woodstock, 2005). An emblematic text in this regard is Norman Vincent Peale’s (1952) classic, The Power of Positive Thinking. In essence, positive thinking holds that thoughts shape reality, and is based on a belief in the power of the rational mind, that individuals ‘can change their lives, their relationships, their jobs, and their personalities, by thinking differently, through power of thought alone’ (Woodstock, 2005: 156). Positive thinking therefore suggests that not only all problems but also all answers lie in the internal world of the self and that, consequently, hard times are due mainly to poor quality of thinking and an inadequately unified self (Woodstock, 2005). Woodstock (2005: 180) suggests that ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ thinking have merged in self-help so that readers are encouraged to place painful negative thoughts in the past and move forward by thinking positive thoughts about the present and the future.

Although positive thinking as a self-help technology is a newcomer to Russia, the ‘power of thought’ is not, since it was emphasised in the Russian esotericism of the 19th and early 20th centuries (Hanegraaff, 1998; Rosenthal, 1996), as well as in the Soviet discourse of rational consciousness as a world-transforming power. Today, the discourse of positive thinking is widely present in the Russian self-help field (Mazzarino, 2013), and all the authors in our sample subscribe to it. They declare, over and over again, that ‘the person creates his own world with his very thoughts’ (Malakhov, 2007: 175), that ‘the world emerges in the way we look at it’ (Kurpatov, 2010b: 14), and that ‘we create the world with our thoughts, feelings, emotions’ (Sinel’nikov, 2010b: 17) and ‘words’ (Sinel’nikov, 2007: 9).

A key strategy through which Russian therapeutic texts domesticate positive thinking is by juxtaposing it vis-à-vis the Russian cultural historical mythologies of suffering and the associated distinctive speech genre of litanies. Litanies are, as Nancy Ries (1997: 84) explains, passages in conversation in which a speaker enunciates a series of complaints, grievances and worries, as well as lamenting the hopelessness of the situation. They perform an important social function by forging a sense of belonging to a ‘moral community of shared suffering’ (Ries, 1997: 88). They often convey a certain sense of powerlessness in the face of social forces, as well as the position of victim. They can also be seen as a form of ritualised entreaty, an almost prayer-like recitation of suffering and loss, a combination of pessimistic despair and the possibility of relief (Ries, 1997: 112).

The Russian self-help authors acknowledge this specific Russian speech genre. As a form of destructive thinking, they regard litanies as harmful, and offer positive thinking as an alternative to this perennial tradition of sacralised suffering. As a result, the books explicitly discourage discussion of ‘unpleasant’ and ‘negative’ issues. They illustrate the power of positive thinking by applying it to commonplace, everyday situations that are likely to be recognisable and familiar to most Russians. This simultaneously serves as a way to domesticate the idea to Russia. Such situations include, for example, how to deal with corrupt officials, avoid economic crises, live in a communal flat, or manage business in a highly unstable and unregulated environment. One author advises her readers to ‘refuse all attempts to draw yourself into a discussion about inflation, expensive prices, corruption of the powers-that-be, the breaking and entering of homes, and so on’ (Pravdina, 2007: 134), all prevalent topics in everyday conversation in Russia, to avoid the negative consequences that such laments would entail. Another author delivers a cautionary tale on the dangers of Russian litanies by illustrating the power of positive thinking. He recounts a conversation he had with his friends in the sauna. His friends were criticising ‘laws, the government and tax inspectors’, so the author asked his friends (and the reader), ‘Have you ever tried to love our government?’:

What is the use of these futile discussions and critique? You just spoil your mood, and the mood of others … In the government bodies, there are also working people … Each has a soul, irrespective of whether he is a customs official or tax inspector. And the soul of this person reacts sensitively to your thoughts and emotions. If your attitude is hostile, then you will receive only negative feedback in the form of fines or hints of bribery. But if your attitude is kind, then his attitude towards you will be similar. (Sinel’nikov, 2010b: 77)

The author unleashes evidence of the effectiveness of this method by relating that, a week later, one of his friends reported having applied this method successfully and avoided a tax inspection.

