sobota, 17 marca 2018

Świat dobrobytu zawdzięczamy psychopatom :)

Istotą zarządzania jest maksymalizacja efektywności. W szczególności oznacza to konieczność wymagania od ludzi bez nadmiernego zwracania uwagi na ich stany emocjonalne. Ten wymóg powoduje, że do sukcesów w zarządzaniu w sposób naturalny bardziej predysponowane są osoby o cechach psychopatycznych. 

Obfitość materialną naszych czasów zdecydowanie bardziej zawdzięczamy psychopatom niż altruistom.

Piękni Panowie, Urocze Panie

Kontakt z top managerami z zachodnich korporacji nieodmiennie wprawia mnie w zadziwienie. Czy to możliwe, żeby te górnolotne słowa były jedynie grą pozorów? A może są po prostu wspaniali, na miarę wizerunku, jaki starają się kreować?

W istocie jest to odnowione pytanie o arystokrację i jej rolę w społeczeństwie.
Wszyscy pragną wierzyć w dobroć władcy, bo inaczej trzeba by się zbuntować, a to uciążliwe i niebezpieczne.

Zapewne niekiedy do władzy dochodzą osoby szlachetne, zapewne starają się takimi pozostać. Równocześnie władza i przywileje korumpują, a wiele wskazuje na to, że prowadzą do fizycznych zmian w mózgu odpowiadających psychopatii. W hierarchiach władzy odbywa się selekcja negatywna promująca zachowania psychopatyczne. Badania statystyczne jednoznacznie wykazują, że osoby władzy wykazują cechy psychopatyczne wielokrotnie częściej niż średnia w populacji.

Pychopaci potrafią być nieodparcie uroczy i magnetycznie uwodzący względem swych ofiar ...

piątek, 16 marca 2018

Power Causes Brain Damage

And knowledge doesn't potect against it!

If power were a prescription drug, it would come with a long list of known side effects. It can intoxicate. It can corrupt. It can even make Henry Kissinger believe that he’s sexually magnetic. But can it cause brain damage?

When various lawmakers lit into John Stumpf at a congressional hearing last fall, each seemed to find a fresh way to flay the now-former CEO of Wells Fargo for failing to stop some 5,000 employees from setting up phony accounts for customers. But it was Stumpf’s performance that stood out. Here was a man who had risen to the top of the world’s most valuable bank, yet he seemed utterly unable to read a room. Although he apologized, he didn’t appear chastened or remorseful. Nor did he seem defiant or smug or even insincere. He looked disoriented, like a jet-lagged space traveler just arrived from Planet Stumpf, where deference to him is a natural law and 5,000 a commendably small number. Even the most direct barbs—“You have got to be kidding me” (Sean Duffy of Wisconsin); “I can’t believe some of what I’m hearing here” (Gregory Meeks of New York)—failed to shake him awake.

What was going through Stumpf’s head? New research suggests that the better question may be: What wasn’t going through it?

The historian Henry Adams was being metaphorical, not medical, when he described power as “a sort of tumor that ends by killing the victim’s sympathies.” But that’s not far from where Dacher Keltner, a psychology professor at UC Berkeley, ended up after years of lab and field experiments. Subjects under the influence of power, he found in studies spanning two decades, acted as if they had suffered a traumatic brain injury—becoming more impulsive, less risk-aware, and, crucially, less adept at seeing things from other people’s point of view.

Sukhvinder Obhi, a neuroscientist at McMaster University, in Ontario, recently described something similar. Unlike Keltner, who studies behaviors, Obhi studies brains. And when he put the heads of the powerful and the not-so-powerful under a transcranial-magnetic-stimulation machine, he found that power, in fact, impairs a specific neural process, “mirroring,” that may be a cornerstone of empathy. Which gives a neurological basis to what Keltner has termed the “power paradox”: Once we have power, we lose some of the capacities we needed to gain it in the first place.

That loss in capacity has been demonstrated in various creative ways. A 2006 study asked participants to draw the letter E on their forehead for others to view—a task that requires seeing yourself from an observer’s vantage point. Those feeling powerful were three times more likely to draw the E the right way to themselves—and backwards to everyone else (which calls to mind George W. Bush, who memorably held up the American flag backwards at the 2008 Olympics). Other experiments have shown that powerful people do worse at identifying what someone in a picture is feeling, or guessing how a colleague might interpret a remark.

