politics of the hap

Reflections on Recovery: Research notes, Part II: Emotions, grievable lives and no recovery.

Read Part I first here.

1st March 2013

The past fortnight has felt a little meandering in regards to a specific focus of attention. This has not necessarily been a hindrance. I have mostly fixed my gaze on the reading of sociology and cultural analysis of emotions, with a few detours along the way.

A lot of the ideas and literature I have encountered have entailed a more contemplative mode of analysis, which feels like an ongoing process. Some of the texts have not been easy reading, especially thinking around ‘affect’, which is both an intellectually knotty concept as well as a demand, on the reader, to rethink one’s own affective response. In short, the delicate nature of the concepts I am dealing with has been brought quite sharply to my attention, especially when these ‘concepts’ are not just that, they are social constructions of a ‘real’ felt emotion – to return to a discussion we had a few weeks ago. Affect then perhaps is a way to describe that which remains outside of the concept; yet being both a socially named construct whilst also refuting social construction is why affect is proving such a slippery subject.

Affect however is not necessarily the focus of sociological explorations into emotions, the sociological view being one where emotions are an outcome and cause of social processes (Barbalet, 2001). For Barbalet it is not cultural rules and norms that shape emotions but the structural properties of social interactions that determine emotional experiences.  The culturalist perspective also borrows from social constructionist perspective but acknowledges the historical context, the situated-ness of emotions (Harding & Pribram, 2009). A culturalist perspective doesn’t limit its gaze to the individual but is instead engaged with how emotions, cultures and social formations are articulated in contextualised and historicised ways to produce boundaries that shape and position individuals and collectives. As Sara Ahmed describes, emotions produce the very surfaces and boundaries that allow the individual and the social to be delineated as if they were objects (Ahmed, 2004).

This way of thinking about emotions therefore maintains neither an ‘outside in’ nor an ‘inside out’ perspective. An outside in perspective would consider emotions as properties of social and cultural practices that ‘get inside’ the individual whereas an ‘inside out’ perspective would see emotions as something innate to the individual that emanate from within out onto the world. The inside out perspective is one that is broadly shared within the positive psychology/happiness/resilience camps where negative emotions (like depression, grief) are disturbances that leak out into the individual’s environment. Similarly it is the individual who has the power and responsibility to express positive emotions and happy feelings. By viewing emotions as something that emerges from an intersection of the two is a way to skirt sticky issues around free will in deciding how one presents or expresses themselves but also underlines the impossibilities of wrangling a subjective self from the social contexts, structures in which they are positioned. Perhaps Pierre Bourdieu’s (Wacquant, 1989) concept of ‘habitus’ can also be instructive here, which in thinking of how emotions shape boundaries also possesses a spatial quality in describing the ‘field’ of possibilities and struggles that moulds what is possible and how individuals are positioned.

Nikolas Rose, in line with Foucault, in his work on subjectivity (1989, 2007) persistently refuses to provide the self with any sense of agency that can be identified as originating from inside-out the individual. This is a view that frustrates Giddens-esque ideas around reflexive self-identity and sociological arguments that still maintain divisions between structure and agency, such as Gidden’s own structuration theory. What Rose’s work aims to demonstrate is as a culturalist theory would propose; that boundaries are created, in an ongoing process, between the individual and social such that they are established as objects – yet these objects cannot be identified as separate entities. As Ian Hacking (1986) has also argued; subjects are ‘made-up’ through various historical discourses and as these discourses shift so does the understanding of the subject.

In the new issue of Omega features an article by Tony Walter on disenfranchised grief (Walter & Robson, 2013). Walter argues against the idea of disenfranchised grief by arguing a person can undergo a ‘process of disenfranchisement’ but grief itself cannot be seen to be ‘disenfranchised.’ The use of the term disenfranchised constructs a binary that Walter argues is not applicable to grief. The assumption of disenfranchised grief theory supporters is that all grief should be made equal, that all norms around grief should be done away with. Walter argues that norms are essential to grieving and that not all losses are equal (e.g. can the loss of a goldfish be comparable to the death of a father) and thus we have hierarchies of grief that determine appropriate responses to grief. A mourning individual will only feel their position in the hierarchy negatively if they grieve too much or too little or if they feel their grief is not recognised correctly. In this situation the grieving individual may undergo a process of disenfranchisement.