In yet another example, the power of positive thinking is illustrated by grounding it in the terrain of women’s juggling of the domestic and work responsibilities characteristic of the ‘working mother’ gender contract familiar to the majority of Russian women (Rotkirch and Temkina, 2007). The author introduces the reader to the life of Svetlana, who ‘always went to work expecting troubles, and upon her return to home, tired and upset, had to take care of her daughter and “please” her husband’. Rather than lamenting the situation, the books recommend positive thoughts as a way to bring about change. Change is portrayed as depending merely on individual thoughts:

At some point, Svetlana’s patience was over, and she, having attended my seminar on self-transformation, understood that she could change her life. Earlier she used to put the interests of her close ones and her work above her own personhood (lichnost’). Having realised her values, she started practising the morning session [of positive affirmation] of joy … Soon she noticed that her demanding boss suddenly became more compromising and started praising her more … ‘Now I will start telling myself that I am a princess, and the army of servants is taking care of me. What if it helps to attract my husband and my daughter to home duties?’ It will help, Svetlana, of course it will, as we transfer our perception of ourselves into the world, and it attracts a corresponding answer. (Pravdina, 2010: 26–27)

In some of the books, as in the one cited above, positive thinking is evoked as a source of and a remedy to both individual and societal problems, which are seen as stemming from individual psychopathologies rather than structural relationships of power. This therapeutic individualism is a common feature of globally circulating self-help (Rimke, 2000; Woodstock, 2005); yet, some of the books in our sample also distance themselves from this version of positive thinking and instead emphasise a positive attitude as a way to achieve well-being. Negative experiences and suffering are not denied as such, nor seen as a cause of poverty and disadvantage, but as potentially important channels of learning and self-transformation.

The spiritual self

Positive thinking is also domesticated in the analysed self-help books through a particular interplay of spirituality (dukhovnost’), foregrounding religious and mystical aspects of selfhood and consciousness (soznanie), and emphasising the rational mind and self-mastery. Although the fusion of scientific and religious/spiritual discourses is characteristic of positive thinking in general (Woodstock, 2005), we shall unpack below how this fusion emerges in a distinct way in Russian self-help.

As explained in the previous section, the positive thinking ideology emphasises self-mastery through the rational management of thoughts (Rimke, 2000; Woodstock, 2005). Perhaps counterintuitively, this idea also finds resonance with the Soviet discourse of consciousness (soznanie). The Russian revolution envisaged a thoroughly politicised subject marked by self-mastery and willpower in the service of communism (Hellbeck, 2006). This idea was rooted in the scientific rationalism characteristic of the Soviet project of modernity. Positive thinking is domesticated in the self-help books by articulating it together with this discourse of consciousness and appealing to the work on the self, familiar from the Soviet era:

Of course, everything begins with the work on the consciousness (soznanie). One should understand and clarify … who you are; what your role in the process of creation is; what guides you; the purpose of your life. Only when these questions are answered can one make a conscious choice and start implementing it in real life and achieve something. (Malakhov, 2007: 141)

While the discourse of consciousness was mobilised in the Soviet Union to call people to work for the benefit of the Soviet state, in contemporary self-help, it is evoked primarily for the purpose of individual happiness and well-being. Work on the consciousness is seen as a way to ‘find a highly-paid job, be healthy, create a happy family, become a rich man, buy a house’ (Sinel’nikov, 2010b: 27) and ‘build up your health and wealth, enjoy your successes in life’ (Malakhov, 2007: 148).

The discourse of consciousness was not only central to the Soviet project of modernity but has also been influential in the esoteric tradition both in the West and in Russia (Hanegraaff, 1998; Rosenthal, 1996). For example, in developing a ‘new model of human consciousness’, some of the books in our sample draw on the famous New Age writer Carlos Castaneda’s notion of ‘expanding consciousness’ (see, for example, Sinel’nikov, 2010a: 16).

