Thoughtful People Do Psychohistory

Review Essays on Paul H. Elovitz, The Making of Psychohistory: Origins, Controversies, and Pioneering Contributors (New York and London: Routledge, 2018), ISBN 978-1-138-58749-6, 138 pages, paperback, $38.95, hardbound, $140.

One of the first things that caught my attention when I picked up Paul Elovitz’ new book, The Making of Psychohistory: Origins, Controversies, and Pioneering Contributors, was the following observation he makes: “Thoughtful people do psychohistory whether or not they realize it” (1). To Elovitz, it is evident that psychohistory is more than how “The what can shape the why” as poetically phrased in Rudolph Binion’s poem at the beginning of the book. Psychohistory has movement, it is malleable; and we may do it consciously or unconsciously: two terms often used in thinking about psychohistory across the disciplines.

n this thoughtful—and thought-provoking—autobio-graphical manifesto, Elovitz has a two-fold goal as a founding faculty member of Ramapo College, founder and editor of Clio’s Psyche, and founder of the Psychohistory Forum. It is an effort to illustrate our humanness in an examination of history and foster respectable and open-minded viewpoints of what psychohistory is and what people invested in psychohistory seek to accomplish. Elovitz clearly lays out, as he writes in his reflections on teaching psychohistory, the Psychohistory Forum, and much else, that psychohistorians focus on “unconscious motivation, childhood, coping mechanisms, dreams, emotions, group fantasies and delusions, personality, and trauma” (The Making, 66) and how all these elements

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intersect to bring new and relevant dimensions of thinking to history, research, and a promotion of the “psychological paradigm” in a genuine way (75).

Elovitz draws an interesting parallel between himself and Freud, particularly in regard to their struggles. He claims that “Freud is often devalued” (The Making of Psychohistory, 24), just as Elovitz may see himself and the psychohistory movement. It is true that Freud remains a controversial figure in psychoanalysis even though, as Elovitz observes, he is quoted far more often than people given him credit for. After all, he was a thoughtful man.

Elovitz raises important questions in his endeavor to keep the candle of psychohistory burning against resistances experienced in his professional career. What is it about human nature that seems to resist and threaten one way of perceiving mankind in certain times and places? Is it ego? Ignorance? Insecurity? Arrogance? Elovitz seems to have Freud, Sidney Halpern, and Lloyd deMause in mind when writing about his struggles, but he also admits that perhaps he is “acting out… his own Oedipal rebellion” (The Making, 29) against these pioneers, leaders, and pathbreakers. I wonder if rebellion is the right word to use, though. I would say Elovitz identifies with Freud as a pioneer and as a leader of a controversial organization that has been criticized. However, Elovitz’ feelings of betrayal as a result of his discipline—one to which he has dedicated decades of his life—not being seen as a worthy discipline of study by academic historians and his being challenged as a worthy candidate for tenure and promotion to full professor at Ramapo College perhaps also influenced his identification with Freud, who had his own professional challenges.

I found what Elovitz had to say about the parenting of middle-class children living in the suburbs of America particularly thought-provoking. As an authority on childhood, Elovitz explores the optimistic and pessimistic viewpoints on childrearing. He writes, “Never in history have most American children had such a high standard of living, so much personal space, such rich food.… Wealth is lavished on our children” (The Making, 36). This is the era, it seems, of “self-sacrificing parents” (37). In contrast to this optimistic look at childrearing is the pessimistic view: the perils of divorce, a situation he has been in himself, and the demands placed on children—for example, extracurricular activities and a technology developing at breakneck speed with its own perils in an age of instant gratification. Dianne and Robert Hales claim that “One of

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every five teenagers had seriously considered terminating their own lives” (cited in Elovitz, 2018, 40). To add to Elovitz’ observation, I suggest that this high standard of living may be a form of overcompensating, at least in my experience, for the failings of parenting when two parents are emotionally broken; clawing up a rocky mountain with jagged rocks at every hand and foothold.

My husband and I had marital struggles for a few years. While we were able to successfully battle through our problems, it was very difficult for our two teenage children who were going through their own crises in the transition from childhood to adulthood. When my husband and I were in the throes of war, it was hard for us to objectively step back and see the situation for what it was. Upon reflection, I recognize how our children were psychologically impacted negatively by the tension generated between my husband and me, which manifested in a variety of self-destructive ways. To overcompensate, I became that self-sacrificing parent to which Elovitz refers, but in reality, I was part of the problem. I gave my children everything except, at times, what they needed most: “a consistent, secure, loving environment and clear parental role models” (The Making, 40). For the past couple of years, our family has been working on reconnecting and with success. Our past struggles seem like a distant memory now, but there are some scars.

There is more than meets the eye when it comes to the parenting of middle-class children in the suburbs of America. There is certainly more to psychohistory than I originally knew, too. I am thankful to be given the opportunity to do psychohistory in this review and to learn more about how “The what can shape the why.”

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