This article provoked thoughts around recognition: both how recognition is sought and the failure to be recognised and what this entails for the construction of subjectivity and the expression of emotions. A piece by Jennifer Biddle (1997) described shame as a feeling that arises from the failure to be recognised. If a person’s grief is not recognised in the way the person would hope they might feel shame at grieving too much or too little. But it also might mean that the person’s position in the hierarchy is not recognised as being allowed to grieve. Walter’s idea of a hierarchy over disenfranchisement is understandable, yet the hierarchy he proposes leaves little space to understand complex or resistant emotions like ambivalence. A hierarchy of grief seems like a very crude gloss of the complex web of connections we have with one another that are often destabilised by grief.  A hierarchy is also constructed and maintained through what lives are considered ‘grievable’. To be considered grievable one has to have been recognised as living a life worth living whilst they were alive (Butler, 2004). It also supposes one accepts the position they find themselves. As Walter comments, to grieve too little or too much might require careful presentation of the self to appear to be grieving appropriately and thus elicit the appropriate responses from those around them. The grieving individual therefore might be recognised via the hierarchy yet might also still feel a sense of disenfranchisement due to the gap in felt emotion and the emotions they present to others. This gap might be filled with shame: the failure to be recognised.

Grief might then be felt as pathological, as a disturbance, as something that is leaking out onto the world. Grief becomes an unruly emotion to be managed rather than experienced. As Barbalet argued, emotions are not opposed to reason, they do not merely distract us from our purposes but re-establish those purposes anew (2001, p.31). Yet emotions such as grief are often considered as something that gets in the way. Time limits on grieving enforced by the demands of the workplace or by the DSM-5 or by a desire to avoid suffering, shape grief as an object to overcome. When something becomes our aim we establish a timeline to achieve it.

This has also made me reflect on the question ‘recovery of what?’ I have discussed grief above yet the question remains as to what precisely will be the focus of my looking into recovery. Though in a way to pose the question, ‘recovery of what?’ is instructive in itself by highlighting the need to posit an event or object from which one recovers (one can only recover when we have identified the object which is causing suffering – e.g. the first step on the road to recovery for an addict is to admit their problem). But it is also to ask what are we recovering, recovering what? Recovery is perhaps more accurately considered the process of adopting a new narrative, a narrative of self-empowerment, the sense of being strengthened by suffering, and thus appears as an act of covering over suffering rather than overcoming. The question of ‘recovery of what?’ is also muddled when we consider the extent to which we are encouraged to be prepared to recover for an event that has not yet happened. Happiness and resilience training in schools and life coaches etc are a fraction of the proliferation of the language of resilience into political, economic and social domains. So there exists a sense that we are already always recovering from something (life..?) because we are always discovering a new threat from which to protect ourselves from.


Ahmed, S. (2004). The Cultural Politics of Emotion. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Barbalet, J. M. (2001). Emotion, Social Theory and Social Structure: A macrosociological approach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Biddle, J. (1997). ‘Shame’, Australian Feminist Studies, 12(26): 227-239.

Butler, J. (2004). Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence. London: Verso.

Hacking, I. (1986). ‘Making Up People’, in Bagioli, M. (ed) (1999) The Science Studies Reader (pp. 161-171). London: Routledge.

Harding, D. and Pribram, D. (2009). ‘Introduction: the case for a cultural emotion studies’ in (eds) Emotions: A cultural studies reader (pp 1-24) Oxon: Routledge.

Rose, N. (1989). Governing the Soul: The Shaping of the Private Self. London: Free Associations Books.

Rose, N. (2007) The Politics of Life Itself: Biomedicine, Power, and Subjectivity in the Twenty-First Century. New Jersey: PrincetonUniversity Press.

