Mindfulness, Acceptance, and Positive Psychology (DR - Soc)

“The hallmark of our evolutionary flourishing is collaboration, and this brilliant
book is a stunning example of its power. Editors Kashdan and Ciarrochi have
taken two of the most influential therapies of our time—acceptance and com-
mitment therapy and positive psychology—and have initiated a dialogue that
both clarifies and deepens the discoveries that have emerged independently in
each. By establishing seven foundations of well-being that are both scientifically
based and practically oriented, they enable a coherent and fascinating look at the
role of mindfulness and an array of potent, cutting-edge therapeutic strategies.
This fresh synthesis is destined to be a landmark in the literature of emotional
healing and spiritual transformation.”
—Tara Brach, PhD, author of Radical Acceptance and True Refuge
“This is a ‘greatest hits’ collection of essays in practical, positive psychology.

Organized by the editors’ groundbreaking framework of the seven foundations of
well-being, this book is a superb combination of solid theory, research, and evi-
dence-based practice. Immediately useful to any psychotherapist, mindfulness
teacher, or business coach.”
—Rick Hanson, PhD, author of Buddha’s Brain
“Unifying two important fields—positive psychology and acceptance and com-

mitment therapy—Kashdan and Ciarrochi’s volume contains multiple gems of
contributions from the preeminent figures in psychology. Whether you are an
expert or a novice, a student or a mental health professional, you will learn a
great deal from this book.”
—Sonja Lyubomirsky, professor of psychology at the University of
California, Riverside, and author of The How of Happiness and
The Myths of Happiness.
“To every innovator working to create new tools and technologies for increased
well-being: Mindfulness, Acceptance, and Positive Psychology should immediately
go to the top of your must-read list. The new research and provocative ideas in
this collection will undoubtedly spark countless fresh ideas and help shape, for
the better, the next wave of life-changing, positive interventions. This book will
give an invaluable edge to designers and developers who want to ground their
creative work in leading-edge scientific research.”
—Jane McGonigal, PhD, author of the New York Times bestseller
Reality Is Broken
The
Mindfulness & Acceptance
Practica Series
As mindfulness and acceptance-based therapies gain

momentum in the field of mental health, it is increas-
ingly important for professionals to understand the full
range of their applications. To keep up with the growing
demand for authoritative resources on these treatments,
The Mindfulness and Acceptance Practica Series was
created. These edited books cover a range of evidence-
based treatments, such as acceptance and commitment
therapy (ACT), cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT),
compassion-focused therapy (CFT), dialectical behav-
ioral therapy (DBT), and mindfulness-based stress re-
duction (MBSR) therapy. Incorporating new research in
the field of psychology, these books are powerful tools for
mental health clinicians, researchers, advanced students,
and anyone interested in the growth of mindfulness and
acceptance strategies.
Visit www.newharbinger.com for

more books in this series.
mindfulness,
acceptance,
A N D positive
psychology
the seven foundations
of well-being
EDITED BY
TODD B.
KASHDAN, PhD
AND
JOSEPH
CIARRO CHI, PhD
Context Press
An Imprint of New Harbinger Publications, Inc.
Publisher’s Note
This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in regard to the
subject matter covered. It is sold with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in
rendering psychological, financial, legal, or other professional services. If expert assistance or
counseling is needed, the services of a competent professional should be sought.
Distributed in Canada by Raincoast Books
Copyright © 2013 by Todd B. Kashdan & Joseph V. Ciarrochi

Context Press
An Imprint of New Harbinger Publications, Inc.
5674 Shattuck Avenue
Oakland, CA 94609
www.newharbinger.com
Cover design by Amy Shoup; Text design by Tracy Marie Carlson;

Acquired by Catharine Meyers
All Rights Reserved
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Mindfulness, acceptance, and positive psychology : the seven foundations of well-being
/ edited by Todd B. Kashdan, Joseph Ciarrochi.
p. cm. -- (The context press mindfulness and acceptance practica series)
Summary: “Edited by two leading mental health professionals, Mindfulness,
Acceptance, and Positive Psychology is the first book to successfully integrate key ele-
ments of acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT) and positive psychology to
promote healthy functioning in clients. By gaining an understanding of “the seven foun-
dations of well-being,” professionals will walk away with concrete, modernized strategies
to use in clinical or private practice. A must-have read for any mental health profes-
sional interested in synthesizing ACT and positive psychology to help clients realize
their full human potential”-- Provided by publisher.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-60882-337-6 (pbk.) -- ISBN 978-1-60882-338-3 (pdf e-book) -- ISBN 978-
1-60882-339-0 (epub) 1. Positive psychology. 2. Acceptance and commitment therapy.
3. Well-being. I. Kashdan, Todd. II. Ciarrochi, Joseph.
BF204.6.M56 2013
150.19’88--dc23
2012040516
For the six ladies that created, guided, or nourished my lust for
life: Roxanne, Selma, Sarah, Raven, Chloe, and Violet
—T.B.K.
To Ann Bailey, for her unwavering love and support

—J.C.
Contents
Alphabetical List of Contributors�� ix
1 The Foundations of Flourishing �� 1

Joseph Ciarrochi, University of Wollongong, Australia; Todd B.
Kashdan, George Mason University, USA; Russ Harris, Private
Practice, Melbourne, Australia
2 Mindfulness Broadens Awareness and Builds

Meaning at the Attention-Emotion Interface�� 30
Eric L. Garland, Florida State University; Barbara L. Fredrickson,
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
3 Love and the Human Condition �� 68

Robyn D. Walser, National Center for PTSD and TL Consultation
Services; California
4 Self-Compassion and ACT�� 78

Kristin Neff, University of Texas at Austin; Dennis Tirch, Weill-
Cornell Medical College, American Institute for Cognitive Therapy
5 Perspective Taking��107
Ian Stewart, National University of Ireland, Galway; Louise
McHugh, University College Dublin
6 Committed Action �� 128

Lance M. McCracken, PhD, Health Psychology Section, Psychology
Department, Institute of Psychiatry, King’s College London
Mindfulness & Acceptance for Positive Psychology
7 Positive Interventions: Past, Present, and Future�� 140

Acacia C. Parks, Hiram College; Robert Biswas-Diener, Portland
State University, Positive Acorn
8 On Making People More Positive and

Rational: The Potential Downsides of
Positive Psychology Interventions�� 166
Mairéad Foody, Yvonne Barnes-Holmes, and Dermot Barnes-
Holmes, National University of Ireland, Maynooth
9 Microculture as a Contextual Positive Psychology

Intervention�� 194
Robert Biswas-Diener, Portland State University, Positive Acorn;
Nadezhda Lyubchik, Portland State University
10 Accepting Guilt and Abandoning Shame:

A Positive Approach to Addressing Moral
Emotions among High-Risk, Multineed Individuals��215
Elizabeth Malouf, Kerstin Youman, Laura Harty, Karen Schaefer,
and June P. Tangney, George Mason University
11 Using the Science of Meaning to Invigorate

Values-Congruent, Purpose-Driven Action�� 240
Michael F. Steger, Colorado State University, North-West
University, South Africa; Kelly Sheline, Colorado State University;
Leslie Merriman, Colorado State University; Todd B. Kashdan,
George Mason University
vi
Contents
12 Nurturing Genius: Using Relational Frame Theory

to Address a Foundational Aim of Psychology �� 267
Bryan Roche, National University of Ireland, Maynooth; Sarah
Cassidy, Smithsfield Clinic, Co. Meath, Ireland; Ian Stewart,
National University of Ireland, Galway
13 The Genuine Conversation�� 303

Steven C. Hayes, University of Nevada
Index �� 323
vii
Alphabetical List of Contributors
Dermot Barnes-Holmes, National University of Ireland, Maynooth
Yvonne Barnes-Holmes, National University of Ireland, Maynooth
Robert Biswas-Diener, Portland State University, Positive Acorn
Sarah Cassidy, Smithsfield Clinic, Co. Meath, Ireland
Joseph Ciarrochi, University of Wollongong, Australia
Mairéad Foody, National University of Ireland, Maynooth
Barbara L. Fredrickson, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
Eric L. Garland, Florida State University
Russ Harris, Private Practice, Melbourne, Australia
Laura Harty, George Mason University
Steven C. Hayes, University of Nevada
Todd B. Kashdan, George Mason University
Nadezhda Lyubchik, Portland State University
Elizabeth Malouf, George Mason University
Lance M. McCracken, PhD, Health Psychology Section, Psychology

Department, Institute of Psychiatry, King’s College London
Louise McHugh, University College Dublin
Leslie Merriman, Colorado State University
Kristin Neff, University of Texas at Austin
Acacia C. Parks, Hiram College
Bryan Roche, National University of Ireland, Maynooth
Karen Schaefer, George Mason University
Kelly Sheline, Colorado State University
Michael F. Steger, Colorado State University, North-West University,

South Africa
Ian Stewart, National University of Ireland, Galway
June P. Tangney, George Mason University
Dennis Tirch, Weill-Cornell Medical College, American Institute

for Cognitive Therapy
Robyn D. Walser, National Center for PTSD and TL Consultation

Kerstin Youman, George Mason University
x
CHAPTER 1
The Foundations of Flourishing
Joseph Ciarrochi
University of Wollongong, Australia
Todd B. Kashdan
George Mason University, USA
Russ Harris
Private Practice, Melbourne, Australia
A re humans innately good and compassionate (Rousseau,

1783/1979) or are they nasty and brutish (Hobbes, 1651/2009).
This question has troubled philosophers for centuries, and
when we look at the history of humankind, there is no simple answer.
You can find great acts of love and kindness in our past, but also intense
hatred and cruelty. We had the renaissance, but we also had the dark
ages. We invented penicillin but we also invented nerve gas. We built
churches, cathedrals, and hospitals, but we also built atom bombs and
concentration camps. For every historical figure who has struggled for
equality and compassion (Martin Luther King), we can find one who has
fought equally hard for discrimination and cruelty (Adolf Hitler).
Humans are capable of anything.
So the question should not be about the basic nature of humanity.
Rather, the key question is, “Can we create a world where the best side of
humanity finds expression?” Positive psychology and Acceptance and
Commitment Therapy (ACT) share a common answer: Yes.
Both perspectives focus on human strengths and aim to promote human

flourishing. They often have overlapping technologies, particularly in
the area of goal setting, psychological strengths, mindfulness, and the
clarification of what matters most (values and meaning in life). They
both seek to make positive change at multiple levels, from individuals to
relationships to organizations and cultures. They both have experienced
an explosion of research in the last 15 years. And they both appeal to a
wide range of people, including those working in clinical, social, educa-
tional, and business disciplines.
Yet despite these similarities, ACT and positive psychology have
hardly referenced each other. In this book, we propose that these two
areas are related and unification will lead to faster, more profound and
enduring improvements to the human condition. The chapters in this
book will illustrate how this integration can take place, with a focus on
concrete ways to empower and change what practitioners do.
What Is Acceptance and

Commitment Therapy?
Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) is a unique and creative
approach to behavior change that alters the very ground rules of most
Western psychotherapy. It is a mindfulness-based, values-oriented behav-
ioral therapy that has many parallels to Buddhism, yet is not religious in
any way. It is a modern scientific approach, a contextual behavioral
therapy that is firmly based on the principles of applied behavioral analy-
sis, and there are now over 60 randomized controlled trials to support its
effectiveness.
ACT gets its name from one of its core messages: accept what is out
of your personal control, and commit to action that improves and
enriches your life. The aim of ACT is, quite simply, to maximize human
potential for a rich, full, and meaningful life. ACT (which is pronounced
as the word “act,” not as the initials A.C.T.) does this by a) teaching you
mindfulness skills to deal with your painful thoughts and feelings effec-
tively—in such a way that they have much less impact and influence
over you; and b) helping you to clarify your core values and use that
knowledge to guide, inspire, and motivate committed action.
2
Mindfulness is a “hot topic” in Western psychology right now—

increasingly recognized as a powerful intervention for everything from
work stress to depression, to increasing emotional intelligence, to enhanc-
ing performance. Mindfulness basically means paying attention with
openness, curiosity, and flexibility. In a state of mindfulness, difficult
thoughts and feelings have much less impact and influence over behav-
ior—so mindfulness is likely to be useful for everything from full-blown
psychiatric illness to enhancing athletic or business performance.
ACT breaks mindfulness skills down into 3 categories:
1. defusion: distancing from, and letting go of, unhelpful thoughts,

beliefs, and memories
2. acceptance: making room for painful feelings, urges, and sensa-

tions, and allowing them to come and go without a struggle
3. contact with the present moment: engaging fully with your here-
and-now experience, with an attitude of openness and curiosity
In many models of coaching and therapy, mindfulness is taught pri-

marily via meditation. However, in ACT, meditation is seen as only one
way among hundreds of ways to learn these skills—and this is a good
thing because most people are not willing to meditate! ACT gives you a
vast range of tools to learn mindfulness skills—many of which require
only a few minutes to master. In ACT, mindfulness serves two main pur-
poses: to overcome psychological barriers that get in the way of acting on
your core values and to help you engage fully in the experience when you
are acting on your values.
Thus the outcome ACT aims for is mindful, values-guided action. In
technical terms, this is known as “psychological flexibility,” an ability
that ACT sees as the very foundation of a rich, full, and meaningful life.
What Is Positive Psychology?

Instead of being viewed as a movement or a paradigm shift, positive psy-
chology is best viewed as a mobilization of attention and financial
resources to previously ignored topics (Duckworth, Steen, & Seligman,
2005). For decades, psychology has emphasized the reduction of distress
3
and disorder. While this emphasis has led to efficacious treatments for a
variety of psychological problems, the primary reasons for living have
been ignored. Nobody lives to be merely free of distress and disorder, and
the positive is not merely the absence of distress and disorder. There are
other ingredients to a life well lived, and these ingredients have been the
focus of positive psychology research and practice.
When first introduced to the world, Seligman and Csiksentmihalyi
(2000) mapped out the terrain covered by positive psychology. The field
of positive psychology at the subjective level is about valued experiences:
well-being, contentment, and satisfaction (in the past); hope and opti-
mism (for the future); and flow and happiness (in the present). At the
personal level, it is about positive individual traits: the capacity for love
and vocation, courage, interpersonal competence, perseverance, forgive-
ness, originality, future mindedness, spirituality, and wisdom. At the
group level, it is about the civic virtues and institutions that move indi-
viduals toward better citizenship: responsibility, nurturance, altruism,
civility, tolerance, and work ethic.
The working assumption of positive psychology is that the positive,
healthy aspects of life are not simply the bipolar opposite of distress and
disorder. This theme arises again in a special issue of the Review of
General Psychology dedicated to positive psychology, where the editors
claim that psychology has been effective at learning “how to bring people
up from negative eight to zero, but not as good at understanding how
people rise from zero to positive eight” (Gable & Haidt, 2005, p. 103).
That is, the primary aim is to address and cultivate positive experiences,
strengths and virtues, and the requirements for positive relationships and
institutions.
In this description, positive psychology seems to push too far to the
other extreme, focusing only on the positive, with a caveat that of course,
pain and suffering are important as well. It is only in the last few years
that researchers have advocated for the need to move beyond the super-
ficial connection between the “positive” and “negative” dimensions of
the human psyche (Sheldon, Kashdan, & Steger, 2011b). For instance, if
you are attempting to teach children to be compassionate, you simply
cannot ignore the negative, because it is built into the fiber of empathy,
and perspective taking. Prominent positive psychologists often discour-
age a focus on weaknesses (because this is less efficient and profitable);
(Buckingham & Clifton, 2001) and reinforce the notion that when it
4
comes to positive experiences, strengths, or virtues, “more is better”

(Peterson & Seligman, 2004). This idea has recently been overturned as
extremist because evidence continues to emerge that depending on the
context, there are tipping points and boundary conditions for the effec-
tive use of strengths (e.g., Biswas-Diener, Kashdan, & Minhas, 2011;
Linley, 2008). Thus, the working assumptions of positive psychology con-
tinue to evolve, which we view as a sign of healthy progress.
In the current incarnation of positive psychology, the focus appears
to be less on targets that are “positive” at the superficial, surface level and
more on whatever elements lead to healthy living or well-being. In some
cases, positive emotions and psychological strengths lead to suboptimal
living, whereas emotions such as anxiety and guilt, and behaviors reflect-
ing narcissism and quarrelsomeness, lead to the best possible outcomes.
This more dynamic, nuanced approach to a well-lived life has much in
common with the working assumptions of ACT.
A Bridge between Two Islands

Both ACT and positive psychology have experienced an explosion of
research in the last decade. For example, the term “positive psychology”
appeared as a keyword in only seven scientific articles in 2000. This
number has exploded to over 100 per year since 2008. ACT has experi-
enced a similar expansion, with “Acceptance and Commitment Therapy”
appearing as a keyword less than 10 times a year before 2004, and then
exploding to over 40 in 2009 and 2010 and then to 80 in 2011 (Scorpos
search, April 5, 2011). Almost all of the over 58 randomized controlled
trials in ACT have been published since 2008. Searching on the key-
words “positive psychology” and “Acceptance and Commitment Therapy”
is likely to vastly underestimate the influence of these fields, as it ignores
many relevant keywords, such as “mindfulness,” “acceptance,” “strengths,”
and “upward spiral.” Still, the numbers clearly indicate that positive psy-
chology and ACT are growing and thriving as research disciplines.
The time has thus come to unify these exciting fields. They have the
same goal, to promote human flourishing, but because they have worked
independently from each other, they have come up with largely non-
overlapping insights and approaches. They have both made great strides,
and yet, we can’t help but wonder what would happen if people from the
5
two fields actually sat down and spoke to each other. Would this not
accelerate progress? This book asks that question in every chapter, and
in every case it returns a clear answer: Yes.
If we are going to sit down and talk, the first thing we need to do is
develop a common language. Without that language, we will be con-
fused with each other and grow frustrated. Indeed, this confusion is
widespread in psychology. Every subdiscipline seems to create its own
island of words and constructs. Positive psychology talks about the pres-
ence of a nearly universal list of 24 character strengths, ACT focuses on
six core processes, personality researchers focus on the big five personal-
ity dimensions, and emotional intelligence researchers focus on the five
(+-2) components. Each new researcher that comes upon the scene
seems keen to create a new brand or at least a few new psychological
terms that can be uniquely associated with him or her. Meanwhile,
people on the front lines, such as therapists, coaches, and consultants,
are drowning in a sea of jargon.
We propose there is a way to survive the flood and even navigate it
effectively. Our solution is to identify a small set of basic factors (or foun-
dations) from which we can build a wide range of larger psychological
constructs, in much the same way that we can build complex physical
compounds from simple primary elements (e.g., we can manufacture
steel from iron and carbon). But how do we select these psychological
foundations when there are so many options to choose from?
We decided to select a set of basic ingredients that can be arranged
and rearranged into almost any strand of well-being. We selected our
foundations on the basis of two key criteria: (1) they must be guided by
the best available science, and (2) they must be of direct practical use for
facilitating cognitive and behavioral change to improve well-being. Thus,
we did not select brain regions or neuronal pathways as foundations,
because although knowledge of these things is relevant to well-being, it
does not provide a practitioner with direct ways of instigating positive
behavioral change. Similarly, we did not select elements that are associ-
ated with well-being if the implications for intervention were unclear; a
good example is the personality dimension of “extraversion.”
At this point, let’s note that although some positive psychology prac-
titioners describe happiness as being synonymous with “well-being,” the
truth is that “happiness” is only a single strand of a multidimensional
6
matrix (Kashdan, Biswas-Diener, & King, 2008). Beyond happiness, we

can also consider meaning and purpose in life, love and connectedness,
a sense of autonomy, a sense of competence, and optimal cognitive and
physical functioning. This broadly defined view of well- being also
includes anxiety and depression and other constructs that are frequently
targeted by cognitive-behavioral interventions. Thus, our list of founda-
tions had to be relevant to healthy functioning as well as to the ameliora-
tion of deficits or problems.
The foundations are presented in Table 1. They are assumed to
mediate the relationship between specific interventions (e.g., mindfulness
practice) and aspects of well-being (increased positive affect and meaning).
Like psychological building blocks, one can rearrange any number of the
seven foundations into increasingly complex dimensions. Similarly, one
can deconstruct more complex dimensions into these seven foundations,
and this can provide insight into the types of interventions that might be
most useful separately or in unique combinations.
Table 1: The Seven Foundations of Well-Being
Foundations Examples Example

interventions
1) Functional beliefs Do you believe you • Defusion:
about the self, others, can overcome Undermining
and the world barriers and achieve the power of
goals (hope)? unhelpful
Do you view thoughts.
problems as a (e.g., experiencing
challenge or threat thoughts as
(problem-solving passing events
orientation)? that don’t have
to dictate action)
Do you believe you
have social worth • Cognitive
(self-esteem)? restructuring
of beliefs
7
Foundations Examples Example

interventions
2) Mindfulness and Are you aware of • Mindfulness
awareness your emotions, practice directed
actions, external at various domains
stimuli, and mental • Improving
processes? emotion
Can you label and recognition and
clarify the exact discrimination
mixture of emotions
that you are feeling
at a given point in
time?
3) Perspective taking Can you take the • Videotaped
perspective of others experiments to
(empathy)? learn discrepancies
Can you take between self-views,
perspective on the views of
yourself others, and actual
(self-as-context)? performance
• Practice shifting
perspectives and
taking the view
of an observer
4) Values What do you care • Values
about (values, clarification
personal strivings)? • Identifying
Do other people’s personal strivings
desires for you and motives
dominate your own behind them
(controlled versus • Identifying
autonomous implicit motives
motives)?
8
5) Experiential In order to live • Creative

acceptance according to what hopelessness
you care about, are (connecting with
you willing to have unworkability
private experiences of control)
such as distress and • Willingness
self-doubt (courage)? practice (practice
acting in valued
way and opening
up to feelings)
6) Behavioral control Are you able to • Linking behaviors
control what you say to values
and do in a way that • Goal setting,
promotes your goals anticipating and
and values planning for
(self-regulation, barriers,
willpower)? anticipating
Do you persist (grit) benefits from
and rebound from achieving goals
failure (resilience)? • Music,
Are you able to biofeedback,
modify feelings in an distraction, and
adaptive way? other strategies
that change
emotions and help
regulate behavior
7) Cognitive skill How well do you • Improving
solve problems and intellectual
reason (IQ)? functioning
How well do you • Attentional
shift attention and training
inhibit irrelevant (e.g., practice
stimuli (flexible controlling or
mindset)? altering attention)
9
Functional Beliefs
Functional beliefs are central to various forms of cognitive-behavioral
therapy (Barlow, 2002; Beck, 1983; Ciarrochi & Bailey, 2008). For
example, Beck’s therapy focuses on core and intermediate beliefs (Beck,
1995), Young’s therapy focuses on schema (Young, 1990), and Wells’s
therapy focuses on meta-beliefs about emotions and worry (Wells, 1997).
ACT does not focus on specific beliefs but rather encourages the practi-
tioner to a) identify when beliefs are dominating over other sources of
information (other thoughts, the environment) and when beliefs are
“unworkable” (i.e., acting on the belief does not work to make life rich,
full, and meaningful)(Ciarrochi & Robb, 2005). ACT undermines the
power of beliefs through the use of defusion (changing the context so that
a person can experience their belief as nothing more or less than a passing
thought, which they do not have to act on). Positive psychology seeks not
so much to undermine unhelpful beliefs but rather to promote positive,
functional beliefs such as hope, self-esteem, and a positive problem-solving
orientation (Ciarrochi, Heaven, & Davies, 2007; Sheldon, Kashdan, &
Steger, 2011a). However, plenty of models within positive psychology do
advocate the active challenging and disputation of dysfunctional beliefs.
Chapters 3 and 4 discuss beliefs related to love and self-compassion, and
chapters 7, 8, and 10 discuss the issue of how beliefs are best modified.
Mindfulness
Mindfulness, broadly defined, means conscious awareness with an
open, receptive attitude, of what is happening in the present moment
(Bishop et al., 2004; Williams, 2008). Conscious awareness involves
intentionally regulating attention toward what is happening here and
now. We can describe a person as “gently observing” what is happening,
as opposed to “judging” it. An “open, receptive attitude” reflects the
quality of one’s attention, characterized by curiosity, and a turning
toward one’s experience rather than away from it. For example, even
when our thoughts and feelings are painful or difficult, in a state of
mindfulness we are receptive to and curious about these psychological
events instead of trying to avoid or get rid of them (Hayes, Luoma, Bond,
Masuda, & Lillis, 2006). In and of itself, awareness of one’s environment
10
can be directionless. The quality of curiosity focuses one’s attention and

motivates a person to explore his or her environment with an apprecia-
tion of novelty, challenge, and uncertainty (Silvia & Kashdan, 2009). It
is hardly surprising, then, that people who are predisposed to present-
moment awareness, or trained to be mindful, show greater openness to
experiences that challenge their personal beliefs (Niemiec et al., 2010)
Many practitioners of positive psychology construe mindfulness as a
platform that facilitates other healthy skills, making them more likely to
be used in a given situation for greater benefit. For instance, mindfulness
skills can make it easier to repair negative moods, enhance positive
moods, or increase the amount of positive appraisals about the self, world,
and future.
In ACT, mindfulness is also used to facilitate other skills for healthy
living and to increase the efficacy of those skills. However, in ACT,
mindfulness would not be used to try to directly alter one’s mood. Rather,
mindfulness would be used to facilitate action in line with core values,
enhance performance, increase engagement in the task at hand, and
appreciate this moment of life, whether it be a moment of joy or of pain.
(The reasons that ACT avoids targeting positive mood directly will be
made clear in the experiential acceptance discussion below.) Chapter 2
covers this area in detail.
Perspective Taking
Many domains of psychology study perspective taking, and it goes by
such labels as “psychological mindedness,” “reflective functioning,”
“empathy,” and “theory of mind” (Eisenberg, 2003; Eisenberg, Murphy,
& Shepard, 1997). In positive psychology, researchers and practitioners
have given minimal attention to perspective taking; they have generally
classed it under character strengths as a merger of “personal intelligence”
and “perspective” (Peterson & Seligman, 2004). ACT-related interven-
tions and research focus heavily on perspective taking and empathy
(Ciarrochi, Hayes, & Bailey, 2012; Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 1999),
and in particular on the development of an observer perspective, techni-
cally referred to as “self-as-context.” This is a perspective from which all
experience can be noticed and you are aware of your own flow of experi-
ences but without any investment in or attachment to them. Chapters 5
11
and 8 cover this area in detail, and chapter 9 offers an approach to

manipulate the perspective of both individuals and groups.
Values
We can define values in many ways, but generally we can think of
them as verbal descriptions of what people are personally invested in,
regard highly, and seek to uphold and defend. Recognizing and endorsing
these cherished ideals is quite different from behaving in ways that are
congruent with them (e.g., see section on behavioral control). Many
researchers view values as central to a person’s sense of self; they operate
as standards that guide thought and action (Feather, 2002; Hitlin, 2003;
Kristiansen & Zanna, 1994; Rohan, 2000; Schwartz & Bilsky, 1987).
Positive psychologists discuss values in the form of personal strivings,
goal setting, or personal philosophies for what is most important in life
(Emmons, 1996; Schwartz & Bilsky, 1990). The distance between valued
preferences and actual behavior can be vast, which can be a pivotal point
of intervention.
ACT makes use of positive psychology literature but speaks of values
in a specific way, as qualities of purposive action that can never be
obtained as an object, but can be instantiated from moment to moment
(Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 2011). Thus, ACT sees values as desired
global qualities of ongoing action (or, in layman’s terms, “your heart’s
deepest desires for how you want to behave as a human being”). This
definition is consistent with ACT’s focus on behavior.
There is also a substantial literature on meaning and purpose in life
that seems closely linked to values. Some researchers have defined purpose
as a “central, self-organizing life aim” (McKnight & Kashdan, 2009;
Steger, 2009). Others have fleshed out this definition by unifying princi-
ples from positive psychology and ACT (Kashdan & McKnight, 2009).
Purpose is central. Purpose is a predominant theme of a person’s iden-

tity. If we envision a person positioning descriptors of his or her personal-
ity on a dartboard, purpose would be near the innermost circle.
Purpose is self-organizing. It provides a framework for systematic

behavior patterns in everyday life. Self-organization should be evident in
the goals people create, the effort devoted to these goals, and decision
12
making when confronted with competing options of how to allocate

finite resources such as time and energy. A purpose motivates a person
to dedicate resources in particular directions and toward particular goals
and not others. That is, terminal goals and projects are an outgrowth of
a purpose.
Purpose cannot be achieved. It is a life aim, one that is regularly being

directed to new targets. A purpose provides a foundation that allows a
person to be more resilient to obstacles, stress, and strain. Persistence is
easier with a life aim that resonates across time and context. It is easier to
confront long-lasting, difficult challenges with the knowledge that there is
a larger mission in the background. Moving in the direction of a life aim
can facilitate other elements of well-being such as life satisfaction, serenity,
and mindfulness (Wilson & Murrell, 2004; Wong & Fry, 1998). Chapters
6 and 11 provide a detailed discussion of these issues.
Experiential Acceptance
Experiential acceptance means embracing “private experiences” (e.g.,
thoughts, emotions, memories—experiences an individual has that no
outside observer can directly see) and allowing these experiences to be
present without trying to avoid or get rid of them. Willingness, a close
ally of acceptance, involves allowing difficult private experiences to be
present, in the service of a valued action (Ciarrochi & Bailey, 2008).
Experiential avoidance—the ongoing attempt to avoid or get rid of
unwanted private experiences—transforms the perfectly normal experi-
ence of pain to one of suffering and ineffective action (Ciarrochi,
Kashdan, Leeson, Heaven, & Jordan, 2011; Kashdan, Barrios, Forsyth, &
Steger, 2006). There are two major reasons for this. First, attempts to
control or suppress feelings often result in an increase in those feelings,
as when attempting to not feel anxious makes you more anxious. Second,
emotions and values are often two sides of the same coin, and therefore
to avoid one means to avoid the other. You cannot have loving relation-
ships without risking vulnerability and all the painful thoughts and feel-
ings that inevitably go with it. Positive psychology addresses the
experiential avoidance component under the umbrella of mindfulness
(Brown & Ryan, 2003) or effective emotion regulation (John & Gross,
2004).
13
ACT places a major emphasis on experiential acceptance but does

not see it as a form of emotion regulation. Indeed, ACT seeks to mini-
mize any attempt to directly modify private experience for fear that such
attempts may reinforce experiential avoidance (Ciarrochi & Robb, 2005).
Thus, ACT practitioners rarely seek to directly increase the frequency or
intensity of pleasant thoughts or feelings. Rather, the ACT practitioner
focuses on helping people to be with all their thoughts and feelings—
both the pleasant and the painful—while doing what is important (i.e.,
acting on values). Chapters 2, 3, 4, and 10 deal with the issues of avoid-
ance and acceptance.
Behavioral Control
Behavioral control refers to one’s ability to regulate behavior in a way
that is consistent with one’s values. Positive psychology might label this
component “perseverance,” “self-regulation,” or “willpower.” Research in
this area often focuses on identifying factors that promote goal success,
such as mental contrasting (considering benefits and barriers related to
goals) (Oettingen, Mayer, Sevincer, et al., 2009), implementation inten-
tions (establishing if-then plans to deal with barriers to goals) (Gollwitzer
& Schaal, 1998), and self-concordance of goals (the goals match your
inner-most needs) (Koestner, Lekes, Powers, & Chicoine, 2002; Sheldon
& Houser-Marko, 2001).
When effort is devoted to valued aims, ACT refers to this as “com-
mitment.” Generally, there is a tight link between values, purpose, and
commitment, and these dimensions are not always easy to disentangle.
Despite the difficulty level, we think it is pragmatic to separate values
from commitment to highlight the difference between knowing what you
want (values, purpose) and acting on what you want (behavioral control).
Chapters 6, 10, and 11 tackle the issues of values, purpose, and
commitment.
Cognitive Skill
Cognitive skill refers to components of intellectual functioning such
as reasoning, problem solving, and attentional control. Both positive psy-
chology and ACT are somewhat neutral with regard to this factor, except
14
that they both agree it is good to have. Research increasingly suggests

that cognitive skill is more modifiable than originally thought (Cassidy,
Roche, & Hayes, 2011; Jaeggi, Buschkuehl, Jonides, & Perrig, 2008).
This dimension is essential to any complete definition of well-being and
indeed directly links to the other foundations. For example, values clari-
fication has been shown to increase cognitive performance among stig-
matized groups (Cohen, Gracia, Apfel, & Master, 2006). A certain level
of cognitive skill is needed to be able to take perspective (McHugh et al.,
2004). Finally, basic cognitive training in inhibition of responses increases
behavioral control (Houben & Jansen, 2011). Chapter 12 covers this skill
in great detail.
Linking the Seven Foundations

to Strengths
Character strengths, often viewed as a centerpiece of positive psychology
(Peterson & Seligman, 2004; Seligman, 2011) can be understood as a
mixture of the foundations in Table 1. Strengths often have an element
of valuing (e.g., “love of learning,” “capacity for love,” “fairness,”
“honesty,” “humility,” “spirituality,” and “gratitude.”) Capacity for love
probably involves not only valuing loving relationships but also the ability
to take perspective and believe you are worthy of love. Leadership involves
valuing influence and probably requires all seven elements above (e.g.,
cognitive capacity, experiential acceptance of uncontrollable events, per-
spective taking). Self-control is one of those extremely broad strengths
that involves elements of cognitive skill (inhibition), as well as experien-
tial acceptance (e.g., not acting impulsively to get rid of urges), behav-
ioral control, and functional beliefs (belief that you can achieve goals).
Self-compassion can be seen as a combination of experiential acceptance
(recognize that you will beat yourself up sometimes), mindfulness (be
aware of this self-criticism), perspective taking (recognizing the similar-
ity of your own suffering to that of others), and values (put self-kindness
into play in your life).
Other areas of study in positive psychology can also be understood in
terms of the seven foundations. Spirituality is a particularly potent yet
understudied strength (Heaven, Ciarrochi, & Leeson, 2010; Heaven &
15
Ciarrochi, 2007). Spirituality generally includes values (connect with

god or the universe), beliefs that could be functional or dysfunctional
(“God gives me strength” versus “God is trying to punish me for being so
shameful”), the observer perspective (a sense of a constant, unchanging
self), and frequently, mindfulness (engaging in and appreciating the
present moment and all it holds). Moral emotions such as shame can be
seen, in some contexts, as involving dysfunctional beliefs about the self
(I am completely worthless), as well as unhelpful attempts to escape the
self (low experiential acceptance). Rather than bombard you with more
examples, we invite you to take a few minutes before reading on to think
about some other popular psychological constructs and see to what
extent you can “deconstruct” them in terms of our seven foundations.
The Importance of
Intervention Purpose
To truly integrate positive psychology and ACT, we must first look a little
deeper at their purpose and philosophical assumptions. We shall see that
as long as positive psychology and ACT adopt similar philosophical
assumptions, they can work well together.
At this point, a warning to the reader: we have named the seven
foundations as if they are real entities, like animals walking about in the
world. However, in reality we view these foundations through a prag-
matic philosophy. The foundations help us to organize a rather bewilder-
ing array of constructs. We make no assumption that they are real entities
lying in the brain waiting to be discovered by some neurosurgeon.
Our pragmatic view stands in contrast to more mechanistic views.
As a contrast to our approach, consider the following recent declaration
by Seligman (2011):
Well-being is a construct, and happiness is a thing.

