Modern Psychology and Its Colonial Legacy

I recently came across a post on an ADHD campaign in a village in India. It involved the administration of psychological tests to the kids in the village to diagnose them with ADHD. The intention of this exercise, to spread mental health awareness and provide access to resources (diagnosis, testing, and possibly medication) to this village, requires several foundational assumptions—that our modern psychological methods are ‘advanced’, that traditional communities are ‘primitive’ in their way of handling mental health (or do not even possess the knowledge/capacity to understand and address their own health), and that we, with our modern methods, are ‘uplifting’ them.

Does this messaging sound familiar? It reeks of colonial saviourism, perpetuating the modern rhetoric that mental health was ignored in traditional societies and that only modern societies, with their enlightened ways of looking at the self and the world, give importance to it and therefore, should serve as the champions of expanding this cause worldwide.

The growing critique of the medical model that guides modern psychiatry and psychology, along with the recent discourse on indigenous forms of psychology/psychotherapy, require us to pause and reflect on how these strands of thought can contribute to fundamental shifts within the psy disciplines rather than only remaining on the fringes. How can we, as mental health professionals, continue practicing blindly when such devastating flaws in the discipline are being pointed out? The ignorance of these critiques is essential for the continued dominance of modern psychology. Thus, the very act of going about business as usual (such as attempting to ‘uplift’ non-modern village communities) brings into sharp focus the colonial nature of the discipline.

Mental health expression in non-modern settings

Acknowledging the existence of indigenous practices that are psychotherapeutic in nature would demand the acknowledgement of the existence of indigenous ways of understanding mental health concerns all through history. From the colonial view, the colonised person is ahistorical and non-cultural—such a destruction of one’s history and culture is necessary for eventual subjugation. When we refrain from perpetuating colonial erasure of the history of non-modern populations, we will notice the possibility of different mental health expressions in different cultures. This line of thought finds expression in Watters’ work on the Globalisation of the American psyche where he explores how modern knowledge of mental health expression originating in the West has been spread around the world in the name of (modern) science. According to this postulate, modern symptom repertoires of mental health expressions have become the blueprint of human suffering, thereby replacing indigenous forms of mental health expression and suffering. That is, not only are modern ‘treatment’ models being introduced across the world, but the conditions that create the very symptoms that need to be ‘treated’ are also being exported in the name of modern psychology.

At this point, it may be useful to define what the term ‘modern’ means to me. I draw my understanding of modernity from Anthony Giddens, according to whom, ‘“modernity” refers to modes of social life or organisation which emerged in Europe from about the seventeenth century onwards and which subsequently became more or less worldwide in their influence’. I particularly find the phrase ‘modes of social life or organisation’ useful because it seems to point towards viewing modernity as a culture. I say this because ‘culture’ refers to behaviours that we learn through participating in a community, that help us navigate our relationships with ourselves, each other, and the world around us. In this sense, modernity is a culture, but that which is seen as the only legitimate one in comparison to other cultures. It is seen as universal as it seeks to replace other cultures through multiple conquests, colonisation, post-colonial economic and political encroachments, and cultural hegemonic practices.

In the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), one can observe how non-modern ways of mental health expression are relegated to the section ‘cultural syndromes’. I want to offer a disclaimer at the outset that I give the DSM as an example not to legitimise it but rather to let it exemplify the universalisation of the modern rhetoric. Are not the symptoms outlined in the other sections of the DSM also bound to a particular culture, namely the modern West? In that sense, are they also not culture-specific? Yet, they are offered as the universal norm, while other cultural expressions are banished to small sections on culture-related issues. The narrative then, allows the formation of a division between the ‘norm’ or ‘mainstream’ culture and ‘anomalies’ or ‘exceptions’ that are grudgingly acknowledged. Such destruction of non-modern cultural expressions and the subsequent imposition of modern cultural expressions then creates the conditions for the application of modern psychology in non-modern communities.

As I write this, I think of a particular culture-specific ‘syndrome’, that of trance and the role that it plays in Indian communities that have it as part of their cultural make up. Trance-like dancing or saami aadardhu (crudely translated as God’s dancing) is an important indigenous, cultural practice in parts of southern India. (I will not be italicising Indian words as I do not want to make English seem like the norm while my native tongue, an exception.) It is believed during festivities that a person is chosen by a deity for possession. The deity then dances and expresses themselves through this person. This assumes a frenzy as the entire gathering actively participates along with the possessed person in a communal act of cathartic release. Is this activity then a mental health ‘syndrome’ or is it part of the communities’ expression of their psyche, a way of expressing their intra-psychic balances/imbalances, and a way of finding a collective release that aids mental health expression without having literal translations of modern vocabularies for the same?