Wacquant, L. (1989). ‘Towards a reflexive sociology: A workshop with Pierre Bourdieu’, Sociological Theory, 7: 26-63.

Walter, T. and Robson, P. (2013). ‘Hierarchies of Loss: A critique of disenfranchised grief.’ Omega, 66(2): 97-119.

13th March 2013

I have to begin with the caveat that the past ten days have not seen as much thought time as I would have wished, I have been attending various workshops at the university as well as seeking out other opportunities such as conferences and networking possibilities, so what I have to present my not be as substantial as hoped.

To begin, I came across a film centred on the theme of recovery featuring people who had undergone treatment for mental illness describing their personal experiences. This was a film conceived by ‘service user’ Michelle McNary along with the support of the South London and Maudsley NHS Foundation trust and was first released in 2009. It is available to watch online here: http://www.slam.nhs.uk/patients/recovery.aspx . There is also literature about the making of the film, for example this leaflet: http://www.slam.nhs.uk/media/115062/recovery_booklet.pdf, which provides further interesting information on the origins of the modern concept of recovery (which I am in the processing of reading in more detail). The film itself presents four people talking about their (ongoing) experience with recovery from various mental illnesses. The film is a rich source of recovery narratives, particularly the way in which people describe their experiences and the extent to which they identify with having a mental illness. Recovery was broadly understood as a way of coping with an illness as well as having a life. There was also a sense of the importance of recognising one’s self as mentally ill as the first step on the ‘road to recovery’. However though recovery is meant (or at least was meant) as a way to live a life with an illness rather than search for a cure; a way that was intended to put power and control back in the hands of the patient as opposed to the doctor/psychiatrist etc, the individual accounts were cluttered with talk of building a new life, creating a new identity, recovery was a ‘second chance’, a ‘rebirth’. And the possibilities of this new life were very much fostered by hope and positive thinking.

I was reminded of a short video interview where Nikolas Rose touches upon the idea of recovery. It is a ten-minute video available to watch here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8mkcXdTZ_g. Rose starts to talk about recovery about 5 minutes in. I have transcribed some of his key remarks below:

But now in the same way as empowerment, people are obliged to recover, obliged to live a life and what does it mean to live a life today? It means to be in charge of your money, it probably means to have a job, it means to have housing, it means to be independent, it means to have choices, it means to be on Facebook, it means a hundred different things, all these obligations today. So in a sense recovery has the potential, and I think we can see this in some way, to be a kind of process of normalisation where recovery means from the professional point of view, demonstrate to me that you can live what I take to be a normal life, and I think those people who are arguing for normalisation did so for all the best possible motives… But I think the obligation to recover is linked to a reduction in the tolerance of our society for difference. And the belief that there is only one proper way to live your life and if you don’t live your life in this way, if you’re not autonomous, if you’re dependent on someone, if you need care all the time, if sometimes you don’t want to go to work, if couple of weeks you just want to stay at home and not talk to anybody, well that’s pretty pathological, and you’ve got to be brought back to being in a normal way of living. So that’s what I mean by being an obligation to recover rather than perhaps a toleration of the many different ways in which people actually do live their lives.

The idea of the obligation to recover as a reduction in tolerance of the different ways people live their lives has been such a useful tool to think with, both personally and professionally. For the individuals featured in the film it seemed that recognising oneself as ill was not so much a radical gesture to live a life based on this difference but more an acknowledgment that sent them on the road to adjustment.

I also returned back to Jeffery Kauffman’s (2008) great article ‘What is “No recovery?”’, which has many points to unpack, the central being the exploration of the idea of ‘no recovery’ not as a transitional state but as a condition of existence. On a parallel point, I read an article on the BBC about Paul Gascoigne and his recent return to rehab. There was a comment in the article by an addiction counsellor where they stated: ‘Relapse is part of recovery’. I found this poignant that even failures could become incorporated into this bigger more meaningful narrative of recovery. There was clearly a sense that recovery is the normative response, and perhaps the only desirable one, as failures too become meaningful as part of the road to recovery. There is the belief that no recovery is always a transitional state; ‘You’ll get over this’.