A “real thing” is a directly measurable entity…. [T]he elements
of well-being are themselves different kinds of things. (p. 24)
By describing well-being in this way, Seligman implicitly takes a phil-

osophical stance called elemental realism (formerly known as “mecha-
nism”) (Ciarrochi & Bailey, 2008; Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 2011).
16
Elemental realism gets its name because it assumes that one can know
the true nature of reality and objectively discover the elements of which
it is composed. The elemental realist views the universe as a machine
consisting of parts that interact. The goal of analysis is to model the
universe accurately.
The key question for the elemental realist is, “What elements and
forces make the model work?” Success is defined by how well a model is
able to make predictions and establish meaningful, reliable causal pat-
terns. Most forms of cognitive psychology are good examples of elemen-
tal realism, as are the information processing models found in positive
psychology. There is of course, absolutely nothing wrong, outdated, or
inferior with this philosophical stance. Acknowledging one’s philosophi-
cal worldview simply means owning up to the improvable assumptions
upon which one’s work rests. Thus one philosophical worldview can
never refute another.
The worldview adopted by ACT and some positive psychologists is
functional contextualism (a form of pragmatism). Functional contextu-
alism assumes we can never know the true nature of reality or the ele-
ments that comprise it; all we can do is observe how an aspect of the
universe functions in a given context (and part of that context will
always be the human mind itself). Functional contextualism focuses on
something called the “act-in-context.” “Context” means whatever comes
before the act that influences it (antecedents) and whatever follows the
act that reduces or increases the chance of its recurring (consequences).
The “act” is whatever happens in between the antecedents and the
consequences.
The key question in functional contextualism is, “How can we
manipulate the antecedents and consequences to best achieve our goals?”
The functional contextualist will divide an event into “elements” (e.g.,
antecedents and consequences) but does so purely for pragmatic pur-
poses (i.e., Does the division help us achieve our goals?). The functional
contextualist would make no assumption that this “division” uncovers or
reveals something of the “true nature” of reality; it is nothing more or less
than a useful strategy for achieving a specific goal.
The goal of functional analysis is to find ways to predict and influence
behavior. Prediction in itself is not enough. Typical research in this tradi-
tion focuses on manipulating antecedents and consequences and observ-
ing how behavior changes as a result. A particular activity is “successful”
17
if it helps to achieve stated goals. Applied Behavioral Analysis (ABA)

and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) are two examples of
models based on functional contextualism.
Scientists and practitioners in positive psychology can take either an
elemental realism viewpoint or a functional contextualist viewpoint,
whereas ACT folks take only a functional contextualist viewpoint. Thus,
for collaboration to occur, positive psychologists need to put on their
functional contextualist hat. They can always remove it later and take up
the perfectly valid elemental realist perspective.
If we all agree to wear the functional contextualist hat, we can begin
our conversation across islands. We might start with the question: “What
is the purpose of our constructs?” The answer is: they help us to classify
and guide interventions. They help us focus the intervention (e.g., on
experiential acceptance) and adopt the most appropriate measures that
capture how well an intervention works (e.g., Does experiential accep-
tance improve, and does it lead to greater well-being?). This answer
begets another more general question. What is the purpose of our inter-
ventions? There are at least two possible answers to this question, and
the answer we choose will determine the appearance and function of the
intervention:
1. The purpose is to promote psychological states with a predomi-

nance of pleasant thoughts and feelings
2. The purpose is to aid in the promotion of psychological flexibil-

ity: the capacity to live mindfully and act effectively in line with
one’s core values (see Kashdan and Rottenberg, 2010, for alter-
native definitions)
The first purpose directly emphasizes the importance of modifying

the form and frequency of private experiences; the second purpose
emphasizes changing the nature of one’s relationship with private
experiences—to one of mindfulness and acceptance—while directly
modifying one’s actions. ACT typically adopts the latter approach,
whereas some positive psychologists typically adopt the former. However,
these approaches do not have to be mutually incompatible; in many con-
texts, they can complement one another.
The way we conduct an intervention will vary enormously depend-
ing upon our purpose, intention, or ultimate goal. Consider mindfulness.
18
You could engage in a mindfulness practice to facilitate acceptance of

painful emotions (ACT consistent), or you could engage in it with the
purpose of inducing calm, relaxed, pleasant emotional states (Cormier &
Cormier, 1998). If you have the former purpose in mind, then you might
be anything but relaxed. You might be fully present to feelings of anxiety
as you mindfully talk with a potential lover, or you might be fully aware
and accepting of your racing heart and sweaty hands as you get up to give
an important speech.
And obviously, the way you would frame the mindfulness interven-
tion would also be quite different, depending on the purpose or end goal.
If your focus is behavioral, you might frame a mindfulness practice in
terms of anchoring in the present moment so that you can be less reac-
tive to your feelings and engage fully in the task at hand, which is essen-
tial for peak performance. However, if your focus is on directly changing
emotional states, you might describe the mindfulness exercise as an
excellent way to relax and unwind after a difficult day. Furthermore, the
specific purposes and end goals limit the applications of any given inter-
vention. For example, if mindfulness is used primarily to facilitate accep-
tance of unpleasant feelings, then it can be used in any sort of
fear-provoking situation, from public speaking to charging the enemy on
a battlefield, whereas if mindfulness is used as a relaxation technique,
then it can only be of use in situations where there is no genuine threat.
(No relaxation technique known to humankind will reverse a fight-or-
flight response in the face of a challenging stressful situation.)
We have discussed strategies that seek to change the valence of emo-
tional state (e.g., from negative to positive). In addition to valence-change
strategies, there are valence-neutral change strategies that are used by
both ACT and positive psychology. For example, mindfulness might be
used to increase a state of “equanimity” or “concentration.” These states
are not inherently positive or negative, and both can be used to promote
the same purpose, namely, flexible, value-consistent behavior.
Are Strengths Inherently Positive?

Applying the word “strength” to a psychological trait makes it seem
inherently positive. Who, after all, would not want more strength,
19
resilience, or optimism? However, within a functional contextualist

viewpoint, nothing is inherently good or bad. Rather, we evaluate the
benefits of a trait (or pattern of behaving) by answering two questions: 1)
What value is the behavior serving? and 2) How is that behavior working
in a particular social context? For example, forgiveness has been defined
in part as the behavior of giving people a second chance (Park, Peterson,
& Seligman, 2004). To assess whether this behavior is useful, we need to
first ask: What is “giving a second chance” in the service of? Let’s assume
that this behavior is intended to increase intimacy in a close relationship.
The second question then is, how is it working? In a supportive romantic
relationship, forgiveness may work quite well. However, in an abusive
relationship, giving the abuser a second, third, and fourth chance may
work very poorly.
Indeed, recent research supports this view. McNulty and Fincham
(2011) have shown that the “positive” processes of forgiveness, optimis-
tic expectations, positive thoughts, and kindness can be related to
higher or lower well-being, depending on context. Specifically, in a lon-
gitudinal study, these processes predicted better relationship well-being
among spouses in healthy marriages but worse relationship well-being
in more troubled relationships. In another study, Baker and McNulty
(2011) showed that self- compassion may sometimes be helpful or
harmful to relationships, at least among men. Men high in self-
compassion have better relationships only if they are conscientious and
willing to correct interpersonal mistakes and engage in constructive
problem solving. In contrast, men high in self-compassion have worse
relationships if they are not motivated to correct their mistakes (low
conscientiousness).
There has been substantial debate about whether optimistic illusions
are good or bad. Some argue that they are fundamental to mental health
(Taylor & Brown, 1988), whereas others suggest such illusions can be
harmful to relationships (Norem, 2002), workplace effectiveness, aca-
demic performance, and physical health and longevity (Dunning, Heath,
& Suls, 2004). This debate may be resolved by assuming that illusions are
helpful in some contexts, but not in others, and proceeding to study illu-
sions in context. Fredrickson and Losada (2005) recognize this issue
when they talk about the importance of “appropriate negativity” and the
possibility of having too high a ratio of positive to negative emotions.
20
The Big Questions

Our goal in this book is to build a more complete and integrative
approach to improving the human condition. To facilitate integration,
we posed a number of questions to our contributors. We describe them
below, and we leave it to you to explore the book with curiosity and
search for the answers.
When Is Experiential Control Most

Likely to Work? When Will It Fail?
We know experiential avoidance is often a destructive coping strat-
egy. Is there any danger that some positive psychology interventions
might unintentionally promote unhelpful avoidance? What are contexts
where emotional control might work to improve well-being (e.g., Is
seeking pleasant emotional states the same as avoiding unpleasant ones)?
When does it fail? Please note, by “emotional control,” we mean control
of internal states (thoughts, feelings, sensations, urges, images, memo-
ries), not control of the actions that occur simultaneously with these
states. Humans can control their actions without having to control their
internal states; we can feel furious, but act calmly; we can feel anxious,
but act assertively.
When Is Cognitive Restructuring

Most and Least Likely to Work?
ACT often seeks to minimize direct attempts at cognitive restruc-
turing, in part because it might increase unhelpful language processes
(e.g., reasoning about the future/worrying, believing that reasoning can
solve everything, excessive dominance of symbols over experience). ACT
emphasizes cognitive defusion, techniques that attempt to change one’s
relationship with thoughts, rather than trying to alter their form or fre-
quency. For example, when we defuse from unhelpful thoughts, we are
less likely to believe them or allow them to influence our action. With
21
defusion as an alternative to restructuring, is there anything gained by

cognitive restructuring? When is restructuring most likely to work?
When is it least likely to work?
Are All Mindfulness Interventions

Created Equally?
Does the purpose of the intervention and type of instruction matter?
For example, does it make a difference if mindfulness is taught as a way
to reduce stress or as a way to increase psychological flexibility?
Do We Need to Improve Self-Concepts?

ACT typically focuses on helping folks to let go of unhelpful self-
concepts and spends less time seeking to directly improve self-concept.
What are contexts where changing self-concept might be helpful? When
might it be harmful? For example, it might be unhelpful to target hope or
self-esteem without linking it to concrete behavior. If everybody is special
no matter what they do, why do anything?
Values and Committed Action

Is happiness a value or a side effect of valued activity? Should we
reinforce the valuing of pleasant emotions (e.g., creating contexts where
pleasant emotions are more likely to occur)? Is directing people to pay
attention to their pleasant feelings another way of directing them to what
they value?
Can We Separate the Positive

from the Negative?
To what extent is it possible to study the positive without the nega-
tive? Are these separations artificial? Oxygen and hydrogen form water,
22
which has emergent qualities that cannot be inferred from hydrogen and
oxygen. Can the same be said about positive and negative emotions? Is it
sometimes unhelpful to talk about “positive” and “negative” emotions?
Given that fear, sadness, and guilt are useful, life-enhancing emotions
that play a major role in building a rich, meaningful life, is it fair to call
them “negative”? Would we do better to talk about “pleasant” and
“unpleasant” emotions rather than “positive” and “negative”?
Structuring the Book

The range of topics in this book will be as broad as the fields of ACT and
positive psychology. To help the reader find order in this chaos, we
wanted to list each of the seven foundations that are discussed in subse-
quent chapters. The check marks in the table below indicate the compo-
nents given the greatest emphasis. This single visual provides insight into
the variety of topics and angles explored by our distinguished authors.
23
Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5: Chapter 6:

Mindfulness Love and Self- Perspective Committed
Broadens the Human Compassion Taking Action
Awareness Condition and ACT
and Builds
Meaning at
the
Attention-
Emotion
Interface
Functional √ √ √
Beliefs
Mindfulness √ √ √
and
Awareness
Perspective √ √
Taking
Values √ √
Experiential √ √ √
Acceptance
Behavioral √
Control
Cognitive √
Skill
24
Chapter 7: Chapter 8: Chapter 9: Chapter 10: Chapter 11: Chapter 12:

Positive On Making Microculture Accepting Using the Nurturing
Interventions People More as a Guilt and Science of Genius
Positive and Contextual Abandoning Meaning to
Rational Positive Shame Invigorate
Psychology Values-
Intervention Congruent,
Purpose-
Driven
Action
√ √ √ √
√ √ √
√ √ √ √
√ √ √ √ √
√ √
√ √ √ √
√ √
25
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29
CHAPTER 2
Mindfulness Broadens Awareness

and Builds Meaning at the
Attention-Emotion Interface
Eric L. Garland
Florida State University
Barbara L. Fredrickson
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
T he purpose of this chapter is to articulate linkages between the

broaden-and-
build theory of positive emotions (Fredrickson,
1998; Fredrickson, 2004) and key components of “Third Wave”
psychotherapies such as mindfulness, acceptance, and commitment to
valued action. We will use insights culled from cognitive and affective
sciences to clarify a series of testable ideas that have direct bearing on
clinical intervention. Although research and theory on Acceptance and
Commitment Therapy (or ACT, Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 1999) has
blossomed over the past decade, comparatively little attention has been
paid to positive psychological processes in the ACT literature. We
contend that positive mental states, when harnessed intentionally, are
keys to resilience that can propel one in the direction of living a more
meaningful life.
We begin our discussion by describing the systemic, emergent, and

self-maintaining nature of emotional states. Next, we detail the broaden-
and-build theory of positive emotions and the body of empirical research
that supports its premises. Then we discuss the interrelationship between
emotion, attention, and meaning as the context for discussing three key
components of a positive-emotion focused intervention strategy: mind-
fulness, reappraisal, and savoring. Lastly, we attempt to integrate this
clinical approach within the overall framework of ACT.
Emotional Systems Can Spiral

Upward or Downward
Contemporary affective science portrays emotions as constellations of
subjective feeling states, physiological responses in brain and body,
expressions evident on the face and in posture, and repertoires of
thought and action. In other words, emotions are emergent, dynamic
systems energized by the reciprocal causal links between the cognitive,
behavioral, and somatic mechanisms through which emotions are
instantiated. Thus, emotions can be seen as self-organizing systems that
operate to maximize and maintain their own existence. Take, for
example, the emotion of despair. Despair resulting from a loss may be
accompanied by rumination and withdrawal behaviors coupled with a
sense of fatigue. These constituents of despair may then interact dynam-
ically to produce more despairing feelings, further rumination on loss,
and increased withdrawal and fatigue. Despair becomes entrenched by
generating emotion-consistent appraisals (i.e., the tendency to interpret
new experiences in terms of the potential for loss and lack of control).
This interpretational bias produces durable negative beliefs about self
and world, which, when coupled with repeated experiences of despair
and isolation stemming from withdrawal behaviors, foster narrowing,
socially isolating thought-action tendencies. Over time, this process
may spiral further downward into a self-destructive cycle, leading to
social alienation, the relinquishing of commitments, and acts of des-
peration that fuel feelings of despair, hopelessness, and burdensomeness
that are characteristic of depression.
31
We refer to such dynamic, self-perpetuating, negative emotional

systems as downward spirals. In contrast, we refer to self-perpetuating
cycles of positive emotions as upward spirals, given their associations with
improved functioning and enhanced social affiliation. Upward spirals
are evident in prospective studies where initial positive emotions predict
future positive emotions, in part by increasing broad-minded thinking
(Burns et al., 2008; Fredrickson & Joiner, 2002). In turn, having a broad-
ened mindset predicts the occurrence of such a mindset in the future, in
part by promoting cognitive coping strategies that increase positive emo-
tions (Garland, Gaylord, & Fredrickson, 2011). When positive emotions
expand people’s mindsets, these cognitive effects may increase the fre-
quency and intensity of positive emotions as one increasingly focuses
attention on pleasurable, beautiful, rewarding, or meaningful events and
encounters. By generating a greater awareness of positive experiences
and perspectives, positive emotions tend to consolidate over time, leading
to more frequent positive emotions in the future.
Upward spirals can be distinguished from downward spirals in the
ways they influence behavior. Whereas downward spirals lead to exces-
sive self-focused attention and rigid, stereotyped defensive behavior (i.e.,
pulling away from what matters most), upward spirals lead to greater
openness to others and spontaneous or novel exploratory behaviors (i.e.,
a push toward what matters most). As such, upward spirals of positive
emotion and broadened thought-action repertoires may be linchpins to
resilience (Fredrickson, Tugade, Waugh, & Larkin, 2003; Tugade,
Fredrickson, & Barrett, 2004), stress reduction (Garland et al., 2011),
and the prevention of inertia that is often observed among people with
clinical disorders (Garland et al., 2010).
Emotional spirals, like other systems, are preserved by feedback pro-
cesses that operate to maintain the status quo—they change their struc-
tural configurations only as a result of being disturbed from an outside
source. This raises the question of whether and how disturbances and
difficulties can promote greater durability and healthy functioning
(instead of dysfunction). The central thesis of the present chapter is that
mindfulness might facilitate access to positive emotions with which a
person can disrupt a downward spiral and, in turn, nudge the emotional
balance toward sustainable positivity.
32
The Broaden-and-Build Theory

of Positive Emotions
Downward spirals hinge on the capacity of negative emotions to narrow
the scope of attention and cognition (Schmitz, De Rosa, & Anderson,
2009; Talarico, LaBar, & Rubin, 2004). Such cognitive narrowing is held
to be an evolved adaptation that aided the survival of human ancestors
in threatening circumstances (Frijda, 1988) insofar as it supported the
quick enactment of bottom-up, habitual, defensive actions (e.g., fight,
flight, freeze) that would otherwise be impeded by top-down, reflective
thinking. For instance, in the brief time required to dodge the strike of a
serpent, one could not engage in creative problem solving without getting
a fang in the foot. Conversely, narrowly focused attention onto the head
of the snake allows for the deployment of rapid, nonconscious coordi-
nated muscular action to step backward and avoid the strike. Only with
narrow, reflexive, mindless movements would a person survive the
situation.
The broaden-and-build theory takes a complementary position and
asserts that positive emotions broaden individuals’ thought-action reper-
toires, enabling them to draw flexibly on higher-level associations and a
wider-than-usual array of sensory information, ideas, and behaviors; in
turn, broadened cognition engenders behavioral flexibility. As people
become better able to flexibly adopt novel behaviors and familiar behav-
iors in new contexts, they develop more psychosocial resources such as
resilience and affiliative bonds (Cohn, Fredrickson, Brown, Mikels, &
Conway, 2009; Fredrickson, Cohn, Coffey, Pek, & Finkel, 2008; Waugh
& Fredrickson, 2006). Our notion of broad thought-action repertoires, or
flexibility, is similar to the ACT notion of psychological flexibility, which
is the ability to contact the present moment and be sensitive to details of
the situation (e.g., to contingencies of reinforcement), and the ability to
persist in meaningful activity despite the presence of psychological or
physical pain (Kashdan & Rottenberg, 2010).
Take, for example, the case of two different third graders in gym
class, Edie and Max. When the gym teacher has the class play tee-ball for
the first time, Edie meets the new challenge with curiosity. It’s her first
time playing tee-ball (or anything like it), so she’s not very good. When
33
Edie steps up to bat and takes a swing at the ball on the tee, she misses
with a resounding “whiff” of the bat through the air. When her class-
mates laugh, instead of being embarrassed, she laughs along with them.
Edie takes another swing, and this time, the ball stays in place while the
bat flies out of her hand and lands a few feet away. Her peers laugh even
harder, and she joins them in sharing the hilarity of the situation. She
meets their smiles with her own and feels the glow of positive emotions.
Consequently, she’s more willing to give it another try. Just before her
third swing, Edie notices that she’s been holding her right elbow too
high. She corrects her stance and smacks the ball down the field. Her
peers cheer for her, and after class, they approach her to giggle about the
crazy day at tee-ball. Sharing in a few more laughs, they become friends,
and later decide to ask their parents to enroll them in an afterschool tee-
ball team. In no time, Edie increases her athletic skills and cements
lasting friendships that promote positive emotions in the future.
Eventually, Edie goes on to play ball in high school and later decides to
major in journalism to become a sports reporter. She eventually lands a
high profile position on a major sports television network.
Conversely, Max is embarrassed by his inexperience with tee-ball.
He tries to avoid the gaze of his gym teacher so he won’t be picked to play
in the class tee-ball game. When he is called up, he swings and misses,
and focuses his attention on the laughing faces of his peers. He interprets
their expressions as evidence that they are mocking him, and he feels
ashamed and angry. He refuses to take a second swing and sits down
disengaged on the sidelines. In so doing, he robs himself of the opportu-
nity to experience positive emotions that might otherwise promote his
engagement in new behaviors and relationships. He grows up believing
“I’m no good at sports” and shuns any social interaction that centers on
athletic events, a pattern of experiential avoidance that causes him to
lead a circumscribed life well into adulthood.
Insofar as positive emotions broaden cognition and increase engage-
ment in behaviors leading to increased social bonds, they conferred an
evolutionary advantage to human ancestors, who may have been better
equipped to survive by virtue of the development of such adaptive mind-
sets, skills, and resources. Positive emotions, although fleeting, can have
a long-lasting impact on functional outcomes by expanding people’s
mindsets in ways that lead to enhanced well- being and social
connectedness.
34
The broaden-and-build theory has been tested in a wide range of

observational, experimental, and clinical trial studies. The proposition
that positive emotions broaden cognition has been demonstrated in
experiments where putting people into positive emotional states leads to
a more expansive ability to attend to what is happening as the present
moment unfolds; discoveries, have been found using research methods as
diverse as behavioral measures (Fredrickson & Branigan, 2005; Rowe,
Hirsh, & Anderson, 2007), eye-tracking (Wadlinger & Isaacowitz, 2008),
and brain imaging (Schmitz et al., 2009; Soto et al., 2009). Moreover,
inducing positive emotions expands the range of behaviors in which one
may be likely to engage (Fredrickson & Branigan, 2005) and facilitates
creative problem solving (Isen, 1987; Rowe et al., 2007). Interpersonally,
being in a positive emotional state increases trust in others (Dunn &
Schweitzer, 2005) and the sense of connection between individuals
(Aron, Norman, Aron, McKenna, & Heyman, 2000; Waugh &
Fredrickson, 2006). Hence, positive emotions broaden cognition into
upward spirals that have consequential impacts on the ability to success-
fully create healthy social interactions and relationships.
A number of prospective, observational studies provide evidence
consistent with the proposition that positive emotions build durable per-
sonal resources (Cohn & Fredrickson, 2009; Cohn et al., 2009; Gable,
Gonzaga, & Strachman, 2006; Stein, Folkman, Trabasso, & Richards,
1997). More conclusive evidence for the “build” hypothesis comes from
a randomized controlled trial of loving- kindness meditation (LKM)
(Fredrickson et al., 2008), an intervention selected to increase daily
experience of positive emotions. This longitudinal study demonstrated
that, relative to a waitlist control group, those randomly assigned to the
7-week LKM intervention over time reported increases in positive emo-
tions. Over the course of the study, participants trained to induce posi-
tive emotions through LKM exhibited a 300% increase in the relationship
between time spent in meditation and the resultant positive emotions.
That is, the longer participants engaged in LKM practice, the more
intense their experiences of positive emotions. These positive emotions
appeared to be durable in that they persisted on days that participants
did not meditate. In turn, the upward shifts in positive emotions induced
by LKM produced increases in a wide range of personal resources, includ-
ing having a sense of competence for handling life challenges, feeling
35
meaningfully connected to other people, and having better resistance to

illness (stronger immunological functioning)—gains that led to down-
stream increases in life satisfaction coupled with reductions in depressive
symptoms (Fredrickson et al., 2008). These salutary effects of learning
LKM persisted at one-year follow-up, providing evidence for enduring
changes in trait positive affect (Cohn & Fredrickson, 2010).
These two propositions of the broaden-and-build theory—that posi-
tive emotions broaden awareness and build resources—may be further
understood by examining the frequency of various emotions in everyday
life. Fredrickson and Losada (2005) suggest that the affective quality of
a person’s life can be represented by his or her positivity ratio, defined as
the ratio of positive to negative emotions experienced over time. Positivity
ratios characteristic of optimal human functioning will surpass 1-to-1,
given the operation of lawful asymmetries between positive and negative
emotions: (a) positivity offset refers to the observation that the modal
human experience is mild positive affect (Cacioppo, Gardner, &
Berntson, 1999), and indeed, normal functioning has been characterized
by positivity ratios of about 2-to-1 (Schwartz et al., 2002); (b) negativity
bias, often summed up as “bad is stronger than good” (Baumeister,
Bratslavsky, Finkenauer, & Vohs, 2001), implies that to correct for the
sheer potency of negative emotions, positive emotions would need to out-
number them. Consistent with these well- documented asymmetries,
Fredrickson and Losada identified 3-to-1 as the tipping point ratio, above
which the broaden-and-build effects of positive emotions generate well-
being. People who experience a proportion of positive to negative emo-
tions in excess of 3-to-1 exhibit exemplary mental health and psychosocial
function, a salutary state known as flourishing (Keyes, 2002). Below this
ratio, people are thought to experience positive emotions in rates too low
to support such optimal functioning and may instead show emotional
distress, social alienation, or the lack of fulfillment that Keyes (2002)
calls languishing.
A third proposition of the broaden-and-build theory asserts that
positive emotions undo the psychophysiological consequences of nega-
tive emotions. Whereas negative emotions prepare the body and mind
for specific defensive actions (e.g., fight, flight), positive emotions appear
to dismantle or “undo” such preparation, an effect presumably linked to
the broadened thought- action repertoires that accompany
36
positive emotions. In a series of laboratory experiments, Fredrickson and

colleagues tested the “undo effect” by first inducing negative emotions in
participants who were then randomly assigned to one of three conditions
in which they experienced subsequent positive, neutral, or negative emo-
tions. Continuous measures of heart rate and blood pressure responding
revealed that positive emotions sped cardiovascular recovery from
anxiety and fear (Fredrickson & Levenson, 1998; Fredrickson, Mancuso,
Branigan, & Tugade, 2000). This line of research indicates that positive
emotions can be a potent means of counteracting the effects of negative
emotional states.
If positive emotions exert consequential effects on well-being, it
follows that they would facilitate resilience (Folkman & Moskowitz,
2000) (i.e., the ability to successfully adapt and cope with adversity).
This higher incidence of positive emotions accounts for the greater
ability of resilient people to rebound from adversity, undo cardiovascular
reactivity, prevent the occurrence of depressive symptoms, and continue
to flourish (Fredrickson et al., 2003; Ong, Bergeman, Bisconti, &
Wallace, 2006; Tugade & Fredrickson, 2004). Further, biobehavioral
research indicates that resilient people, who are better able to maintain
their focus on the present moment and worry less about future negative
contingencies than their less resilient counterparts, exhibit more situa-
tionally appropriate physiological activation in response to an emotional
provocation, from which they are then able to efficiently recover (Waugh,
Wager, Fredrickson, Noll, & Taylor, 2008). However, resilience is not
merely innate; it can be trained (Cicchetti & Blender, 2006). For
instance, a laboratory experiment showed that when healthy adults
scoring low on measures of trait resilience are taught to positively reap-
praise a stressful situation as a challenge to be met and overcome, they
exhibit the faster cardiovascular recovery that is a hallmark of resilience
(Tugade & Fredrickson, 2004). In this study, the extent to which resil-
ient people could find positive meaning in challenging life events was
partially mediated by their experience of positive emotion in the face of
those circumstances. In other words, people appear to spontaneously use
positive emotions to find meaning within stressful situations. How then
might positive emotions be intentionally cultivated to foster resilience in
clinical populations? To answer this question, we must delve into the
nature of attention, emotion, and meaning itself.
37
Meaning and the Attention-

Emotion Interface
Human beings are meaning makers. Although at the core we experience
the same primordial drives toward approach and avoidance as do all
invertebrates and the same basic emotional states of joy, contentment,
love, disgust, anger, and fear as our mammalian ancestors (Ekman, 1971,
1977; Plutchik, 1962, 1980), our capacity for appraising and constructing
the meaning of our experiences creates a multifarious and ever-shifting
palette of moods and affect. In other words, we derive our decidedly
human emotional experience from these basic emotions through the
processes of cognitive appraisal (Ellsworth & Scherer, 2002; Lazarus,
1991, 1999). We must look no further than the example of pleasure. For
although pleasure is a primal and universal human experience
(Kringelbach & Berridge, 2009), sources of pleasure vary to a near infi-
nite extent. That people could experience pleasure from experiences as
diverse as sky diving, fasting and kneeling on hard wooden pews, eating
a Big Mac, sadomasochistic sex acts, the discovery of a new mathemati-
cal theorem, pulling weeds and pruning in a garden, a death metal
concert, or focusing attention on the sensation of the breath is indicative
of the relativistic nature of meaning making and its emotional conse-
quences. Moreover, an event or behavior that is pleasurable in one
context may be perceived as aversive in another. For instance, sprinting
from a ravenous tiger bears a different hedonic tone than sprinting
toward a finish line, even though both events involve the behavior of
running as fast as possible.
What then governs how meaning and emotion are generated in the
encounter between self and world? Although our everyday human expe-
rience can potentially access an infinitely complex universe, an individ-
ual can process only a limited set of data as information at any one
moment. Thus human information processing is selective and involves
attention, that is, the function by which certain subsets of data gain pre-
eminence in the competitive processing of neural networks at the
expense of other subsets of data (Desimone & Duncan, 1995). Thus,
attended stimuli govern behavior, insofar as they receive preferential
information processing. Attention can be driven by reflexive, stimulus-
driven, bottom- up processes, or by reflective, strategic, top- down
38
processes (Corbetta & Shulman, 2002). While basic stimulus properties

such as brightness or contrast attract attention in a bottom-up fashion,
the salience, goal-relevance, or higher-order meaning of the object can
guide attention to select and distinguish it from the environmental
matrix in which it is embedded (Koivisto & Revonsuo, 2007).
As William James asserted in an oft-cited quote, “My experience is
what I agree to attend to” (1890). Yet, despite its centrality, attention
exists in a reciprocal relationship with emotion. The object of attention
elicits emotion, while emotion tunes and directs attention (Anderson,
Siegel, Bliss-Moreau, & Barrett, 2011; Friedman & Forster, 2011; Lang &
Bradley, 2011; Lang, Bradley, & Cuthbert, 1997). This attention-emotion
interface is the psychological substratum that makes motivated goal
achievement possible. Thus, the human mind is not merely a passive
receptor of sensory information that reacts in an input-output fashion
but, rather, an active agent that selects information and appraises this
information for its contextual meaning or value. Emotion arises from
these selection and appraisal processes. Bateson (1972) asserted that
ordinary awareness often fails to capture the rich, interconnected com-
plexity of the environment because our desires and goals limit our atten-
tion to small portions of data. Depending on how people attend to the
components of their experience, different phenomenological realities are
constructed. Consistent with this view, appraisal accounts of emotions
(Ellsworth & Scherer, 2002; Lazarus, 1991) hold that the emotional
quality of any given circumstance springs from what we attend to and
how we subsequently interpret the objects of attention.
People interpret the meaning of the objects of attention by ascribing
to them conceptual categories according to their memories of past expe-
riences. The way we organize and categorize the influx of information
from our senses creates our lived experience of “reality” (Keeney, 1983).
Thus, there is no inherent meaning in these details of experience outside
of the contexts in which they are observed. This observation reveals that
the ubiquitous concepts—like “self,” “world,” and “causality”—derived
from sense data and social feedback are in fact malleable and subject to
contextual change.
The manner in which individuals ascribe meaning to an emotional
stimulus relative to its context has been described by Relational Frame
Theory (Hayes & Wilson, 1995), the foundation of ACT. According to
this theory, humans use language and cognition to arbitrarily relate
39
events to one another and to alter the functions of events based on their
contexts (Hayes, Luoma, Bond, Masuda, & Lillis, 2006). Language and
cognition encode these arbitrary relations between events. As such,
behavioral responses derive not from events themselves but rather from
the network of arbitrary relational rules established via a history of con-
ditioning and reinforcement. By virtue of such relational framing, we
make sense of events and appraise their emotional significance.
The drive to make sense or meaning of one’s experiences is central
to human existence (Frankl, 1959; Singer, 2004). Moreover, the need to
make sense of experience and to regulate emotion in desired directions
motivates changes in belief (Boden & Berenbaum, 2010). In turn,
changes in emotion arise from the specific meaning appraisals made in a
situation (Frijda, 1986). Appraisals are discrete and pertain to specific
events; in contrast, beliefs often extend over time and scope, and there-
fore have the potential to influence many discrete situational appraisals
(Boden & Berenbaum, 2010; Lazarus, 1991). For instance, for an indi-
vidual who holds the belief “I must be perfect,” receiving an A+ on a test
will result in the appraisal “I am perfect” and consequent feelings of con-
tentment, whereas receiving an A-results in the appraisal “I am a failure”
coupled with sadness. Thus, beliefs serve as the lens through which situ-
ational appraisals are made, with attendant emotions.
In turn, emotions influence the content and conviction of beliefs.
The interoceptive experience of an emotion provides a signal that tunes
attention to the stimuli that elicited the emotion (Clore & Gasper, 2000).
This emotional signal alerts the human information processing system to
the presence of objects and events that are related to a given belief.
Subsequently, stimuli that are mutually congruent with belief and the
current emotional state are preferentially selected for further processing
(Boden & Berenbaum, 2010). In addition, because emotion is directly
experienced as self-evident (Clore & Gasper, 2000), it often serves as
evidence that supports or disconfirms a given belief (Centerbar, Schnall,
Clore, & Garvin, 2008). Put another way, emotions that are consistent
with a given situational appraisal or belief tend to strengthen it, whereas
explanation- inconsistent emotions tend to weaken that appraisal or
belief. Moreover, emotional valence can influence the content of inter-
pretations of ambiguous stimuli. For example, participants experiencing
experimentally induced sadness reported greater self-blame for relation-
ship conflicts in contrast to those experiencing induced happiness
40
(Forgas, 1994). Induction of anger and disgust result in more negative

interpretations of neutral homophones (for example, hearing the word
“tense” instead of “tents”) (Barazzone & Davey, 2009; Davey, Bickerstaffe,
& MacDonald, 2006), and people experiencing naturally occurring or
experimentally induced fear interpret situations as riskier (Lerner &
Keltner, 2001). Thus, emotional valence can bias meaning-making pro-
cesses both in terms of the content of beliefs and the extent to which
they are held to be true.
As appraisals and beliefs change in concert with changes in emo-
tional state, so too do changing interpretations influence felt experi-
ences. For instance, a person who has received a cancer diagnosis might
first interpret this event as a catastrophe and feel crushing emotions of
fear and despair. Later, this individual might come to view the diagnosis
as an impetus to retire from an unsatisfying job and pursue a new life in
a city where he or she had always dreamed of living, and feel emotions of
contentment, gratitude, or even joy. This transformation of meaning, or
reappraisal, is possible only due to the ambiguity of most life situations.
Life Is an Ambiguous Stimulus

In a very real sense, life is an ambiguous stimulus. Does survival of a
heart attack indicate that death is imminent or that one has been given
a new lease on life? Is falling in love an assurance of a lifelong partnership
or the first sign of an inevitable heartbreak? Many human situations are
complex and their meanings subtle. Thus, to make sense of and gain
agency over our experiences, we engage in the process of self-reflection
(Bandura, 2001).
Through self-reflection, people come to realize that their lives are
filled with uncertainty about their own identities, their relationships
with others, and their environmental circumstances (Olivares, 2010).
Because living involves adaptation to irregular changes and perturba-
tions from the environment, the process of self-reflection reveals the
indeterminate nature of life. The uncertainty stemming from threaten-
ing stimuli whose nature is unknown or unpredictable evokes stress
(Monat, Averill, & Lazarus, 1972) and a sense of loss of control (Folkman,
1984). In response to uncertainty, we are driven to make meaning of our
experiences and in so doing to reduce that uncertainty (Olivares, 2010).
41
Indeed, a series of cunning experiments demonstrated that the sense of

lacking control promotes illusory pattern perception in ambiguous situa-
tions (Whitson & Galinsky, 2008). Hence, people consciously or uncon-
sciously attempt to regain a sense of control by projecting patterns onto
the chaos of their lives. This meaning-making process is hinged on the
appraisal of stressors and their meaningful integration into our autobio-
graphical narratives.
Stress Appraisal and the