The fact that people tend to mimic the expressions and body language of their superiors can aggravate this problem: Subordinates provide few reliable cues to the powerful. But more important, Keltner says, is the fact that the powerful stop mimicking others. Laughing when others laugh or tensing when others tense does more than ingratiate. It helps trigger the same feelings those others are experiencing and provides a window into where they are coming from. Powerful people “stop simulating the experience of others,” Keltner says, which leads to what he calls an “empathy deficit.”

Mirroring is a subtler kind of mimicry that goes on entirely within our heads, and without our awareness. When we watch someone perform an action, the part of the brain we would use to do that same thing lights up in sympathetic response. It might be best understood as vicarious experience. It’s what Obhi and his team were trying to activate when they had their subjects watch a video of someone’s hand squeezing a rubber ball.

For nonpowerful participants, mirroring worked fine: The neural pathways they would use to squeeze the ball themselves fired strongly. But the powerful group’s? Less so.

Was the mirroring response broken? More like anesthetized. None of the participants possessed permanent power. They were college students who had been “primed” to feel potent by recounting an experience in which they had been in charge. The anesthetic would presumably wear off when the feeling did—their brains weren’t structurally damaged after an afternoon in the lab. But if the effect had been long-lasting—say, by dint of having Wall Street analysts whispering their greatness quarter after quarter, board members offering them extra helpings of pay, and Forbespraising them for “doing well while doing good”—they may have what in medicine is known as “functional” changes to the brain.

I wondered whether the powerful might simply stop trying to put themselves in others’ shoes, without losing the ability to do so. As it happened, Obhi ran a subsequent study that may help answer that question. This time, subjects were told what mirroring was and asked to make a conscious effort to increase or decrease their response. “Our results,” he and his co-author, Katherine Naish, wrote, “showed no difference.” Effort didn’t help.

This is a depressing finding. Knowledge is supposed to be power. But what good is knowing that power deprives you of knowledge?

The sunniest possible spin, it seems, is that these changes are only sometimes harmful. Power, the research says, primes our brain to screen out peripheral information. In most situations, this provides a helpful efficiency boost. In social ones, it has the unfortunate side effect of making us more obtuse. Even that is not necessarily bad for the prospects of the powerful, or the groups they lead. As Susan Fiske, a Princeton psychology professor, has persuasively argued, power lessens the need for a nuanced read of people, since it gives us command of resources we once had to cajole from others. But of course, in a modern organization, the maintenance of that command relies on some level of organizational support. And the sheer number of examples of executive hubris that bristle from the headlines suggests that many leaders cross the line into counterproductive folly.

Less able to make out people’s individuating traits, they rely more heavily on stereotype. And the less they’re able to see, other research suggests, the more they rely on a personal “vision” for navigation. John Stumpf saw a Wells Fargo where every customer had eight separate accounts. (As he’d often noted to employees, eight rhymes with great.) “Cross-selling,” he told Congress, “is shorthand for deepening relationships.”

Is there anything to be done?

No and yes. It’s difficult to stop power’s tendency to affect your brain. What’s easier—from time to time, at least—is to stop feeling powerful.

Insofar as it affects the way we think, power, Keltner reminded me, is not a post or a position but a mental state. Recount a time you did not feel powerful, his experiments suggest, and your brain can commune with reality.

Recalling an early experience of powerlessness seems to work for some people—and experiences that were searing enough may provide a sort of permanent protection. An incredible study published in The Journal of Finance last February found that CEOs who as children had lived through a natural disaster that produced significant fatalities were much less risk-seeking than CEOs who hadn’t. (The one problem, says Raghavendra Rau, a co-author of the study and a Cambridge University professor, is that CEOs who had lived through disasters without significant fatalities were more risk-seeking.)

“Hubris syndrome,” Owen writes, “is a disorder of the possession of power.”

But tornadoes, volcanoes, and tsunamis aren’t the only hubris-restraining forces out there. PepsiCo CEO and Chairman Indra Nooyi sometimes tells the story of the day she got the news of her appointment to the company’s board, in 2001. She arrived home percolating in her own sense of importance and vitality, when her mother asked whether, before she delivered her “great news,” she would go out and get some milk. Fuming, Nooyi went out and got it. “Leave that damn crown in the garage” was her mother’s advice when she returned.