Kauffman looks upon no recovery as a product of a society where there is a loss of traditionally accepted authority over mourning. No recovery, and the questioning of recovery, is then a degradation of normative authority. I would add here that questioning recovery is also a result of becoming more aware of the ways people recover and live their lives following loss or the onset of illness. The eradication of traditional norms allows this questioning to become possible.

Kauffman also describes how recovery and identity are bound together so that without recovery there is no reflexive sense of identity. So like the individuals in the film, recovery was only possible through the adoption of a new identity and vice versa. A narrative of no recovery is not a rebirth. As Kauffman describes it:

No recovery is a volatile state of identity diffusion, in which one is always a stranger from oneself, and in significant ways also estranged from others. (2008, p76)

Here I am reminded of Judith Butler (2004) and her description of grief as being ‘beside oneself’. This type of estrangement might be commonly identified as a feature of grieving, yet Kauffman argues that recovery is not a transition out of this state but only indicative of the capacity to function and adapt to this state, which would then be labelled as recovery by others. Recovery is then a simulation that functions in place of a reality of no recovery. Recovery is a process of social adjustment (or normalisation to quote Rose) that induces people to forget. The search for a new identity and narratives of rebirth involves a strong dose of forgetfulness according to Kauffman. This idea of forgetfulness as key to recovery I find particularly interesting, and it is also a point made by Sara Ahmed (2010), who describes how recovery can often become a means of ‘covering over’. In this sense recovery is not so much a return to past selves (those selves are forgotten) but a better improved self.  It also implies that certain things must be forgotten in order to recover.

To extend this idea further there is also perhaps a connection to be made between forgetfulness and the pace of modern life. A book by Milan Kundera entitled ‘Slowness’ focuses on the absence of slowness in our lives and makes an interesting observation on the link between slowness/speed and the process of memory:

There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting… In existential mathematics, that experience takes the form of two basic equations: the degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory; the degree of speed is directly proportional to the intensity of forgetting.

Kundera concludes that the modern drive for speed and efficiency is in fact caused by a desire to forget, to eradicate memory before it has chance to materialize. It may be that the very nature of modernity is so that all experiences, ideas and indeed memories are disallowed the opportunity to solidify. Modernity encourages us to forget. In terms of recovery, the incentive to recover in an appropriate time period might induce a necessary forgetfulness both of a life experienced in the past but also of the present experience of grief. The degree of speed in which one is encouraged to recover might mean painful memories are not allowed to be pondered, that is to say dwelling in loss is discouraged or considered contrary to recovery.

I want to end with some thoughts on Maurice Bloch’s ‘The Blob’ which I found very instructive in terms of thinking about the self as both a continuum and a relational self, and included many other points to think through. Bloch also made a useful distinction between the narrative self and the self that narrates, and the way the blob might present a narrative to others is not the same as exposing themselves or their personhood. Thinking about this in terms of the ideas of recovery discussed above, recovery is often very much a narrative that is interpreted and presented. The people featured in the recovery film for example were carefully selected as being articulate and able to answer questions coherently. Though the film was designed as a way to get to the ‘reality’ of personal recovery it offered only the expected narratives of new identity and rebirth etc. For no recovery has no language, it is only the underside of the positive language of recovery. As Kauffman and Rose described recovery is only a demonstration of the ability to live whatever is considered to be a normal life. But underlying this perhaps is the idea of the impossibility of recovery, and that none of us actually recover, only some are better at demonstrating it than others. What makes some better at recovering than others is then not so much a personal matter of individual will and resilience but the ability to find certain narratives of recovery meaningful, of the ability to adjust to social life – get a job, be on Facebook etc as Rose outlined. Something else that was also repeated in the film on recovery was the importance of hope to recovery. There had to be a continual belief and hope in the possibility of recovery else recovery would fall apart. Hope was then the object that kept them tied to an identity of recovery that acted as a reminder that recovery was only a transitional state. In no recovery there is no hope. Yet I think it would be more fruitful to not end there by saying no recovery disallows hope but rather that focussing on recovery disallows no recovery as a possibility and thus reduces the different ways to live a life. When relapses also become part of recovery, recovery becomes a limiting narrative to live by. This is arguably not a very hopeful way to live a life. That is not to reject recovery as a possibility, but to say that neither recovery nor no recovery should be our talisman, or what fills our hopes and dreams. Rather it is to suggest ways of recovering inappropriately or not recovering successfully; ways of living that expand the possibilities of what is considered a life worth living.


