ONE
An Overview of Narrative Therapy
Narrative Therapy and traditional therapies
Narrative therapy is radical in many ways, as it embodies ideas, assumptions, aims and methods which may be unfamiliar and challenging for counsellors familiar with traditional counselling approaches. However, there are common factors with traditional therapies which may provide entry points to understanding. These common elements are not very much emphasized in the narrative therapy literature, which has led some commentators to see it as Ă©litist despite (for example) Michael Whiteâs insistence that his ideas and ways of working are a contrast to those of traditional approaches, with no implication that these ideas are âmistakenâ or âwrongâ (2000: 19â20, 2004a: 132).
Person-centred counsellors will recognize common ground with narrative therapy in that both therapies aim to encourage knowledge, skills and capacities for living to become consciously recognized, and transformative. Both therapies aim to create a context of respect and acceptance where these elements, not initially very much part of the personâs self-perception, may be recognized, spoken, reinforced and drawn upon for positive change. The counsellorâs role in both therapies is to facilitate this process rather than to impose assumed expert professional knowledge about the personâs motives or needs. Both therapies assume a co-operative and egalitarian stance between the counsellor and the person, with the counsellor following slightly behind the person as she develops her discoveries and decides how these discoveries may be called on.
Counsellors who use cognitive approaches believe that illogical thinking is the main element preventing persons from overcoming their practical and emotional difficulties. Narrative therapy also encourages a re-structuring of existing perceptions through the close examination of existing conceptual limitations. Both approaches see the therapistâs task as assisting the person to engage more fully with his ability to re-frame his experience.
Psychoanalytic theorists such as Donald Spence emphasize that therapists do not and cannot address the raw, actual past experience of the person seeking help, but are limited in therapeutic material to personsâ accounts of what brings them to therapy. The narratives by which these accounts are told by the person are partial, selective, inconsistent, and influenced by conceptual assumptions derived from wider society. The embedded professional assumptions and interpretative biases through which the therapist understands the account also contribute to its remoteness from the past actuality being selectively described, and socially inherited linguistic forms and conventions add their own shaping and moulding (Spence 1982: 321â37). Narrative therapists would agree with all these observations.
A few more examples may be helpful. Neuro-Linguistic Programming has in common with narrative therapy its close attention to the language of therapy and its recent focus on the nature of the stories told by the person to the counsellor (Young 2004). Adlerian recognition of the centrality of power relations between individuals and in society is also a central concern of narrative therapy, as are the focus on the importance of social context, and on personsâ interactions as more appropriate than analysis of assumed pathology (Carlson J. in ed. Madigan 2004: 76). Counsellors whose work is based on Kellyâs Personal Construct Psychology see it, like narrative therapy, as a hopeful approach which emphasizes the personâs interpretation of the world as the material for therapy, and like narrative therapists they believe that examining personsâ constructs of reality can be the starting point for the personâs escaping the limitations of restrictive autobiographical schemas (Fransella and Jones 1996: 37â8). Solution-focused brief therapy is similar to narrative therapy in many respects, in particular in the refusal to pathologize, and the technique of identifying instances when the problem has not been present, discussing the significance of these instances, and using them as a basis for working towards change (de Shazer 1985, 1991). Narrative therapy emerged from Systemic Family Therapy and shares many of its methods, including the extensive use of questioning, attention to social and familial influences on personsâ perceptions, and the use of reflecting teams.
In suggesting entry points to narrative therapy for readers who work in other counselling models I am not advocating eclecticism, or suggesting that these therapies are essentially the same:
running together of distinct traditions of thought and practice ⊠leads to the false representation of the positions of different thinkers ⊠when these distinctions are blurred we cannot find a place in which we might sit together, regardless of our different persuasions, and engage in conversations with each other in which we might all extend the limits of what we already think. (White 2000: 103â4)
Nevertheless it can be argued that the concept of ânarrativeâ does provide a place where therapeutic minds can meet (Angus and McLeod eds: 2004a: 367â404). And some practices developed by White and other narrative therapists, when properly understood, can productively be introduced into other ways of working. Person-centred counsellors taking part in a workshop on narrative approaches to couples work told me that the concept of âexceptionsâ (another word for âunique outcomesâ â see explanation below) struck a chord with them, and helped them to identify with more precision occasions when their clients were finding a way forward.
Different but equally valid descriptions
Adams and Hooperâs delightful book Nature Through the Seasons (1975/1976) describes the changing seasons in the English countryside in two ways. One description is scientific, covering topics such as atmosphere, temperature changes brought about by the earthâs journey round the sun, chemical changes in the soil, biochemical aspects of plant growth, and the mating and migration patterns of birds. The other description is evocative, describing the misty beauty of autumn fields, the starry carpeting of ditch banks by primroses, the distant call of a cuckoo. Each description of the same time of year is valid and yet they are utterly different. Taken together they give a dual perspective, a more complete overall description. Two disparate narratives combined to make a richer overall narrative.
Narrative therapy encourages richer, combined narratives to emerge from disparate descriptions of experience.
The book has illustrations, two for each season. One portrays open landscape, and the other woodland. David Goddardâs illustrations show each animal, bird, plant or tree in meticulous detail. Yet one aspect is far from realistic: crowded into each scene is almost every tree, flower, plant, insect, fungus, bird, animal and reptile associated with the season! The illustrations follow a convention â the reader knows that she would never see all this wildlife gathered together in one landscape, but it is convenient for the book to show them all at once in one picture. Even so, there are missing elements: in an actual landscape there are possibilities for surprise (once, in Kent, I saw an osprey diving â a bird native to Scotland). No portrayal of the typical can include variants and yet it can be the variants that make experience uniquely memorable.