Putting the above together, how do we then view modern discourses that claim that non-modern societies do not adequately address mental health? While the movement to normalise discussions around mental health in India may have been beneficial to many, is it possible to consider that non-modern settings may have a different vocabulary and way of relating to mental health? Is it possible that mental health expressions and ways of addressing it are embedded in native cultural and social activities? Is it possible that we are looking at the discourse from a different frame of reference, from a modern one, that is alien to the culture, and hence, not an appropriate point of comparison or reference?

Through this, I am questioning the modern rhetoric of ‘primitive’ cultures not having enough ‘knowledge’ about mental health and therefore, needing to be ‘educated’, thus bring reminiscent of ‘the White man’s burden’. The experience of such violence under colonial modernity offers a glimpse of the fragmentation of our identities that the practice of modern psychology perpetuates.

Experience of split, colonial identities

As I ask these questions, I am grappling with the difficulty of defining what it means to be Indian, to find the grounding from which I am addressing colonial modernity. The representation of India in various popular media, whether as an Eat, Pray Love destination for Westerners to participate in ‘exoticised’ cultural practices or as a ‘backward’ society abundantly available for ‘generous’ Western philanthropists only offer us an understanding of how India is viewed through the lens of colonial modernity. Colonial anthropology from the 18^th century onwards attempted to classify, categorise, and bind the Indian social world to a series of facts that could be useful for British administrative purposes. This transformed the very nature of the Indian social world to fit the colonial imagination. Indian ways of thinking, being, and knowing were broken down into objective facts, that could be reified and made static so that the British could gain certainty in an otherwise unknown world, that seemed to have its own form of thinking, knowing, and relating.

Growing up in a modern society, consuming Western ideas, research, culture, and norms, I recognise the lens that I have internalised, making it important for me to question how my own understanding of being Indian may be drawn from colonial notions. I was taught English as my first language, and therefore, I feel more comfortable thinking in it. As a child, I spoke Tamil by literally translating English phrases into mangled Tamil thereby showing my relative comfort in expressing my thoughts in English. I have studied modern psychology and psychotherapy as if they were synonymous with the universal experience of the psyche around the world. However, I was also taught generational, cultural and familial values, collectivistic societal norms, and traditional art forms. Music, especially, put me in touch with my past, historical voices, languages, and ways of expression—all a part of my collective unconscious—that drew me in though I could not somehow make them my own.

In this sense, my identity is split. I am partly rooted in my native context, but at the same time, I am pulled into a modern, western, setting. I am partly non-modern, partly modern. Or I am neither modern, nor non-modern. Carrying the voices of my ancestors, I seem to feel them around me, in native discourses, in native songs, yet I feel unable to express myself in that fashion. Is it possible to let them speak through me if my voice does not lend itself to the task? Or is the latter only a modern conditioning that I need to shed? At this point, it seems important to offer another disclaimer that I do not view modern and non-modern as a binary. I do not see them as opposed to each other but rather as having significant differences in philosophical outlook. The term non-modern itself is an umbrella term encompassing all cultures that do not share the same outlook as modernity. It is a heterogenous term with significant diversity within it. But what are these philosophical differences between non-modern and modern cultures?

The non-modern self

This question requires an exploration of ontological assumptions that modern cultures make as opposed to the heterogenous group of non-modern cultures. The modern idea of the self is related to a sense of inwardness. The inner is separate from the outer and the self lies within. It is localised and, in a sense, is fixed and bounded. Apart from the inner/outer split, the Cartesian dualism of the mind and the body drawn from scientific and Newtonian explorations of atomism contributes to a reductive, mechanistic philosophy where the whole could be explained as separate parts. Modernity seems to function from an atomistic ontology. The split of the mind and body, the inner and outer, the individual and society, man and nature, world and cosmos all point to the idea of separation and the conceptualisation of reality as made up of discrete entities. Such fragmentation can cause great damage to the self, health, society, and nature.