Ahmed, S. (2010). The Promise of Happiness. Durham and London: Duke University  Press.

Bloch, M. (2011) ‘The Blob’, Anthropology of the Century, Issue 1.

Butler, J. (2004). Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence. London: Verso.

Kauffman, K. (2008). What is “No Recovery”?. Death Studies32(1), 74-83.

Reflections on Recovery: Research notes, Part I: Beginnings, complicated grief and happiness.
March 12, 2013, 9:41 pm
Filed under: Grief, Recovery | Tags: , , , ,

31st January 2013

As a way into thinking about the current debates surrounding recovery I have been quite drawn by the debates around the omission of the grief exclusion in the DSM-5’s definition of major depressive disorder and how that has raised issues surrounding the normative boundaries of grief. Complimenting this is the establishment of a category of ‘complicated grief’, or sometimes referred to as prolonged grief disorder. The proponents of the establishment of a ‘complicated grief’ diagnosis include Katherine Shear and Holly Prigerson and colleagues who have outlined a ‘scale’ or ‘inventory’ of complicated grief. The boundaries of what constitutes CG however seem to still be in flux, yet its supporters argue a concrete category is necessary in order to separate those that have ‘difficulty in progressing through the natural healing process’. The implication here is that there is a natural and instinctive healing process that is impeded in some way and thus requires correcting in order to reach the appropriate recovery.

Omega also dedicated a journal issue in 2006 discussing CG which highlighted some interesting points. Neimeyer in his article interestingly commented how the existence of grief as a real phenomenon is not the issue but rather the ways in which it is constructed by various groups. His argument was thus that ‘complicated grief’ was not a thing to be essentialised but a social construct reified in discourse. Whilst in agreement with viewing grief and complicated grief as a socially constructed, or at least socially manipulated emotion, Neimeyer’s argument that CG is comparable to abstract concepts such as ‘democracy’ or ‘power’ I found unconvincing. For while Neimeyer seems to admit that CG does not exist as a ‘real’ thing, diagnosing individuals with CG does become a real thing in terms of a labelled, categorised aspect of someone’s personality or emotional landscape; it becomes something to overcome. In the same Omega issue, Walter made some poignant points in asking ‘What is complicated grief?’ and listed some of the key contributing factors that have brought about the idea of CG. One point he made that I thought was salient was how the only thing that separates CG from ‘normal’ grief or from mourners in general is the time period in which feelings of grief last. As Walter remarks:

This reflects popular notions that grief is something one should get over quickly, and that it is embarrassing and/or inconvenient if colleagues or family members’ functioning is impaired by grief for extended periods. Indeed, it reflects a widespread duty in American culture for its members to be self-determining individuals and, moreover, happy.

Further Walter put forward an argument for the usefulness of complicated grief as a political tool and thus not something to be ‘therapied away’ but something that may lead to a more just society. I feel this is a particularly neglected line of enquiry and reminded me of Sara Ahmed and how she demonstrates the political and emotional uses and benefits of unhappiness in her book ‘The Promise of Happiness’. The way in which Walter linked the obligation to recover from grief with a wider sense of duty to be happy also paves a way for my own research.