However, this power of consciousness is also destabilised in the analysed self-help texts by drawing on the notion of spirituality (dukhovnost’). Dukhovnost’ is an historically powerful cultural discourse that embraces elements of Orthodox spirituality as well as the ideas of self-enlightenment and self-perfection of 19th-century Russian classical literature. During Soviet times, spirituality was deprived of its religious connotation, and became closely linked to culturedness through an emphasis on artistic creativity, music and knowledge of classical literature (Halstead, 1994). After the Soviet collapse, dukhovnost’ became a broad and inclusive cultural category to which both religious and non-religious Russians could become deeply committed (Willems, 2006: 294). The analysed self-help books mobilise the discourse of spirituality as a strategy to domesticate positive thinking. They do this by evoking three key aspects of this discourse: the concept of the ‘Russian soul’ (dusha), Orthodox Christian concepts and practices, and the magical rationale expressed through folk magic and healing.

The notion of soul is an important discourse of selfhood in Russian cultural history and the most common approach to conceiving of the self in spiritual terms (Lerner, 2011; Pesmen, 2000). In the analysed books, soul is often seen as something deeply personal and intimate, surpassing the limitations of the rational mind. As one author in our sample explains (Kurpatov, 2010c: 128), soul draws positive thinking into the domain of the ‘unspoken and inexpressible’, ‘something that is happening within you, something that rescued you in the most terrible moments’. This author also mobilises the notion of soul to illustrate the limits of rational reasoning: ‘Of course we can be quite understandable in simple and plain things, but to understand our souls? Sometimes even we ourselves are unable to understand our soul, and what can we expect from others?’ (Kurpatov, 2010a: 221).

The importance of experiential spiritual knowledge is emphasised in much of the self-help literature (Rimke, 2000; Woodstock, 2005) and has also been historically significant in New Age and Orthodox spirituality, both in Russia and transnationally (Hann and Goltz, 2010; Heelas, 1996; Rosenthal, 1996: 10). Many of the books in our sample make explicit references to Orthodox faith, perhaps due to the culturally pivotal position of Orthodoxy in Russian culture. Key Orthodox Christian ideas and practices, such as going to church, undertaking pilgrimages, visiting sacred places, kissing icons, receiving Eucharist, fasting and praying, are recommended as therapeutic practices for maintaining positive dispositions and neutralising negative effects (see, for example, Malakhov, 2007). However, in parallel with Orthodox Christian practices, the books also make much use of Russian folk magic, especially a belief in magical harm (Lindquist, 2006; Tiaynen, 2013). For example, some of the authors refer to porcha, which is a well-known term of affliction in Russian folk magic. They also mention sglaz, depicting a misfortune or disease inflicted on a person through the act of looking, an ‘evil eye’. The texts mobilise these ideas as examples of ‘negative thinking’ that are believed to result in a malaise or serious disease, and suggest instead ‘positive magic’ in the form of happy thoughts. They also refer to healers and healing practices familiar from the Soviet period, such as Georgii Sytin, who developed herbal formulas for healing (Pravdina, 2006: 30), and Porfiry Ivanov, a mystic and practitioner of alternative medicine (Malakhov, 2007: 122), as well as articulate these with global therapeutic and New Age practices such as yoga (see, for example, Kurpatov, 2010b: 171; Malakhov, 2007: 135; Malakhov, 2006).

This domestication of positive thinking through dukhovnost’ contributes to subverting the transformative power of the rational mind and emphasises instead mystery and magic beyond human comprehension. In doing so, the limits of thought and human agency in shaping social reality are acknowledged. Life is seen to involve an element of uncertainty and mysticism, which one has to accept and learn to value.

