Ben and Me_ From Temperance to Humility - Cameron Gunn [81]
In her book In Therapy We Trust: America’s Obsession with Self-Fulfillment ,1 Eva Moskowitz points out that in the 1970s, self-help books dominated the best-seller lists, and bookstores began to dedicate entire sections to works aimed at people seeking to get in touch with their feelings, express themselves, and find internal peace.2 This generational obsession with the psyche would lead to games dedicated to feelings (the Feel Wheel),3 untold numbers of self-help books (some with titles like It’s Me and I’m Here or I Ain’t Much Baby—But I’m All I’ve Got),4 and therapy groups with dubious treatment theories. My favorite of these, as described by Moskowitz, was the Erhard Seminars Training, or est, which “emphasized experience, authenticity and emotional honesty” over “intellectualizing.”5 They did this, apparently, by charging $250 for sixty hours of training, during which they would call the trainees “assholes” and restrict their food, drink, and bathroom privileges.
Who could have believed this stuff would be helpful? How did primal scream therapy, therapeutic regurgitation, rebirthing, and nude encounter groups become mainstream enough to attract adherents by the thousands?
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with New Age spirituality, but I can say without reservation that it is not for me. I don’t like Yanni, I can’t sit cross-legged, and I just don’t have the patience to meditate (especially if it involves chanting a mantra over and over). I’m sure these things work for some people, but they would have the opposite effect on me. After half an hour of chanting “ooohm” and seeking my center, I would be ready to shoot someone from a grassy knoll.
{ Write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble.}
So Day 1 ended with me having achieved a dubious honor. Having spent the day considering Tranquillity, I can say, without reservation, I felt less tranquil.
Maybe I should have found a nude encounter group.
Anger Management for the Masses
Day 1 of Tranquillity hadn’t proceeded as smoothly as I would have hoped. The problem, as I saw it, was that I’d been baited by Mr. Franklin on this one. He’s dangled the tasty morsel of Tranquillity, but it’s like eating canapés at a reception—good food, not very filling. I think we need to talk to some criminals.
My job is not the best place to seek Tranquillity. The criminal justice system may be a petri dish for the world, but the amoebas are angry. In fact, after addictions and mental health issues, anger is probably the most common cause of criminal activity. (I have no statistics to back that up, just a lot of experience.)
Part of the prosecutor’s role in the justice system is to try and prevent offenders from reoffending. Almost inevitably in circumstances in which an offender commits an act (usually of violence) out of anger, I recommend, and they are sentenced, to a period of probation with anger management counseling (after whatever incarceration is appropriate). I’ve never really been sure what happens at anger management sessions; I just rely on the probation officers who tell me that it helps. Judging by the rates of recidivism, I’ve never been totally convinced of its efficacy, but to paraphrase the seventies self-help book, “It ain’t much, baby, but it’s all we got.” If anger management is good enough for the nefarious and the ne’erdo-wells, I asked myself, why isn’t it good enough for Ben Franklin’s virtues?
I contacted a victim services worker who administers our court-ordered anger management course to both adults and youths. If anyone could help with anger management, she could. She’s a very calming person—and accommodating. She agreed to meet with me to discuss the program.
The first question