The shifting boundaries of CG also provides a rich basis to explore the ranging definitions of what constitutes abnormal and normal grief. As Arnar Arnason also highlighted in his work, bereavement counselling exists as a way to make ‘visible’ feelings that ‘already exist’ but remain incomprehensible to the mourning individual. Bereavement counselling and the increasing medicalisation of grief can be seen therefore as a way of re-ordering the chaos of grief into tangible categories. This clearly brings up thoughts of Foucault and the medical gaze as well as Nikolas Rose’s work on psychotherapy and the normalising role of medicine. Intervention is made on the basis of the correct naming of things. The questions that arise for me so far from beginning to read the literature around CG, is to ask why does grief need to be defined or categorised in this particular way. CG is an example of how boundaries can be placed on grief and certain grief experiences can be labelled as pathological, which in turn assumes a normative healthy grieving process. In this act of naming CG – which as Neimeyer remarked does not exist as a ‘real’ thing – there is the sense that something is being created; grief is being ‘made-up’, or performed, in a certain way. Throughout some of the literature there is also a – I feel problematic – assumption of grief and feelings of grief as something that already exists out there, the process of naming and categorising thus becomes a way to capture them and act upon them. Yet I am interested in posing the question: Rather than identifying what is ‘already out there’ are we not creating categories, symptoms and pathologies where they do not exist? For how do we know things exist if we cannot name them and why do we think these categories, say CG for example, are the best means to capture them?

13th February 2013

I have been tentatively exploring the historical contexts of the contemporary conception of recovery. There are a few intersected factors that have emerged from some very preliminary readings, those being the impact of WW1 and WW2, the creation and proliferation of cognitive behavioural therapies and increased experimentation with psychiatric disciplines. One of the key impacts of war was the prevalence of ‘shellshock’. Shellshock as a non-physical injury posed an interesting problem to the medical profession that allowed what was arguably the first wide-scale intervention into the mental health of the population. The treatment of shellshock is a key instance of mental illness becoming a matter of ‘social hygiene’ (Rose, 1989). The sheer quantity of cases of shellshock shifted the perception of madness from something that was dependent on individual personal history and childhood trauma to something less discriminating and capable of affecting all individuals. Viewing shellshock as a treatable disorder promoted the idea that the individual was open for intervention and further that intervening into individual mental health was a matter both of public health and individual autonomy and freedom. This perspective has its legacy in contemporary healthcare as displayed in the Foresight report (2008) – a government directed project into ways to create ‘positive mental capital’ and well-being:

Positive mental health has an important societal value, contributing to the functions of society, including overall productivity. It is an important resource for individuals, and nations, contributing to human, social and economic capital.

Indeed another recent document published by the Department of Health was entitled: ‘No health without mental health’ (2011). It could be argued that following the world wars emerged an opportunity for mental health to become far more central to the understanding of what it means to be well, and further that positive mental health became a requirement for a productive and efficient workforce. Mental disorders such as shellshock thus became something that needed to be treated and to be overcome, which stimulated the experimentation with new behavioural therapies at places such as the Maudsley hospital (Marks, 2012). The indiscriminate nature of shellshock – the fact it was a mental disturbance produced from the experience of war rather than an internal trauma based in family history – complemented the rise of CBT that dispensed with Freudian heavy psychoanalytical approaches while retaining the element of the unconscious and unconscious drives.

This in some ways mirrors the view of positive psychology. Positive psychology believes the potential for happiness lies in our own hands and is something that can be achieved through correct training and adjustment. In the UK, Action for Happiness is an organisation that established itself with the aim to promote the way to achieve happiness. One of its slogans found on its website (http://www.actionforhappiness.org/) is quite instructive of the idea that positive mental health is a individual choice: ‘If you can’t change it, change the way you think about it’. I can’t help but draw parallels with the NHS website and their slogan: ‘Your health, your choices’. The emphasis on individual choice and the fostering of the idea of autonomy frames the way recovery is understood. Recovery from unhappiness or illness becomes a matter of making the right choices; unhappiness is a product (or defect) of the individual not the social context. For if you can’t change it you can at least change how you think about it. Unhappiness becomes synonymous with the inability to act on ones own and take responsibility for ones own life (Binkley, 2011). To fail in taking steps towards attaining happiness is a shunning of responsibility but also autonomy – making ones self happy becomes a matter of individual freedom.