The interviews with self-help readers also dealt with positive thinking. Some readers, particularly women, embraced positive thinking, which they felt offered them a sense of empowerment (see also Salmenniemi and Vorona, 2014):

Sofiia: Overall I like that there’s this message of something positive, success, and fortune [in self-help books]. … Most importantly, these books give a sense that one should never give up and that there are no deadlock situations … Reading these books is enough to understand that nothing is lost, and everything can be fixed.

Positive thinking was also understood more broadly than merely programming reality with one’s thoughts. For many, it served as a way of dealing with socio-economic precarity and difficult life situations, such as unemployment and illness. For example, Natasha, an unemployed woman in her forties, had begun to recite positive affirmations as a way of dealing with health problems. She recounted,

I began reading this type of [self-help] literature because it made me think, and because you have to build your behaviour sensibly in order not to be ill. I have been ill for a long time and haven’t been able get better in any way. But Sinel’nikov writes in his book that illness is, in general, a consequence of our negative thoughts. Think good, wish good, behave in a right way, do not offend anyone, do not hate, and your life will be harmonious and you will be well. This morning I woke up and said to myself: ‘I’m healthy, I’m wealthy’ and I think I’m feeling better already [laughs].

However, many readers voiced scepticism about the power of happy thoughts to transform individual life situations, let alone society more broadly. Simplistic accounts of positive thinking were seen as overlooking the socio-structural embeddedness of social actors, and its impact on one’s actions and choices. Denis summarised a common view among the interviewees:

There are those books that say ‘you can have it all, if you just pull yourself together, and everything will be fine’. In my opinion, there is no sense in this … ‘How to earn your first million?’ … For instance, a housewife – how could she earn her first million? I’m not convinced that she can do it just by changing her thoughts, her worldview.

The interviews also disclosed great diversity in understandings of what constitutes self-help. This category proved to be flexible, accommodating, in addition to conventional self-help books, everything from Jungian psychology (see Honey, 2014), esoteric literature and Soviet advice books, to novels dealing with existential questions and religious texts. Thus, both the analysed books and the interviews foreground the complexity and diversity of self-help as a cultural practice.

Conclusion

In this article, we have sought to shed light on the transnationalisation of self-help by analysing how the globally circulating self-help discourse has been domesticated in Russia. We have suggested the concept of glocalized therapeutic assemblage to capture the process by which multiple global and historical discourses are assembled and intertwined in Russian self-help. These discourses include Soviet discourses of culturedness and consciousness, New Age discourses, Russian/Soviet discourses of suffering and spirituality, and globally circulating positive thinking ideas and bullet-point narratives. This assemblage makes the genre seem simultaneously familiar and novel.

We have also shown how the self-help genre is transformed in the process of domestication. By domesticating the bullet-point form, the analysed self-help books transform the key feature of the genre, its accessible and concise form, into a multilayered intertextual narrative. Furthermore, by domesticating the idea of positive thinking, the books depart from the idea of rational self-mastery and arrive at the idea that neither selfhood nor social reality are completely rational or accessible to the mind, but have elements of uncertainty and mysticism. While positive thoughts are seen as the result of one’s conscious self-improvement efforts, the authors also challenge the individual’s capacity to transform reality solely through the power of the rational mind. The interviews reveal that these strategies of domestication resonate with readers’ expectations. Readers appreciate the element of culturedness, and shun decontextualised and categorical advice. Many are critical of the sole power of thought to transform reality, and instead emphasise the social embeddedness of individuals. However, positive thinking appears, for some, to be an empowering idea and a way of coming to terms with difficult life situations.

We believe that the concept of glocalized therapeutic assemblage offers a productive analytical lens for exploring therapeutic knowledge and practices and their transnational movement, interaction and entanglement in diverse contexts. The concept foregrounds the labour of pulling and sustaining together diverse agents, discourses, practices and spaces (see Li, 2007) and highlights the situated and variegated forms of self-help and therapeutic culture. In so doing, it allows us to deconstruct and historicise generic narratives of therapeutic culture and draw our attention to the complex processes of assembling, reassembling and domestication of therapeutic elements.