Downward Spiral of Perseveration
A demanding encounter with the environment in and of itself does not
carry any particular valence, and takes on positive or negative meaning
only after its relevance for one’s well-being has been appraised. While
many taxing events may harm or threaten to harm the individual, other
stimuli present a challenge that involves the possibility of benefit to the
person. Using an earlier example, running reliably creates stress physiol-
ogy, yet a person’s experience of bodily changes differs depending on
whether he or she is running from a predator or toward the finish line of
a marathon. While in the former case, the organism is under definite
threat, in the latter case the person stands to gain a sense of accomplish-
ment for facing the challenge. Thus, the experience of stress is contextual;
humans use context to appraise stimuli and establish their significance.
According to Lazarus and Folkman’s transactional model of stress and
coping (1984), stress results from a process that initiates with a primary
appraisal of stimuli for their inherent threat value. These appraisals are
often executed without conscious deliberation (Bargh & Chartrand, 1999);
for example, appraisals of others’ intentions are made, on average, in less
than 30 seconds (Ambady & Rosenthal, 1992), and appraisals of threat
(e.g., a person with a phobia of snakes detecting the presence of a snake)
can be made in less than 50 milliseconds (Ohman, Carlsson, Lundqvist, &
Ingvar, 2007). Such rapid and unconscious appraisals may use innate
reflexes, nondeclarative memory, and implicit cognitive operations, in con-
trast to intentional appraisal processes that rely on declarative memory
and propositional reasoning (Ellsworth & Scherer, 2002).
Subsequently, a cognitive process of secondary appraisal determines
the sufficiency of available resources and coping options to meet the
42
demands of the potential threat. If the stressor is appraised to be navi-

gable, a sense of positive affect and self-efficacy will result. If the avail-
able resources are deemed insufficient to negotiate the challenge
presented by the threatening stimulus, this appraisal will activate the
stress reaction sequelae, from the extended amydgala to the hypothalamic-
pituitary-adrenal axis, the locus coeruleus, and the autonomic nervous
system. This pathway unleashes a neuroendocrine cascade of stress hor-
mones, in which secretion of beta-endorphin and adrenocorticotropin
lead to the release of cortisol from the adrenal cortex (Brosschot, Gerin,
& Thayer, 2006). Cortisol promotes the processing of threat-related
information and the encoding of fear memories by sensitizing neuro-
transmission between the amygdala and hippocampus (McEwen, 2007).
Furthermore, stress appraisal activates a rapid “fight-or-flight response”
(Cannon, 1929), mediated by the central autonomic network (Thayer &
Lane, 2009), a system of neural circuits linking prefrontal cortex, amyg-
dala, brainstem, sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems,
viscera, and periphery. During the fight-or-flight response, the central
autonomic network innervates muscle groups, drives and modulates the
pacemaker of the heart, effects gastric contractions, stimulates sweat
gland activity, and regulates shifts in body temperature (Janig, 2002).
This defensive response evolved as a means of adapting to immedi-
ate, life-threatening stressors, yet the context of modern, industrialized
society rarely presents humans with such threats. In comparison with the
ancestral environment of humans, today we often face stress from our
attribution of symbolic meaning to events deemed exigent to well-being
(Rosmond, 2005). For instance, our bodies react to a critical email from
a supervisor in the same vein as we would to threats to physical safety.
Although the acute stress response may be adaptive, chronic stress can
be deleterious and is often maintained and prolonged through mental
representations of the stressor. Humans often engage in perseverative
cognition, a maladaptive process of fruitlessly maintaining a cognitive
representation of the stressor even after it is no longer present (Brosschot
et al., 2006). Perseverative cognitive styles such as catastrophizing (i.e.,
exaggeration of the threat value of a stimulus) or rumination (the experi-
ence of recurrent, intrusive negative thoughts about an event) result in a
downward spiral of cognitive stress-appraisal processes, negative affect,
and sustained activation of the autonomic nervous system.
43
In turn, protracted activation of physiologic systems subserving the

stress response exacts a toll on multiple body systems known as allostatic
load (McEwen & Wingfield, 2003), which, over time, can result in
atrophy of brain tissue, hormonal and metabolic dysregulation, and sus-
ceptibility to physical and mental disorders (McEwen, 2003). Allostatic
load is thought to dysregulate stress and reward neurocircuitry within the
extended amygdala, moving the brain reward set point from its normal
level and resulting in decreased sensitivity to reward and increased sen-
sitivity to stress, punishment, or aversive states (Koob & Le Moal, 2001).
Effects of this sensitization may be observed among persons suffering
from depression and anxiety, who may be cognitively biased toward pro-
cessing objects, persons, and events that they construe as disappointing,
upsetting, or frightening, while neglecting what is beautiful, affirming, or
pleasurable (Garland et al., 2010; Mathews & MacLeod, 2005). Such
information processing biases maintain and reinforce dysphoria, fear,
and self- loathing via downward spiral processes and an emotional
balance tipped toward negativity.
Positive Reappraisal
Fortunately, the stress response is fluid and mutable; new data from the
changing environment coupled with novel information about one’s own
reactions to the threat may initiate a reappraisal process, in which the
original stress appraisal is changed as a result of the feedback. For
example, a stimulus that was originally appraised as threatening may be
reinterpreted as benign. Reappraisals modify the physiological, psycho-
logical, and social consequences of the stress reaction through dynamic
feedback-feedforward mechanisms, which alter the informational value
or meaning of the stimulus while calibrating the behavioral response to
that stimulus.
Reappraisal may be one of the keys to resilience. In the face of adver-
sity, people often believe that they have personally benefited or grown
from dealing with the stressful event. This positive emotion–focused
coping strategy, known as positive reappraisal, is the adaptive process
through which stressful events are reconstrued as benign, beneficial, or
meaningful (Lazarus & Folkman, 1984). Positive reappraisal, alternately
conceptualized as benefit finding (Affleck & Tennen, 1996), is
44
associated with reduced distress and improved mental health outcomes

(Helgeson, Reynolds, & Tomich, 2006), and also appears to exert salu-
tary influences on physiological parameters associated with stress (Bower,
Low, Moskowitz, Sepah, & Epel, 2008; Carrico et al., 2006; Cruess et al.,
2000; McGregor et al., 2004; Tugade & Fredrickson, 2004). Positive
reappraisal is an active coping strategy (Folkman, 1997) involving con-
templation of the stressor, its context, and its relevance for the individ-
ual. Moreover, positive reappraisal has a distinct physiological signature
characterized by increases in parasympathetic nervous system activation
(Witvliet, Knoll, Hinman, & DeYoung, 2010), which offers a critical step
toward a willingness to reengage with the stressor. For instance, a person
who has recovered from cancer might view survival as evidence of
strength and resilience, and might decide to dedicate his or her life to
helping others make similar recoveries. Hence, positive reappraisal is an
adaptive and often approach-oriented strategy, one that may produce a
sense of coherence (Antonovsky, 1987), which is critical to health and
well-being.
In light of the body of research that suggests positive reappraisal is an
adaptive form of coping and may be a crucial component in resilience,
this cognitive strategy may hold significant therapeutic potential if inten-
tionally harnessed. It is an open question how best to facilitate positive
reappraisal in the clinical setting. This remains an understudied area,
perhaps due to the emphasis of Second Wave cognitive therapies on
positivism (the philosophical view that one can know Reality through
information derived from the senses and the use of evidence to verify
beliefs) and techniques designed to promote more logical thinking. It is
not overtly logical to interpret a cancer diagnosis as a life-affirming bless-
ing, and in fact, such reappraisals may actually run counter to the objec-
tive evidence often used in standard cognitive restructuring techniques.
Yet, the Third Wave approach embodied by ACT is more constructivist
than positivist, emphasizing functional contextualism and pragmatism
over “truth.”
The functional contextualism inherent in ACT urges us to abandon
attempts to establish the veracity of beliefs and instead focus on the func-
tion of beliefs. Positive reappraisal is sensible from this functional con-
textualist view. Given that most situations in life are ambiguous with
regard to their relevance for the individual, they may be appraised nega-
tively or positively. Yet, negative appraisals spawn negative emotions and
45
initiate habitual, mindless patterns of stereotypic, defensive behavior. In

contrast, positive appraisals result in positive emotions, which broaden
cognition and build personal resources through novel, exploratory, and
creative problem-solving behaviors. Thus, the operative question is not
“Is this belief correct?” but rather “What is the consequence of holding
this belief?” (Ciarrochi & Bailey, 2008). As Hayes, Strosahl, and Wilson
(1999) state, “The truth criterion of contextualism is successful working.
Analyses are true only in terms of the accomplishment of particular
goals” (p. 19). Insofar as positive reappraisal facilitates goal achievement
by bolstering resilience and broadening thought-action repertoires via
upward spiral processes, it satisfies this truth criterion. Hence, positive
reappraisal may be especially relevant for a clinical approach marrying
the Third Wave orientation with principles drawn from the broaden-
and-build theory. The integration of these approaches hinges on the
construct of mindfulness.
The Role of Mindfulness in

We argue that the state of mindfulness allows for the possibility of posi-
tive reappraisal (Garland, Gaylord, & Park, 2009). This naturalistic state
involves an attentive and nonjudgmental metacognitive monitoring of
moment- by-
moment cognition, emotion, perception, and sensation
without fixation on thoughts of past and future (Garland, 2007; Lutz,
Slagter, Dunne, & Davidson, 2008). Mindfulness is metacognitive in the
sense that it involves a meta-level of awareness that monitors the content
of consciousness while reflecting back upon the process of consciousness
itself (Nelson, Stuart, Howard, & Crowley, 1999). Mindfulness is natu-
ralistic in that it is a basic and inherent capacity of the human mind,
although people differ in their ability and willingness to wield this ability
(Brown, Ryan, & Creswell, 2007; Goldstein, 2002). As such, the innate
function of mindfulness can be fostered by practice. The practice of
mindfulness (which involves repeated placement of attention onto an
object while alternately acknowledging and letting go of distracting
thoughts and emotions) engenders the transitory state of mindfulness,
46
which, when engaged repeatedly over time, may accrue into trait or dis-
positional mindfulness (Chambers, Gullone, & Allen, 2009), the propen-
sity toward exhibiting nonjudgmental awareness in everyday life.
The metacognitive state of mindfulness can moderate the impact of
potentially distressing psychological content through the mental opera-
tion of stepping back from thoughts, emotions, and sensations, known as
decentering (Segal, Williams, & Teasdale, 2002) or reperceiving (Shapiro,
Carlson, Astin, & Freedman, 2006). This set-shifting function may be a
key link between appraisal and reappraisal, involving a shift in mental
process rather than in contents (Hayes & Wilson, 2003). Shifting from
the contents of consciousness to the process of consciousness is thought
to lead to a lack of attachment to thoughts and emotions, liberating
awareness from fixed or rigid narratives about self and world (Niemic et
al., 2010; Shapiro et al., 2006). “Through reperceiving brought about by
mindfulness, the stories (e.g. about who we are, what we like or dislike,
our opinions about others, etc.) that were previously identified with so
strongly become simply ‘stories’” (Shapiro et al., 2006). The cognitive
set-shifting process of reperceiving or decentering may afford a funda-
mental cognitive flexibility, facilitating the flexible selection of cognitive
appraisals as “we become able to reflectively choose what has been previ-
ously reflexively adopted or conditioned” (Shapiro et al., 2006).
Ultimately, decentering creates distance between thoughts and thinker,
and thus, from socially conditioned narratives. This new distance or
space enables the selection of values that are more congruent with indi-
vidual goals.
Mindfulness is arguably the keystone in the arch of positive reap-
praisal. For a person to reconstrue his or her appraisal of a given event as
positive, he or she must suspend the initial stress appraisal and disengage
cognitive resources from it—in effect, “letting go” of the appraisal while
viewing it from a metacognitive vantage point that attenuates semantic
evaluations associated with the event. According to the mindful coping
model (Garland et al., 2009), when a given event is viewed as a threat
that exceeds one’s capabilities, this stress appraisal results in perturba-
tions to bodily homeostasis. In turn, feedback from the body is often
interpolated as emotion (Friedman, 2011; James, 1890). As one becomes
aware of the presence of negative emotions resulting from the stress
appraisal, one can initiate an adaptive response by “stepping back,” or
47
decentering from this stress appraisal and its resultant emotions into the
state of mindfulness. Operating from this mindful state results in
increased capacity to reorient attention to novel stimuli (Jha, Krompinger,
& Baime, 2007) as well as greater cognitive flexibility (Moore &
Malinowski, 2009). As a result, individuals can access new data with
which to reappraise their circumstances and reframe them as meaningful
or even beneficial. Attending to what is benign, purposeful, or affirming
in the situation may result in experiences of positive emotion, which
mediate and further promote positive reappraisal (Tugade & Fredrickson,
2004). Hence, from the metacognitive vantage point afforded by mind-
fulness, positive features of the object, event, circumstance, or context
that had been previously unattended now become accessible to con-
sciousness as the “stuff” that reappraisals are made of.
While mindfulness may temporarily suspend evaluative language,
because the human mind is embedded in narratives that reduce uncer-
tainty and produce a coherent life story (Olivares, 2010), it is inevitable
that one will reengage into a semantic-linguistic mode as one integrates
the encounter with the stressor into one’s autobiographical memory. As
one returns to this narrative mode from the state of mindfulness, reap-
praisals may arise either through a conscious process of reflection or
through more automatic processes, based on spontaneous insight. The
result of such positive reappraisal is positive emotions such as hope, com-
passion, and love, and accepting attitudes such as trust, confidence, and
equanimity, which reduce stress and in turn influence subsequent
appraisal processes.
Ultimately, the repeated, intentional engagement of the metacogni-
tive state of mindfulness may result in the development of trait mindful-
ness over time. Developing a more mindful disposition, in turn, leads to
a heightened propensity toward making positive reappraisals in the face
of distress as a cognitive coping style (see Figure 1). Recent evidence
from our prospective observational study of adult participants of a
mindfulness-based stress and pain management program supports this
assertion; we found that increases in dispositional mindfulness were
reciprocally linked with increases in positive reappraisal and that the
stress-reductive effects of increases in dispositional mindfulness were
mediated by increases in positive reappraisal (Garland et al., 2011).
Similarly, findings from a quasi-experimental study comparing college
students participating in a mindful communication course to those
48
receiving a standard communications curriculum found that mindful-

ness training was associated with significant increases in dispositional
mindfulness, which were correlated with increases in positive reappraisal
(Huston, Garland, & Farb, in press). Unpublished data from our lab indi-
cate that among populations of people recovering from severe addictive
and mental health disorders, treatment-related increases in mindfulness
and positive reappraisal are significantly correlated. Lastly, a recent study
found that when compared to controls, meditators exhibited greater
attenuation of negative emotions during reappraisal of stressful stimuli as
evidenced by reduced brain activity in centro-parietal regions subserving
attentional and emotional processing (Gootjes, Franken, & Van Strien,
2010). Convergent findings across these diverse samples suggest the pres-
ence of a fundamental psychological relation: positive reappraisal and
mindfulness appear to serially and mutually enhance one another, creat-
ing the dynamics of an upward spiral that reduces distress and leads to
flourishing.
Figure 1. Mindful Coping Model:

Longitudinal
Figure 1: Mindful Coping Model:View
Longitudinal View
Trait Mindfulness and Positive Dispositionality
Savoring Positive
Emotion
Attention to Positive
Contextual Features
State of Mindfulness
Decentering
New Stress Appraisal

Savoring Positive
Emotion
Attention to Positive
Contextual Features
Decentering
Stress Appraisal
49
Appraisal Begets Attention

and Savoring
The upward spiral of mindfulness and positive reappraisal does not termi-
nate with the reframing of circumstances as benign, beneficial, or mean-
ingful. As the process unfolds, attention becomes tuned in accordance
with the new mental set and meaning imbued by the reappraisal.
Accordingly, what one attends to and ultimately sees is shaped by the newly
established semantic frame. This radical proposition is supported by find-
ings from an elegant experiment conducted by Koivisto and Revonsuo
(2007). Participants attended to pictures of furniture or animals in dis-
plays containing one of each type of picture as well as two filler pictures
from other categories. On the third and fourth trials, an unexpected
stimulus word (either cat or sofa) replaced the fixation cross at the center
of the pictures. Subjects were randomly assigned to either attend to
animals or furniture, with the stimulus word being either congruent or
incongruent with the category of the attended pictures, and were asked to
write down what objects they saw and whether they noticed something
“new and additional that was not present in the previous trials.” Results
indicated that participants were significantly more likely to detect the
presence of a word that was congruent with the attended picture category.
In other words, the semantic relation between an observer’s attentional
set and the unexpected stimulus determine whether that stimulus will be
seen. An unexpected stimulus that is related in meaning to the interests
of the observer is more likely to be seen, whereas unexpected stimuli that
are incongruent with the semantic frame of the observer are likely to be
overlooked. These findings are complemented by those of a recent study
in which neutral human faces paired with negative gossip were more likely
to be seen, and seen for longer, than other neutral faces (Anderson et al.,
2011). Hence, meaning influences attentional selection and may ulti-
mately dictate whether one perceives a given feature, object, or event.
Given the significant influence of meaning on attentional selection,
when a person positively reappraises his or her circumstances, he or she
may begin to focus on and become aware of the beautiful, affirming, and
rewarding elements of life. This intentional awareness of pleasant events
in the present, or savoring (Bryant, Chadwick, & Kluwe, 2011), is one of
the most powerful means of amplifying positive emotion (Quoidback,
50
Berry, Hansenne, & Mikolajczak, 2010). Indeed, selectively attending to

positive stimuli is an effective form of positive emotion regulation
(Wadlinger & Isaacowitz, 2008). As one savors, one attends not only to
the most perceptually salient, conspicuous features of the event but also to
its more subtle features, broadening the diversity and range of sensations
and feelings. Yet, savoring is more than attention to pleasant stimuli.
Savoring involves metacognition and self-reflection, in which one focuses
awareness on both the pleasurable stimulus and the experiences of posi-
tive emotion that unfold from the stimulus (Frijda & Sundararajan, 2007).
In other words, savoring contains an element of mindfulness. By virtue of
mindfully attending not only to the pleasant object or event but also to
the pleasurable state that arises from the encounter with that object or
event, people can deepen or prolong the savored experience.
By instructing clients to mindfully focus attention on pleasurable
objects and events (e.g., the sight of a beautiful sunset or the satisfying
taste of a meal), mindfulness training may increase the perceived hedonic
value of natural rewards and thereby counter the insensitivity to pleasur-
able objects, events, and experiences that results from chronic stress
(Koob & Le Moal, 2001). Such exercises may amplify pleasure from per-
ceptual and sensorimotor experience in a similar fashion to sensate-focus
techniques (Albaugh & Kellogg-Spadt, 2002; Heiman & Meston, 1997;
Masters & Johnson, 1970) and promote emotion regulation by generat-
ing positive attentional biases (Wadlinger & Isaacowitz, 2010). Controlled
clinical trials of sensate focus training as a means of enhancing sexual
pleasure and function demonstrate that individuals can learn to attend
to the sensory quality of experiences to increase pleasure and improve
response (Heiman & Meston, 1998). Similarly, increased attention to the
sensory experience of eating has been shown to elevate consummatory
pleasure (LeBel & Dubé, 2001). Given that attending to present-moment
experience has been prospectively associated with happiness in time-
lagged analyses (Killingsworth & Gilbert, 2010), it is plausible that learn-
ing to mindfully attend to and savor positive events may offset the
anhedonia involved in downward spirals of psychopathology. In support
of this hypothesis, a recent randomized controlled trial of Mindfulness-
Based Cognitive Therapy with adults with residual depressive symptoms
found that mindfulness training increased the experience of reward and
positive emotion from pleasant daily life activities (Geschwind, Peeters,
Drukker, van Os, & Wichers, 2011).
51
Furthermore, as one cultivates a self-reflexive awareness during the

savoring process, one elaborates on the appraisal, triggering networks of
wider associations and meanings to emerge during the temporally
extended apprehension of the implications of the object of savoring
(Frijda & Sundararajan, 2007). For example, consider the example of
“David,” a 60-year-old man who was recently diagnosed with a poten-
tially life-threatening cancer. After undergoing treatment for cancer
David might mindfully decenter from the stress appraisal “I’m doomed—
I’m going to die” to attend to the fact of his present survival, leading to
the reappraisal “I’m lucky to be alive” and a sense of relief or content-
ment. Savoring this emotion might lead to the association “I’ve had so
much good fortune in my life,” resulting in a broadening of attention to
encompass other positive features of past and present circumstances,
such as finding a loving partner, enjoying time with friends, experiencing
successes at work, engaging in meaningful activities, and even appreciat-
ing the beautiful view from his window. Consequently, the reappraisal
might mature into feelings of deep gratitude and joy coupled with the
conviction that “I’ve been given a second chance so I can appreciate the
blessings in my life and share them with others.” Such elaborative pro-
cessing of positive reappraisals and their attendant emotions, when
punctuated by the self-reflexivity and absorption found in momentary
states of mindfulness that occur during savoring, may allow for the emer-
gence of holistic meaning and the “felt sense” that gives an experience its
affective flavor (Teasdale, 1997). Thus, when savoring, pleasure evolves
into meaning and, ultimately, into a way of being that further reinforces
tendencies to positively reappraise until these tendencies consolidate
into a new, more adaptive schema. In this way, mindfulness promotes a
self-reinforcing cycle of positive reappraisal and savoring—the expand-
ing gyre of an upward spiral that broadens awareness and builds meaning
toward the development of sustainable well-being.
Implications for Clinical Practice

The network of concepts introduced above has direct importance for the
clinical practitioner. According to Victor Frankl, the inventor of a seminal
form of existential therapy known as logotherapy, the role of the psycho-
therapist “consists of widening and broadening the visual field of the
52
patient so that the whole spectrum of potential meaning becomes con-

scious and visible to him” (Frankl, 1959). This broadening of the world of
experience is a fundamental therapeutic process that makes possible cog-
nitive techniques like restructuring and may represent a heretofore under-
specified link between Second and Third Wave therapies.
This link may be the answer to the question posed by Longmore and
Worrell (2007) in their highly controversial paper, “Do we need to chal-
lenge thoughts in cognitive behavior therapy?” After reviewing the lit-
erature, these authors conclude that there is a lack of empirical support
for the notion that cognitive change is a causal factor in the clinical
outcomes of cognitive behavior therapy (CBT), based on findings sug-
gesting that (a) there is no significant difference between therapeutic
efficacy of cognitive restructuring and behavioral activation, (b) adding
cognitive interventions to behavioral treatments has little added value,
and (c) there is limited evidence that cognitive processes mediate the
treatment effect of CBT. Yet, the authors suggest that there may be
common therapeutic change processes that underlie techniques like cog-
nitive restructuring and behavioral experiments. Both of these tech-
niques may involve decentering from previously held beliefs or appraisals
into a broadened, metacognitive state, where one accesses a larger scope
of information with which to construct a new appraisal and activate a
more adaptive schematic model of the world. If implemented as proce-
dures that promote new ways of behaving and experiencing, both of
these techniques have the capacity to change the client’s actual ways of
being in the world.
Hence, clinicians can capitalize on the attention-emotion interface
to help clients construct more meaningful narratives by providing them
with training in mindful reappraisal.
Through explicit training in mindfulness skills coupled with cogni-
tive restructuring techniques aimed at producing functional, rather than
realistic, appraisals, the natural facilitation of positive reappraisals afforded
by mindfulness practice may be further bolstered. We are not advocating
for the adoption of unrealistic beliefs for the purpose of producing posi-
tive emotions; rather we are focusing on function over the lone motiva-
tion of truth seeking. Clinicians could promote reappraisal by teaching
clients to first become aware of the presence of distressing thoughts or
emotions in response to an activating event and then to engage in mind-
fulness of the breath to decenter from stress appraisals into the state of
53
mindfulness. After the client has decentered from distressing mental

content into the mindful state, the therapist could use Socratic question-
ing to generate positive reappraisals of the event (e.g., “How has dealing
with this situation made you a stronger person? How can you learn some-
thing from this situation? Is there a blessing in disguise here?”). Then the
therapist could employ a Socratic approach to direct the client’s attention
to previously unattended features of the activating event and its larger
environmental context. From the perspective of functional contextual-
ism or pragmatism, the therapist would be especially interested in focus-
ing on those features that are life-affirming, meaningful, or valued by the
client. Clearly, this is a lineal description of an iterative and recursive
process that involves numerous cycles of mindful decentering and reap-
praisal within and across multiple treatment sessions, during which time
clients are taught to oscillate between decentering and reappraisal until
catastrophic appraisals abate and new, adaptive appraisals are more
readily constructed, accepted, and integrated.
When the wider spectrum of potential meaning becomes “visible” to
the client through this process, the therapist can then direct the client to
savor these features and the positive mental states that arise from their
contemplation. The savoring component of mindful coping should be
conducted with intensity, as if it were the last time one would ever expe-
rience those positive events, or, as Carlos Castenada (1968) posed the
challenge, like a warrior who always keeps death over his shoulder. By
savoring with this degree of engagement, the hedonic value of experi-
ence is maximized (Higgins, 2006).
For instance, in the previous example, David might first appraise his
experience of a grueling treatment regimen of chemotherapy and surgery
as evidence that he is “doomed” and become afflicted with fear and
despair. A therapist could guide David to initiate mindful breathing
practice as a means of disengaging from this stress appraisal into the
equanimous state of mindfulness. Once David mindfully attends to his
breath, in letting go of feelings of worry and sadness he might become
aware of the sense of being alive in the present moment. In so doing, he
might generate the reappraisal “I’m lucky to be alive,” and subsequently
feel a sense of relief and gratitude.
The therapist could then ask David to focus his attention on the
feeling of gratitude, and to notice what thoughts, emotions, images, or
memories arise into awareness as he savors and contemplates the sense of
54
being grateful. Consequently, he might experience a vivid image of the

beautiful view out his apartment window overlooking a river at sunset,
and feel a deep sense of appreciation and joy, which in turn might lead to
the memory of playing with his adorable grandchildren and the thought,
“I have so much I want to share with them.” The therapist could then ask
David to contemplate the realizations that he wishes to impart to his
grandchildren, and how his cancer diagnosis and treatment have played
a role in bringing him to this stage of his life. In the course of contem-
plating these issues, he might experience feelings of strength, resolution,
and acceptance. The therapist could ask David to mindfully focus his
awareness on these positive emotions, and in savoring them, he might
come to believe, “Facing this cancer has made me a stronger person and
has brought meaning to my life. I am grateful for it.” The therapeutic
process could be completed by helping David to commit to valued actions
or behaviors that would support this new belief. The therapist could ask
him, “As a person who has become stronger in facing cancer, what steps
or actions can you take to continue to live the meaningful life you want
to live?” The ultimate goal of this mindful reappraisal process (see Figure
2) would be to aid the client to reframe adverse circumstances in his or
her life as opportunities for personal growth or sources of meaning.
Figure 2: Mindful Reappraisal:

Figure An Expanded
2. Mindful View of the Mindful Coping Model
Reappraisal:
An Expanded View of the Mindful Coping Model
Positive Emotion
Meaningful Action
Elaborated Positive
Reappraisal
Attention to Contextual Features
That Support the Reappraisal
Savoring
Positive Emotion
Broadened Attention to
Positive Contextual Features
Decentering
Stress Appraisal
55
Although I (i.e., the first author) have implemented these therapeu-

tic processes extensively and with success in private practice and agency
settings with people suffering from depression, anxiety, addictive behav-
iors, and stress-related biobehavioral conditions, clinical trials are still
needed to ascertain whether adding mindfulness and positive reappraisal
training to cognitive-behavior therapy a) facilitates reappraisal; b) is an
effective means of reducing distressing thoughts and emotions; and c)
increases well-being, a sense of coherence, and resilience. We are in the
midst of conducting controlled research for the purpose of answering
these questions.
Clinical Recommendations
Provide mindfulness training as a means of increasing psychological flex-
ibility and promoting positive reappraisal by encouraging clients to engage
in formal mindfulness practice after the initial stress appraisal and prior
to developing the reappraisal. This technique of “mindful reappraisal” is
outlined below and further detailed elsewhere (Garland, forthcoming):
1. Help the client to become aware of what he/she is thinking and

feeling in response to a challenging life event.
2. Remind the client that even if he/she feels upset, he/she still has
a choice about how to think about and respond to the situation.
3. Instruct the client to practice a few minutes (3–5) of mindful

breathing, to help him/her step back from distressing thoughts
and feelings and become more open to new possible meanings.
4. Encourage the client to ask him/herself the following questions:

a. What are some other ways that I could view this situation?
b. How can I find personal meaning in this situation?
c. How can I learn something from this situation?
d. How can dealing with this situation make me a stronger
person?
e. Is there a blessing in disguise here?
56
5. Guide the client to focus on and savor these new meanings.

• Encourage clients to intentionally and mindfully savor
pleasant, satisfying, or meaningful events and their positive
emotional responses to those events.
• Use clients’ experiences of positive emotion to promote the
generation of more functional beliefs and foster commit-
ment to valued action.
• Have clients complete weekly positive data logs (Padesky,
1994) as homework assignments to reinforce positive reap-
praisals and new adaptive schemas.
Conclusion: How Mindful Coping

Can Be Integrated into Acceptance
and Commitment Therapy
The mindful coping model that we articulate here raises an apparent
paradox: mindfulness encourages nonevaluative contact with phenome-
nological experience and attenuates emotional distortions of the percep-
tual process (Hayes & Wilson, 2003), whereas positive reappraisal
attributes a positively valenced, semantic meaning to experience. Hence,
striving to reconstrue situations as positive would seem to be contrary to
the ethic and quality of mindfulness. Indeed, the integration of mindful-
ness and positive reappraisal detailed here may seem incongruent with
classic Buddhist literature (Kalupahana, 1987), which are often taken to
frankly discourage attachment to or cultivation of positive experiences.
Pursuit of positive experience inevitably results in emotional pain, this
view holds, as the transience of events and objects leads to loss of what
was pursued (Watts, 1957, 1961). On the other hand, Buddhism empha-
sizes the cultivation of the four noble states of mind known as the
Brahmaviharas, or Four Immeasurables (lovingkindness, compassion,
sympathetic joy, and equanimity), three of which are infused with posi-
tivity. Yet, Buddhist traditions emphasize equanimity (a construct closely
linked with the notion of acceptance within ACT) as vital for keeping
pursuit of the other three noble states from turning saccharine.
57
Some modern theorists conceptualize mindfulness as antithetical to

reappraisal due to the supposition that reappraisal requires identification
with and aversion toward the original stress appraisal (Chambers et al.,
2009). Moreover, ACT may be apparently incompatible with reappraisal,
given its focus on undermining emotion regulation efforts in favor of
developing acceptance toward unwanted psychological experiences
(Hayes et al., 1999). ACT’s guiding theoretical framework posits that the
attempt to alter or regulate undesirable thoughts and feelings promotes
experiential avoidance, which in turn leads to distress, suffering, and
compromised functioning. From this perspective, reappraisal as an
emotion regulation strategy seems counterproductive at best and alto-
gether incongruent with mindfulness.
A broader perspective is needed to resolve this paradox. We contend
that the state of mindfulness is a key mechanism that makes reappraisal
possible. Chambers et al. (2009) highlight a fundamental difference
between mindfulness and reappraisal: reappraisal alters the content of
consciousness, while mindfulness alters one’s relationship to those con-
tents. While we agree with this characterization, we contend that mind-
fulness and reappraisal are not diametrically opposed poles along a single
continuum but rather represent different but complementary stages of an
adaptive process. To reiterate, we hypothesize that mindfulness facili-
tates positive reappraisal in that it allows for a decentered mode of aware-
ness in which thoughts and emotions are accepted. Mindfulness may
therefore be seen as a precondition or initial phase in the reappraisal
process but should not be considered synonymous with positive reap-
praisal itself. By accepting experiences instead of perseverating on them,
cognitive resources are freed up, broadening the scope of attention to
encompass pleasurable and meaningful events and building psychologi-
cal flexibility.
Put another way, the accepting stance of mindfulness aids in decen-
tering or undoing the perceived fusion between the initial cognitive
appraisal and its correlated behavioral responses. In facilitating cognitive
defusion, mindfulness opens a space in which the client can witness dis-
tressing thoughts and emotions as merely insubstantial events and not as
truths or fixed determinants of action. Thus, the initial appraisal is
deliteralized, that is, exposed for what it is, a relational framing of events
rather than an experiential reality. Through deliteralization, the initial
appraisal loses its power to determine the behavioral response. It is
58
through the space afforded by decentering that the client can come into
closer contact with a wider range of experiences, some of which may be
reward or reinforce valued action. As Hayes, Strosahl, and Wilson (1999)
state, “Cognitive defusion and openness to experience have the side
effect of sensitizing the client to natural rather than verbally constructed
contingencies, which in turn may allow the client to respond more effec-
tively to environmental demands” (p. 237). Consequently, new cognitive
appraisals of self and world can be made that advance the commitment
to act in accordance with deeply held values. As such, mindfulness and
acceptance may be key mechanisms that underlie the therapeutic influ-
ence of reappraisal on well-being, a notion supported by data showing
that lower levels of experiential avoidance (i.e., greater acceptance)
mediate the relationship of cognitive reappraisal and positive psychologi-
cal outcomes (Kashdan, Barrios, Forsyth, & Steger, 2006). Further, the
capacity to accept experiences rather than avoid them moderates the
effect of traumatic life events on meaning in life and posttraumatic
growth (Kashdan & Kane, 2011), a construct closely linked with positive
reappraisal. Thus, we argue that mindful acceptance is the fulcrum on
which reappraisals can be leveraged in service of living a more meaning-
ful life.
The aim of this process is not to regulate thoughts and emotions
“away” by suppressing, denying, or avoiding them but, rather, to foster
committed action and imbue life with value. Ultimately, mindfulness
imparts the individual with the freedom and, therefore, the responsibility
for constructing a more purposeful and meaningful existence.
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CHAPTER 3
Love and the Human Condition
Robyn D. Walser
National Center for PTSD and TL Consultation
B eing human includes feeling, acting, and, most notably, thinking

in ways that distinguish us from other animals. Humans are able
to act and think in ways that develop and grow knowledge. We
reflect upon ourselves, our pasts, and our futures, and we are able to
create. This unique capacity brings with it many wonderful things:
advances in technology, beautiful literature, communication and con-
nection, and awareness of the self. However, this kind of unique capacity
also brings suffering. We know, for instance, that we will one day die. We
can compare ourselves to an imagined ideal and feel worse for it; we can
evaluate and categorize in ways that are painful even if untrue. Knowledge
plays a rich and powerful part in the human experience; however, it also
has a shadowy nature. Just as we have the capacity to reflect on joy, we
also have the capacity to reflect on pain and fear, and sometimes we do
so in such a way as to be afflicted in long-standing ways.
Since its inception, the field of psychology has been dedicated to
ameliorating the human suffering born out of emotional and psychologi-
cal pain. Much effort has been focused on how to fix psychological prob-
lems and relieve sets of symptoms while also addressing the underlying
explanations that might be causing the same. Psychology has pursued
and tested theories and interventions that have sought to eliminate
suffering caused by unfulfilled stages of growth and development, cold