Positive psychology reaffirms its status by claiming it has scientific measurable techniques that are proven to make you happy. The idea of happiness as a measurable entity is now widely assumed with the first national well-being measure carried out last year. Recently the department of health also put forward its support for a scheme that would promote 30 self-help book titles in GP surgeries and libraries. The idea is that when an individual turns up at the doctors showing signs of depression they will be directed to these titles which include much of the ‘Overcoming…’ series and self-help classics such as ‘Feel the fear and do it anyway’. This promotion of self-help books is seemingly an extension to the IAPT scheme which a government initiative to increase access to talking therapies throughout the UK.

What is interesting is how recovery became something individually directed to something guided by experts. Perhaps this is a bigger question that directs us to much bigger shifts in healthcare. To return back to positive psychology, the conception of the self is an interesting one. As mentioned above, positive psychology rejects psychoanalytic models that emphasis the unconscious or early childhood, employing in Binkley’s words ‘a strikingly truncated view of the human psyche’ (2011, p384). Yet positive psychology and the happiness proponents centre their belief in the need to guide and advice people about happiness by claiming we don’t always do the things we ought. We are prone to making mistakes about our happiness, says Paul Dolan (2011) and so we need our attention redirected to the right (happy) objects. Positive psychology thus seems to imply we have an unconscious that leads us to unhappiness and needs redirecting but this is something we need to be helped with – in the name of autonomy. I also feel this conception of the self and emotions echoes how bereavement counsellors and psychiatrists seem to work on the idea that feelings are already existent in the grieving individual, but simply need a language through which to articulate them.

With the ‘happiness agenda’ the problem occurs when the promotion of certain ways of living a life are at the expense of other ways of living, of being free to be unhappy, resulting in a decrease in the toleration of the different ways people live their lives. Indeed the pursuit of happiness can in itself mean happiness is decreased through failing to attain the objects that are designated as creating happiness. This is an argument put forward by Pascal Bruckner in which he attacks the ‘duty to be happy’. His argument also draws interesting parallels with Lauren Berlant’s idea of ‘cruel optimism’. Cruel optimism is when something you desire is actually an obstacle to your flourishing. The attachment to the desire (say to be happy, or to recover) becomes cruel only because the object that draws your attachment impedes the aim that brought you to it initially. These objects come in to represent happiness or freedom but ultimately by becoming attached to them they get in way of any chance we have of sensing freedom or happiness.

This has lead me to think more about emotions, and return to Sara Ahmed’s work on happiness and emotions (2004, 2010) and sociological explorations into emotions, in order to reflect on the understanding of grief I am assuming in my own analysis.


Ahmed, S. (2004). The Cultural Politics of Emotion. Edinburgh: EdinburghUniversity Press.

Ahmed, S. (2010). The Promise of Happiness. Durham and London: Duke University Press.

Berlant, L. (2011). Cruel Optimism.Durham and London: Duke University Press.

Bruckner, P. (2010). Perpetual Euphoria: On the duty to be happy. Oxfordshire: PrincetonUniversity Press.

Department of Health (2011a). No health without mental health: a cross-government mental health outcomes strategy for people of all ages, London: Department of Health.

Dolan, P. (2011, 8th February). ‘Absolute beginners: Behavioural economics and human happiness’. Department of Social Policy Inaugural Lecture delivered at the London School of Economics. Video of talk available here: http://www2.lse.ac.uk/publicEvents/events/2011/20110208t1830vSZT.aspx

Foresight Mental Capital and Wellbeing Project (2008). Mental Capital and Wellbeing: Making the most of ourselves in the 21st century. Final Project report – Executive summary. The Government Office for Science, London.

Marks, S. (2012) ‘Cognitive behaviour therapies in Britain: The historical context and present situation’ in Dryden, W (ed) Cognitive Behaviour Therapies. London: Sage.

Rose, N. (1989) Governing the Soul: The Shaping of the Private Self. Second Edition. London: Free Associations Books.