Narrative therapists encourage a focus on the untypical â untypical, that is, as perceived by the person. They encourage the untypical to be considered in great detail because it is through the untypical that people can escape from the dominant stories that influence their perceptions and therefore their lives. Stereotyped descriptions of experience become less fixed and influential when methods of therapy assist these stereotyped descriptions to be more complete.
The outline of narrative practices which follows in this chapter uses a convention similar to the illustrations in Adams and Hooperâs book. It offers an overview, not implying that all of these elements are necessarily found in any one session or indeed in any sequence of sessions. Certain practices are often found in narrative therapy sessions, but the priority is a sensitive response to the person. I have taken part in narrative counselling in which almost exactly the sequence of practices I describe was followed; where few of the practices were used; and where these particular practices were not used at all.
The language of narrative therapy
The use of specific terminology is important in narrative therapy. Michael White sees his use of precisely chosen but sometimes unfamiliar language as inevitable when he describes ideas outside the mainstream of traditional therapy: âAlthough some readers may consider some of these terms to be jargon, I would ask that they avoid re-translating these into more familiar words and phrases of the conventional discourses of counselling/psychotherapy, for to do so will change their meaningâ (2004a: x). A consciousness of language usage is seen by White and Epston as a central responsibility of therapists:
We have to be very sensitive to the issue of language. Words are so important. In so many ways, words are the world. So, I hope that a sensitivity to language shows up in my work with persons and, as well, in my writing (White 1995a: 30).
The powerful associations triggered by evocative language can be called on in therapeutic conversations to increase vividness and immediacy, and I give examples of this in later chapters. But there is a down side. Narrative therapists try to remain aware that language is fraught with possible ambiguity, misinterpretation, and unthinking assumptions. By its very nature language is saturated with historically and culturally derived meanings, often unrecognized as such, which may influence or distort what the person and the therapist characterize and how they communicate. âMasculineâ and âfeminineâ are good examples: even to the most thinking person these words are likely to trigger rooted associative overtones of âtough, active and decisiveâ contrasted with âsoft, vulnerable and passiveâ, and both imply an absolute gender distinction which biology and social psychology deny. It takes a conscious effort to escape from these meanings. Words are not representations of clearly distinguishable realities, but generalized symbols inviting the reader to supply meaning and definition from her own store of associative linkages. These associations are powerfully imbued with assumptions derived from their usage in a social and linguistic community. Slippery definitions apply even to the words we use to describe our profession. To the general public the word âcounsellingâ has perhaps begun to lose its original meaning of advice-giving, but âtherapyâ certainly retains its medically-derived meaning of an expert-based cure.
The point is well expressed by Adrienne Chambonne and her colleagues:
language is constitutive of peopleâs lives. One cannot stand outside language. Language is evocative and brings forth realities. Therefore, vigilant attention must be paid to the use of language from the very beginning and throughout the therapeutic conversation. Our concern is not only how people interpret language and circumstances, but how we interpret their interpretations. (ed. Madigan 2004: 152)
Whiteâs and Epstonâs written language is often vivid and engaging:
Nick had a very long history of encopresis, which had resisted all attempts to resolve it, including those instituted by various therapists. Rarely did a day go by without an âaccidentâ or âincidentâ, which usually meant the âfull worksâ in his underwear. To make matters worse, Nick had befriended the âpooâ. The poo had become his playmate. He would âstreakâ it down walls, smear it in drawers, roll it into balls and flick it behind cupboards and wardrobes, and even taken to plastering it under the kitchen table ⊠the poo had even developed the habit of accompanying Nick in the bath. (White 1989:9)
I purposefully mis-heard the few responses that she gave me to my questions. I often do this with nervous, shy or unwilling adolescents:
Neolene: | [mumbling inaudibly in response to DEâs question.] |
DE: | [incredulously] You want to buy a pumpkin? |
Neolene: | [looking at me in amazement] What do you mean pumpkin? |
DE: | I thought you said you wanted to buy a pumpkin? |
Neolene: | [laughing, but now perfectly audible and responsive] No ⊠what I said was⊠|
(Epston and White 1992:39) |
However, as White implies in the passage quoted earlier, the reader new to narrative therapy may well find some of its language puzzling or obscure, and discover that familiar terms are used in unfamiliar ways. Whiteâs exposition of concepts in the writings of Michel Foucault, themselves derived from Ancient Greek originals, is daunting:
The second aspect of the constitution of the self as a moral agent is the âmode of subjectificationâ (not âsubjugation)â. It is the mode of subjectification that provides the mechanism through which people are encouraged or required to recognize their moral obligations in regard to the management of the relevant ethical substances. (2004a:189)
On other occasions narrative therapy language carries clear, specific meanings familiar to those who have read publications where the terms are defined, but which may puzzle readers new to these terms:
I will present candidate questions that assist family members to select out unique outcomes, place these unique outcomes in the context of a pattern across time, ascribe significance to unique accounts, and speculate about new possibilities. These are all questions that invite, from family members, a âperformance of meaningâ. (White 1989: 41)
In the following pages I explain terms used in narrative therapy when describing their place in practice. Their strange quality should evaporate with familiarity.
White is scrupulous to maintain gender- and ethnic-neutral vocabulary, but his concern goes further...