and rejecting mothers and absent fathers, improper internalization of
objects, hidden drives and forces, barren and broken environments, and
dysfunctional and irrational minds, to name a few. Each approach has
been created in the service of understanding human behavior and the
problems that lead to suffering.
Positive psychology has largely turned away from such problem-
focused concepts and instead turned toward an understanding of posi-
tive emotions and personal psychological strengths and virtues (Seligman,
2002). Seligman describes well-being as engaging personal positive char-
acteristics that occur across time and that lead to good feelings and a
sense of gratification. He notes that focusing and acting on these positive
traits will bring a sense of authentic happiness, a general sense of positive
well-being. The goal in positive psychology is to thrive, even under dif-
ficult circumstances, and also to find fulfillment in everyday life
(Compton, 2005; Seligman & Csiksentmihalyi, 2000).
Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT; Hayes, Strosahl &
Wilson, 2012) has also stepped away from typical models of psychopathol-
ogy, radically rethinking how human beings work. Rather than holding
negative internal experiences as problematic events to be solved, ACT
seeks to understand the individual’s relationship to these experiences,
with a focus on their function rather than on the events themselves. ACT
uses mindfulness and engenders willingness to experience in the service of
engaging personal values to create a meaningful and vital life. Well-being
is found in the openness to experience while participating in chosen
activities that instantiate values. This personal work, done in the service
of well-being, does not necessarily seek happiness as a final outcome.
Rather it is focused on being present to all internal experience while
simultaneously engaging, as an ongoing process, values-guided behavior.
In both ACT and positive psychology, there are assumptions about
the role and influence of behavioral and cognitive theories, in addition
to separate notions about mechanisms of change. However, each
approach, in parallel fashion, is looking to values, or similarly named
virtues, as an alternative to a focus on symptoms reduction and elimina-
tion. This is a significant development in psychology and allows great
movement and freedom in the course of an individual’s life.
The full range of emotional and psychological experiences that we
encounter in the course of a life is at the heart of what it means to be
69
human. We will encounter joy and pleasure, as well as anxieties, sadness,

and disappointments. I argue, as have many before me (see Chodron,
1991; Hanh, 1976; Hayes et al., 2012; Kabat-Zinn, 1994, to name only a
few) that there is no relief from this existential truth. To truly encounter
the human condition means to experience great happiness, but it also
means to touch immeasurable pain, the power of fear, the sorrow of lone-
liness, the angst of death, and all else that comes from the depths of
experience related to the tenderness of the “heart.” Knowing the latter,
however, means knowing that humans not only flee these experiences
but also that they have been taught that they should flee.
Human beings have learned to categorize and judge their emotions
and thoughts. Internal experience is sorted into columns of good and bad
and then responded to in similar fashion. That is, whole parts of our inter-
nal world are labeled as negative and then treated as a problem. These
kinds of problems are to be eliminated or escaped; we must flee them and
pursue internal experiences categorized as good. And indeed, sometimes
that is the best thing to do. Yet, in doing so, humans are taught to leave
behind the very experience of being. Nevertheless, it is these same condi-
tions that require us to stand firm, to persevere, to stay with self and others
in moments of pain—with full compassion and presence. When we are
experiencing immeasurable pain, fear, and sorrow, when we are vulnera-
ble and tender, that is the very time to turn toward experience rather
than to escape it. It is the very time when we most need acceptance; when
we most need love. To love then, as it is meant here, is to remain fully
present, with self and others, when difficult internal conditions arise.
Love also means to stay with under other conditions too. It means
remaining psychologically present under conditions of joy, happiness,
and excitement and all else that lifts the heart. Generally speaking, we
are not taught to leave these conditions behind. We are instead taught to
seek these things. The general goal of life is to pursue “happiness.” And
while I agree that happiness is wonderful to experience and I quite like it
myself, it often times remains elusive, is found unexpectedly, or rises and
falls, and the moment of happiness is just that. Here lies the conundrum
for so many of us. Life contains pain. And when it does, love can seem to
disappear. But it needn’t be that way.
There are many things in the world that lead to the experience of
pain. Loss of a loved one, loss of a relationship, fear of rejection, fear of
vulnerability, or loss of freedom, each leading us down a path that
70
perhaps can be captured in a few words but is often lived inside of one:
fear. Fear, on the one hand, is essential to our existence. It is the very
thing that can keep us alive. On the other hand, when we extend our
knowledge of fear and all that is related to it and begin to respond to it in
ways that have nothing to do with survival, we come to think of fear
itself as dangerous, something to be feared. We begin to relate to fear in
ways that are not actually in the present moment (see Hayes, Barnes-
Holmes, & Roche, 2001). Fearing the future, fearing the past, fearing
what is out of our control, we lose bits and pieces of our lives to get
control back, to try to not be fearful.
Our relationship with fear can rule our day-to-day activities and can
even come to define our existence. We get caught up in fear in ways that
stretch from our relationships with ourselves to our partnerships, to our
families, to cultures, and to nations. And in this, fear separates, espe-
cially when held and evaluated as a grave and terrible experience, and
when held as weak and wholly unwelcome. We shrink away from what is
unwanted. We can watch fear and separation unfold, starting with the
smallest moment of relationship to the self and growing into fear of
others. It is in this separation from self and others that love is lost.
Fear has great power and can eat to the bone of all who live inside of
it. We can see it in some of the painful stories that we meet in our lives.
A client in therapy reveals that he has sexual thoughts about his same
gender and is so thoroughly fearful, repulsed, and ashamed that he
seethes in constant anger at his own experience and seeks to eliminate
his own thoughts through years of substance abuse, isolation, and ulti-
mately suicide. A daughter standing at the bedside of her dying mother
watches in anguish as her mother slowly slips away. Somebody tells the
daughter she should “be happy” because her mother “is in a better place
now.” Fear of death and powerful emotions have instigated the comment.
However, the feeling of separation and aloneness grow as the comment
sinks into the daughter’s already broken heart; she does not feel happy.
There is the story of a partnership separated by years of silence and dispa-
rate lives, a partner afraid of being rejected and one jealous of the other.
The fear of abandonment grows, yet neither feels able to reach the other.
And on it goes … a family torn by tyranny, a community immersed
in poverty, a culture steeped in violence and war. Each of these experi-
ences possesses its own measure of sorrow. But each also contains the
possibility of love, a possibility that is born in the awareness to the
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experience of pain and fear and is lived out in a choice to respond that is
open, accepting, present, and compassionate.
However, our least fear to our greatest can interfere with our ability
to be present and accepting of ourselves and others. When we work to
escape the experience of fear by trying to make sense of it so it can be
sorted and solved so that we will no longer have it, it seems we will then
be freed to love. In this process, however, we “leave” our experience, we
move away rather than stay, and we live in our minds with the idea of fear
(not the actual fear itself) along with all that it seems to say about us: that
we are weak, unlovable, broken. Our minds, in their vast capacity to con-
struct futures and visit the past, extend beyond the sensations, thoughts,
and emotions of fear, telling us that we are flawed and that we should
separate from ourselves and others until we are no longer fearful. The cost
to this separation, however, is too high. We are no longer open and com-
passionate; we give up the possibility of love, waiting to feel better first.
One goal in ameliorating human suffering then might be to assist
ourselves in turning back toward love—letting go of engaging escape and
staying with ourselves and others when it is most needed, instead. And
as I personally think about it, perhaps, in the end, turning toward love is
the only goal. This process, however, is difficult, as it may require ques-
tioning our own systems of what it means to be human. It may mean that
values and virtues trump feeling good. Engaging the value of being loving
here involves deep listening and awareness to one’s own and another’s
innermost places and making connection with them in a place that
includes, but is also beyond, our verbal understanding. Love involves
being with in places that are uncomfortable, not easily shared, tainted
with shame, humiliation, or embarrassment, and perhaps filled with pain
and fear. How do we open ourselves to these darkest of places and stay
present? We first need to recognize the ubiquity of human pain. In this,
we can cease to hide from our own anger, doubts, and fears. We begin to
see that these experiences also exist in the other. Second, we need to be
aware, to be fully conscious of experience. When we look at the outcome
of fear responded to without awareness, it looks reactionary; we pull away
rapidly like a hand accidentally touching a flame. Responding to pain
and fear with openness and awareness, however, can create the space
needed to allow the fear to come and go … and come and go again.
Allowing—being with—is the key to this process; allowing fear does not
make one broken, it makes one human.
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Knowing the World

There are at least two ways of knowing our world as humans: verbally and
experientially (Hayes et al., 2012). We come to interact with the world,
ourselves, and others from what we know with our minds and what we
know with experience. We have learned great amounts of verbal knowl-
edge; we have full and active minds. We have learned how to problem
solve, think, write, organize, weigh decisions, evaluate, and judge. We also
verbally define love and tuck the words of it into our interactions and
lives. Love is defined in dictionaries and is characterized in stories, fables,
books, and media. It is lauded in romance. In a thousand ways our world
teaches us to “know” love with our verbal minds. Broadly speaking, love
can be described as a strong emotion of personal affection and strong
attachment (Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary, 2000). Love can also
be defined as a virtue that involves kindness and compassion and repre-
sents all of human benevolence and goodwill toward others.
Experiential knowledge is gained in the experience of being human.
This kind of knowledge cannot be captured in words. No matter how
great an effort I might make to describe experience, it can be “known”
only in the actual experience itself. It is a felt sense that words will fail to
clarify. We come to know the experience of love in the moment, in being
fully engaged in the here and now. Love then, arises in moments, such as
when a mother looks into her infant’s eyes and in silence they remain
together in locked gaze. It might come in a moment of intimacy between
partners or in the stark recognition of loss. It might come in battle when
a soldier comes face-to-face with his “enemy” and sees, instead, a fellow
human being. In an expansive sense, love might come in a moment of
intense presence to the pain and suffering of another … in the sensed
recognition of fundamental humanness.
Both verbal knowledge and experiential knowledge are important,
and the distinction between knowing verbally and knowing experientially
is what each allows. A verbal understanding of love allows us to clarify it as
a value, a chosen direction designed to give meaning to our lives. An expe-
riential understanding allows us to be present to all that we feel and sense
so that we may be aware and connected while choosing to remain present—
under all diversity of thought and emotion. An experiential sense of self
allows us to simply be present to our changing inner occurrences with no
need to escape or understand in order to be with ourselves or another.
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Finding the Experiencer

Both positive psychology and ACT share approaches that deserve a
broader review than can be done in this chapter. However, each engages
in work that guides the individual back to his here and now experi-
ence—to the experiencer. This can be broadly defined as mindfulness,
or present moment awareness. And each has its own way of exploring
these processes. For instance, positive psychology might support clients
in savoring the moment (Seligman, 2002). Savoring is defined by Bryant
and Veroff (2007) as the deliberate and conscious attention to the expe-
rience of pleasure and includes such techniques as sharing with others
the value of the moment, being totally absorbed in a particular activity,
and focusing on particular elements of sensation by sharpening percep-
tion in the moment. Savoring, as defined here, can bring us into moments
of loving when pleasurable experiences are at hand.
ACT (Hayes et al., 2012) helps clients to defuse in the service of
personal values. The work here involves teaching the client to disentan-
gle from the literal mind. Clients are taught to gently observe mind,
noticing it for what it is: an ongoing flow of thinking experience. Here
clients can observe their minds, without being fused. Verbal knowledge,
which can be the harbinger of doom, is no longer held as literally true,
freeing the client to engage in loving action as defined by personal values,
without any part of the mind needing to be changed first.
Both positive psychology and ACT also share mindfulness as an
avenue to well-being. Mindfulness in each tradition is about fully con-
necting to the present moment, being in a place of consciousness itself.
The outcome of mindfulness may be different in positive psychology and
ACT. Positive psychology uses mindfulness to amplify joys and pleasures,
increasing well-being. Clients are encouraged to engage in use of the
skill—as that is where a “pleasant life is to be found” (Seligman, 2002, p.
111). Mindfulness in ACT is used to focus on all aspects of the present
moment, the joys and the sorrows. Being fully aware is explored through
a number of processes, including willingness or openness to experience,
practice of present moment awareness, and a sense of self that is con-
scious of experience (self-as-context). The outcome is also well-being.
The difference between ACT and positive psychology lies, perhaps, in
the definition of well-being. Well-being for positive psychology is about
the creation of happiness and meaning through engaging talents and
74
strengths, and building on these results to create a more gratifying life.

Well-being in ACT is found in lived values and life functioning—in
engaging valued behavior even if the ultimate outcome is not happiness
but vitality and purpose. Regardless, each fundamentally supports the
power of connection to the here and now.
Conscious Awareness and Love

As we practice awareness of the moment, we begin to recognize the
freedom of openness (Kasl, 2001). Being able to connect to conscious-
ness itself, being in awareness, not only allows us to be mindful of the
body, breathing, sound, sensation, and the mind, it also allows us to be
aware of our relationship to ourselves and others. It is in this awareness
that we can begin to loosen the tenacious hold of reactionary and self-
protective behaviors related to fear or other negatively evaluated emo-
tions. We can begin to observe when we are fused with mind, loosening
the grip of thoughts and beliefs, shifting gently to the process, sitting
more fully in an open and willing stance. It is here that we can make
choices to engage in behaviors that are linked to values.
Furthermore, through conscious awareness of our attachments, we
learn how it is that we try to control ourselves and others. We can
examine the workability of control and explore whether it leads us down
a path that is virtuous and meaningful or down a path of fear and separa-
tion. We can become aware of the experiences of pain and fear, and, with
dispassionate observation, recognize the dynamic and nondangerous
quality of these states. It is this nonjudgmental presence to our experi-
ences that allows us to stop self-destructive and reactionary behaviors.
When open and mindful, we no longer need to flee the evaluated, con-
jured, and false differences that lead to separation. The need to flee is
relinquished; the choice to stay arrives. It is in this place, if we are fully
aware, that we experience harming another as harming ourselves. There
is no separation. Rather, we can sit in recognition of “oneness” and
awareness of experience, choosing the relationship with self, others,
community, and culture over the need to control, escape, avoid, or be
other than what it means to be human. It is also in this place that we
may find that the separation between us and all those we might fear and
want to control are false—we will “see” that we and others are the same.
75
It is in mindful awareness that opening to fear can lessen defense and

lead to those most tender moments of pain and joy. Being present in the
here and now can help us notice the predictable ways in which we
respond to our emotional experiences, while providing us with the
chance and choice to respond differently. It is in this place that a values-
consistent chosen action can occur, that love can be experienced in its
completeness, both toward self and others.
Being Loving
In the end, we are left with what we choose. When we truly see the
human condition, we come to know that we are not really alone. When
we contact experience, we understand, in a place that is beyond words,
that pain and fear are shared. When we truly know what it means to be
human, when we are fully awake and aware, we simultaneously see our
needs and fears in others and in ourselves. We recognize the human
condition. And it is inside of this recognition that it is good to have fear
and pain—when we no longer see fear and pain as an enemy. Our fear
can tell us what is good and virtuous. If we fear loss, then we seek togeth-
erness, if we fear loneliness then we seek connection, and if we fear
death, then life is here for us to boldly live. All that we might choose for
ourselves—fortitude, sufferance, appreciation, gratitude, grit, tolerance,
strength, or grace—include their own measure of sorrow … and all are
part of love.
Pointing to our humanness is not a call to pessimism. It is quite the
opposite. This is a call to put forth; it is a request to move through, with
awareness, the tribulations that seem to easily hold us back. It is here
that our ability to stay with is most needed. To be able to freely look into
the hearts of self and others and remain open and accepting in moments
of great despair is the foundation of love. Inside of awareness, love can be
felt as a clear and deep emotion, it can be experienced outside of words,
it can lead to a change in the relationship we have with ourselves and
others, purging separation. Love too, can be considered a virtue, an
extension of us in a selfless act of compassion and kindness. Indeed, it
can include an expansive reach of benevolent mattering to all humans
and beyond.
76
Perhaps this is where ACT and positive psychology are taking the
lead. Each is invested in turning toward a more vital life rather than the
difficult process of eliminating pain and fear. Each reaches to include
self, partnership, family, community, culture, and nation in the reduction
of suffering, while opening to fundamental human wholeness, including
both joy and suffering. Each is optimistic, looking to the values and
virtues that humans engage to support and sustain meaning and purpose.
If we were to weave a thread through all that ACT and positive psychol-
ogy are attempting to do, it would come down to love. And what meaning
and purpose is there but that?
References
Bryant, F. B., & Veroff, J. (2007). Savoring: A new model of positive experience. United
Kingdom: Emerald Group Publishing Limited.
Compton, W. C. (2005). Introduction to positive psychology. Thomson-Wadsworth:
Australia.
Chodron, P. (1991). The wisdom of no escape and the path of loving-kindness. Boston:
Shambhala.
Hanh, T. N. (1976). The miracle of mindfulness. Boston: Beacon Press.
Hayes, S. C., Barnes-Holmes, D., & Roche, B. (Eds.). (2001). Relational Frame
Theory: A Post-Skinnerian account of human language and cognition. New York:
Plenum Press.
Therapy: The process and practice of mindful change. 2nd ed. New York: Guilford
Press.
Kabat-Zinn, J. (1994). Wherever you go there you are: Mindfulness meditation in every-
day life. New York: Hyperion.
Kasl, C. (2001). If the Buddha married: Creating enduring relationships on a spiritual
path. New York: Penguin Books.
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March 27, http://www.merriam-webster.com/cgi-bin/book.pl?c11.htm&1
Seligman, M. E. P. (2002). Authentic happiness: Using the new positive psychology to
realize your potential for lasting fulfillment. New York: Free Press.
Seligman, M. E. P., & Csikszentmihalyi, M. (2000). Positive psychology: An intro-
duction. American Psychologist, 55, 5-14.
77
CHAPTER 4
Self-Compassion and ACT
Kristin Neff
University of Texas at Austin
Dennis Tirch
Weill-Cornell Medical College,
American Institute for Cognitive Therapy
O ne of the central goals of therapy is to relieve suffering—to

help clients escape the dark hole of self-loathing, anxiety, and
depression they often find themselves in. But what’s the best
way to achieve this goal? Approaches such as Acceptance and
Commitment Therapy (ACT) (Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 1999) argue
that it’s important to help clients broaden their repertoire of overt and
private behaviors (such as thinking and feeling), even in the presence of
difficult emotions and stressful circumstances. ACT techniques, which
emphasize psychological flexibility, encourage clients to change their
relationship to emotions and cognitions by cultivating mindfulness—a
present-moment, nonjudgmental form of awareness. The current chapter
will examine a construct that is closely linked to mindfulness—self-
compassion. We will try to demonstrate ways in which elements of the
ACT model of psychological wellness are related to the experience of
self-compassion and how certain processes involved in ACT are essential
to the roots of self-compassion (Hayes, 2008). First, however, more in-

depth understanding of what we mean by “self-compassion” is needed.
What Is Self-Compassion?
Compassion involves sensitivity to the experience of suffering, coupled
with a deep desire to alleviate that suffering (Goertz, Keltner, & Simon-
Thomas, 2010). Self-compassion is simply compassion directed inward.
Drawing on the writings of various Buddhist teachers (e.g., Salzberg
1997), Neff (2003b) has operationalized self-compassion as consisting of
three main elements: kindness, a sense of common humanity, and mind-
fulness. These components combine and mutually interact to create a
self-compassionate frame of mind. Self-compassion is relevant when con-
sidering personal inadequacies, mistakes, and failures, as well as when
confronting painful life situations that are outside of our control.
Self-kindness. Western culture places great emphasis on being kind to
our friends, family, and neighbors who are struggling. Not so when it
comes to ourselves. When we make a mistake or fail in some way, we may
be more likely to beat ourselves up than put a supportive arm around our
own shoulder. And even when our problems stem from forces beyond our
control, such as an accident or traumatic event, we often focus more on
fixing the problem than calming and comforting ourselves. Western
culture often sends the message that strong individuals should be like
John Wayne—stoic and silent toward their own suffering. Unfortunately,
these attitudes rob us of one of our most powerful coping mechanisms
when dealing with the difficulties of life—the ability to comfort our-
selves when we’re hurting and in need of care.
Self-kindness refers to the tendency to be supportive and sympa-
thetic toward ourselves when noticing personal shortcomings rather than
being harshly critical. It entails relating to our mistakes and failings with
tolerance and understanding, and recognizing that perfection is unat-
tainable. Self-compassion is expressed in internal dialogues that are
benevolent and encouraging rather than cruel or disparaging. Instead of
berating ourselves for being inadequate, we offer ourselves warmth and
unconditional acceptance. Instead of getting fixated in a problem-solving
mode and ignoring our own suffering, we pause to emotionally comfort
79
ourselves when confronting painful situations. With self-kindness, we

make a peace offering of warmth, gentleness, and sympathy from our-
selves to ourselves so that true healing can occur.
Common humanity. All humans are flawed works in progress; every-
one fails, makes mistakes, and engages in dysfunctional behavior. All of
us reach for things we cannot have and must remain in the presence of
difficult experiences that we desperately want to avoid. Just as the
Buddha realized, some 2,600 years ago, all of us suffer. Often, however,
we feel isolated and cut off from others when considering our struggles
and personal shortcomings, irrationally reacting as if failure and pain
were aberrations. This isn’t a logical process but a kind of tunnel vision
in which we lose sight of the larger human picture and focus primarily on
our own seemingly feeble and worthless selves. Similarly, when things go
wrong in our external lives through no fault of our own, we often assume
that other people are having an easier time of it, that our own situation
is abnormal or unfair. We feel cut off and separate from other people who
are presumably leading “normal,” happy lives.
With self-compassion, however, we take the stance of a compassion-
ate “other” toward ourselves. Through this act of perspective taking, our
outlook becomes broad and inclusive, recognizing that life’s challenges
and personal failures are simply part of being human. Self-compassion
helps us to feel more connected and less isolated when we are in pain.
More than that, it helps put our own situation into context. Perhaps a
situation that seemed like the end of the world at first, being fired from a
job, for instance, doesn’t seem quite as terrible when considering that
other people lose their homes or their loved ones. When we remember
the shared nature of suffering it not only makes us feel less isolated, it
also reminds us that things could be worse.
Recognition of common humanity also reframes what it means to be
a self. When we condemn ourselves for our inadequacies, we are assum-
ing that there is in fact a separate, clearly bounded entity called “me”
that can be pinpointed and blamed for failing. But is this really true? We
always exist in a present moment context, and the range of our behav-
ioral responses is informed by our individual histories (Hayes, 1984).
Let’s say you criticize yourself for having an anger issue. What are the
causes and conditions that led you to be so angry? Perhaps in-born genet-
ics plays a role. But did you choose your genes before entering this world?
80
Or maybe you grew up in a conflict-filled household in which shouting

and anger were the only ways to get heard. But did you choose for your
family to be this way? If we closely examine our “personal” failings, it
soon becomes clear that they are not entirely personal. We are the
expression of millions of prior circumstances that have all come together
to shape us in the present moment. Our economic and social back-
grounds, our past associations and relationships, our family histories, our
genetics—they’ve all had a profound role in creating the person we are
today. And thus we can have greater acceptance and understanding for
why we aren’t the perfect people we want to be.
Mindfulness. Mindfulness involves being aware of present moment
experience in a clear and balanced manner (Brown & Ryan, 2003).
Mindful acceptance involves being “experientially open” to the reality of
the present moment, allowing all thoughts, emotions, and sensations to
enter awareness without judgment, avoidance, or repression (Bishop et
al., 2004). Why is mindfulness an essential component of self-compassion?
First, it is necessary to recognize you’re suffering in order to give yourself
compassion. While it might seem that suffering is obvious, many people
don’t acknowledge how much pain they’re in, especially when that pain
stems from their own inner self-critic. Or when confronted with life
challenges, people often get fixated in problem solving such that they
don’t consider how much they are struggling in the moment. While the
tendency to suppress or ignore pain is very human, an avoidant style of
coping with negative emotions can lead to dysfunctional and ultimately
ineffective strategies such as substance misuse, binge eating, or social
withdrawal (Holahan & Moos, 1987). Mindfulness counters the ten-
dency to avoid painful thoughts and emotions, allowing us to hold the
truth of our experiences even when unpleasant.
At the same time, being mindful means that we don’t become “over
identified” (Neff, 2003b) with negative thoughts or feelings so that we
are caught up and swept away by our aversive reactions (Bishop et al.,
2004). This type of rumination narrows our focus and exaggerates impli-
cations for self-worth (Nolen-Hoeksema, 1991). Not only did I fail, “I
AM A FAILURE.” Not only am I disappointed, “MY LIFE IS
DISAPPOINTING.” Overidentification means that we reify our moment
to moment experiences, perceiving transitory events as definitive and
permanent. When we observe our pain mindfully, however,
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new behaviors become possible. Like a clear, still pool without ripples,
mindfulness mirrors what’s occurring, without distortion. This allows us
to take a wiser and more objective perspective on ourselves and our lives.
Self-Compassion and Well-Being

Gilbert and Irons (2005) suggest that self-compassion enhances well-
being primarily because it deactivates the threat system (associated with
self-criticism, insecure attachment, and defensiveness) and activates the
self-soothing system (associated with secure attachment, safety, and the
oxytocin-opiate system). By increasing feelings of safety and intercon-
nectedness and reducing feelings of threat and isolation, self-compassion
fosters greater emotional balance. The body of research literature on self-
compassion—which has grown dramatically over the past decade—sup-
ports its psychological benefits.
The majority of studies on self-compassion have been correlational,
using a self-report measure called the Self-Compassion Scale (Neff,
2003a). However, more recent research has started to examine self-
compassion using experimental manipulations or interventions (e.g.,
Adams & Leary, 2007; Kelly, Zuroff, Foa, & Gilbert, 2009; Shapira &
Mongrain, 2010). One of the most consistent findings is that greater self-
compassion is linked to less anxiety, stress, and depression (see a recent
meta-analysis by MacBeth & Gumley, 2010). For instance, Neff,
Kirkpatrick, and Rude (2007) asked participants to take part in a mock
job interview in which they were asked to “describe their greatest weak-
ness.” Even though self-compassionate people used as many negative self-
descriptors as those low in self-compassion, they were less likely to
experience anxiety as a result of the task. There may be physiological
processes underlying the negative association between self-compassion,
anxiety, stress, and depression. Rockcliff et al. (2008) found that an exer-
cise designed to increase feelings of self-compassion was associated with
reduced levels of the stress hormone cortisol. It also increased heart-rate
variability, which activates the parasympathetic nervous system and is
associated with a greater ability to regulate emotions so that they are
responsive to situational demands (e.g., self-soothing when stressed)
(Porges, 2007).
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One easy way to help clients soothe and comfort themselves when
they’re feeling emotional distress is to encourage them to give them-
selves a gentle hug or caress, or simply put their hand on their heart
and feel its warmth. What’s important is to make a clear gesture that
conveys feelings of love, care, and tenderness. If other people are
around, it’s possible to fold one’s arms in a nonobvious way, gently
squeezing in a comforting manner. Research indicates that soothing
touch releases oxytocin, provides a sense of security, soothes distress-
ing emotions, and calms cardiovascular stress (Goetz et al., 2010).
While self- compassion protects against maladaptive emotional

states, it also helps to foster psychological strengths. For instance, self-
compassion is associated with greater perspective-taking skills (Neff &
Pommier, 2012), less dogmatism, and more cognitive flexibility (Martin,
Staggers & Anderson, 2011), meaning that self-compassionate individu-
als tend to be more openminded and have a greater ability to switch
cognitive and behavioral responses according to the context of the situ-
ation. Because self-compassion involves mentally stepping outside of
oneself to consider the shared human experience and offer oneself kind-
ness, findings suggest that general perspective-taking capacities may be
central to compassionately understanding the experiences of both self
and others.
Another important strength provided by self- compassion is the
ability to cope effectively. This is illustrated in a recent study that exam-
ined the role self-compassion plays in adjustment to marital separation
(Sbarra, Smith & Mehl, 2012). Researchers had divorcing adults com-
plete a 4-minute stream-of-consciousness recording about their separa-
tion experience, and independent judges rated how self-compassionate
their dialogues were. Those who displayed greater self-compassion when
thinking about their breakup not only evidenced better psychological
adjustment at the time, but this effect persisted over nine months.
Findings were significant even after accounting for competing predictors
such as the number of positive/negative emotions initially expressed in
the dialogues, trait attachment anxiety or avoidance, depression, self-
esteem, and optimism. In fact, self- compassion was the strongest
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predictor of adjustment outcomes. This research suggests that therapists

should target self-compassion when helping clients adjust to divorce or
other stressful life situations.
While self-compassion helps lessen the hold of negativity, it’s impor-
tant to remember that self-compassion does not involve pushing negative
emotions away. Indeed, negative emotions are a prerequisite for self-
compassion. This point could be confusing, because the conventional
wisdom in popular culture suggests that we should think positively rather
than negatively. The problem, however, is that if you try to eliminate the
negative, it’s going to backfire. A great deal of research shows any attempt
to suppress unwanted thoughts causes them to emerge into conscious
awareness more strongly and more frequently than if they were given
attention in the first place (Wenzlaff & Wegner, 2000). This is a particu-
larly important area of common ground among ACT research and self-
compassion research, as will be discussed below. Research shows that
people with greater self-compassion are less likely to suppress unwanted
thoughts and emotions (Neff, 2003a). Similarly, they’re more willing to
experience difficult feelings and to acknowledge that their emotions are
valid and important (Neff, Kirkpatrick, & Rude, 2007). This allows the
pain to just be there, no more, no less, so that unhelpful “add-on” suffer-
ing is minimized.
Instead of replacing negative feelings with positive ones, new positive
emotions are generated by embracing the negative. Feelings of care,
belonging, and tranquility are engendered when we approach our suffer-
ing with kindness, a sense of common humanity, and mindfulness. These
feelings are experienced alongside the negative. Not surprisingly then,
greater self-compassion has been linked to positive emotions such as
happiness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest, inspiration, and excitement
(Hollis-Walker & Colosimo, 2011; Neff, Rude, & Kirkpatrick, 2007). By
wrapping one’s pain in the warm embrace of self-compassion, positive
states are generated that help balance the negative ones. The positive
affect generated by the kind, connected, and accepting mindset of self-
compassion may help us break free of fear and greatly improve the quality
of our lives. Barbara Fredrickson’s broaden-and-build theory (see chapter
2) suggests that positive emotions allow people to take advantage of
opportunities rather than merely avoid dangers, which may help explain
the role that self-compassion plays in motivation.
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Self-Compassion and Motivation

Many people think that self-compassion runs counter to motivation.
They believe that self-criticism is necessary to motivate themselves and
that if they’re too self-compassionate they’ll be lazy and self-indulgent.
But is this true? A good analogy can be found in how good parents moti-
vate their children. A compassionate mother wouldn’t ruthlessly criticize
her son when he messes up, telling him he’s a failure. Instead, she would
reassure her child that it’s only human to make mistakes and that she’ll
offer whatever support needed to help him do his best. Her child will be
much more motivated to try to attain his goals in life when he can count
on his mother’s encouragement and acceptance when he fails rather
than being belittled and labeled as unworthy.
It is easy to see this when thinking about healthy parenting, but it’s
not so easy to apply this same logic to ourselves. We’re deeply attached to
our self-criticism, and at some level we probably think the pain is helpful.
To the extent that self-criticism does work as a motivator, it’s because we’re
driven to succeed in order to avoid self-judgment when we fail. But if we
know that failure will be met with a barrage of self-criticism, sometimes it
can be too frightening to even try (Powers, Koestner, & Zuroff, 2007). We
also use self-criticism as a means of shaming ourselves into action when
confronting personal weaknesses. However, this approach backfires if
weaknesses remain unacknowledged in an attempt to avoid self-censure
(Horney, 1950). For instance, if you have a jealousy problem but continu-
ally blame things on your partner because you can’t face up to the truth
about yourself, how are you ever going to achieve a more harmonious rela-
tionship? With self-compassion, we are motivated toward achievement for
a different reason—because we care. If we truly want to be kind to our-
selves and don’t want to suffer, we’ll do things to help us reach our full
potential, such as taking on challenging new projects or learning new
skills. Because self-compassion gives us the safety needed to acknowledge
our weaknesses, we’re in a better position to change them for the better.
Research supports the idea that self-compassion enhances motiva-
tion rather than self-indulgence. For instance, while self-compassion has
no association with the level of performance standards adopted for the
self, it is negatively related to maladaptive perfectionism (Neff, 2003a). In
other words, self-compassionate people aim just as high as those who lack
self-compassion but don’t become as distressed and frustrated when they
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can’t meet their goals. Research shows that self-compassionate people are
less afraid of failure (Neff, Hsieh, & Dejitterat, 2005) because they know
they won’t face a barrage of self-criticism if they do fail. They are also
more likely to reengage in new goals after failure, meaning they’re better
able to pick themselves up and try again (Neely, Schallert, Mohammed,
Roberts & Chen, 2009). In a series of four experimental studies, Breines
and Chen (2012) used mood inductions to engender feelings of self-com-
passion for personal weaknesses, failures, and past moral transgressions.
Compared to various control conditions, self-compassion resulted in
more motivation to change for the better, try harder to learn, and avoid
repeating past mistakes. Self-compassion has also been linked to greater
personal growth initiative (Neff, Rude, & Kirkpatrick, 2007), which
Robitschek (1998) defines as being actively involved in making changes
needed for a more productive and fulfilling life.
Self-compassion has been found to promote health-related behaviors
such as sticking to a diet (Adams & Leary, 2007), smoking cessation
(Kelly et al., 2009), and starting a physical fitness regimen (Magnus,
Kowalski, & McHugh, 2010). In addition, self-compassionate individuals
demonstrate a greater ability to adjust and cope effectively with persis-
tent musculoskeletal pain (Wren et al., 2012). Thus, self-compassion
appears to enhance both physical and mental well-being.
In the two- chair dialogue studied by Gestalt therapist Leslie

Greenberg, clients sit in different chairs to help get in touch with
conflicting parts of themselves, experiencing how each aspect feels in
the present moment. A variation on this technique can be used to
increase self-compassion. To begin, put out three empty chairs, pref-
erably in a triangular arrangement. Next, ask the client to think
about an issue that troubles him or her and often elicits harsh self-
judgment. Designate one chair for the voice of the inner critic, one
chair for the part that feels judged, and one chair for the voice of a
wise, compassionate observer. The client will be role-playing all three
parts of him- or herself. After the dialogue finishes, you can help
clients reflect upon what just happened. Do they have any new
insights into how to treat themselves, how to motivate themselves
with kindness rather than self-criticism, or other ways of thinking
about the situation that are more productive and supportive?
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Self-Compassion versus Self-Esteem