The point of the story, really, is that Nooyi tells it. It serves as a useful reminder about ordinary obligation and the need to stay grounded. Nooyi’s mother, in the story, serves as a “toe holder,” a term once used by the political adviser Louis Howe to describe his relationship with the four-term President Franklin D. Roosevelt, whom Howe never stopped calling Franklin.

For Winston Churchill, the person who filled that role was his wife, Clementine, who had the courage to write, “My Darling Winston. I must confess that I have noticed a deterioration in your manner; & you are not as kind as you used to be.” Written on the day Hitler entered Paris, torn up, then sent anyway, the letter was not a complaint but an alert: Someone had confided to her, she wrote, that Churchill had been acting “so contemptuous” toward subordinates in meetings that “no ideas, good or bad, will be forthcoming”—with the attendant danger that “you won’t get the best results.”

Lord David Owen—a British neurologist turned parliamentarian who served as the foreign secretary before becoming a baron—recounts both Howe’s story and Clementine Churchill’s in his 2008 book, In Sickness and in Power, an inquiry into the various maladies that had affected the performance of British prime ministers and American presidents since 1900. While some suffered from strokes (Woodrow Wilson), substance abuse (Anthony Eden), or possibly bipolar disorder (Lyndon B. Johnson, Theodore Roosevelt), at least four others acquired a disorder that the medical literature doesn’t recognize but, Owen argues, should.

“Hubris syndrome,” as he and a co-author, Jonathan Davidson, defined it in a 2009 article published in Brain, “is a disorder of the possession of power, particularly power which has been associated with overwhelming success, held for a period of years and with minimal constraint on the leader.” Its 14 clinical features include: manifest contempt for others, loss of contact with reality, restless or reckless actions, and displays of incompetence. In May, the Royal Society of Medicine co-hosted a conference of the Daedalus Trust—an organization that Owen founded for the study and prevention of hubris.

I asked Owen, who admits to a healthy predisposition to hubris himself, whether anything helps keep him tethered to reality, something that other truly powerful figures might emulate. He shared a few strategies: thinking back on hubris-dispelling episodes from his past; watching documentaries about ordinary people; making a habit of reading constituents’ letters.

But I surmised that the greatest check on Owen’s hubris today might stem from his recent research endeavors. Businesses, he complained to me, had shown next to no appetite for research on hubris. Business schools were not much better. The undercurrent of frustration in his voice attested to a certain powerlessness. Whatever the salutary effect on Owen, it suggests that a malady seen too commonly in boardrooms and executive suites is unlikely to soon find a cure.

sobota, 10 marca 2018

Kompleks jako naturalna metoda pracy z progiem

Wychodząc z założenia teleologicznego - mamy zmierzyć się z polaryzacją i osiągnąć dla niej jedność, stan świadomości, zrozumienia i dostępności obu stron.

Przydarzają nam się w życiu sytuacje, które kończą się powstaniem kompleksu. Kompleks staje się zasobnikiem energetycznym, który powoduje projekcje na inne osoby tak, aby móc doświadczać obu stron polaryzacji. Konflikt pomiędzy osobami, lub personifikacjami stanów wewnętrznych, indukowany przez kompleks, prowadzi do konieczności zmierzenia się z progiem. Staje się naturalną okazją doświadczenia obu jakości, a w przypadku wielokrotnego "naturalnego" przekraczania progu, prowadzi do zbudowania świadomości wokół polaryzacji.

Lider - figura ojca

Kryzys ojcostwa to choroba naszych czasów.  Rewolucja przemysłowa i dwie wojny światowe, którym kobiety zawdzięczają emancypację, a świat rewolucję obyczajową i wolność społeczną dla jednostki, w efekcie doprowadziły również do załamania akceptacji dla figury ojca-władcy rodu.

Jak dotąd nie udało się wypracować nowej, akceptowanej kulturowo formy dla figury ojca. W efekcie, z braku wzorca zachowań, pokolenia chłopców dorastają bez świadomości jak zachowywać się jako ojciec. Tworzy to wielki emocjonalny deficyt obecności pozytywnej ojca.

Kryzys ten pogłębia załamanie autorytetu moralnego wszelkiego rodzaju władz, które pełniły kulturowo funkcję ojca zastępczego.

W efekcie dochodzi do projektowania niezrealizowanej potrzeby pozytywnego ojca na najbliższą dostępną figurę władzy, czyli lidera/przełożonego.