In contrast, while non-modern cultures have diverse philosophical orientations, a separation and atomisation of the óntos seems to be a defining feature of modern culture, thus differentiating it from other cultures. But there is a difference between separation and distinction. Separation leads to a dualistic understanding while distinction allows for entities to exist in a whole without being cut off from each other. While the fundamental philosophical outlook of Eastern cultures is often misunderstood as substance monism, I want to emphasise on a view that is not monistic but is non-dualistic where entities are seen as substances that are distinct but not separate from one another. The practice of Carnatic music (a form of South Indian music) has offered me the chance to connect with a non-dualistic conception of reality.

I have been training in Carnatic classical music since the age of four. My experience with singing over the years has helped me to witness immense personal healing during difficult times. The year I truly connected with it was the year I let the music tap into me, into the parts of my body that were aching emotionally, to give expression to the feelings that I could not otherwise articulate, and to make me feel a connection with all parts of myself, physically and emotionally. Interestingly, I felt most connected with music when it helped me to better connect with myself. I was able to experience and listen to my body better.

According to ancient meditation practices, there are seven chakras or nodal points across the body starting from the base of the tail bone to the crown of our head. Each note of the musical scale (seven notes in total) is said to activate each chakra. I started paying more attention to how my breath moved across my body to finally culminate as a note that I sang. I could feel the vibrations within my body but also extending outward. If I concentrated enough, I could feel myself expanding beyond my body. This process was especially aided during communal acts of singing. The process of creating something in a group can make the group feel like one. In addition, the vibrations produced from the sounds we were uttering reverberated across the room, within each of us, and between each of us, giving us a sense of connectedness.

Carnatic music theory itself embodies this relational sense of wholeness. A ragam is a unique combination of phrases that arises from different arrangements of notes, not dissimilar to a scale in Western classical music, but much more than just a combination of notes. There are different ragams for different emotions, for different times of the day, and for different seasons. While the seven notes are said to activate the chakras in our body, the notes themselves are said to have been derived from sounds in nature such as an elephant’s trumpet, a goat’s bleat, a horse’s neigh, etc. The vibrations produced by each note are said to match the vibrations of the planets in our solar system. The above points to the philosophical outlook of non-dualism and wholeness. It exemplifies the integration of the body, mind, soul, earth, world, and universe.

Conception of ‘health’ in non-modern cultures

The above exploration gives us a new perspective with which to view the self. The self as the bodymind. The self as the bodymindsoul. The self as the bodymindsoulworldnaturecosmos. The self as an entity that is not separate from its surroundings, that is not bounded, that is not contained. The self as a part of a larger ecosystem, the separation from which can make one lose their sense of wholeness. If a fragmentation of the ‘self’ causes damage to it, then I wonder if ‘healing’ means a sense of feeling ‘whole’? In that vein, what then is health?

Drawing from Wendell Berry, it is interesting to note how ‘the concept of health is rooted in the concept of wholeness. To be healthy is to be whole’. ‘Health’ etymologically relates to the following words: heal, whole, wholesome, holy. The last word adds a spiritual connotation to the conception of health. Being healthy is not only determined physically and mentally but also spiritually, and it can be expanded to include social, ecological, and cosmological dimensions as well.

As I re-constitute my understanding of the self, I am thinking of the implications this may have psychotherapy. The psychotherapeutic process itself is relational—it places massive importance on the relationship between the therapist and client. The relationship offers the space for both the therapist and client to engage in self-discovery and the discovery of each other. Such discovery happens in relation to one another and not in isolation. Each time I reflect on myself, I am producing myself, I am discovering myself, and I am becoming. The vastness of the self makes it unknown and hence, in each moment we find ourselves repeatedly. As the self (of the therapist and client) constantly becomes, it is only natural that the therapeutic relationship and process also constantly become.

Such discovery of our being as becoming has been actively hindered by colonial modernity through the multi-layered fragmentation that it perpetuates—a severance of our embodied relationships, our cultural relationships, and, most importantly, our spiritual relationships. If psychology and psychotherapy aim to seriously address this larger crisis that is rampant in the world today, we will need a fundamental reorientation of these disciplines away from modern colonial systems and instead move towards the humility of becoming and discovering in relationship, to shed assumptions of universal omnipotence.

Thus, not only do the therapist, the client, and the relationship between them constantly become, but so does the therapeutic process itself, and by extension, so should the disciplinary foundations of psychotherapy, psychology, and psychiatry. The psy disciplines must recognise their cultural particularity and dialogue from that position rather than assuming a universal, static position. To continue practicing as we always have only serves to sharpen the fragmentation of relationality on several levels as outlined above, thus making us not only ill-equipped to heal such colonial trauma but also culpable for perpetuating this very trauma in the first place.