It’s important to distinguish self- compassion from self-esteem, with
which it might be easily confused. Self-esteem refers to the degree to
which we evaluate ourselves positively and is often based on comparisons
with others (Harter, 1999). In American culture, having high self-esteem
means standing out in a crowd—being special and above average. There
are potential problems with self-esteem, however, not in terms of having
it, but in terms of how we get it. Research shows that people may engage
in dysfunctional behaviors to obtain a sense of high self-worth (Crocker
& Park, 2004), such as putting others down and inflating their own sense
of self-worth as a way to feel better about themselves (Tesser, 1999). Self-
esteem also tends to be contingent on perceived competence in various
life domains (Harter, 1999), meaning that it can be unstable, fluctuating
up and down according to our latest success or failure (Kernis, Paradise,
Whitaker, Wheatman, & Goldman, 2000).
In contrast, self-compassion is not based on positive judgments or
evaluations—it is a way of positively relating to ourselves. People feel
compassion for themselves because they are human beings, not because
they are special or above average, and thus it emphasizes interconnection
rather than separateness. Self-compassion offers more emotional stability
than self-esteem because it exists regardless of whether things are going
well or poorly. For instance, it’s associated with less anxiety and self-
consciousness than self-esteem when considering personal weaknesses
(Leary, Tate, Adams, Allen, & Hancock, 2007; Neff, Kirkpatrick et al.,
2007), and is linked with more stable and less contingent feelings of self-
worth (Neff & Vonk, 2009). Self-compassion is associated with less social
comparison, public self- consciousness, and ego- defensiveness when
receiving unflattering personal feedback than is self-esteem (Leary et al.,
2007; Neff & Vonk, 2009). Moreover, while trait self-esteem evidences a
substantial overlap with narcissism, self-compassion has not been found
to be associated with narcissism (Neff, 2003a; Neff & Vonk, 2009). Thus,
self-compassion appears to entail many of the benefits of high self-esteem
with fewer of its drawbacks.
This distinction between self-compassion and self-esteem is impor-
tant when dealing with clients who suffer from shame or low self-worth.
Trying to help people to judge themselves more positively may increase
the tendency to form global self-evaluations rather than focus on specific
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maladaptive behaviors, making change more difficult. This is partly

because people with low self-esteem often prefer to verify and maintain
their identity rather than engage in the positive self-illusions that are
common among those high in self-esteem (Swann, 1996). It may be more
possible to raise people’s levels of self-compassion, given that it requires
them to merely acknowledge and accept their human limitations with
kindness rather than change their self-evaluations from negative to
positive.
Self-Compassion and
Interpersonal Functioning
While there is evidence that self-compassion psychologically benefits the
individual, there is also evidence that self-compassion enhances inter-
personal relationships (Yarnell & Neff, 2012). In a study of heterosexual
couples (Neff & Beretvas, 2012), for example, self-compassionate indi-
viduals were described by their partners as being more emotionally con-
nected, accepting, and autonomy supporting while being less detached,
controlling, and verbally or physically aggressive in their relationship
than those lacking self-compassion. Not surprisingly, the partners of self-
compassionate individuals also reported being more satisfied with their
relationship. Because self-compassionate people meet many of their own
needs for care and support, they have more emotional resources available
to give compassion to relationship partners. Because they accept and
validate themselves, they don’t need to gain approval from others to
maintain a sense of self-worth. This suggests that teaching skills of self-
compassion when working with couples experiencing relationship diffi-
culties would be an effective way to break patterns of emotional neediness,
anger, control, and ego- defensiveness. It would also be a means to
enhance intimacy and mutual support among couples.
An interesting question concerns whether self-compassionate people
are more compassionate toward others. In one of the few studies on the
topic, Neff and Pommier (2012) examined the link between self-
compassion and empathy, personal distress, and forgiveness among
college undergraduates, an older community sample, and individuals
practicing Buddhist meditation. Among all three groups,
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self-compassionate people were less likely to experience personal distress

when considering others’ pain, meaning they were more able to confront
suffering without being overwhelmed. This suggests that self-compassion
may be an important skill to teach to caregivers and health professionals
(Barnard & Curry, 2012), who often experience burnout from over-
exposure to others’ trauma. In addition, self-compassion was significantly
associated with forgiveness. Forgiving others requires understanding the
vast web of causes and conditions that lead people to act as they do
(Worthington et al., 2005). The ability to forgive and accept one’s flawed
humanity, therefore, appears to be linked to the ability to forgive and
accept others’ transgressions.
The study also found that self-compassion was significantly linked to
empathetic concern for others among community adults and Buddhists,
but not undergraduates. This may be because young adults often struggle
to recognize the shared aspects of their life experience, overestimating
their distinctiveness from others (Lapsley, FitzGerald, Rice, & Jackson,
1989). Thus, young adults’ schemas for why they are deserving of care
and why others are deserving of care may be poorly integrated, so that
their treatment of themselves and others is relatively unrelated. The
strength of the association between self-compassion and other-focused
concern tended to be the greatest among meditators, likely reflecting
meditation practices that intentionally cultivate compassion for both self
and others, and aim to recognize that all beings suffer and want release
from suffering (see Hofmann, Grossman & Hinton, 2011 for a review).
This research suggests that when working with youths there should be an
explicit emphasis on connecting the experiences of oneself and others,
and that meditation may be one way to facilitate this connection.
Origins of Self-Compassion
While research on this topic is new, there is some evidence to support
Gilbert and Iron’s (2005) contention that self-compassion is associated
with the care-giving system. In a study of adolescents and young adults,
Neff and McGehee (2010) found that maternal support was associated
with significantly greater self-compassion, while maternal criticism was
linked to less self-compassion. Self-compassion levels were also signifi-
cantly predicted by degree of family functioning more generally.
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Individuals from harmonious, close families were more self-compassionate,

whereas those from stressful, conflict- filled homes were less self-
compassionate. The study also found that self-compassion was linked to
attachment style, with secure attachment linked to greater self-
compassion. This suggests that individuals who did not receive warmth
and support from their parents as children may not have the solid emo-
tional foundation needed to give themselves compassion later in life.
Similarly, Vettese, Dyer, Li, and Wekerle (2011) found that youths who
were maltreated as children had significantly lower self-compassion, and
this lack of self-compassion mediated the link between degree of mal-
treatment and later emotional regulation difficulties, psychopathology,
and drug and alcohol dependence. Findings such as these highlight the
need for clinical interventions that can enhance self-compassion to help
individuals with problematic family histories cope effectively as adults.
Self-Compassion and
Clinical Interventions
There is some evidence to suggest that self-compassion may be an impor-
tant process in psychotherapeutic change. For example, increased self-
compassion has been found to be a key mechanism in the effectiveness
of mindfulness-based interventions such as Mindfulness-Based Cognitive
Therapy (MBCT) and Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR;
Baer, 2010). Jon Kabat-Zinn (1991) originally developed MBSR in the
late 1970s, and it is probably the most common mindfulness intervention
program offered worldwide. MBSR is an experiential learning program
that includes weekly group sessions, regular home practice, and a core
curriculum of formal and informal mindfulness practices. This core cur-
riculum was later incorporated into MBCT as an adaptation for prevent-
ing depressive relapse (Segal, Williams, & Teasdale, 2001), and additional
psycho-education and exercises specific to depression were included.
Meta-analyses indicate that MBSR and MBCT are related to improved
outcomes in participants dealing with a variety of stressors and health
problems (Grossman, Niemann, Schmidt, & Walach, 2004).
Shapiro, Astin, Bishop, and Cordova (2005) found that health care
professionals who took an MBSR program reported significantly
90
increased self-compassion and reduced stress levels compared to a wait-

list control group. They also found that increases in self-compassion
mediated the reductions in stress associated with the program. Similarly,
Kuyken et al. (2010) examined the effect of MBCT compared to mainte-
nance antidepressants on relapse in depressive symptoms. They found
that increases in mindfulness and self-compassion following MBCT par-
ticipation mediated the link between MBCT and depressive symptoms at
15-month follow-up. It was also found that MBCT reduced the link
between cognitive reactivity (i.e., the tendency to react to sad emotions
with depressive thinking styles) and depressive relapse, and that increased
self-compassion (but not mindfulness) mediated this association. This
suggests that self-compassion skills may be an important key to changing
habitual thought patterns so that depressive episodes are not retriggered.
Because self-compassion appears to be a major therapeutic factor in
mindfulness-based interventions, people have recently been starting to
develop ways to teach self-compassion. Paul Gilbert (2010b) developed a
general therapeutic approach termed compassion-focused therapy (CFT)
that helps clients develop the skills and attributes of a self-compassionate
mind, especially when their more habitual form of self-to-self relating
involves shame and self-attack. CFT increases awareness and under-
standing of automatic emotional reactions such as self-criticism that
have evolved in humans over time, and how these patterns are often
reinforced in early childhood. The key principles of CFT involve moti-
vating people to care for their own well-being, to become sensitive to
their own needs and distress, and to extend warmth and understanding
toward themselves. CFT techniques include mindfulness training, visu-
alizations, compassionate cognitive responding, and engaging in self-
compassionate overt behaviors and habits. This takes place through a
systematic process known as compassionate mind training (CMT). This
program is currently being used with apparent success to treat eating
disorders, anxiety disorders, bipolar disorders, smoking cessation, shame,
and other forms of suffering (Gilbert, 2010a; Gilbert & Procter, 2006;
Kelly, Zuroff, Foa, & Gilbert, 2009).
Kristin Neff and Chris Germer (2012) have developed a self-
compassion training program suitable for nonclinical populations called
mindful self-compassion (MSC). The term “mindful” is included in the
name of the program because it also teaches basic mindfulness skills,
which—as discussed above—are crucial to the ability to give oneself
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compassion. The structure of MSC is modeled on MBSR, with partici-

pants meeting for two hours once a week over the course of eight weeks,
and also meeting for a half-day “mini retreat.” The program uses discus-
sion, experiential exercises, and contemplative meditations designed to
increase awareness of self-compassion and how to practice it in daily life.
Note that MSC mainly focuses on teaching self-compassion skills and
includes mindfulness as a secondary emphasis (only one session in the
eight-week course is exclusively devoted to mindfulness). In contrast,
programs such as MBSR and MBCT mainly teach mindfulness skills and
have an implicit rather than explicit focus on self-compassion. This sug-
gests that the MSC program is complementary to mindfulness-based
programs rather than being in competition with them.
A randomized controlled study of the MSC program was recently
conducted that compared outcomes for a treatment group to those who
were randomized to a waitlist control group (Neff & Germer, 2012).
Compared to controls, MSC participants demonstrated a large and sig-
nificant increase in their self-compassion levels (43%). To provide com-
parative insight into the size of this increase, three studies on MBSR
(Birnie, Speca, Carlson, 2010; Shapiro, Astin, Bishop, & Cordova, 2005;
Shapiro, Brown, & Biegel, 2007) yielded on average a 19% increase on
the SCS, while three MBCT studies (Kuyken et al., 2010; Lee & Bang,
2010; Rimes & Wingrove, 2011) yielded an average increase of 9%. This
suggests that the specific targeting of self-compassion in the MSC
program is particularly effective. MSC participants also significantly
increased in mindfulness (19%), compassion for others (7%) and life sat-
isfaction (24%), while decreasing in depression (24%), anxiety (20%),
stress (10%), and emotional avoidance (16%). All significant gains in
study outcomes were maintained at six months and one-year follow-up.
In fact, life satisfaction actually increased significantly from the time of
program completion to the one-year follow-up, suggesting that the con-
tinued practice of self-compassion continues to enhance one’s quality of
life over time. The study also explored whether enhanced well-being was
primarily explained by increases in self-compassion or whether it was
also explained by increased mindfulness. It was found that while most of
the gains in well-being were explained by increased self-compassion,
mindfulness explained additional variance in terms of happiness, stress,
and emotional avoidance. This suggests that both self-compassion and
mindfulness are key benefits of the MSC program.
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Advances in our understanding of the value of developing self-

compassion as a change process in psychotherapy may also be applied to
existing, evidence-based psychotherapies. ACT is a therapy that is par-
ticularly well suited to the integration of self compassion–focused inter-
ventions. As we will see, many of the key elements of the ACT process
model are consistent with Neff’s conceptualization of self-compassion,
even if some of the language used may be different. Beyond the existing
relationship between ACT practice and the development of self-
compassion, ACT practitioners may benefit from targeting self-
compassion as a process more directly. For example, John Forsyth and
Georg Eifert (2008) have included compassion-focused techniques in
their ACT protocol and self-help book for anxiety. The effectiveness of
this self-help book is currently being examined in randomized controlled
trials, and preliminary findings indicated that self-compassion many
serve as an important process and outcome variable in this ACT inter-
vention (Van Dam, Sheppard, Forsyth, & Earleywine, 2011). As theo-
retical and practical integration continues, self-compassion may more
clearly emerge as an active psychotherapeutic process within the ACT
model.
Self-Compassion from an
ACT Perspective
ACT practitioners and researchers have been exploring the role of self-
compassion in psychotherapy for some time now, though self-compassion
has yet to be integrated as a formal component of the ACT process
model (Forsyth & Eifert, 2008; Hayes, 2008; Luoma, Kohlenberg, Hayes,
& Fletcher, 2012; Tirch, 2010; Van Dam et al., 2011).
In order to approach an understanding of self-compassion from an
ACT perspective, we need to spend some time examining relational
frame theory (RFT), the underlying theory of cognition that ACT is
derived from. Among many other mental phenomena, RFT describes the
processes of mindfulness, self-development, and perspective taking. It
provides a behavioral account of language and cognition that can provide
a useful way of considering how humans may develop a sense of self and
a sense of others, and how we experience ourselves as situated in time
93
and space (Barnes-Holmes, Hayes, Dymond, 2001; Törneke, 2010). All

of this has relevance for understanding the emergence of self-compassion.
An RFT account of self-compassion can help us understand how self-
compassion functions and how we can develop methods to predict and
influence self-compassionate behaviors.
In RFT theory, our ability to adopt a broader sense of self involves
our ability to flexibly shift perspective. Our learned capacity for flexible
perspective taking is also involved in our experience of empathy
(Vilardaga, 2009), as well as our related experience of compassion. In
order to understand self-compassion, therefore, it’s useful to consider the
“self” that is the focus of compassion, from an RFT perspective. The way
we think about being a “self” and having a “self” and the way we use
verbal functioning to experience the “self” are all dimensions of human
experience that can be explored as ongoing verbal, behavioral processes
rather than as static constructs (Vilardaga, 2009).
In RFT terms, the experience of “self” emerges from the type of
verbal learning that establishes a perspective. A perspective means a
point of view that is situated in time and space, relative to other points
of view. We can symbolically represent this perspective in a number of
ways. For example, we can imagine our perspective relative to another
perspective: “How would she feel if she were in my shoes?” We can also
imagine our perspective relative to all other perspectives: “I feel like I’m
the only person in the world who feels this way!”
Using the language of behavior analysis, RFT posits that these verbal
relations, known as “deictic relations,” are trained relational operant
behaviors, shaped by ongoing social interactions (Barnes-Holmes, Hayes,
& Dymond, 2001). Deictic relations are building blocks of how we expe-
rience the world, ourselves, and the flow of time. Verbal relations that
involve “I-You,” “Here- There,” and “Then- Now” involve perspective
taking. For the concept “I” to have any meaning, there must be a “You”
involved. For “Here” to have meaning as a point of view, there must be a
“There.” Our sense of a self emerges from perspective taking.
When people ask us who we are, we might respond by telling some
form of “life story.” Responses like “My name is Fred, I’m from Texas, and
I’m an attorney” make perfect sense. From an ACT perspective, this
sense of self is known as “self-as-content.” However, mindfulness and
self-compassion can allow for an experience of a different sort of self.
This self exists as a sort of observer, a silent “you” who has been watching
94
your experience, moment by moment, for a very long time. This is some-
times referred to as “the observing self,” or a “transcendent self” but is
most often referred to in ACT as “self as context” (Hayes, Strosahl, &
Wilson, 1999).
How is it that this “observer self,” distinct from an experiencing self,
arises? In order to understand this, let’s turn again to ACT’s roots in
research on human language and cognition, RFT. Part of human rela-
tional responding involves trained capacities for perspective taking.
Through these processes, our experience of being involves a sense of
ourselves as a perspective before which the entirety of our experience
unfolds, throughout our whole lives. This sense of ourselves as an
observer is referred to as self as context in ACT because this experiential
sense of self serves as the context within which our experiences are con-
tained (Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 1999). This sense of an “observing
self” is important because while this observer can notice the contents of
consciousness, it is not those contents themselves. We have a thought,
but we are more than that experience, just in the way that we have arms,
but we are more than just our arms. Emotions don’t feel themselves,
thoughts don’t observe themselves, and physical pain doesn’t experience
itself. Throughout our lives, we can notice the presence of an “observing
self,” before which all of our experiences arise, exist, and disappear in
time.
Upon considering the relationship between self-as-context and self-
compassion, we can note that returning to an awareness of self-as-context
offers us a nonattached and disidentified relationship to our experiences.
This allows the habitual stimulus functions of our painful private events
and stories to hold less influence over us. From the perspective of the
I-Here-Nowness of being, I can view my own suffering as I might view
the suffering of another and be touched by the pain in that experience,
without the dominant interference of my verbal learning history, with its
potential for shaming self-evaluations (Vilardaga, 2009; Hayes, 2008).
Steven Hayes (2008) has suggested that compassion may be the only
value that is inherent in the ACT model of psychological well-being.
According to him, we may find the roots of self-compassion and compas-
sion emerging from six core processes described in the ACT model of
psychotherapeutic change, sometimes known as “hexaflex” processes
(Hayes, Luoma, Bond, Masuda, & Lillis, 2006). These six processes work
together in an interactive way to:
95
• bring us into direct experiential contact with our present

moment experiences
• disrupt a literalized experience of mental events that narrows

our range of available behaviors
• promote experiential acceptance
• help us to let go of overidentification with our narrative sense of

“self”
• assist us in the process of values authorship
• facilitate our commitment to valued directions in our lives
Dahl, Plumb, Stewart, & Lundgren (2009) have outlined how these
hexaflex processes directly affect compassion for self and others. According
to their model, self-compassion involves our ability to willingly experience
difficult emotions; to mindfully observe our self-evaluative, distressing,
and shaming thoughts without allowing them to dominate our behavior
or our states of mind; to engage more fully in our life’s pursuits with self-
kindness and self-validation; and to flexibly shift our perspective toward a
broader, transcendent sense of self (Hayes, 2008).
Hexaflex processes are seen as fundamental elements of the ACT
model of psychological well-being, which is known as “psychological flex-
ibility” (Hayes et al., 2006). Psychological flexibility may be defined as
“the ability to contact the present moment more fully as a conscious
human being, and based on what the situation affords, to change or
persist in behavior in order to serve valued ends” (Luoma, Hayes, &
Walser, 2007, p. 17). Like self-compassion, psychological flexibility is
strongly negatively correlated with depression, anxiety, and psychopa-
thology and is highly positively correlated with quality of life (Kashdan
& Rottenberg, 2010).
Evolutionary Basis of Compassion

Gilbert (2009) emphasizes that self-compassion is an evolved human
capacity that emerges from the human behavioral systems involving
attachment and affiliation, an argument supported by empirical research.
96
Seeking proximity and soothing from caregivers to provide a secure base

for operation in the world is a mammalian behavior that predates the
human ability for derived relational responding, deictic relational
framing, and the kind of observational capacity that arises in mindful-
ness training.
Nevertheless, the unique evolutionary advantage that we humans
have in our capacity for derived relational responding has resulted in our
particularly human quality of self-awareness, the ability to base our
behavior on abstract thought and imagination, including our ability to be
sensitive and moved by suffering we witness and our ability to be aware
of our awareness (e.g., mindfulness). According to Wilson, Hayes, Biglan,
and Embry (in press), this human capacity for symbolic thought affords
us an “inheritance system” with a capacity for combinatorial diversity
similar to that of recombinant DNA. In this way, both our genetic and
psycholinguistic evolution have led us to be soothed by the experience of
self-compassion and, for that experience of soothing and ensuing courage,
to afford us with greater psychological flexibility and a secure base for
functioning in the world.
Wang (2005) hypothesizes that human compassion emerges from an
evolutionarily determined “species- preservative” neurophysiological
system. This system is hypothesized as evolving in a relatively recent evo-
lutionary time frame compared to the older “self-preservative” system.
This “species-preservative” system is based on an “inclusive sense of self
and promotes awareness of our interconnectedness to others” (Wang,
2005, p. 75). Relative to some other animals, human infants and children
may seem defenseless, requiring, as they do, a great deal of care and pro-
tection in their early lives. As a result, particular brain structures and
other elements of the nervous and hormonal systems have evolved that
promote nurturing behaviors, which involve protection of and care for
others. Basic examples of this evolutionary progression can be observed
by contrasting the parenting behaviors of reptiles and amphibians, for
example, to that of mammalian species; the former lack even the most
basic nurturing behaviors toward their own young, while mammalian
species (rats, for example) can be observed to display a wide range of
caretaking behaviors.
Moving higher on the evolutionary ladder, Wang’s review of the rel-
evant literature suggests that the human prefrontal cortex, cingulate
cortex, and ventral vagal complex are involved in the activation of this
97
“species-preservative” system (Wang, 2005). These structures are all

involved in the development of healthy attachment bonds and self-
compassion. The development of both individually adaptive and group
adaptive behavioral systems for dealing with threats can be viewed as an
example of multilevel selection theory (Wilson, Van Vugt, & O’Gorman,
2008) and reflects how our evolutionary history informs our verbal rela-
tional network in ways that connect us to one another, and our place as
an emergent species in the flow of life. Such an evolutionary perspective
is intrinsically contextual in nature and reflects a potential area for mul-
tidisciplinary theoretical integration in the developing science of
self-compassion.
Interplay of Mindfulness,
Self-Compassion, and
Psychological Flexibility
The elements of common humanity, kindness, and mindfulness are
involved in each of the hexaflex processes elaborated upon by ACT
theory, yet self-compassion also involves an intentional turning of these
processes decidedly toward the alleviation of human suffering.
Accordingly, self-compassion may account for more of the variance in
psychopathology than mindfulness alone (Kuyken et al., 2010). Recently,
Van Dam and colleagues (2011) found that self-compassion accounted
for as much as 10 times more unique variance in psychological health
than a measure of mindfulness did in a large community sample. When
we consider the role of self-compassion in ACT, there is a temptation to
find a way to fit self-compassion into the hexaflex model. It is important
to remember that the hexaflex concepts are meant to be clinically appli-
cable, midlevel terms, which describe the underlying principles of RFT
in relatively everyday language. The hexaflex components are useful
descriptors, but they do not need to represent all and everything that is
involved in human well-being and psychological flexibility. What distin-
guishes contextual behavioral science (CBS) is the application of funda-
mental behavioral principles to account for the prediction and influence
of human behavior. As we will describe, further CBS research may help
us to work in more effective ways with the powerful psychotherapy
98
process variable that we find in self-compassion. Similarly, compassion-

focused techniques may expand the technical base of ACT in theoreti-
cally consistent ways, much as techniques from Gestalt psychotherapy,
other forms of CBT, and from the human potential movement have.
Conclusion
ACT is consistent with Neff’s conceptualization of self-compassion in
multiple ways, and each approach to understanding psychological resil-
ience has something to offer the other. Although ACT’s client protocols
are generally presented in user-friendly language, the underlying behav-
ioral theory and clinician literature that ACT is based upon can be chal-
lenging for therapists who are not coming from the behavior analytic
tradition. Many find that RFT has a rather steep learning curve, given
the range of new terms and concepts. ACT practitioners may benefit
from the straightforward, direct, and understandable language and con-
ceptual explanations that have emerged from the self-compassion litera-
ture. Also, interventions based upon theories of self-compassion and
compassion such as the MSC program (Neff & Germer, 2012) and CFT
(Gilbert, 2010b) might provide ACT clinicians with a range of effective,
ACT-consistent procedures that involve the movement of common psy-
chotherapy change processes.
Similarly, research on self-compassion may benefit from examining
ways in which self-compassion is associated with ACT constructs such as
acceptance, perspective taking, and psychological flexibility. The ACT-
consistent goals of prediction and influence of human behavior, and pre-
cision, depth, and scope in functional analysis are scientifically healthy
complements to the growing body of research on self-compassion.
Obviously, ongoing clinically relevant research on all of the emer-
gent mindfulness- and compassion-informed psychotherapies is needed.
In particular, there is a need for further randomized controlled trials that
are designed with an awareness of the importance of mediational analy-
ses for psychotherapy process variables. This is true for ACT, CFT, and
MSC. By employing mediational analyses we might examine the degree
to which psychological flexibility and self-compassion serve as active
process variables in these therapies. Component analyses of ACT inter-
ventions, which examine the relative contribution of different hexaflex
99
processes and self-compassion are recommended. Such analyses might

compare an ACT therapy condition with an added unit of self-compassion
to an ACT intervention without overt self-compassion references.
As concepts are integrated, we are confronted with the question of
what exactly is being measured when we use measures of psychological
flexibility and self-compassion such as the AAQ-II (Bond et al., in press)
and the SCS (Neff, 2003a). A strong link between these measures
appears to exist, although research on this topic is very new. For example,
in a study of 51 parents of autistic children, Neff (unpublished data)
found a .65 zero-order correlation between the SCS and AAQ. Teasing
out the differences in the AAQ and SCS, as well as the underlying
hypothesized processes, will prove to be an important future step.
Importantly, measurement of self-compassion, compassion for others,
fear of compassion, and shame could all be integrated into the study of
perspective taking, deictic framing, and theory of mind tasks. In this
way, emotionally charged perspective-taking exercises could be deployed
to examine the dynamics of compassion across training in enhanced per-
spective taking, further exploring the role of self-as-context in the expe-
rience of mindfulness, compassion, and empathy.
Clinically, ACT practitioners may find that there are a wide range of
ACT-consistent techniques and intervention strategies found among
compassion-informed therapies such as CFT and MSC. Beyond this, a
range of Buddhist-derived exercises that use attention and visualization
to enhance compassion and self-compassion are available. Psychotherapists
might find it advisable to integrate these methods into their existing psy-
chotherapy technique repertoires. Additionally, writings on the science
and practice of compassion and self-compassion may be a useful resource
for the authorship of valued directions, for both therapist and patient
alike.
Practitioners of CFT or MSC may find a range of techniques within
the ACT literature that may help patients to broaden their behavioral
repertoires. Defusion techniques, values authorship techniques, and tar-
geting willingness in compassionate exposure are just a few ACT psycho-
therapeutic moves that are consistent with these compassion-focused
approaches. Additionally, the underlying psychological flexibility process
model of psychotherapy that forms the basis of ACT can provide a useful
context within which to explore how a science of behavioral dynamics
can account for and describe the experience of self-compassion.
100
From a less technical and theory-bound perspective, clinicians and

clients who have encountered the experiential and contemplative tech-
niques of either ACT or self compassion–based methods have had a
shared experience, however it may be labeled. This experience involves
more than adjustments of concepts and ideas. ACT and MSC methods
allow people the space and time to step into the present moment, encoun-
tering themselves in a mindful, compassionate, and wholly accepting
way. Perhaps this moment of radical acceptance and love is the greatest
common ground between self-compassion psychology and ACT.
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CHAPTER 5
Perspective Taking
Ian Stewart
Louise McHugh
University College Dublin
Throughout the world, teachers, sociologists, policymakers and parents

are discovering that empathy may be the single most important quality
that must be nurtured to give peace a fighting chance.
—Arundhati Ray
Introduction
Perspective taking is seen as a crucially important social skill that starts
in early infancy and develops throughout childhood and beyond (e.g.,
Baron- Cohen, 1994). In positive psychology, perspective taking and
related phenomena are allotted key theoretical importance. For example,
perspective taking itself is one of the 24 key characteristics listed in
Peterson and Seligman (2004) and seems related to others including
open mindedness, kindness, social intelligence, forgiveness, fairness, and
self-control.
But what exactly is perspective taking and how do we cultivate it?

Relational frame theory (RFT), a contextual behavioral approach to
understanding and influencing language and cognitive processes, can
provide new insight into these questions. RFT views perspective taking
as a key language-based skill that develops from early ages and underpins
the development of several important phenomena including empathy, a
sophisticated sense of self, and transcendence. In this chapter, we will
discuss RFT research on the development of perspective taking in chil-
dren and adults, and why it sometimes fails to develop. We will then use
a three-level guide to training empathy in the therapeutic context to
examine the key role of perspective taking in the development of
empathy, the construction of self and other, and the achievement of psy-
chological “transcendence,” which functions to maintain empathy in the
face of psychological barriers. In doing so, we will explore how RFT can
shed light on the development of what are seen by positive psychologists
as key personality characteristics and can thus point the way toward a
wide variety of positive interventions.
A Relational Frame Approach

to Perspective Taking
Until recently most psychological research on perspective taking had
been conducted under the rubric of theory of mind (ToM). ToM suggests
that perspective taking is based on an ability to mentally represent the
mind (e.g., beliefs, desires, intentions, emotions, etc.) of another (e.g.,
Howlin, Baron-Cohen, & Hadwin, 1999). However, there are fundamen-
tal issues that this approach does not address. For instance, questions
remain over the functional processes (i.e., those involving environment–
behavior contingencies) that make up perspective taking. For example,
how does exposure to everyday language allow children to learn to
answer and ask questions about their own perspective in relation to that
of others?
In contrast with ToM, one of the fundamental assumptions of the
RFT approach is the importance of achieving both prediction and influ-
ence via the explanation of behavior. The latter requires the specifica-
tion of manipulable processes as a sine qua non, which affords RFT an
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Perspective Taking
advantage at the level of intervention. In what follows, we will briefly

introduce RFT as a functional analytic account of key forms of complex
human behavior and then describe its conceptualization of perspective
taking.
Relational Frame Theory

Relational frame theorists argue, based on several decades of
research, that complex human behavior, including language and cogni-
tion, can be understood in terms of the learned capacity to relate stimuli
under “arbitrary contextual control,” referred to as relational framing
(see Hayes, Barnes-Holmes, & Roche, 2001). To understand the meaning
of arbitrary contextual control, consider this example. Someone tells a
child who has never met either of the authors that “Ian is taller than
Louise,” and when the child is then asked who is shorter she answers
“Louise.” Her reply is based not on physical relations (she has never met
us) but on the arbitrary (based on social convention) contextual cue
“taller.” She has previously learned to “relationally frame” stimuli in
accordance with the relation of comparison in the presence of this cue,
and thus when she hears it, she frames Ian and Louise this way and
derives that Louise is shorter.
RFT argues that humans learn to relationally frame based on expo-
sure to contingencies of reinforcement in the socioverbal community. In
the case of the comparative frame described above, for example, they
might initially learn to choose between different physical lengths when
asked which is taller or shorter, and eventually this response generalizes
so that the contextual cues alone control the response pattern and they
can answer appropriately when asked a question such as that involving
Ian and Louise. Other relational frames, including same, different, oppo-
site, and so on, are learned in a similar way.
RFT researchers have provided an increasing quantity of empirical
evidence showing the diversity of patterns of framing as well as how they
can be established and influenced (e.g., Dymond, Roche, DeHouwer, in
press). Despite this diversity, all forms of framing have the following
three characteristics: mutual entailment (the fundamental bidirectional-
ity of relational responding; for example, if “tall” means “lofty” then
“lofty” means “tall”), combinatorial entailment (the combination of
109
already known relations to generate novel relations; for example, if Ian is

taller than Louise and Louise is taller than Joe then Ian is taller than Joe
and Joe is shorter than Ian), and transformation of stimulus functions
(transformation of psychologically relevant functions of a stimulus in
accordance with the underlying relation in a given context; for example,
if Ian is taller than Joe and I need another basketball player then I might
pick Ian over Joe).
From an RFT perspective, once the individual begins to relationally
frame through her interactions with the socioverbal community, she will
thereafter continue to elaborate the network of objects, words, events,
and concepts that are framed for her both overtly (e.g., in conversation
with others) and covertly (e.g., in thinking), and the psychological quali-
ties of her environment will be transformed in increasingly complex and
diverse ways. Naturally, her own behavior and that of others are a very
important part of her world, and thus they also become part of this
network of relationally transformed stimuli and indeed become a criti-
cally influential part of it. From the RFT point of view, this is the begin-
ning of the repertoire of perspective taking.
RFT and Perspective Taking

Perspective-taking skills are based on “deictic” relational framing,
which specifies a relation in terms of the perspective of the speaker
(McHugh, Barnes-Holmes, & Barnes-Holmes, 2004). The three frames
most important in this regard are I-YOU, HERE-THERE, and NOW-
THEN. Acquisition of these frames means learning to differentiate my
behavior (“I”) from that of others (“YOU”) and learning that my current
responding is always in this location (“HERE”) rather than some other
location (“THERE”) and always at this time (“NOW”) rather than some
other time (“THEN”).
Deictic frames differ from other frames in at least one important
way. As mentioned earlier, other frames have formal or nonarbitrary
counterparts that support their development. However, for deictic frames,
there are no such easily identifiable nonarbitrary relations available. In
this case, the relationship between the individual and other events serves
as the constant variable upon which framing is based. For this reason,
deictic frames must be taught through demonstration and multiple
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Perspective Taking
exemplars of the relational pattern. According to Barnes-Holmes, Hayes,

and Dymond (2001, 122), “Abstraction of an individual’s perspective on
the world, and that of others, requires a combination of a sufficiently
well-developed relational repertoire and an extensive history of multiple
exemplars that takes advantage of that repertoire.” In interactions with
the verbal community, the child gradually learns to appropriately respond
to and ask questions such as the following: “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing now?” “What will you do there?” The physical envi-
ronment in which such questions are asked and answered differs across
exemplars, but the required relational patterns of I-YOU, HERE-THERE
and NOW-THEN are consistent, and thus these patterns are abstracted
over time.
The three perspective-taking frames can generate a range of rela-
tional networks, including I-Here-Now, You-Here-Now, I-Here-Then,
You-Here-Then, I-There-Now, You-There-Now, I-There-Then, and You-
There-Then. Many phrases common to our daily discourse are derived
from these eight relational networks, for example, “I am here now, but
you were here then” or “You were there then, but I am here now.” Of
course, when used in actual dialogue, these phrases would often include
or substitute words coordinated with particular individuals, places, and
times, for example, “It is nine o’clock and I [Ian] am at work [Here and
Now], but you [Louise] are still at home in bed” [There and Now]. What
appears to make perspective-taking frames particularly useful but also
complex is that they cannot be defined in terms of particular words.
That is, words such as “I,” “you,” “here,” “there,” “now,” and “then” are
merely examples of the relational cues that control the perspective-taking
frames, and a range of other words and contextual features may serve the
same function. As for all relational frames, what is important is the gen-
eralized relational activity, not the topography of particular cues.
Once the deictic frames of I-YOU, HERE-THERE and NOW-THEN
are established in a person’s behavioral repertoire, they become an inher-
ent property of most verbal events for that person. In this account, when
an individual talks to another, it is from the perspective of I located
HERE and NOW about events occurring THERE and THEN. Even in
the context of the simple greeting “How are you?” for example, I’m asking
HERE and NOW about the situation of YOU (the listener) located
THERE (a few feet away) and THEN (when you reply). The same analy-
sis applies to situations in which I talk (typically covertly) to myself. If I
111
think to myself “That was stupid,” after making a mistake, for example,
then I, HERE and NOW am judging myself THERE and THEN (making
the error). In summary, deictic frames establish a constant division
between the speaker, who is always HERE and NOW, and the spoken
about, which is THERE and THEN.
Empirical Support
Evidence supporting the RFT account of perspective taking as
deictic relational framing has been accumulating. McHugh, Barnes-
Holmes, & Barnes-Holmes (2004) employed a protocol that focused on
the three perspective-taking frames (I-YOU, HERE-THERE, and NOW-
THEN), in conjunction with three levels of relational complexity (simple,
reversed, and double-reversed relations) to provide a developmental
profile of the deictic framing skills of individuals across different age
groups. Findings indicated a clear developmental trend. Young children
(aged 3–5) produced more errors than all of the older age groups (ranging
from 6–30). Furthermore, these differences were broadly consistent with
the mainstream cognitive-developmental literature that has reported
that performances on simple theory of mind tasks generally develop
across the ages of four and five years old, and are usually well established
by age six.
Further research has examined how deictic relational framing might
be involved in a variety of perspective-dependent skills, including false
belief understanding and deception. False belief understanding requires
the ability to attribute an incorrect belief to another person and to dis-
criminate when he or she is acting on that belief. False belief understand-
ing is seen as an important milestone in cognitive development as well as
a prerequisite for understanding deception, which requires the deliberate
creation of a false belief in another (e.g., Perner, Leekam, & Wimmer,
1987). McHugh, Barnes-Holmes, Barnes-Holmes, and Stewart (2006)
investigated the role of deictic framing in true and false belief under-
standing, and McHugh, Barnes-Holmes, Barnes-Holmes, Stewart, and
Dymond (2007) conducted a relational frame analysis of deception. Both
studies showed clear developmental trends in the performances of par-
ticipants, aged from early childhood to adulthood, that were supported
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Perspective Taking
by significant differences in the number of errors between age groups and

a decrease in error rates as a function of age.
These studies showed that the relational repertoires required for per-
spective taking appear to follow a distinct developmental trend.
Furthermore, concordant with the pragmatic focus of RFT, a number of
more recent studies have used variations on the McHugh et al. (2004)
protocol to assess and remediate deficits in perspective-taking framing in
young children (e.g., Heagle & Rehfeldt, 2006; Weil, Hayes, & Capurro,
2011). The two studies cited provide evidence not only of the potential
for deictic relational frames to be trained but also how training this form
of responding might positively affect performance on alternative
perspective-taking tasks and in alternative (including real-world) con-
texts. Heagle and Rehfeldt (2006) taught three typically developing chil-
dren between the ages of 6 and 11 perspective-taking skills. This study
employed a multiple probe design, which is used in low “n” research to
demonstrate the efficacy of a particular intervention by showing that
improvement is contingent on the introduction of that intervention.
Generalization of perspective taking to new stimuli (i.e., in the context
of questions referring to novel situations) and real-world conversational
topics (i.e., children were asked more ecologically valid conversation type
questions) were also tested. All three children were successfully trained
on the perspective-taking protocol and performed with high accuracy on
the generalization tests. Weil et al. (2011) also used a multiple probe
design to train the perspective-taking protocol with three children, aged
between 57 and 68 months. Performance on ToM tasks was tested before,
during, and after the training of the perspective-taking protocol, and all
three children appeared to show improvement.
Another important extension of the RFT approach to perspective-
taking is work investigating deficits in deictic framing in clinical popula-
tions. Previous research has found that individuals with autistic spectrum
disorder (ASD) show deficits on perspective-taking tasks (e.g., Baron-
Cohen, Leslie, & Frith, 1985). Hence, Rehfeldt, Dillen, Ziomek, and
Kowalchuk (2007) examined deictic relational framing in children with
ASD and compared their performance with that of age-matched typi-
cally developing counterparts. Findings indicated that the ASD group
made more errors on the McHugh et al. protocol, particularly on reversed
relation trials. Mainstream research has also demonstrated deficits in
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perspective taking in individuals with schizophrenia (e.g., Langdon,