Sprostanie takiemu oczekiwaniu może stanowić największe wyzwanie, przed którym staje lider, świadomie zajmujący pozycję przewodzenia grupie ludzi. Trudno oczekiwać by faktycznie ta potrzeba mogła być przez lidera skutecznie zaadresowana, a tym bardziej, co mają z taką projekcją zrobić kobiety będące liderkami.

wtorek, 6 marca 2018

Proces z bliska i daleka

Joe Googbread: The dreambody toolkit

Each feature of a given process has an identity and a mode of communication. In addition, there is a specific orientation of the person toward his various process features, or aspects, as I prefer to call them. That orientation is his degree of contact and identification with that process feature. Those features with which he has little contact and with which he cannot identify himself are those which we designate as secondary. Those features which are more or less familiar to him and with which he identifies himself we term primary.

As we saw, process structure itself has several different aspects, depending on the scale of observation.

A given process structure viewed over a short length of time will produce aspects which look like rapidly changing signals. This means that we will need communications theory to describe and identify short-term process aspects.

In the middle range, process structures appear in the form of figures with identities which remain constant for long periods of time. The process then expresses itself in aspects which appear as dream figures, or complexes.

In the longest range of observation, the same structures appear as mythological motifs, or manifestations of archetypal patterns. What fixes the process aspect in these forms is the perception of the client and the therapist. In general, those process aspects which the client perceives to be his own will be primary process aspects. Those aspects which are perceived by the therapist as belonging to the client will belong to the client’s secondary process.

środa, 28 lutego 2018

Praca wewnętrzna terapeuty

Joe Googbread: The dreambody toolkit
Strona 72

You may have noticed by now that the techniques I am recommending to you for bringing up your own background processes while you are doing therapy are basically the same kind of techniques which you use with your clients. The problem which you will have using your own sub-threshold awareness as a therapeutic tool is in fact the same problem facing the client in trying to come into contact with those process parts of which he has less awareness thterapeuta an he needs. You must, in short, be constantly doing process work with yourself in order to do it effectively with your client. You will not only be your client’s therapist during the therapeutic hour; you will also be your own therapist.

If this sounds difficult, you’re right; it is. It requires an extraordinary power of concentration to be able to work on two processes simultaneously. And yet, the consequences of not doing this are only too well known. The profession is rife with stories of therapists who cannot stay awake during their hours, or who get physically ill when they work, or who experience 'burnout’ after a few years of doing therapy and must either change professions or take longer and longer vacations.

This is probably the single most distinctive feature of process work. The consistent use of the principles of process-oriented psychology demands that the therapist be as willing to undergo change as he expects his clients to be a or even more so. This means that he must recognize and work with his own edges.  There will usually be three or four important edges which will pose a problem for the therapist. They are:

1 The therapist’s least accessible channel. If the therapist is customarily visual, and he runs into a client with a highly proprioceptive process, the therapist will usually have an edge to that process. If he is not aware of this, he will try to make his client visualize, either by stressing the importance of dream and fantasy material, or by trying to force or cajole him into doing active imagination. His proprioceptive edge will block him from using techniques such as ‘hands on’ body work, meditation in the proprioceptive channel, and yoga, which would all amplify the proprioceptive process directly.

2 Professional edges: relationship to the client.
Many schools of therapy have tried to cut off the very sticky problem of relationship processes between client and therapist by creating large and unwieldy theoretical structures to contain and explain these processes. Almost none permit the therapist to simply enter into the relationship and at the same time retain his therapeutic awareness to work with it as one would work with any other process phenomenon. One reason is that it is dangerous to get involved in relationship material; if you don’t know how to work with it, you might get either yourself or your client or both into serious trouble. On the other hand, if relationship problems are present and are not properly dealt with, it usually marks the end of the therapeutic relationship, either in effect or in fact.

3 Working with unstructured or seemingly chaotic processes.
This turns out to be one of the most difficult edges for the beginning therapist to deal with. I have hinted at the existence of this edge several times throughout this work. In practice, this will mean that you will have to follow the twistings and turnings of the client’s immediate process as it changes from one channel to another, at times even taking your client completely out of contact with you. It will also mean experimentally following reactions of your own which seem at the time to be completely unrelated to your client’s process, and then remaining sensitive to your client’s reactions to your intervention. Crossing this edge will necessitate your becoming exquisitely sensitive to what is happening at the moment and recording as many details of it as possible, no matter how disordered it may seem. Then, when the order of the process becomes manifest, you will be able to use your observations to account for what has been happening in the meantime.