The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which
you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly. Wallace Stevens
I would like to introduce Healing Fiction with an incomplete
statement: to publish James Hillman in the context of literature and art is an act of ______. Many words might fill the blank. It will be healthier to leave it open, which, among other things, relieves the reader of the bother of speculating about Hillman's relationship to certain writers also appearing in this context [Station Hill Press]; Hillman is no one's theorist but his own. More important, openness is an appropriate response to work that broadens, rather than closes off, conceptual awareness, and Hillman's writing grants access to wide territories indeed. The powerful and ambiguous relationship between psychology and literature gains in both power and ambiguity at Hillman’s behest, and at the same time that connection takes on a further role: to reveal the poetic basis of mind. The book begins as two words, healing and fiction,i which together form a complete notion that reads in two quite distinct ways: fiction that is healing, and the act of healing fiction itself. The double valence of the title expresses an underlying thematic network, which might be variously stated: Our reality is created through our fictions; to be conscious of these fictions is to gain
creative access to, and participation in, the poetics or making of our psyche or soul-life; the "sickness" of our lives has its source in our fictions; our fictions can be "healed" through willing participation, and, in this atmosphere of healing, they reclaim their intrinsic therapeutic function. The status of fiction, so easily regarded as the "lies" produced by the psychopathology of everyday life, is returned to the level of poetics and to the basis of mind itself. That this view of mind, of poetics, of healing, of fiction is itself fictional, ceases to threaten its own authenticity and authority and instead becomes a source, something between the willing suspension of disbelief and the acceptance of life as it is. "Negative capability" becomes a key to "soul-making," Hillmans central concern out of Keats and Blake. Healing Fiction extends Hillman's radical revision of the act of therapy, conceived as an imaginative act, where imagination embodies the faculty of transformation itself, a conception related to a range of similar perspectives in Blake, Coleridge, Jung, Owen Barfield, and Henry Corbin. The roots of this work are as much in literature, especially visionary literature, as in psychology. By choosing to speak of poetics in the context of psychology, creating in effect a "psychopoesis" or soul-making, Hillman projects a two- way connection between the psychological and the literary. The impact of such fluid yoking is parapoetic, that is, it brings about change in both domains, going beyond accepted definitions of poetics and psychology, and extends the boundaries of either discipline. It is this dwelling at the margins that gives to his discourse a special cutting edge and lifts it to the level of the
challenging poetics of our time. Hillman is like a poet not in giving us a vision of language itself but in revisioning a path of psychic discovery that runs only through language. The altered perspective on therapy in light of the imaginal and the fictional clears a way to a positive understanding of Freud's late notion that therapy is interminable. If the psyche's dis- ease is central to its mode of being in the world, then its discomforts and loose ends last as long as life itself. The fantasy that our pathologies can finally be cured Hillman has repeatedly shown to be perverse, a misapplication of the medical model to psychotherapy, whose true function is to sustain and guide our conscious participation in the psychic world we (largely unconsciously) generate in every moment of living. Healing is not a procedure leading to a product, a concretized healthy person; healing is a life process that begins with our acceptance of our fictive realities and authorial roles within them, the acceptance, that is, of myself as the arena I create for specific independently originating psychic forces. If the psyche's mode of operation is fiction, then psychic texture is a text and the primary psychological issue is how to read it. Hillman’s hermeneutic derives from Jung's emphasis on fantasy and myth, although his method is in key ways heretical to the Jungian enterprise. His is a hermeneutics of going with the story rather than interpreting it. Every psychic/textual event is its own opportunity for a correlation with story, for the creation of a poetics on its own terms, a language-world open to its own images. The psychological context of Hillman's work offers a permission to
take one's own stories with the same authority assigned to great fiction. One is "possessed by" properties of one's psychic texture, which spreads wider than the focus of the heroic ego. "Depth psychology" is reading deep, drawing deeply and widely from the resources of text, the language-field in which one's psychic "logos” or telling is embedded. Psychological freedom is compositional; the private mind composes itself and inhabits an art-space. And psychological understanding becomes a problematic of composing in language, where each moment calls for its own poetics. So psychic attunement in reading does not call for assigning interpretive meanings to the text, which then reflect meanings back to our lives; it is not a detective's hunt for the secret of the text but a discovery, in Corbin's words, that "the text itself is the secret," a knowing through the text that opens out into our lives. Hillman's work has for years been a source for writers. The rich and unconfining reading he has given to the great stories— myths, tales of Gods and daimons, of humans, of their strange interactions—grants space and energy, a deeply attractive charge, to one's own stories. In Healing Fiction he extends that exegetical resourcefulness to three historical figures, the fathers of modern psychology, Freud, Jung and Adler. The first essay, "The Fiction of Case History," finds a basis for these concerns in Freud, who supposedly in his own words saw himself as "really by nature an artist... a man of letters, though still in appearance a doctor"; and this discovery leads to a view of psychoanalysis as a work of imagination and a realm of disclosure in which the fictional mode is always at play, albeit unconsciously. As psychology grows
scientistic, art becomes its unconscious. "The Pandaemonium of Images," the second essay, traces in detail the manner in which Jung, pursuing the larger meaning of "Know Thyself,” worked through his own visionary experience and confrontation with fictional figures to a sense of inner voice as daimon, the necessary angel who is the Self's messenger. We also get a view here of the traditional resistance to this gnosis, which has not ceased to be labeled "demonism" according to the exclusions of monotheism and literalism and their veiling of psychic multiplicity. The third essay, "What Does the Soul Want," looks anew at Alfred Adler, a neglected father of modern psychology, and discovers profundity in his sense of the fictional in therapy. Here we get a play of fictive dialogues drawn from Hillman's own practice, where images speak directly with patients in their process of recomposing life into a new story. The importance of the dialogical mode, in which the dualism of self/other and subject/object breaks down, shows up in its challenge to the rigidities of psychotherapy as indeed its presence in innovative poetics challenges conventional literary values. In psychology psyche comes before logos, before the word and the telling, and this linguistic datum is suggestive in both the temporal sense of "being previous"—awaiting manifestation in what we can say—and in the spatial sense of "being in front' — getting into the foreground where service to the sayable is possible. What remains unsaid in us is forever angling to come into view, it seeks its art. Psyche and logos, soul and speech, psychology and poetics—Hillman wants us, the therapists and the poets (who once
upon a time shared a single body), to see them as they are, inseparable, reflexive, and interdependent, and so to end one more hidden dualism that divides us from ourselves, our healing arts, and our sources. Hillman's work encourages us in this amphibolous enterprise, because he takes heart in both domains, he has in his psychological breast, not the divided heart of the poet manqué, but the second, virtual heart of the real poet, whose vistas, as Robert Duncan has said of Norman O. Brown, lead only to other vistas, not to certainties. George Quasha Barrytown, New York 1983
i Hillman accepted the title I suggested for the three essays: Healing Fiction, which embodied the “axiality” of working in two directions at once.