Coltheart, Ward, & Catts, 2001). Thus, a number of studies have used
the McHugh et al. protocol to assess levels of deictic relational respond-
ing in this population. For example, Villatte, Monestès, McHugh, Freixa
i Baqué, and Loas (2010) showed that schizophrenic patients showed
similar performance to controls on simple deictic relations but poorer
performance on reversed and double-reversed relations, indicating a spe-
cific deficit.
There has also been investigation of deficits in deictic relations in
the subclinical condition of social anhedonia. This is a dimension of
schizotypy (a measure of normal personality traits linked with schizo-
phrenia) characterized by social disinterest, withdrawal, and lack of plea-
sure from social contact, which are important predictors of psychosis. For
example, Villatte, Monestès, McHugh, Freixa i Baqué, and Loas (2008)
compared individuals with high social anhedonia to nonclinical controls
on the McHugh protocol. The social anhedonia group were less accurate
than controls on the McHugh protocol, specifically on high relational
complexity tasks that included an interpersonal perspective (i.e., those
including I-YOU and HERE-THERE relations).
Social anhedonia is associated with low levels of interpersonal inter-
action, and it is possible that this deficit in interpersonal deictic respond-
ing is an effect of lack of social interaction. This suggests that the more
severe ToM deficits observed in schizophrenia might result from a devel-
opmental history predating the start of the diagnosable condition. Other
recent RFT-based work has supported this interpretation by providing
evidence that social anhedonia scores can be accounted for by deictic
framing, empathic concern, and experiential avoidance (Vilardaga,
Estévez, Levin, & Hayes, 2012). This work is based on the idea, explored
in greater detail further in this chapter, that a number of factors deter-
mine social interaction and that these include levels of deictic framing as
well as of skills that emerge from the latter including empathy and accep-
tance. Since RFT suggests how patterns of responding such as this might
be changed (i.e., basic deictic framing can be trained and, as will be seen,
so too can the more advanced deictic skills required for emotional accep-
tance), then this work has both indicated important predictors of the
clinical condition of schizophrenia and also suggested ways in which this
condition might be made less likely.
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Perspective Taking
In summary, results from a number of recent developmental and

clinical studies support the RFT account of perspective taking as deictic
relational framing. As suggested previously, this account promises useful
new insight into perspective taking and related psychological phenom-
ena, including the strengths and virtues that are of interest to positive
psychologists. Some of the studies discussed so far that constitute the
most direct evidence for this account have already begun to suggest how
this promise might be fulfilled. Having reviewed these studies, we will
next begin to consider this approach to perspective taking in the context
of a slightly more extended theoretical framework that touches on key
related psychological phenomena.
Perspective Taking as Deictic

Framing: A Three-Level Guide
Vilardaga and Hayes (2009) provide a three-step guide (see Table 1) to
fostering the adult clinical psychotherapeutic relationship in terms of
deictic relational responding that both constitutes a specific example of
the application of the RFT approach to perspective taking in an applied
domain and also suggests a more general theoretical model for approach-
ing perspective taking and related phenomena. Step 1 involves basic
perspective (deictic relational) training; step 2 involves empathy (trans-
formation of emotional functions via deictic relations) training; and step
3 involves psychological flexibility (self/other as context) training.
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Table 1. Three-Level Guide to Perspective

Training Perspective Taking as Empathy
Steps Theory Example
1. Basic Deictic relational frames specify a “If I were you,
deictic relation in terms of the perspective of where would I
training the speaker. The most important be?”
frames are I-YOU, HERE-THERE and “If I were you
NOW-THEN. Acquisition of these and here was
frames means learning to differentiate there, where
my behavior (“I”) from that of others would I be?”
(“YOU”) and learning that my current
responding is always “HERE,” not
“THERE” and “NOW” not “THEN.”
2. Empathy Empathy involves the transformation “I feel sad. If
training of emotional functions via deictic you were me,
relational frames. In nontechnical how would
terms, we adopt the perspective of you feel?”
others and this allows us to “feel their
suffering.” This may prompt us to help
them; however, if the suffering is too
much, we may avoid deictic framing.
3. Self/ Deictic framing also enables the “I watch
other-as- experience of self/other-as-context, thoughts and
context the invariant in all deictic feelings come
discriminations (i.e., “HERE and and go. Who
NOW”). Self/other-as-context can is it that is
be thought of as a transcendence of watching
psychological content that allows them?”
acceptance of that content. This
includes acceptance of painful content
produced through empathic responding
to the suffering of others, which can
support empathic responding.
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Perspective Taking
Step 1: Basic Deictic Training

Empirical examples of RFT training of perspective taking have been
discussed previously. It seems possible that age-or otherwise context-
adapted forms of this training in perspective taking might be made avail-
able in mainstream educational curricula. In concert with training in
other types of relational responding, this would be an important form of
general cognitive training. However, training in perspective (deictic)
relations would likely have effects that training in other (nondeictic)
relations would not, or at least not to the same degree.
For example, we discussed earlier RFT research that has examined
true and false belief understanding and the related phenomenon of decep-
tion as deictic relational responding. These are important skills for navi-
gation of our social environment. For example, deception, though it has
negative connotations, is frequently important in facilitating positive
social interaction, for example, lying to protect the feelings of another
person. Training the deictic relations underlying these skills might thus
increase what positive psychologists might refer to as social intelligence,
which in turn is associated with important benefits both to the individual
(e.g., having more friends and an improved sense of well-being) and to
society (e.g., increasing the likelihood of prosocial behavior and decreas-
ing that of antisocial behavior). Additional basic RFT research will be
needed to develop and optimize deictic relational procedures for training
those perspective-relevant phenomena already mentioned as well as other
more advanced skills such as complex second order perspective taking in
which an individual constructs the beliefs that another person has about
him/her or a third party (e.g., Perner & Wimmer, 1985). Future applied
research might use these procedures to assess and train increasingly
advanced deictic relational skills in particular populations and might also
track the long-term effects of such training on social functioning.
Training in perspective relations is also relevant with respect to peo-
ple’s ability to manage their own behavior, referred to as self-control. At
a basic behavioral level, the “self” involves responding to one’s own
responding (see, e.g., Skinner, 1974). This concept, which has been
empirically modeled in nonhumans (e.g., Lattal, 1975), provides an
important foundation for a behavioral approach to the human self but is
not enough to capture the complexity of this phenomenon. RFT argues
that a critical addition is that the responding to one’s
117
responding is verbal—in other words, it involves relational framing and,

more specifically, deictic relations (see e.g., Barnes-Holmes, Hayes, and
Dymond, 2001). Verbal self-knowledge is potentially important because
a verbal description of one’s own behavior, and especially the contingen-
cies controlling it, can alter relevant behavioral functions. Self-control,
in which an individual ignores immediate urges for self-gratification in
order to gain bigger rewards in the longer term, is an obvious example.
For instance, in developmental tests of delayed gratification, young chil-
dren are typically told that they can have one edible reinforcer (e.g.,
candy) immediately or two if they wait for several minutes. RFT would
suggest that a sufficiently verbally advanced child might relationally
frame this situation in accordance with IF…THEN frames such that
“waiting” is coordinately framed with “more” while “not waiting” is
framed with “less.” This may make it more likely that they wait.
Alternatively, imagine a child who takes the smaller amount anyway.
The child’s capacity to describe his or her own behavior and to compare
it with the alternative (e.g., “I didn’t wait and now I have less than I could
have gotten”) may well make the candy less reinforcing through transfor-
mation of function.
This kind of basic self-control probably does not, strictly speaking,
require deictic relations. It does require certain relational frames (e.g.,
coordination, temporality, and comparison), as well as transformation of
functions through these, but deictic relations are not essential.
Nevertheless, there is evidence that self-control improves with age, and
this may be due to improved deictic relational responding. As such
deictic relational training focusing in particular on NOW-THEN rela-
tions might be particularly relevant for improving this kind of self-control.
Research reviewed earlier (e.g., McHugh et al., 2004) suggested that
transformation of functions through temporal deictic (NOW-THEN)
relations may emerge later than transformation of functions through
I-YOU or HERE-THERE relations. One extrapolation from this that
might be relevant to the self-control issue is that very young children
might not respond to the future “I” or past “I” in the same way they
respond to the present “I.” This is supported by research indicating that
it is only by age four that children begin to develop a concept of self
extended into the future. As suggested above it might not be essential for
self-control that deictic relational responding be present; however, it
might arguably bolster this phenomenon if a child could respond to his
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Perspective Taking
or her future self more similarly to the way in which he or she responds
to his or her present self so that a choice between less for the present “I”
and more for the future “I” might be more likely to result in a self-
controlled rather than an impulsive response. Future RFT research
might examine the developmental trajectory of temporal deictic relations
in more detail and assess the effect of training such relations, particularly
with regard to the outcome of self-control.
Step 2: Empathy Training

Step 2 of the Vilardaga and Hayes (2009) guide involves empathy
training. Empathy has been defined as the ability to understand and
share another person’s emotional state (e.g., Hoffmann, 2000). In general,
it is thought to promote positive behavior such as helping and to prevent
or reduce antisocial behavior, including aggression and delinquency. In
addition, empathy is likely an important element in such virtues as kind-
ness, fairness, and forgiveness.
From an RFT point of view, empathy involves the transformation of
emotional functions via deictic relational frames. This account suggests
a developmental sequence, including several learning processes (e.g.,
Valdivia- Salas, Luciano, Gutierrez- Martinez, & Visdomine, 2009).
Typically developing children learn to discriminate and label emotional
states, and they derive label-state coordination relations (e.g., “I am
afraid” becomes coordinated with feelings of fear). Perspective-taking
relations are also implicated in the development of such understanding;
for example, responding is always from the perspective of I-HERE-NOW,
while comparisons can be made with experiences in the past (I-THERE-
THEN). Learning to verbally discriminate one’s own emotions in this
way is one key element in the development of empathy. A second is
learning to verbally discriminate the emotions of another. One aspect of
this is being able to discriminate and label signs of emotion in others.
Once the child begins to correctly discriminate emotions in others, then
transfer of function via relations of coordination between names of emo-
tions and particular feelings and thoughts will help to support the subse-
quent development of transformation of function via deictic relations,
the core response required. To directly train and strengthen the latter,
multiple exemplar training might be provided, as suggested by Vilardaga
119
and Hayes (2009), by using questions such as “If you were in her place,
how would you feel?” After the empathic response is established, further
work may be needed to support particular patterns of responding beyond
the felt emotion. For example, the child might need to be taught how
best to help the other person. In addition, he or she might need to be
taught to track rules linking helping behavior with relatively delayed
consequences (e.g., “If you help your sister then she’ll be happier and the
whole family will enjoy the day more”).
The above sequence constitutes a possible guide for purposes of
research and training in applied arenas. One possible area of relevance is
bullying. Sutton, Smith, and Swettenham (1999) argue that bullying
among children or adolescents often takes place in a complex social
context involving jostling for power among members of a bullying gang in
which there is a need by the lead bully to maintain social allegiance by
members and that in such interactions, advanced perspective-taking skills
are needed at least by the leader. In addition, indirect methods of bullying
involving social exclusion and rumormongering would also seem to require
well-developed perspective taking. Despite the latter, however, bullies
show low levels of empathy. In some rare cases (i.e., individuals classified
as having “antisocial personality disorder”) there may be genetic abnor-
malities causing extremely low levels of emotional distress that allow little
or no transformation of aversive emotional functions through deictic rela-
tions. Such individuals may be incapable of sharing the distress of another
and thus difficult or impossible to treat, at least with respect to the possi-
bility of instilling empathy. However, most often there are probably other
reasons levels of empathy on the part of bullies are relatively low, such as
particular patterns of relational framing with respect to self or other by
these individuals in the bullying context or more broadly that make the
transformation of functions less likely. For example, perhaps the bully feels
emotion but deliberately suppresses it to avoid losing others’ respect.
Individuals with autistic spectrum and other developmental disor-
ders may also show extreme lack of empathy. In this case, the primary
cause is deficits in relational framing, especially deictic relational framing,
which may therefore need to be trained using procedures such as those
described earlier in this chapter. Once this repertoire is in place further
emotion-relevant training will be needed to properly establish the trans-
formation of emotional functions via deictic relations; however, such
training will be more similar to that needed for other populations.
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Perspective Taking
As just suggested, when either perspective taking or the capacity for

transformation of emotional functions through deictic relations is absent,
training these repertoires can improve empathy. However, even where they
are present, empathy is not guaranteed. There are a number of possible
reasons transformation of emotional functions might be weakened or
absent, leading to a failure of empathy; however, at a purely functional
level, they all involve similar issues for which the Vilardaga and Hayes
(2009) guide recommends a similar type of intervention. The latter is
based on RFT and on Acceptance Commitment Therapy (ACT; Hayes,
Wilson, & Strosahl, 2011), a form of RFT-congruent psychological therapy.
Critical to ACT and to the intervention suggested by Vilardaga and Hayes
(2009) are RFT-based conceptions of self and other that develop via deictic
relational responding. In the next section, we explain these concepts.
Step 3: Self-Other Transcendence

Step 3 of the Vilardaga and Hayes (2009) guide involves deictic “self-
as-context” training regarding one’s own private events. This concept,
which is central to Acceptance Commitment Therapy, is based on the
RFT approach to self. RFT suggests that, in combination with an
extended relational repertoire, perspective taking can establish three
functionally different types of self. These are self as content, self as
process, and self as context (Hayes, 1995).
SELF-AS-CONTENT
Self-as-content (conceptualized self) consists of elaborate descriptive
and evaluative relational networks that a person constructs about himself
and his history over time (e.g., “I am a husband and father. I’m a bit
standoffish. I love baseball and am a big fan of the Atlanta Braves”). Self-
evaluations are always made HERE and NOW about our behaviors that
occur THERE and THEN. However, we rarely attend to the process of
interpreting and evaluating as it happens in the present moment.
Difficulties occur when products of relational responding (e.g., thoughts,
beliefs, judgments) are treated as objectively true and inherent aspects of
the real world, a process referred to within ACT as cognitive fusion. This
can be problematic when self-evaluations come to appear as historically
121
rooted and unchangeable; our stories may become rigid and ossified and
no longer simply describe our past behavior but also guide future behav-
ior in directions that maintain the coherence of the story.
SELF-AS-PROCESS
Self-as-process (knowing self) is the ongoing verbal discrimination
of psychological events as they occur (e.g., “I feel sad”). The knowing self
feeds the conceptualized self (e.g., If I discriminate that I frequently feel
sad then I may describe myself as “a depressed person”) and is also neces-
sary to contact the transcendent self since a self-monitoring repertoire is
required to observe the observer.
The knowing self is extremely useful in behavioral regulation both
for the socioverbal community and for the person him- or herself. It
allows others to predict a person’s behavior without knowledge of his or
her learning history. For example, if someone says that she feels angry
then this allows a level of prediction of her behavior. Self-as-process is
also critical in the psychological development of the individual. In order
to respond effectively to one’s own responding, one must first be aware of
the response and its impact. For example, understanding and responding
to my thoughts and feelings about other people’s behavior in a fluid and
flexible manner is critical for establishing personal relationships.
Self-as-process may be underdeveloped if there is inadequate training
by the verbal community, such as when awareness and expression of emo-
tions, thoughts, and sensation are punished, ignored, denied, or contra-
dicted, as is often observed in the case of child neglect or abuse. Weak
self-knowledge may also be the result of experiential avoidance, the ten-
dency to avoid or escape aversive experiences. Chronic experiential avoid-
ance results in the difficulty observing and describing one’s thoughts,
emotions, and sensations seen in disorders such as depression for example.
SELF-AS-CONTEXT
Self-as-context (transcendent self) is the invariant in all self-
discriminations. If someone answers many different questions about
himself and his behavior, then the only aspect of his answering that will
be consistent across time is the context from which the answer is given,
that is, “I, HERE and NOW.” Since self-as-context is an abstraction from
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Perspective Taking
the content of verbal responding it is “content-less” and thus constant

and unchanging from when it first emerges (i.e., without content there is
nothing that could change). It is itself a product of verbal responding, yet
as a verbal category that applies to everything that a person has ever
done it incorporates both the nonverbal self (as behavioral stream result-
ing from direct psychological processes) as well as the verbal self (as both
object and process of knowledge gained through relational framing) and
can thus provide the experiential link between nonverbal and verbal
self-knowledge.
Self-as-context is often referred to as the transcendent self, because
it is difficult to describe or contact verbally, even though it is a product
of relational framing. It cannot be experienced as an object because
experiencing it would necessitate adopting a perspective on it that was
not one’s own perspective, which is impossible. Hence, it is not thing-like
and thus can be described as limitless, unchanging, and ever present. For
these reasons, it is often linked with spiritual and religious concepts and
experiences.
The self-as-context has important implications for how humans expe-
rience and regulate psychological pain since this sense of self is not threat-
ened by aversive content in the way that the conceptualized or knowing
selves can be. It allows a person to confront deep emotional pain and
facilitates willingness, compassion, and intimacy. This characteristic
makes this concept of central importance from an ACT point of view.
THE VERBAL OTHER

RFT suggests that just as perspective taking can establish three func-
tionally distinct types of self, it can also establish three distinct types of
other, namely, other-as-content, other-as-process and other-as-context
(Hayes, 1995). Other-as-content is the verbal construction of the listener.
For example, we might assume different things about a new acquaintance
we knew to be religious than one we knew to be atheist; in other words,
we might verbally construct a different listener in each case and approach
certain topics differently on that basis. Other-as-process is also a verbal
construction but a more fluid one because in this case, we construct the
reactions of the other on a moment-by-moment basis. This tends to
happen in conversations as we verbally construct how the other person is
reacting to us, especially in more personal conversations in which the
123
person is more likely to reveal his or her feelings (e.g., “I’m a little disap-
pointed to hear you say that”). Other-as-context (the transcendent other)
is relatively uncommon, occurring when the speaker is psychologically
connected to the listener as a purely conscious person. Transcendence is
always experienced as “HERE and NOW” and thus at this level speaker
and listener are one, since “HERE and NOW” cannot be more than one
event by definition. As such, self-as-context is automatically linked with
the transcendent other, and thus the term “self-other-as-context” or
“transcendent self-other” can be used to describe this perspective.
SELF AND THE FAILURE OF EMPATHY

This RFT analysis of the construction of self and other can be used
to understand and suggest remediation for different examples of the
failure of transformation of function via deictic relations (i.e., of empathic
responding). One example is when there is such strong fusion with a
particular conceptualized self that events tend to be universally framed
in terms of their relevance to this self (e.g., narcissistic personality disor-
der) and thus taking the perspective of another is made less likely. In
other cases, transformation of function results in such distress that it
produces not sympathy for the other but self-concern (see, e.g., Eisenberg,
2000) and thus the result, once again, is the absence of overt empathic
responding. This has been offered as an explanation for lack of empathy
in some cases of children and adolescents with disruptive behavior disor-
der. It may also be relevant with respect to professionals dealing with
others’ distress, who due to avoidance of excessive emotional distress lose
empathy for clients and even experience burnout. In addition to these
cases in which transformation of emotional functions via deictic rela-
tions is reduced due to psychological processes that are relevant for par-
ticular individuals more than others, there are also a number of contextual
variables that may make empathic responding more or less likely for any
individual. These include similarity between observer and observed,
familiarity, social dispositions, cooperative versus competitive context,
and how much the observer likes the observed.
From an ACT perspective, all the examples just given involve a
degree of fusion with private content that makes empathic responding
less likely. The first example involves strong fusion with a particular self-
conception to the extent that the other is less salient, while the
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Perspective Taking
contextual variables listed at the end of the paragraph all pertain to

fusion with particular conceptions of self as being in opposition with
other. The other case suggests that fusion with rules dictating experien-
tial avoidance is playing a part. It is to counteract fusion with covert
responding such as seen in these examples that in the third level of their
guide Vilardaga and Hayes (2009) suggest an intervention to train self/
other-as-context in which a therapist has to move flexibly between imag-
ining herself as her client and as herself at different times and in different
situations. Their suggestion is aimed at psychotherapists but is likely to
be helpful for other situations in which there is a lack of empathy (the
differences between the various examples given warrant empirical
research, but the process targeted by Vilardaga and Hayes is common to
all). From this transcendent perspective in which unhelpful transforma-
tions of function in accordance with particular rules (e.g., “I need to be
perfect” or “I cannot stand this distress” or “I don’t like this person”) are
made less likely, choosing to act in accordance with values so that
responding has the quality of compassion for self and/or empathy for the
other becomes possible.
Deictic relations and transformation of function through deictic
relations represent potentially fruitful approaches to the domains of per-
spective taking and empathy, respectively. The newly introduced concept
of the three senses of self and other, which is rooted in the concept of
deictic relations, also provides interesting avenues for research and prac-
tical purposes. Regarding the current context, all of the aforementioned
constitutes an important foundation for future empirical analysis of key
patterns of complex human behavior in which positive psychologists and
others concerned to understand the human condition and maximize
human potential are interested.
Conclusion
Positive psychology aims to “achieve a scientific understanding and effec-
tive interventions to build thriving in individuals, families, and communi-
ties” (Seligman & Csikszentmihalyi, 2000, p. 13). Contextual behavioral
science, which includes both RFT and ACT, is an empirically based and
practically oriented approach to psychology that has begun to provide new
insights into the behavioral origins of key categories of behavior in which
125
positive psychologists are interested. Perspective taking is one such cate-

gory and is particularly important since it is closely linked with several
others including open mindedness, kindness, social intelligence, forgive-
ness, fairness, self-control, and spirituality. In this chapter we presented
the contextual behavioral and more specifically RFT approach to perspec-
tive taking. This practically oriented, “bottom up” analysis will hopefully
help to facilitate the scientific understanding and effective interventions
with respect to these phenomena that positive psychologists seek.
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127
CHAPTER 6
Committed Action
Lance M. McCracken, PhD

Health Psychology Section, Psychology Department,
Institute of Psychiatry, King’s College London
S ometimes the quality of the actions we take renders them unsuc-

cessful. We are able to recognize some of these qualities when they
happen, at least some of the time. These are called half-hearted,
pig-headed, tentative, oblivious, passive, unmotivated, giving up, and so
forth. There are also some qualities of action that may unexpectedly
carry risks for failure. These are called perfect, cautious, knowing, and
“just do it.” This short chapter considers a quality of effective action, a
quality emphasized in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT;
Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 2012), a quality called “committed.” Within
a framework of positive psychology, committed action falls in the
“engaged life” domain and part of what might be called “wise deployment
of strengths,” or even “perseverance” (Duckworth, Steen, & Seligman,
2005), although here this is a particular kind of perseverance, as will be
seen. The objective in this chapter is to examine some of the qualities
actions can have, clarify action that is committed from action that is not,
and briefly discuss methods for shaping committed action. Chronic pain
is used as an example condition here, as it presents some classic threats
to effective action that can be neutralized by shaping a flexible commit-
ted quality.
Committed Action
ACT and the broader positive psychology approach sometimes differ

in how they conceptualize and frame the focus of assessment and study.
In ACT it might be more common to say that behavior has certain quali-
ties or functions, while in positive psychology it might be more common
to speak of traits or qualities of the person. At the same time it has been
argued that it is not enough to simply focus on positive traits and personal
characteristics, that traits are not inherently positive or negative, and
that it is important to understand the conditions under which different
traits enhance or reduce well-being (McNulty & Fincham, 2011).
Certainly when positive psychology approaches are more sensitive to
context they are also more consistent with ACT. In any case, it is just to
say that these approaches are both different in some ways and at the same
time compatible. Here committed action will be presented not as a quality
of a person, although it is a capacity that a person can enhance. It will be
defined as a quality of action that is contextually determined both in its
committed quality and in its effectiveness for the goals at hand.
The Problem with Pacing

“Pacing” is a traditional treatment method in rehabilitation and chronic
pain management since at least the 1970s. Pacing is also a quality of
action, as being discussed here. The problem with pacing is that, despite
its immediate appeal and its long history, there seems to be little evi-
dence that it is helpful for chronic pain or for other conditions such as
chronic fatigue (see White et al., 2011). In fact, in a recent review of
pacing the authors concluded that as a treatment method for chronic
pain it “lacks consensus of definition and a demonstrable evidence base”
(Gill & Brown, 2009). In this chapter “pacing” will be looked at as an
approach to behavior change and improved functioning that is common
sense, and even sensible, yet limited. Committed action is proposed here
as a better approach.
Pacing has great surface appeal. “Just right” sits between too hot and
too cold. People are often drawn away from extremes to the middle, the
medium, or the balanced. No doubt this springs in part from success we
can achieve from aiming toward the middle some of the time. Our culture
is filled with slogans and phrases that reinforce this experience of the
“happy medium” or the “middle of the road,” or “work-life balance,” for
129
instance. Indeed food is better if it is neither too hot nor too cold. Experience
and ideas like these are, likely, part of the impetus behind “pacing.”
Setting aside that pacing possibly “lacks consensus of definition,”
let’s take just one meaning of the term. According to the ordinary daily
use of the term, “pacing” means to set or regulate the rate of an activity,
particularly so that an activity can be continued without needing to stop.
In chronic pain treatment settings pacing is contrasted with “avoidance”
and what is variously called “overactivity cycling,” “overactivity-
underactivity cycling,” “boom and bust,” and so forth. Once again,
pacing is trying to be somewhere between doing too little, almost all of
the time, and doing too much, at least intermittently. Pacing methods
teach patients to break up activities into pieces, to use rest breaks, to slow
down, to use switching of tasks, and to do what is called the “3 Ps,” “pri-
oritize, plan, and pace.” It all sounds reasonable, but when these patterns
of activity are studied it is typically found that they are associated more
with patterns of avoidance, distress, and disability than with patterns of
healthy engagement and positive well-being (McCracken & Samuel,
2007). In some studies such patterns seem simply to bear no relation to
daily functioning (Karsdorp & Vlaeyen, 2009), which of course should
not be the case if they are meant to serve the improvement of daily func-
tioning. Here the “happy medium” in activity seems not to be the answer,
but how does that happen?
One of the problems with pacing is that it derives mainly from
common sense and not from a deep understanding of how behavior is
actually coordinated. As a method based in common sense, training in
pacing probably does not typically appreciate the complexity of the
behavior change challenge it is trying to tackle. In a sense common sense
is not enough. One problem not appreciated is the strength and durabil-
ity of influences on behavior that coordinate avoidance. For example, if
people suffering chronic pain are fearful and avoidant, instructions and
reassurance are unlikely to change that in many cases (Linton,
McCracken, & Vlaeyen, 2008). More potent and precise methods are
needed. Attempting to alter surface features of behavior, however it is
structured, such as in rate and pattern over time, may do nothing to
undermine the influence of feelings of pain, fear, and anxiety, and the
content of thoughts. And, in people who are seeking treatment for
chronic pain and pain-related disability it is virtually assured that their
thoughts harbor avoidant influences. To say it another way, attempts to
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Committed Action
impose a new structure of behavior on top of a pattern designed to reduce

pain and fear may fail unless there is a focus in treatment on first disin-
tegrating the existing pattern of behavior and its coordinating situations.
That means going to the root of what is supporting the existing behavior
with effective treatments, such as exposure-based methods in the case of
fear and avoidance. It also means using methods to decrease the domi-
nating influences carried in thought content and, essentially, the “stories”
we live in, stories about pain, pain management, and ourselves. In ACT
terms these processes require methods designed to enhance acceptance
or openness, and cognitive defusion, the ability to contact experience
outside of our own thoughts about these experiences.
Anyone who has set a goal, sought the goal, and then screwed up, what
we can call the “three Ss,” already has the direct experience that tinkering
with surface features of behavior patterns, even if done with great convic-
tion, does not create success all of the time. Other ongoing influences on
behavior, and particularly durable and potentially overwhelming influ-
ences, such as those based in cognitive content, remain in control.
Another problem with pacing is that it makes a distinction in behav-
ior that may not in all cases be a psychologically relevant one. In the
conceptual frame of pacing there is a distinction made between avoid-
ance and “overdoing it.” It seems reasonable to do this because they seem
in some ways to be opposites. However this may obscure important simi-
larities. If you notice how patterns of overdoing it unfold, you see that
these patterns have more in common with avoidance than it at first
appears. If a pattern of high rate of activity leading to subsequent pain
increase and then disrupted functioning happens consistently, there is
probably some refusal or avoidance of feelings happening before the point
that feelings of pain overwhelm other possible influences. Perhaps there
is an ignoring of limits or an unwillingness to experience an activity in a
way that needs to be modified to accommodate the pain. Perhaps if there
was greater awareness and openness to this pain, that could allow more
effective functioning and guide a behavior pattern with more flexible
persistence. If I develop an ache in my Achilles tendon as I run, I can
ignore it, and it may eventually ache more. I can also pay closer attention
to it, shorten my stride, and experience that it is possible to keep running
as the ache eases, or I may slow down or stop.
Certainly whenever a person with chronic pain consistently repeats
a course of action that leads inevitably to the same unwanted result, such
131
as with a high rate of activity that leads to isolation and inactivity, then
this pattern reflects psychological inflexibility by definition. So in the
context of pain, both overdoing it and avoidance can function as avoid-
ance and can reflect psychological inflexibility. Both can lack openness,
have qualities of disconnection with direct experience, and may not
serve goals and values.
Open and Aware: Helpful

and Not Enough
ACT is a broadly applicable approach to helping people change. It
includes some highly effective and now increasingly well-known methods
for helping people to open up to their experiences, get out of their think-
ing, and connect with the present and their values (Hayes, Strohsal, &
Wilson, 2012). Its apparently best known process, acceptance, is such an
appealing and obviously applicable process for chronic pain that, of all
the processes from ACT, it has prompted the most study and integrated
itself the most into clinical service developments. Based on its immediate
appeal, there were published data on acceptance of pain as early as the
1990s (McCracken, 1998). It was eight years later before studies broad-
ened their focus and finally yielded published data on another one of the
ACT processes, values (McCracken & Yang, 2006). Only in recent years
have studies finally addressed such processes as “contact with the present
moment,” and cognitive defusion in chronic pain (McCracken, Gutiérrez-
Martínez, & Smyth, 2012), processes which, along with acceptance, con-
stitute the mindfulness-based processes within ACT.
The part of the ACT model that seems most neglected, certainly in
chronic pain research, is the part called “committed action.” Possibly
naively, it seems that most research groups have failed to focus much
treatment development work on the action component of ACT. We
instead pursued a focus on helping people open up to their experiences,
get out of their thoughts and beliefs, and connect to their present experi-
ence and values. In retrospect, the implicit assumption in all of this was
that healthy behavior would emerge from there. If one pursues this route,
in training or in providing treatment, there is an interesting result that
can happen. You see that it is possible to create the capacity for
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Committed Action
openness, defusion, and connection with values, without a great deal of

action. A piece is missing. In a sense we were taking a focus on mindful-
ness but without enough of a focus on action.
As far as we know there are no standardized measures of “committed
action” as such. Yet, in order to further study committed action and to
clarify its role with the wider process of psychological flexibility, means
for measuring and tracking committed action are needed.
Commitment Is Not a Mental Act

In everyday usage “commitment” seems to imply a pledge, a state of
mental conviction, or a devotion toward a particular goal or even some-
thing more abstract, such as a principle or belief. In fact this everyday
sense of the term includes a trap, one that can block us from actually
doing committed action. In the everyday sense of the word, doing or fol-
lowing a commitment seems to require a strength of mental devotion—
hence, no mental devotion = no doing.
In ACT, committed action is “a values-based action that occurs at a
particular moment in time and that is deliberately linked to creating a
pattern of action that serves the value” (Hayes et al., 2012, p. 328).
Hence, three important features of committed action within ACT are
that it is situated in the here and now, not in the future; it is linked spe-
cifically to values; and it is action. So in contrast with pacing that focuses
on future planning of features of action like rate, duration, and schedul-
ing of breaks, the use of rest, and so forth, with pain as a guiding experi-
ence, committed action explicitly focuses on the present moment with
values as a guiding experience.
In an attempt to reverse the absence of any focus in research into the
process of committed action our research group recently began to develop
an instrument to measure it. We have done this within a clinical setting
of chronic pain management. Once again the purpose here is to one day
show that committed action may be a better way than pacing to consider
the activation side of chronic pain treatment. Taking the definition of
committed action from ACT as the starting point, we created a pool of
items intended to reflect committed action and to form the basis for a
measure. Translating the items into a measure would next require that we
obtain data with them and submit the items to scale analyses and
133
validation. Table 1 includes examples of the items we created. What may

be useful about these items in the context of this chapter is that they are
at least a preliminary attempt to discriminate committed action from pat-
terns that are not committed. They are exemplars of these classes, and
they also give some insight into how one might begin a process of creating
a new measure in an area where there is currently no such measure.
Table 1: Sample items from a preliminary

instrument to assess committed action.
Positively Keyed Committed Action Items
• I am able to persist with a course of action after experiencing
difficulties.
• When I fail in reaching a goal, I can change how I approach it.
• When a goal is difficult to reach, I am able to take small steps to
reach it.
• I prefer to change how I approach a goal rather than quit.
• I am able to follow my long-term plans including times when
progress is slow.
• When I make commitments, I can both stick to them and change
them.
• I am able to pursue my goals both when this feels easy and when it
feels difficult.
• I am able to persist in what I am doing or to change what I am
doing depending on what helps me reach my goals.
• I am able to let go of goals that I repeatedly experience as
unreachable.
• I am able to incorporate discouraging experiences into the process
of pursuing my long-term plans.
• I am able to accept failure as part of the experience of doing what
is important in my life.
• I can accept my limitations and adjust what I do accordingly.
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Committed Action
Negatively Keyed Committed Action Items

• If I experience pain from something I do, I will avoid it no matter
what it costs me.
• I act impulsively when I feel under pressure.
• When I fail to achieve what I want to do, I make a point to never
do that again.
• I approach goals in an “all-or-nothing” fashion.
• I get stuck doing the same thing over and over even if I am not
successful.
• I find it difficult to carry on with an activity unless I experience
that it is successful.
• I am more likely to be guided by what I feel than by my goals.
• If I make a commitment and later fail to reach it, I then drop the
commitment.
• If I feel distressed or discouraged, I let my commitments slide.
• I get so wrapped up in what I am thinking or feeling that I cannot
do the things that matter to me.
• If I cannot do something my way, I will not do it at all.
Goal-Setting and Committed Action

One of the most straightforward and familiar methods for creating pat-
terns of committed action is within the context of goal setting. If goal
setting is done in a way designed to organize the participant’s actions so
they are practical, present- focused, values-
directed, and part of an
extended pattern of behavior integrated into daily functioning, then it
entails committed action. Within ACT, goal setting and committed
action methods are connected to values, as already mentioned.
Importantly, these methods are also supplemented with methods to
increase acceptance and cognitive defusion. This is needed, as potential
135
barriers, in the form of thoughts and feelings, are essentially inevitable in

any pattern of values- based action. Table 2 briefly summarizes an
approach to committed action through goal setting based on Luoma,
Hayes, and Walser (2007).
Table 2: Steps for Enhancing

Committed Action
The following outline is a brief guide for how to enhance committed
action in the context of goal setting and using methods from
Acceptance and Commitment Therapy.
1. Identify relevant high-priority values domains and develop an

action plan.
2. Help the patient commit to and take action.
3. Attend to and meet barriers to action with willingness, defusion,

contact with the present, and self-as-observer skills.
4. Generalize to larger patterns of action and to wider situations

over time.
Goal setting can sometimes feel like a mechanical or didactic process.

One way to enhance it is to incorporate experiential components. For
example, mental imagery and eyes-closed exercises can be done to inves-
tigate and manipulate some of the psychological experiences that play a
part in reaching or blocking goals. A specific example follows:
Exercise
First, do appropriate preparations, provide some guidance on character-
istics of useful goals (i.e., specific, measurable, attainable, relevant, and
time limited), and then have participants sit with eyes closed and focus
on your instructions. Next ask them to imagine a goal they have, to
picture what it would be like to achieve it, and then ask them to notice
what happens as they do that, pausing appropriately. Typically,
136
Committed Action
participants say it feels good to do this—whatever they say is okay at this

point. If there is some discussion, it might focus on how in modern
Western cultures in particular a strategy of visualizing our goal is often
believed to enhance our ability to reach our goals. In fact, when this is
studied, it seems that all it does is help us feel better without moving us
significantly closer to reaching our goals.
The next phase of the exercise begins with the same visualization
task, but then ask the participants to do two additional tasks, first to
identify a concrete action they could take in the next two days to pursue
their goal, and, when that is done, to watch what happens in their expe-
rience when it is said that they have to DO this action, that it is now
required. Typically at this point, participants will have any number of
thoughts or feelings that essentially “say” this is not possible or that seem
to present barriers. They are simply asked at this point to notice and
identify their barriers for further examination later.
Discussion following the focus on the experience of both thinking
about a goal and doing an action can examine whether participants
notice that this seems to be how it works: fantasizing feels good, but
getting closer to needing to do something automatically creates apparent
barriers. Further discussion might focus on how evidence shows that
goals are more likely to be reached if specific actions are planned, poten-
tial barriers identified, and methods for dealing with those barriers
planned and practiced. Acceptance, defusion, or self-as-observer exer-
cises could be practiced directly with any psychological content that may
have emerged during the “now it’s time to do it” part of the exercise.
A next phase of this exercise could include identifying a specific goal
and asking for a public commitment to be done to support it. This public
commitment capitalizes on a final empirically supported goal-setting
method, and also provides an additional opportunity to catch, identify,
and deal skillfully with potential barriers.
Of course in the end the purpose of committed action methods is to
create patterns of committed action that are inherently reinforcing, inte-
grate into daily life, and generalize into different domains of daily func-
tioning. In a sense a verbal statement out loud is itself a kind of committed
action as are the actions of making a plan for following, and yet these fall
short of the whole pattern of action as it might be specified in a goal.
The final phase of committed action work, if there ever is such a
phase, is when patterns of action that are values based and goals
137
reaching are being done persistently and flexibly as ongoing actions. This
inevitably means that patients engage in these between sessions and the
therapist and patient either observe that these qualities are being
achieved or continue to address the stumbling blocks that happen until
they are.
Summary
Committed action is action that is present focused, linked to values, and
part of a pattern of larger activity that similarly serves one’s values. It is
sometimes referred to as choosing and choosing again. It is not primarily
a kind of pledge for the future. It is a way to create flexible persistence
where the behavior pattern might otherwise have the quality of choose,
experience an unwanted result, and give up. As it is values based and
action oriented it is akin to the domain of “the engaged life” in current
conceptual frameworks of positive psychology (Duckworth et al., 2005).
Committed action toward goals that we care about inevitably leads
to potential barriers in the form of feelings and thoughts, and this is
when methods in ACT that enhance acceptance and cognitive defusion
can be very useful. In an overall pattern of successful committed action,
thought and feelings, experience of failure, and so forth are not things to
be avoided; they are things to be incorporated as part and parcel of the
whole pattern of action.
An example was chosen for analysis here; this is the method of train-
ing in pacing that is done almost universally in pain management centers
that employ psychological methods. Accepting that there can be differ-
ent meanings of the word pacing and a range of methods focused on the
same, there is nonetheless a lesson to learn from the approach of pacing.
Pacing is an amazingly commonsense approach. It also has been around
for more than 30 years—and it has essentially no evidence. Pacing
attempts to create a behavior pattern that includes persistent engage-
ment, the capacity to pursue an activity without the need to stop. One of
the lessons from pacing seems to be that pacing is too weak as a behavior
change method in relation to the strength of the behavior pattern it
attempts to replace. That behavior pattern is persistent disengagement,
or avoidance. Brute force activation, a quality of “just do it,” or activity
138
Committed Action
patterns that are attempts to carry a preordained “just right” structure

are not always successful. Rather, it is suggested that effective patterns of
activity are contextually sensitive. That means they include openness to
experiences that happen during the activity, connection to goals and
values and the present situation, and flexible choosing to engage and
then choosing that again.
References
Duckworth, A.L., Steen, T.A., & Seligman, M.E.P. (2005). Positive psychology in
clinical practice. Annual Review of Clinical Psychology, 1, 629-651.
Gill, J. R., & Brown, C. A. (2009). A structured review of the evidence for pacing
as a chronic pain intervention. European Journal of Pain, 13, 214-216.
Therapy: The process and practice of mindful change. New York: Guilford Press.
Karsdorp, P. A., & Vlaeyen, J. W. S. (2009). Active avoidance but not activity
pacing is associated with disability in fibromyalgia. Pain, 147, 29-35.
Linton, S. J., McCracken, L. M., & Vlaeyen J. W. S. (2008). Reassurance: Help or
hinder in the treatment of pain. Pain, 134, 5-8.
Luoma, J. B., Hayes, S. C., Walser, R. D. (2007). Learning ACT: An acceptance &
commitment skills training manual for therapists. Oakland, CA: New Harbinger.
McCracken, L. M. (1998). Learning to live with the pain: Acceptance of pain pre-
dicts adjustment in persons with chronic pain. Pain, 74, 21-27.
McCracken, L. M., Gutiérrez-Martínez, O., & Smyth, C. (2012). “Decentering”
reflects psychological flexibility in people with chronic pain and correlates
with their quality of functioning. Health Psychology. Advance online publica-
tion. doi:10.1037/a0028093
McCracken, L. M., & Samuel, V. M. (2007). The role of avoidance, pacing, and
other activity patterns in chronic pain. Pain, 130, 119-125.
McCracken, L. M., & Yang, S-Y. (2006). The role of values in a contextual cognitive-
behavioral approach to chronic pain. Pain, 123, 137-145.
McNulty, J. K., & Fincham, F. D. (2011). Beyond positive psychology? Toward a
contextual view of psychological processes and well- being. American
Psychologist. doi: 10.1037/a0024572
White, P. D., Goldsmith, K. A., Johnson, A. L., Potts, L., Walwyn, R., J. C.
DeCesare, … Sharpe M. (2011). Comparison of adaptive pacing therapy, cog-
nitive behaviour therapy, graded exercise therapy, and specialist medical care
for chronic fatigue syndrome (PACE): A randomised trial. Lancet, 377,
823-836.
139
CHAPTER 7
Positive Interventions:
Past, Present, and Future
Acacia C. Parks
Hiram College
Robert Biswas-Diener
Portland State University
Positive Acorn
Positive Interventions: Past,

Present, and Future
As positive intervention researchers, we are often approached by propo-
nents of ACT, and the ensuing conversation is frequently the same. The
questioners say, “I have always wondered what the difference is between
a positive intervention and ACT.” Obscured within this polite statement
are the questions they really want to ask: Is there anything new about
positive interventions, or are we “selling old wine in a new bottle”? What
do positive interventions bring to the table that other interventions do
not? These are, we think, reasonable questions, and ones that research-
ers in our field too rarely take the time to answer. Equally pressing is a
concern that we hear more rarely but are fairly certain lurks in the back
Positive Interventions: Past, Present, and Future
of our questioners’ minds with some regularity: Isn’t it irresponsible to

ignore a person’s problems? Isn’t there a risk that such an approach can
do harm to clients?
One central goal of this chapter is to explore the ways in which posi-
tive intervention research has and has not been thoughtful about exactly
these issues. First, we address the question of what, exactly, a positive inter-
vention is. We follow with a review of the different areas of positive inter-
vention, including descriptions of prototypical activities, evidence of their
effectiveness, and important considerations for their application. Lastly, we
discuss several future directions for positive intervention research; most
notable of these is investigation of the possibility that positive interven-
tions, in certain contexts, may be ineffective, or even cause harm. Each of
these sections constitutes a step toward our final goal of discussing what
distinguishes positive interventions from other approaches in general and
from acceptance-based approaches in particular.
What Is a Positive Intervention?

One legitimate criticism of positive intervention research is that it is
difficult to determine what actually counts as a “positive intervention.”
Indeed, there is no definitive definition of a “positive intervention” and
no clear set of guidelines for classifying interventions as “positive.”
However, this is a problem that researchers have attempted to tackle.
Our efforts at synthesis led us to three broad conceptualizations of posi-
tive interventions: 1) interventions that focus on positive topics, 2) inter-
ventions that operate by a positive mechanism or that target a positive
outcome variable, and 3) interventions that are designed to promote
wellness rather than to fix weakness.
First, “positive” interventions can be defined as those that focus on
topics that are positive; in other words, they contain little or no mention
of problems, instead emphasizing the positive aspects of peoples’ lives.
The “positive content” approach is consistent with the positive psycho-
therapy (PPT) interventions proposed by Seligman, Rashid, and Parks
(2006): “The goal [of PPT] is to keep the positive aspects of the clients’
lives in the forefront of their minds … and to strengthen already existing
positive aspects.” (p. 780). We think that this definition is much too
broad; it encompasses any intervention in which individuals do not
attend to their problems or do something pleasant. By this definition,
141
procrastinating by playing video games until 4 am constitutes a positive

intervention; so does drinking oneself into oblivion to mask anxiety. In
other words, while a content-level definition does describe all positive
interventions, it also describes a variety of other behaviors that are not
positive interventions, and so it is not sufficient.
An intervention can also be defined as “positive” if the mechanism or
target outcome is a positive variable such as positive emotion, meaning,
and so on (see below for an extensive overview of such variables). The defi-
nition used by Sin & Lyubomirsky (2009) in their meta-analysis is a good
example of this approach; they define a positive intervention as one that is
“aimed at cultivating positive feelings, positive behaviors, or
positive cognitions” (p. 1). This definition is better than the last in that it
is less inclusive, requiring some level of theoretical development (there
must be some positive variable being targeted, so avoidance doesn’t fit).
However, the definition does not include any requirement that the
intervention defines its target variable, nor that the target variable has an
empirical basis, nor that the intervention actually changes that
target variable; “positivity,” for example, would be sufficient, even though
we have no idea what “positivity” means, nor do we know how
to measure or change it. Thus, the variable-level definition encompasses
anything with the tag line “be positive” or “think positive”—including, we
shudder to say, The Secret, and other myriad crackpot self-help approaches.1
Lastly, an intervention can be “positive” if the goal of the interven-
tion is to improve rather than to remediate; in other words, the target
population is nondistressed, and so the intervention is self-help rather
than therapy. The goal of the intervention, then, is to bring individuals
from acceptable levels of functioning to “good” or “great.” This definition
is consistent with the rhetoric that came from Seligman and colleagues
during the first few years after positive psychology’s inception. For
example, when speaking about the general goals of the positive psychol-
ogy movement, Seligman, Parks, and Steen (2005) stated: “We know
very little about how to improve the lives of the people whose days are
largely free of overt mental dysfunction” (p. 1379). A positive interven-
tion, by this definition, is one designed for the subset of the population
1 We don’t have space or license here to do justice to all of the things that are wrong
with The Secret, nor to sufficiently express how icky it makes us feel when people think
The Secret is part of positive psychology.
142
not suffering from a mental disorder. While this definition is more selec-
tive than the previous two, it excludes one prominent positive interven-
tion—positive psychotherapy (PPT)—which has been applied in major
depression (Seligman, Rashid & Parks, 2006), schizophrenia (Meyer et
al., in press), and nicotine dependence (Kahler et al., 2011).
While each of these definitions seems reasonable at first glance,
each is uniquely problematic when used as a stand-alone method for clas-
sifying interventions as “positive” or not. We believe this is because the
goal of creating a single definition may be impractical. Research on posi-
tive interventions was well under way before anyone attempted to infuse
it with theory, and so the research follows no common theoretical thread.
Any definition we create, then, is going to be a post hoc rationalization
of the research that has been done so far rather than a theory-driven
attempt to classify. It will not be simple because it is an attempt to bring
together a broad body of work that was not a cohesive effort. Thus, rather
than creating a single definition, we propose a set of criteria derived by
integrating and refining the above definitions:
• The primary goal of the intervention is to build some “positive”

variable or variables (e.g., subjective well-being, positive emotion,
meaning). This criterion eliminates self-indulgent or avoidant
behaviors with no real function toward self-improvement.
• Empirical evidence exists that the intervention successfully

manipulates the above target variable(s). This criterion elimi-
nates the myriad existing self-help approaches that have no
research basis.
• Empirical evidence exists that improving the target variable will

lead to positive outcomes for the population in which it is admin-
istered. This criterion requires that the target variable has an
empirical basis.2 It allows for special cases in which positive
2 We acknowledge that requiring an “empirical basis” is a slippery slope without any

formal criteria for what constitutes an empirical basis. We also acknowledge that previ-
ous efforts to do this in other arenas have proven fruitful (e.g., the guidelines for what
constitutes an “Empirically Supported Therapy” set forth by the APA Task Force on
Promotion and Dissemination of Psychological Procedures in 1995). While creating
such criteria is beyond the scope of this chapter, we are enthusiastic about doing so in
other venues.
143
interventions are responsibly applied in a clinical population (for

example, Kahler et al. [2011] use a positive intervention in
smoking cessation because positive affect is a predictor of treat-
ment success). It also excludes interventions that target positive
variables in clients for whom this approach would be inappropri-
ate; we would assert, for example, that a gratitude intervention
for recent trauma victims would be unlikely to produce positive
outcomes, and thus would not be a positive intervention.
We believe that this set of criteria is the right balance of inclusive

and exclusive—it encompasses all existing positive interventions but
excludes none that we know of.
What Do We Know about the

Benefits of Positive Interventions?
Modern positive intervention research began as the study of indi-
vidual techniques that target specific happiness-related constructs (see
below for a comprehensive review). In these seminal studies, many of
which are discussed in greater detail below, participants are randomly
assigned to practice one of several potential activities—some designed to
serve as “controls” and others designed to increase some aspect of well-
being. They complete a battery of pre-intervention questionnaires, prac-
tice the activity for some predefined time period ranging from one to six
weeks, and then complete postintervention questionnaires. In some
cases, participants may complete one or more long-term follow-up ques-
tionnaires as well.
Other chapters (including at least one written by the first author)
have attempted to organize existing positive interventions according to
one theoretical framework or another. However, just as there is no
common definition of a “positive intervention,” neither does there exist
any single, empirically based theoretical framework that unifies positive
interventions. Unlike many areas of psychology, where theory drives the
research, in positive interventions, the opposite is true; data showing
that an activity is effective came first, with questions of “how” and “why”
tabled for a later date. Thus, the series of summaries below—while, to
our knowledge, comprehensive—comes in no particular order. For each
144
area of intervention we discuss, we endeavor not only to describe the

most common techniques and the evidence for their effectiveness but
also to take a critical approach, highlighting caveats and special consid-
erations as appropriate.
Strengths—Different conceptualizations of strengths exist, with
some focusing more on character (VIA-IS; Peterson & Seligman, 2004)
and others focusing more on talent (Clifton StrengthsFinder; The Gallup
Organization, 1999). Broadly speaking, however, strengths are positive
personality traits, and strengths interventions are activities that involve
the identification, use, and/or development of one’s strengths. The
general paradigm for all strengths interventions is the same: an individ-
ual takes a strengths test,3 receives feedback on his strengths, and then
changes his behavior in order to use his strengths more often.
Although Gallup has been using a strengths-based model in practice
for many years (Hodges & Clifton, 2004) this approach was also popular
during the advent of the modern positive psychology movement.
Seligman, Steen, Park and Peterson (2005), for example, found that the
process of identifying and using one’s strengths resulted in increases in
happiness and decreases in depressive symptoms, and that these benefits
lasted through six-month follow-up among those individuals who contin-
ued to practice it. The actual use of one’s strengths, above and beyond
learning what one’s strengths are, is an essential ingredient of this activ-
ity; participants in an “assessment-only” condition (where they learned
their strengths but were not asked to use that information in any way)
were indistinguishable from those who practiced a placebo activity
(Seligman, Steen et al., 2005).
Recently, researchers have begun to examine potential pitfalls of the
“identify and use” approach used by Seligman, Steen et al. (2005). Of
particular concern are the implications of treating strengths as stable
traits. Pointing to work by Dweck and colleagues, Biswas- Diener,
Kashdan, and Minhas (2011) warned that an “identify and use” approach
may encourage individuals to think of strengths as permanent and
unchangeable, which may in turn lower the individual’s motivation to
improve. Work by Louis (2011) lends initial support to this view;
3 Whereas Gallup’s survey is pay only, the VIA strengths inventory is available for free
online. This difference, in part, explains why the VIA model is so strongly represented
in the literature.
145
participants randomly assigned to “identify” their strengths reported

increases in the belief that strengths are fixed/stable, while those assigned
to “develop” their strengths did not experience such an increase. While
this study did not evaluate whether more fixed beliefs about the nature
of strengths translates into decreased motivation to work on one’s
strengths, extensive research from Dweck’s lab suggests that this phe-
nomenon occurs in other domains (Grant & Dweck, 2003).
Another important issue is the relative importance of working on
strengths versus weaknesses—specifically, how do we know that indi-
viduals should be further developing their most developed traits (i.e.
strengths) rather than attempting to remediate their least developed
traits (i.e., weaknesses)? In an informal paper based on data from his
students, Haidt (2002) reports that students benefited from both
approaches; however, students reported liking a strengths- focused
approach more. This is consistent with preliminary data from Seligman,
Rashid, and Parks (2006), in which participants in positive psycho-
therapy were noticeably (though not significantly) less likely to drop
out than were participants in a standard (remediation- focused)
psychotherapy.
In summary, there appears to be evidence that it is worthwhile to
identify and promote the development of strengths and that these benefits
are both psychological and motivational—that is, developing strengths
feels intrinsically rewarding to people, and so they are more driven to
engage in a strengths-development process. However, we argue that
strengths research would benefit from the inclusion of nuance; in line
with Schwartz and Hill’s (2006) call for “practical wisdom,” one should
aim not only to use one’s strengths more often but to use those strengths
well and appropriately. Humor, for example, can be an invaluable tool for
building relationships and for coping with stress if used appropriately;
however, humor can also be insensitive or hurtful.
Furthermore, in the authors’ various experiences teaching others to
develop their strengths, both of us have encountered a common dilemma:
it is not always easy to generate concrete ideas of how to use one’s
strengths. This represents, in our view, an important barrier for practitio-
ners hoping to teach strengths to clients and for individuals hoping to
apply positive interventions independently. A person cannot develop her
strengths if she has no idea how to go about it, and in the absence of
guidelines for advising people in this process, a practitioner is forced to
146
rely on intuition or trial and error. Haidt (2002) provides a list of ideas,
compiled by his positive psychology undergraduates, for situations in
which each of the 24 VIA strengths can be applied. This list, however, is
only the beginning of what needs to be a comprehensive resource to
practitioners and clients hoping to promote strengths development.
Gratitude—Some of the earliest positive interventions targeted grati-
tude, which Wood, Froh, and Geraghty (2010) define as a general habit
of noticing and being appreciative of whatever is good in one’s life. In
their seminal paper, Emmons and McCullough (2003) randomly assigned
participants to keep a weekly gratitude journal. In this journal, the par-
ticipants wrote down up to five things they were grateful for. Compared
to participants who kept track of either hassles or neutral events, partici-
pants in the gratitude condition scored better on a range of emotional
and physical health outcomes. Lyubomirsky, Sheldon, and Schkade
(2005) both replicated this finding and found evidence that the “dosage”
used by Emmons and McCullough (2003), once per week, may be the
ideal frequency for a gratitude journal; participants in a condition that
kept a more frequent gratitude journal (3 times per week instead of once)
did not experience the same improvements as the once-per-week group,
instead reporting that the activity felt stale and overdone (Lyubomirsky,
Sheldon, & Schkade, 2005).
Seligman, Steen, Park and Peterson (2005) proposed and tested a
related activity, titled the Three Good Things journal. They asked par-
ticipants to keep a nightly journal of positive events that took place
during the day that just ended;4 this activity resulted in increased happi-
ness and decreased depressive symptoms by 1-month follow-up, with
gains continuing to increase over 3-month and 6-month follow-ups.
While this finding may at first seem to conflict with Lyubomirsky,
Sheldon, and Schkade’s (2005) finding that gratitude can be “overdone,”
there is an important difference between the gratitude journal and Three
Good Things: they operate at completely different levels of analysis.
Whereas a gratitude journal can and often does revolve around ongoing
4 It is debatable whether Three Good Things belongs under the umbrella of “grati-
tude.” This uncertainty is an excellent example of the general lack of theory underlying
many existing positive interventions. Three Good Things was designed to make people
happier without any specific underlying theory. Only after the exercise appeared to be
effective did researchers begin to speculate as to how it works.
147
areas of gratitude (e.g., family, friends, a good job), Three Good Things
requires the individual to focus on events that took place during the
current day. Thus, while a gratitude journal might get repetitive if prac-
ticed too often, as the content doesn’t vary much, a Three Good Things
journal has different content every day.
Seligman, Steen, Park and Peterson (2005) report findings on a
second gratitude activity, in which participants compose a detailed
thank-you letter to someone in their life and deliver the letter in person
(“The Gratitude Visit”). In contrast with the previous exercise, The
Gratitude Visit led to large initial boosts in happiness—substantially
larger than the placebo conditions—but these changes were transient,
having faded substantially by 1-month follow-up and entirely by 3 months.
While some researchers have presented ideas about how to prolong these
effects—for example, a client might keep a daily log of the things her
spouse does that she appreciates, then use that log to create “gratitude
reports” once per month on an ongoing basis—nobody has tested an
“improved” gratitude visit design to date. However, Lyubomirsky,
Dickerhoof, Boehm, and Sheldon (2011) did find that writing a gratitude
letter, without the added step of delivering the letter to its target, did lead
to well-being improvements in their sample. Whereas delivering a
glowing letter of thanks to someone may be very powerful the first time,
one can imagine that repeated instances could become stale or awkward;
by removing the “delivery” step of writing a gratitude letter and the awk-
wardness that may come along with it, it becomes more plausible that a
person might practice this exercise repeatedly.
While the existing literature presents a relatively compelling case
that gratitude is a worthwhile practice, gratitude is also one of the few
areas in which deleterious effects have been observed.5 For example, Sin,
Della Porta, and Lyubomirksy (2011) report that writing gratitude letters
reduced immediate well- being for individuals with mild- moderate
5 To be clear, gratitude is also one of the only areas in which anyone has looked at
moderators of outcome to begin with, and so if deleterious effects do occur in other
activities (as, we imagine, they must for some subset of people), these effects are unlikely
to have been detected. We discuss these findings not to suggest that gratitude interven-
tions are bad but rather to encourage researchers to do more of this type of research on
other types of interventions. This type of nuance can only help us apply positive inter-
ventions more effectively and with better precision.
148
depressive symptoms; those participants who believed the activity would

work, and thus continued to use it for three weeks despite the initial
deleterious effect, did experience eventual improvement, but those who
had no such expectation continued to report worsened symptoms as a
result of the activity. Sergeant and Mongrain (2011) examined this issue
looking at different “types” of depressed individuals and found that indi-
viduals whose depressive symptoms were more interpersonally oriented
(“needy” rather than “self-critical”) experienced no benefits or, in some
cases, worsened when doing a gratitude activity. The more self-critical
people, by contrast, benefited more than average from doing the
activity.
It is important, then, to use caution when recommending gratitude
activities to people with depressive symptoms. Some data provide direct
evidence that gratitude can be useful in mild- moderate depression
(Seligman, Steen, Park, and Peterson, 2005), and other data provide
more indirect evidence, finding that gratitude interventions can be well-
received by people in the mild-moderate symptom range (Seligman,
Rashid, & Parks, 2006) or that they are generally efficacious, on average,
among people reporting depressive symptoms (Sin & Lyubomirsky,
2009). However, there appears to be some subset of depressed individuals
to whom this generalization does not apply, and we are only beginning to
understand who they are and how to identify them.
Another factor that we have noticed comes into play with gratitude
is culture. The first author has noticed, for example, that activities that
involve expressing gratitude (e.g., The Gratitude Visit) have sometimes
backfired when used by Asian-American students; expressing gratitude
can make individuals very uncomfortable, particularly if their cultural
norm is to avoid attracting attention. The situation can be further com-
plicated when the target of the letter is an Asian-American parent. In
one student’s case, her parents viewed her letter as an insult— an
acknowledgment of the possibility that they might ever have chosen not
to give their child appropriate care. We have also noted cases of suspi-
cion on the part of recipients, which can undermine the success of the
activity. One student of the first author, for example, reported that her
father was suspicious upon receipt of his gratitude letter; he thought that
the student was, perhaps, trying to manipulate him into giving her
something.
149
How, then, does one decide to whom one would recommend grati-
tude activities? Sin, Della Porta, and Lyubomirsky (2011) report that per-
ceived fit is an important predictor of outcome—that is, participants
who looked at the gratitude activity and thought it would be helpful for
them generally found it helpful. This highlights the importance of choos-
ing positive intervention collaboratively with clients and perhaps even
suggests that the “buffet” approach—trying all activities, then selecting
those that work best for an individual—may not be optimal for all clients.
Forgiveness—In common parlance, forgiveness is often associated
with reconciliation. However, in the forgiveness intervention literature,
forgiveness is conceptualized as a primarily internal process. An indi-
vidual who has experienced a transgression lets go of the negative feel-
ings associated with the transgression and the transgressor, and this
change may or may not result in any sort of behavioral change in rela-
tion to the transgressor. The emphasis in the literature on emotional
forgiveness is largely due to the fact that the emotional aspects of for-
giveness appear to play the largest role in the robust link between for-
giveness and physical health (Worthington, Witvliet, Pietrini, & Miller,
2007).
The majority of forgiveness interventions follow process- based
models, which allow for gradual, stage-like progress toward the decision
to forgive (Baskin & Enright, 2004). The “REACH” model is an example
of a process-based approach to forgiveness: individuals recall the trans-
gression; develop empathy for the transgressor, which is an altruistic act;
commit to forgive; then work to hold on to that forgiveness. Worthington
(2006) provides an example of a 6-session group intervention following
the REACH model. A recent meta-analysis focusing only on process-
based forgiveness interventions found an average effect size of .82 on
forgiveness outcomes, .81 on positive affect, and .54 on negative affect,
suggesting that forgiveness interventions can reliably promote forgive-
ness and improve the emotional damage that grudges can cause (Lundahl,
Taylor, Stevenson, & Roberts, 2008).
Smaller scale interventions that target forgiveness also exist.
McCullough, Root, and Cohen (2006), for example, tested a writing
intervention in which participants spent 20 minutes writing about per-
sonal benefits that arose as the result of a transgression they had experi-
enced. Compared to control groups focusing on an unpleasant aspect of
150
the transgression or on a topic not related to the transgression, partici-

pants in the benefit-finding condition reported more forgiveness.
Hook, Worthington and Utsey (2009) argue that while forgiveness is
valued by both individualistic and collectivistic cultures, collectivistic
cultures are distinct in their definition of what constitutes forgiveness.
More individualistic cultures tend to consider the emotional aspects of
forgiveness to be central; in other words, if an individual has let go of her
anger, she has forgiven, even if she does not change her behavior toward
the transgressor at all. Collectivistic cultures, on the other hand, priori-
tize behavioral change, and so forgiveness has not occurred until social
harmony is restored (in other words, until the two individuals are able to
interact civilly). While no research to date has examined whether for-
giveness interventions differentially affect members of individualistic or
collectivistic cultures, this question is well worth asking given the appar-
ent cultural differences in how emotional and decisional forgiveness is
valued.
It may go without saying that forgiveness may be problematic in
certain cases—forgiving a spouse who is regularly physically abusive, for
example, would likely lead to continued physical abuse. However, recent
work by McNulty (2011) suggests that in the context of romantic rela-
tionships, habitual forgiveness can lead to the maintenance and poten-
tial worsening of psychological aggression as well. Thus, it is careful to
consider whether forgiveness is an appropriate recommendation for a
given individual in a given situation. In particular, practitioners should
consider whether there is the potential for forgiveness to prolong a nega-
tive behavior. It is less likely, for example, that forgiving someone for a
single long-past transgression can backfire in this way; adopting a general
policy of forgiveness in a relationship, however, has the potential to cause
interpersonal problems.
Social Connections—Two branches of research aim to strengthen
social connections through positive processes. The first involves acts of
kindness (i.e. engaging in altruistic behaviors toward others). Dunn,
Aknin, and Norton (2008) report that spending money on others leads
to boosts in happiness, and this effect holds up when studied cross-
sectionally, longitudinally, and in an experimental manipulation. More
recent evidence even suggests that this finding extends across data from
136 different countries (Aknin et al., in press). Lyubomirsky, Sheldon,
and Schkade (2005) demonstrated that engaging in deliberate acts of
151
kindness leads to increased well-being, with one caveat: it must be done

in such a way that exceeds the individual’s normal propensity to be kind.
Specifically, engaging in an act of kindness per day for a week does not
lead to well-being benefits, but engaging in five acts of kindness in a
single day does (Lyubomirsky, Sheldon, & Schkade, 2005). Interestingly,
it appears that one can benefit from paying extra attention to the kind
acts one has committed without any deliberate efforts to engage in more
kind acts (Otake et al., 2006). However, these two strategies have not
been compared directly, so it is unclear what percentage of the effective-
ness of an “acts of kindness” intervention is due to shifts in attention (i.e.,
awareness of one’s kind acts) versus shifts in behavior. Furthermore, there
has been little effort to standardize acts of kindness interventions or to
systematically examine the impact of key variables such as the target of
the intervention (a stranger vs. an acquaintance vs. a close other) or
whether the act is credited or anonymous. The extent to which these
variables matter for “acts of kindness” interventions remains to be seen.
A second branch of research is based on two studies demonstrating
that close relationships are more satisfying and long-lived if couples are
able to jointly revel in good news (Gable, Reis, Impett, & Asher, 2004).
Specifically, they found that the most successful couples were those who
responded both actively (with interest and engagement) and construc-
tively (encouraging celebration, responding supportively) to good news
when it is shared. For example, in response to one’s significant other’s
receiving a promotion, one might say, concerned for the relationship,
“Well, with your busier schedule I guess I’m going to see even less of you
now.” This would be an active-destructive response, and this type of
response is predictive of poor outcomes in relationships. Instead, however,
one might focus on the spouse’s visible excitement and mirror that excite-
ment, highlighting the way the spouse worked hard to earn the promo-
tion, sharing the news with friends and family members, and so on.
Couples that respond to each other in this way report higher relationship
satisfaction and are more likely to stay together over time.
Seligman, Rashid, and Parks’s (2006) Group PPT intervention
included an activity based on this research finding; clients attempted to
respond more actively and constructively to people in their lives. While
anecdotal responses suggest that this was a helpful activity for some,
because Group PPT is a series of activities, it is difficult to isolate the
relative contribution of any one exercise to efficacy. Unfortunately, no
152
published studies to date have looked at this activity on its own. However,
informal data analyses and anecdotal observations from the first author
suggest that active-constructive responding may be subject to what Parks,
Della Porta, Pierce, Zilca, & Lyubomirsky (in press) refer to as “degrada-
tion.” In other words, active-constructive responding may be too complex
to teach via simple written instructions (as many positive interventions
are), and as a result, it may lose its potency when it is implemented in the
real world. Further research should examine the efficacy of active-
constructive responding as a sole activity and should disentangle the
relative importance of hands-on instruction (as opposed to brief written
instructions) for its efficacy.
Meaning—Prevailing theories suggest that people derive a sense of
meaning by forming a coherent narrative about their lives (Pennebaker &
Seagal, 1999). Thus, it makes sense that the majority of meaning inter-
ventions involve writing. Seminal studies on meaning making involve
personal narratives of traumatic or stressful life events, but more recently,
research has begun to examine the formation of narratives around posi-
tive life events and, in particular, events that one expects to occur in the
future. King (2001) instructed people to write about their “best possible
self”—a future version of themselves who has turned out according to
their highest hopes and aspirations—for 20 minutes a day over the course
of 4 days. Seligman, Rashid, and Parks (2006) used a similar activity,
which they call the “Life Summary,” wherein participants write a 1-2 page
essay describing their life as they hope to have lived it; as part of the activ-
ity, participants are also instructed to consider the ways that they are and
are not actively progressing toward the long-term goals described in the
essay. Subsequent work by Sheldon and Lyubomirsky (2006) suggests that
the benefits of imagining one’s positive future are not limited to writing.
They asked participants to think about their best possible selves at least
twice a week and found that doing so was also beneficial.
It is worth mentioning, however, that the first author has encoun-
tered a handful of cases where writing about a positive future for oneself
has been unpleasant for participants; in particular, relatively anxious stu-
dents have sometimes reported that trying to imagine their future made
them more anxious (keep in mind, though, that these are college stu-
dents, whose futures are quite uncertain; it may be that anxious responses
are an artifact of the age group the activity has been tested in). We have
also found that more depressed students can find the activity
153
depressing—one student said, in a debriefing with me: “None of this is

ever going to happen. What’s the point in writing about it?” Anecdotal
evidence suggests, then, that meaning-oriented activities may be a better
fit for relatively high-functioning clients or for clients who have been in
therapy for some time; in clinical populations, one should approach the
process of building a life narrative of one’s future with caution.
Interestingly, whereas speaking and writing analytically about past
negative life events leads to improvements in physical health and well-
being, the opposite may be true for positive life events. Lyubomirsky,
Sousa, and Dickerhoof (2006) found that participants who wrote about
a past positive event reported lower satisfaction with life when compared
to a control group. Their findings suggest that, when it comes to life’s
high points, it’s best not to overthink things.
Savoring—Savoring is characterized by the deliberate act of deriving
pleasure from an experience. In savoring activities, one attends fully to
an experience, without preoccupation or distraction (“absorption”), and
focuses on the positive aspects of that experience. Typically, savoring
activities are brief—just a few minutes at a time—but are nevertheless
quite potent sources of positive emotion. Indeed, a consistent practice of
savoring experiences is predictive of optimism, life satisfaction, and fewer
depressive symptoms (Bryant, 2003).
The prototypical example of a savoring experience involves food—
for example, Kabat-Zinn’s famous raisin-savoring exercise (2003), wherein
the individual focuses on each individual feature of the raisin in turn.
This technique is called “sharpening perceptions” and can be combined
with absorption to savor any sensory experience: gustatory (e.g., food),
visual (e.g., art or a beautiful sunset), tactile (e.g., a massage or a hot
bath), olfactory (e.g., the smell of a complex wine), auditory (e.g., music),
or any combination of these (Bryant & Veroff, 2007). When the first
author directed a group of students through a savoring activity, for
example, she used cups of hot chocolate with whipped cream, chocolate
shavings, and a wafer from a nearby gourmet chocolatier. Students
smelled the hot chocolate, felt the warmth in their hands, then tried
each component in turn—the whipped cream, the chocolate shavings,
the wafer, and the hot chocolate. They let each sit in their mouths,
exploring the texture and the taste, before chewing (as appropriate), then
swallowing. They then began experimenting with different combinations
of the components, eventually building to a combination of all four.
154
Having tried each component separately, they were able to fully experi-
ence the hot chocolate, tasting each individual aspect and enjoying the
interplay between them. The entire process took only a few minutes, but
as a group, we (the first author and the students) found it to be a very
potent experience—one that was amplified by the fact that we shared it
together.
Savoring can be applied to nonsensory experiences as well. One can
savor a present moment via “memory building”—taking photographs, for
example. These types of activities bring one’s attention to the transience
of a present experience and lead to better savoring of that experience
(Kurtz & Lyubomirsky, in press). Memory building also paves the way for
“reminiscence,” which is savoring one’s memory of a past experience
(Bryant, Smart, & King, 2005). Whereas memory building is a technique
for promoting enjoyment in the moment, reminiscence is a more cogni-
tive activity, characterized by the use of imagery as one remembers a
valued past experience in as much detail as possible. Several published
studies have found that deliberately reminiscing more often leads to
improvements in depressive and anxious symptoms, as well as increasing
positive affect and life satisfaction, particularly among older populations
(Bryant, Smart, & King, 2005).
Perspective Taking—Perspective taking has not received much atten-
tion from positive psychology proper, but it is, we believe, an important
construct, with several successful interventions designed to increase it.
Perspective taking is important because it drives people to embrace and
help others. By reducing the perceived “distance” between you and your
neighbor6 (“self-other overlap”), your sense of empathic concern makes
you feel like your neighbor’s problems are your problems, too (Davis,
Conklin, Smith, & Luce, 1996). This makes you more likely to help your
neighbor and also makes you more interested in helping other people you
might group together with your neighbor (Batson, Chang, Orr, &
Rowland, 2002).
While perspective taking is often a component of forgiveness inter-
ventions (see above), we focus in this section on interventions designed
to cultivate perspective taking directly. Perspective-taking interventions
have successfully been applied in a variety of contexts, ranging from
loved ones (romantic partners, parents and children) to the people one
6 Or whomever.
155
encounters in day-to-day life (patients, for example, if one is a doctor), to

members of an outgroup (other race, socioeconomic status, religion, etc.)
(see Hodges, Clark, and Myers [2011] for an up-to-date review). In all
cases, these interventions have the same basic objective: to increase an
individual’s ability to go beyond his or her own biases to become aware
and appreciative of the perspective of another person.
Myers and Hodges (in press) present a model activity for inducing
individuals to take the perspective of someone else—in this case, a
member of an outgroup. Participants read a paragraph about a 24-year-old
homeless man and are instructed to “imagine what the person thinks
and feels about what has happened to him and how it has affected his
life.” In short, they are asked to focus on imagining the emotional experi-
ences of the other person. It is worth noting that the prompt explicitly
asks people to imagine the experience of the other; it does not ask them
to imagine how they would feel if they were in the same situation. While
not found in all studies (Davis et al., 1996), there is some evidence that
attempting to put oneself in the shoes of another person (as opposed to
imagining their plight from a distance) can evoke anxiety and that
anxiety can reduce the likelihood that empathy will result in prosocial
behavior (Hodges, Clark, & Myers, 2011).
“Packaged” Positive Interventions. Thus far, we have emphasized
research wherein participants use a single activity. This type of study,
while ideal from an experimental design standpoint, is not representative
of how such activities are actually used by individuals and by practitio-
ners. Parks et al. (in press), for example, found that happiness seekers
pursuing happiness on their own (i.e., without being instructed by an
experimenter to do anything in particular) report practicing 7-8 activi-
ties at a time. Furthermore, they found that when happiness seekers are
offered a variety of activities to choose from, those who practiced a wider
variety of activities experienced the largest mood benefits. In short, there
is no evidence that anyone in the real world picks a single activity and
practices it in isolation, and there is also no evidence that doing so is
“optimal” in terms of effectiveness. Research examining “packages” of
activities, then, is also worthy of attention.
Some of the earliest positive intervention research used a “packaged”
intervention design. Fordyce (1977), for example, gave young adults a set
of 14 happiness techniques and asked them to practice as many of these
activities as possible every day for two weeks. He found that, a year later,
156
these participants were significantly happier than a control group

(Fordyce, 1983). This study contains one of the most realistic happiness
interventions ever tested, and it was one of the first to demonstrate that
happiness can be increased in a way that is not fleeting. More recently,
Parks et al. (in press) used a similar “free choice” design with two modi-
fications: the activities used were empirically derived, and the activities
were administered using smartphone technology. Because of their broad-
stroke nature, it is difficult to draw conclusions from either study beyond
the general sentiment that the activities lead to increased happiness.
However, given that both studies mimic real-world practice, that is cer-
tainly a worthwhile finding.
An alternative “packaged” happiness intervention design requires
participants to try each activity for a week, one activity at a time, and
then select which activities to keep using (Seligman, Rashid, & Parks,
2006; Schueller & Parks, 2012). While this design does have pitfalls—if
all participants use every activity in a set, it is difficult to tell which activi-
ties are responsible for change—there are other ways in which the design
is ideal. For example, while it is difficult to ask questions of person-activity
fit at the level of the individual activity using a “package” design, other
questions of fit (i.e., whether preference for Activity A predicts preference
for Activity B vs. Activity C) can only be answered using a design where
the same people practice multiple activities (Schueller, 2010).
Research on “packaged” interventions, then, isn’t a replacement for
single-activity designs—but a worthy complement.
Future Directions
Thus far, we have provided an overview of existing positive interven-
tions. We turn, now, to some important issues that we hope to see the
field tackle in the coming years.
Alternative outcomes. One of the preliminary steps in establishing
positive psychology as an empirically based endeavor was to include
prominent scholars with scientific acumen and well-regarded reputations
(Seligman & Csikszentimihaly, 2000). Among these early “recruits” were
pioneering members of the positive psychology steering committee,
including Mihalyi Csikszentimihaly and Ed Diener. Although certainly
unintended, one consequence of aligning so heavily with well-being
157
researchers is the fact that happiness-related constructs became the de

facto outcome measures for positive psychology (Biswas-Diener, 2011). In
fact, early steering committee discussions explicitly addressed the extent
to which happiness can be viewed as the “ultimate outcome measure”
(Seligman, 2000, personal communication). While personal well-being is
a worthy goal for both policy and intervention, we argue that it is dispro-
portionately valued in positive psychological research over other worth-
while outcome measures. For example, Biswas- Diener, Kashdan, &
Minhas (2011) argue that happiness is an individualistic concern and
that researchers who confine their attention to happiness as an outcome
overlook more group-level outcomes such as trust, friendship, and feel-
ings of connectedness. While those scholars most associated with happi-
ness research advocate a similarly broad understanding of positive
psychology outcomes (e.g. Diener & Diener, 2011), it is rare to see mea-
sures that are not explicitly focused on the individual represented in posi-
tive intervention research.
More nuanced research designs. As we have alluded to earlier, positive
interventions, as they are studied in the laboratory, arguably bear little
resemblance to those used by people in the real world. Most research
studies ask participants to practice a single activity in the exact same way
over the course of some time period at the exclusion of other activities
(Sin & Lyubomirsky, 2009). However, in practice, happiness seekers
practice multiple activities simultaneously, and they intentionally vary
the ways in which they practice each activity in order to prevent boredom
(Parks et al., in press). Worse, in limiting participants to one activity at a
time, it is possible that researchers are actually undermining the effec-
tiveness of that activity; Parks et al. (in press) report that practicing a
variety of activities predicts better outcomes than using a single activity,
even if level of overall effort is roughly equal. These differences from real-
world practice are a problem, then, not only from a conceptual stand-
point but from a practical one as well; by using the same activity
repeatedly without variation (adapting to it) and by using only one activ-
ity at a time (missing out on the benefits of variety), participants may
actually be prevented from benefiting fully.
Standards for implementation: Doing harm? One of the strengths of
the definition of positive interventions we are proposing is that it
demands some sort of evidence, theoretical or otherwise, that an activity
will be beneficial to the individual to whom it is being offered. This is, to
158
our knowledge, the first proposal of its kind, but it’s an essential one, in
our view. In our experience talking with both researchers and practitio-
ners in positive psychology, we have found that the prevailing sentiment
is that positive interventions are very unlikely to cause harm, particularly
when used in normative, rather than clinical (“more high-risk”), popula-
tions. However, recent research is beginning to show that this is an unre-
alistic viewpoint. Now that the field is beginning to build a substantial
repertoire of interventions that we believe to be effective, we must turn
to the question of how these interventions can be implemented
responsibly.
Evidence already exists that certain activities work better than
others for a given individual (Schueller, 2010). Happiness seekers are not
homogeneous in terms of their initial levels of happiness and depressive
symptoms (Parks et al., in press), nor in terms of their motivation and
interest in becoming happier (Lyubomirsky et al., 2011), and so it is inap-
propriate to assume that a particular activity can be “universally” effec-
tive. Individual differences matter, not only for outcome (Sergeant &
Mongrain, 2011), but for the likelihood that an individual will use activi-
ties in the first place (Sheldon & Lyubomirsky, 2006). In addition to the
handful of published studies discussed above, the first author partici-
pated in a recent discussion on the FRIENDS-OF-PP listserv in which
several members told stories of positive interventions “backfiring” with
certain clients. It happens—we just don’t know the full extent of when,
and for whom, it happens.
On a broader scale, we propose that caution is necessary in how we
approach efforts to increase happiness in general. Recent work by Mauss
et al. (2011) suggests that holding happiness as a goal makes it more dif-
ficult to achieve that goal—by telling oneself that one “should” be happy,
one is more easily disappointed by one’s own emotional experiences.
Work by Louis (2011), mentioned above, highlights the importance of
how the exact same activity—in this case, taking a strengths assessment
and using that assessment to modify one’s behavior—is presented to and
interpreted by clients. Something as simple as the wording of an activity’s
prompt can make all the difference between the activity being helpful or
harmful.
In short, while the evidence seems clear that individual differences
matter, we do not have a great sense of how to use this information in
practice. It is our hope that the recent wave of positive intervention
159
research tackling these questions is a trend that will maintain its

momentum.
How Are Positive Interventions

Distinct from Acceptance-Based
Approaches?
In this chapter, we have proposed a new, integrative definition of positive
interventions. We have also provided a broad review of existing positive
interventions. It is our hope that in doing so, we have clarified what a
positive intervention is (and is not). However, we have not yet addressed
the question with which we began the chapter: How are positive interven-
tions distinct from acceptance-based approaches? As we see it, there are
three key distinctions. First, whereas acceptance-based approaches revolve
around engaging in every experience, positive or negative, with the goal
of achieving a balanced experience, positive interventions almost exclu-
sively emphasize positive experiences with the assumption that positive
experiences are often overshadowed by negative experiences (Baumeister,
Bratslavsky, Finkenauer, & Vohs, 2001). We base our approach on work
suggesting that individuals function best when the number of positive
interactions they experience outweighs the number of negative interac-
tions (Driver & Gottman, 2004; Fredrickson & Losada, 2005).
Second, whereas acceptance-based approaches posit that individuals
should not try to change their experiences, but rather accept their expe-
rience without judgment, positive interventions revolve around the iden-
tification and amplification of positive experiences and sometimes even
the creation of new positive experiences. In other words, a positive inter-
vention aims to replace negative experiences with positive ones, while an
acceptance-based approach makes no attempt to change a client’s expe-
rience. Third, whereas acceptance-based approaches assume that prob-
lems must be engaged with, positive interventions operate under the
assumption that positive factors make negative factors less salient, urgent,
and important to individuals (Seligman, Rashid, & Parks, 2006).
This is not to say that there are no commonalities between
acceptance-based approaches and positive interventions. In fact, we
would argue that Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) and
160
positive interventions have an important conceptual commonality: self-

determination theory (Ryan & Deci, 2000). Both approaches acknowl-
edge that both positive and negative emotions play important roles in
psychological functioning; despite its reputation as “happyology,” positive
psychology regularly acknowledges that unfettered positive emotion
without negative emotion as an anchor can be quite problematic (i.e.,
mania). Both approaches aim to help clients pursue their goals in a way
that is authentic and self-driven; the techniques differ, but the goals are
the same. Nevertheless, we think it is safe to say that positive interven-
tions are, indeed, an approach to improving peoples’ lives that is distinct
from acceptance-based approaches—both theoretically and practically.
Conclusions
In this chapter, we provided a new definition of a positive intervention:
an activity that successfully increases some positive variable and that can
be reasonably and ethically applied in whatever context it is being used.
We presented evidence that positive interventions targeting a variety of
construct exist, and each has at least preliminary evidence of effective-
ness, broadly construed. We also argued that caution is warranted when
putting positive interventions into real-world practice; we know some of
these activities can “backfire” but do not yet understand when, how, and
for what activities this occurs. Finally, we argue that positive interven-
tions are distinctive from other psychological approaches in general and
from ACT in particular
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CHAPTER 8
On Making People More Positive

and Rational: The Potential
Downsides of Positive
Psychology Interventions
Mairéad Foody
Yvonne Barnes-Holmes
Dermot Barnes-Holmes
National University of Ireland, Maynooth
H aving a sense of self is essential for achieving your values (i.e.,

because they are “your” values). And so, it is not surprising
that common forms of mental distress, such as anxiety, have
been associated with problems of the self (e.g., Ingram, 1990). Although
clinical practitioners and researchers across the domain of psychology
have long recognized the importance of a sense of self in almost every-
thing we do, there is no coherent account of what it is or how it works.
On Making People More Positive and Rational
The Role of Self in

Positive Psychology
As a discipline, positive psychology attempts to investigate and promote
optimum human functioning, including positive and prosocial behavior
(Duckworth, Steen, & Seligman, 2005; Gable & Haidt, 2005), and a
range of strategies are employed toward this aim (Seligman, Steen, Park,
& Peterson, 2005). The most commonly recommended include savoring
peak positive moments; identifying talents and strengths of character and
finding new opportunities to use them; and building a regular practice of
contemplating and expressing gratitude to people (Seligman et al., 2005).
An obvious thread across these practices is an emphasis on the self
and promoting commitment to your personal projects and values (often
referred to as flourishing). Indeed, positive psychologists employ numer-
ous self- related concepts. These include hypo- egoic self-
regulation
(Leary, Adams, & Tate, 2006); self-compassion (Neff, 2003); self-esteem
(Baumeister, Smart, & Boden, 1999); self-efficacy (Bandura, 1999); and
self-worth (Crocker & Park, 2004).
Consistent with this array of self-based concepts, numerous positive
psychology interventions focus specifically on the self. For example, posi-
tive attribution interventions explore the extent to which you attribute
positive events to yourself and attribute negative events to external
sources (Fredrickson & Joiner, 2002). Hope interventions attempt to
increase the extent to which you perceive yourself as effective at achiev-
ing your goals (Ciarrochi, Heaven, & Davies, 2007). Optimism interven-
tions attempt to explore your perceived ideal self (Lyubomirsky,
Dickerhoof, Boehm, & Sheldon, 2011). And self-compassion interven-
tions seek to enhance self-acceptance (Neff, 2003).
In spite of this emphasis on self, both conceptually and technically,
the field of positive psychology has not yet proposed a complete account
of self, nor of its role in the promotion of positive behavior. In short, dif-
ferent theorists and researchers have focused on specific aspects of self,
but these have not yet been collected together into a complete and coher-
ent working definition.
A modern behavioral and functional account of human language
and cognition, known as relational frame theory (RFT), has proposed
what appears to be a technical account of the self (Hayes,
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Barnes-Holmes, & Roche, 2001). The theory proposes that all aspects of
human language and cognition, including self-perceptions and perspec-
tive taking, are complex “verbal acts” that are generated by individual
histories. As we will explain shortly, this approach facilitates an under-
standing of the self, while accommodating the fact that our histories
make us unique. A greater understanding of the self has obvious and
broad applicability to the way in which human suffering is perceived and
treated, at the level of both individuals and communities.
Chapter Aims
The primary aim of the current chapter is to suggest the applicability, and
explore potential sources of overlap, between RFT’s technical account of
the self and interventions employed by positive psychologists. Self plays a
pivotal role in both traditions, and it is often a useful exercise to explore
how different approaches interpret common ground. Our key question is
whether a functional behavioral account of self can speak directly to the
understanding and pursuit of human flourishing, as articulated by posi-
tive psychology. In our attempt to build this conceptual bridge, the chapter
is divided into two parts. Part one provides a brief summary of the RFT
account of self, technical in parts, but necessary for understanding the
theory’s specific account of self. Readers are referred directly to chapter 1
for a summary of RFT’s basic processes. Part two then describes two key
exercises promoted by positive psychology that are explicitly focused on
the self and involve attempts to manipulate one’s sense of self in the
service of better psychological health. These include writing about life’s
positive events and triumphs and expressing gratitude. In the context of
each exercise, we offer an RFT interpretation of what appear to be the key
underlying psychological processes and the potential pitfalls.
The RFT Approach to Self:

Perspective-Taking Relations
For RFT, perspective taking comprises three types of derived stimulus
relations, known as I vs. YOU, HERE vs. THERE, and NOW vs. THEN.
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Put simply, these describe the three core aspects of your perspective.
First, you see the world as I, not as YOU or as someone else (hence, we
say, I versus YOU). Second, when you see the world as I, you always see it
from HERE, not from THERE, or anywhere that is not HERE (hence,
we say, HERE versus THERE). Third, when you see the world as I, you
always see it from NOW, not from THEN, or some other point in time
that is not NOW (hence, we say, NOW versus THEN). In summary, I
always see my world from HERE and NOW and from my perspective,
and I always see YOU from THERE and THEN.
I versus YOU. When we operate from the perspective of I, we dis-
tinguish, compare, and contrast ourselves to others across a myriad of
dimensions. As children, we learn to do this initially through physical
attributes (e.g., Mommy is taller than me, but Daddy is taller than her).
Harmless as these may seem, the fact that we can already compare and
contrast ourselves with others means that we can also evaluate these
comparisons. Consider, for example, Ann, who has always felt inferior to
her more attractive sister Mary. In relational terms, Ann’s perspective
holds that Mary is more physically attractive than Ann, more attractive
equals better, hence Mary is also better than Ann. Although the initial
comparison between the sisters may have been based on a single physical
attribute (which may not even have been observed directly by others),
Ann’s comparative relations have allowed her to contrast this physical
superiority, and her coordination relations have allowed her to coordi-
nate this superiority with being better generally. Of course, the latter
would also quickly have become coordinated with Ann feeling bad about
herself. So, it is easy to see how even simple relations and the fact that
they involve feelings, can lead us early in our lives toward a path of low
self-esteem.
The above example also illustrates how perspective-taking behavior
becomes increasingly arbitrary and thus, at one level, moves further and
further away from physical attributes. Indeed, as verbally sophisticated
adults, most of our comparisons with others are not based on physical
attributes. For example, I might be consumed by jealousy because, from
my perspective, my neighbor appears to be richer than I am, and yet I
have no way of knowing how much money my neighbor actually has.
In fact, who we come to know ourselves to be across time emerges on
the basis of our perspective on others, such that it seems unlikely that
there would be an I without a YOU. What makes perspective taking
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distinct from other types of relational activity is the paradox that I vs.
YOU relations become a constant reference point for our perceptions,
even when many aspects of our lives are constantly changing. For
example, if I suddenly learn that my “rich” neighbor has lost his job, I
may now believe that we are equal in wealth, but we are still different
people. That is, aspects of who you are may change constantly, but your
perspective from which these changes are observed does not. In short,
you always see the world from your own perspective.
HERE versus THERE. There is a long literature on the importance
of a sense of place in human development, and, for RFT, this is captured
by the spatial relations of HERE and THERE. In conjunction with our I
vs. YOU relational development, we learn to distinguish between HERE
(i.e., not THERE) and THERE (i.e., not HERE). For example, when
Daddy comes home, a child might say, “I am watching TV (HERE), but
Mommy is in the kitchen (THERE).” Similar to I-YOU relations, spatial
relations become increasingly less based on physical locations and
become increasingly arbitrary. For instance, if I say “I am here” at this
moment in time, I am in my office, but if I say, “I am here” one hour from
now, I will be in my kitchen. In other words, the word “HERE” coordi-
nates with where I am at that point in time, hence it is constantly chang-
ing. Paradoxically, much of the language that we use refers to physical
space, but in a metaphorical way. Consider Sarah who describes her feel-
ings of depression as “bearing down on her” or as a sense of “carrying the
weight of the world on her shoulders.”
It is clear from the examples above that I-YOU relations are implicit
in HERE-THERE relations because it would be impossible to specify a
perspective from a particular location if there was no perspective from
which to operate. As a result, Sarah is talking about her feelings, which
are part of the way she sees herself at that time. As such, the spatial rela-
tions are a critical feature of one’s perspective because I is always coordi-
nated with HERE (and distinct from THERE) and YOU is always
coordinated with THERE (and distinct from HERE).
NOW versus THEN. Temporal relations are another core feature
of perspective taking, and RFT refers to these as NOW vs. THEN rela-
tions. As the name implies, temporal relations refer to time and are natu-
rally implicit in most everyday sentences. For example, “At two o’clock I
was working but by three, I was at home.” Again, we learn temporal
relations using physical features, especially when we first learn to tell
170
time. Once that skill is acquired, these relations then become largely
arbitrary because you can make reference to time without knowing what
time it actually is and because temporal relations can be extended across,
days, weeks, months, and even years. Consider an athlete who breaks her
leg and is unable to participate in any more competitions. She may
become fixated on what she was last year and lose sight of her life in the
present (e.g., last year (THEN), I was a winner, but this year (NOW) I
am a loser). Again, I-YOU relations are implicit in temporal relations
because one’s perspective is always from NOW and distinct to THEN.
Of course, it is important to remember that even if you are referring to
how you felt in the past (THEN), the temporal relation from your current
perspective is always NOW.
The ACT Approach to Self:

The Three Selves
Relational frame theory has offered a detailed account of the develop-
ment of language, which incorporates an understanding of the darker
side of the most natural of human abilities. As the examples above dem-
onstrate, once you have comparison relations, you can begin to compare
yourself to others and find that you are wanting. And once you do this,
even on only one dimension, you can coordinate this with many other
dimensions, even if this is not based on reality. As a result, you can
readily come to a place in which you perceive yourself to be truly worth-
less. Taken together therefore, RFT goes some way toward an under-
standing of the development of suffering.
Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) is an approach to
human suffering and its alleviation that is related on many levels to RFT
(Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 1999). For example, both hail from the same
functional behavioral tradition. A growing body of research is currently
attempting to explore the empirical overlap between RFT’s scientific and
ACT’s therapeutic concepts (e.g., Luciano et al., 2011). For instance,
Foody, Barnes-Holmes, and Barnes-Holmes (2012) have articulated the
integration of RFT’s perspective-taking relations and ACT’s three selves.
According to ACT, the self is conceptualized in terms of three selves,
known as self as content, self as process, and self as context (Hayes et al.,
171
1999). Although the concept of multiple selves has been employed by

many other theoretical approaches to the self (e.g., Higgins, 1999), a core
distinction forms the basis of the ACT approach. That is, ACT distin-
guishes between two functional aspects of the self “as a doer and as an
observer of the doing” (Hayes, 1995, p. 1). In simple terms, the doer is
synonymous with your psychological content (i.e., your thoughts, feel-
ings, emotions, etc.), while the observer is your perspective on this
content. Three points are worth remembering about this approach. 1.
The doer and the observer are always operating simultaneously. 2. The
three selves describe the operations of the doer, not the observer. 3. You
can only operate according to one of the selves at any one point in time.
Each of these points will become clearer as we walk through the section
below on the three selves.
Self as content. As the name implies, self as content is a psychologi-
cal space in which the distinctions between the observer and the doer
are at their lowest. In short, who you are does not appear to be distinct
from what you think, feel, remember, etc. In ACT, this shared psycho-
logical space is also known as fusion, such that who you are (the observer)
is fused with what you think, feel, etc. (the doings). Of course, if your
psychological content at any particular point in time is painful or nega-
tively evaluated (e.g., if you are having the thought “I am useless”), the
fusion between this and the observer would feel overwhelming. You
would feel that you, that is all of you, is useless (rather than seeing this
just as a thought that you are having at that particular moment). In this
way, fusion between the observer and the doer when the doer is negative
will practically always lead to you feeling bad and feeling threatened.
On balance, one might argue that fusion between the observer and
positive psychological content is okay, but in ACT, this is not the case. In
short, all fusion between you as the observer and your content is a psy-
chologically unhealthy place from which to operate, because you are
much more than the sum of your content. Indeed, as you will see from
the two remaining selves, the greater the distinction between the observer
and the doer, the more space in your life that can be attributed to the
observer so that your overt behavior can then be governed by your values,
and so on, and not by psychological content that comes and goes. In
other words, you cannot live a rich and full values-based life if you are
only what your content says you are and the latter is what is always hap-
pening in self as content.
172
Let’s look at an example of self as content in the hypothetical case of

Martin, a sufferer of chronic pain who goes for therapy. In the first para-
graph, we introduce Martin. In the second, we explore the difficulties
created for him by operating in self as content with regard to his pain.
Martin struggles with chronic pain and spends much of his time
trying to come up with a foolproof strategy that will ideally get the pain
to go away, or at least to let him get some control over it. He firmly
believes that he has tried everything but that nothing has worked—some
aspect of the pain is always there. Indeed, he can hardly tell anymore
whether some type of pain is actually present or not. So the only thing
that he can do is to keep trying to come up with the right strategy, on the
assumption that it has simply eluded him thus far. The pain and his
efforts to solve it are demanding, and he believes that they make all other
aspects of living difficult, if not impossible. He feels like he is trapped in
actual pain or in the pain “waiting room,” and so he continues to search
endlessly and frustratedly for the perfect solution. Nothing less would
justify all the effort he has invested.
The pain and the struggle with it have gained such dominance over
his life that much of who Martin is psychologically is about pain. In other
words, Martin has come to know himself first and foremost as a sufferer
of chronic pain. Many other aspects of his life have become secondary to
this sense of self (not just in terms of his overt behavior). As such, the
identification with the problem has become almost the whole person
that he resides in, and other aspects (e.g., husband, father, worker) have,
behaviorally, fallen away (e.g., “I can no longer play with the kids because
my back will get sore”). And Martin (as the observer) sees this on occa-
sion. He often asks himself where the old Martin went and he knows that
his wife wonders about this too. He sees that they both long to have him
back, but pain always seems to stand in the way of his going back to the
person he used to be. He worries that he might be lost forever. In short,
his sense of self is largely fused with the struggle regarding pain.
From an ACT perspective, several steps need to happen to allow
Martin’s life to be opened up because it has, as he recognizes, been sucked
into a vacuum that revolves largely around pain at the expense of valued
living. This would primarily involve a change in perspective from viewing
himself as nothing but his pain, to perceiving himself as distinct and
separate from his pain. Put another way, Martin needs to move from
operating mostly in self as content, where his content about his pain has
173
“taken over” much of the observer. We often describe this to clients as

“BIG content, small observer,” when it should ideally be the other way
around.
Now let us consider how RFT can account for what is happening, at
the level of process, in self as content. Figure 1 (far left-hand side) distin-
guishes between the observer and the doer, as in ACT. It is important to
note that for RFT, hence in relational terms, the observer is always
located HERE-NOW. This is your perspective. And this is the case for
all three selves. Although the place from which the observer operates
(i.e., HERE-NOW) never changes, the psychological space in which the
doer operates does change, depending on which self you are in at any
point in time. This is presented on the right-hand side of the diagram.
Figure 1. Conceptualization of the three selves as

perspective-taking relations.
HERE-NOW Self as Content
Perspective Psychological
HERE-NOW Content Self as Process
HERE-NOW
THE OBSERVER THE DOER
THERE-THEN Self as Context
Figure 1 shows that in self as content your psychological content is

located HERE and NOW (see figure, top right), as is the observer (the
latter is always the case). The coordination between the observer and the
doer in this way increases the likelihood that your content will exert
control over your behavior. This relationship also accounts for why the
sufferer often feels overwhelmed and threatened, because who you know
is coordinated with what you think and so on. In essence, it is the
174
relationship between the observer and the doer at any point in time that is
captured by the three selves, and in self as content, they are at their most
coordinated (or psychologically “equivalent”).
Self as process. Self as process is a psychological space in which on-
going activity facilitates continuous distinctions between the observer
and the doer. In short, who you are is distinct from what you think, feel,
remember, and so on. For ACT, this psychological space does not entail
fusion, because the observer can perceive the processes of thinking,
feeling, and so on (the doings), and the evaluations that accompany
these. Naturally, this distinction has the potential to reduce the previous
pain associated with those evaluations (i.e., the observer wouldn’t feel as
overwhelmed as when in self as content).
The ongoing awareness of those content-based processes is a critical
feature of self as process. In essence, because you can perceive your
content as continuously changing, attachment to it is not facilitated.
Consider the example “I feel depressed and am having depressed
thoughts, but these are just thoughts and feelings at this moment, and
they may be different tomorrow.” This ongoing awareness is synonymous
with the concept of mindfulness, because you are being mindful of your
content as it comes and goes.
Operating in self as process readily permits values-consistent behav-
ior, rather than content-driven behavior, because you have a distinct
awareness of your content while remaining open to values. In simple
terms, self as process permits both, thereby allowing you greater flexibil-
ity with regard to your actions. Hence, you can live a rich and full values-
based life if you can see your content for what it is. Notice, however, that
self as process does not require you to somehow be “content-free” (if that
were even possible) but simply offers you a different place from which to
observe the ever-changing nature of your content.
On balance, it is also important to recognize that sticky psychological
content (with which you have struggled in the past) is likely to create
resurgence to self as content. That is, you cannot assume that all you need
to do is stay in self as process, because your history will likely dictate that
certain powerful content will slide you back into self as content, the
minute it shows up. Accordingly, for ACT, there is a very fine line between
self as content and self as process, and it is primarily ongoing awareness
that keeps you in the latter and away from the grasp of the former. Let us
return to our client Martin to illustrate how self as process works.
175
On a regular basis, Martin feels pain in one part of his body or maybe
several at the same time. As soon as this experience occurs, his history
of operating in self as content with this experience is almost inevitably
brought to bear, and his behavioral flexibility is greatly reduced so that
the alleviation of pain is perceived as the only option (i.e., “I must be
someone who is pain free”). What this fusion in self as content precludes
him from seeing is that even in that instant he does have other options
regarding his pain, although they will certainly be difficult. For example,
what he cannot see is the logical possibility that the pain can be endured,
in the service of values. In short, perhaps, even when pain is present,
other valued actions can be conducted. But, none of this can be experi-
enced if pain-related content is not experienced on an ongoing basis, as
one pain-related experience after another, and another, and another.
Because even before Martin can learn to accept the pain, he must learn
to operate from a different place in which the processes of his pain expe-
riences can be observed. This would be self as process.
Now let us consider how RFT can account for what is happening at
a relational level in self as process. Look at the right-hand side of Figure
1 again, and you will see that there is no relational difference between self
as content and self as process, although they are significantly different
experientially. In both selves, the doer is located HERE-NOW and, as
always, the observer is HERE-NOW also. In self as process, there is a
sense of the movement of psychological content from HERE-NOW to
THERE- THEN. This means that although psychological content is
problematic in self as content because it is HERE-NOW, self as process
is different in that your content as HERE-NOW is simply the way we
learn to talk about our thoughts, feelings, and behavior, and thus facili-
tates self-knowledge rather than fusion.
Self as context. Self as context is a psychological space in which
there is the strongest distinction between the observer and the doer. For
ACT, self as context embodies defusion because who you are is distinct
from what you think, feel, remember, and so on. Consider the following
example, “I feel depressed and am having depressed thoughts, but I know
that who I am is more than these negative thoughts and feelings.”
Naturally, this distinction has the potential to reduce the previous pain
associated with content and its evaluations (i.e., the observer wouldn’t feel
as overwhelmed as when in self as content). To illustrate the ACT
approach with regard to facilitating self as context, let us return to Martin.
176
At the outset of therapy, Martin’s experience of his pain, when he

discriminates its presence, is always fused with self-knowledge as a suf-
ferer of pain. This dominates his sense of self, such that in the here and
now when there is pain, there is little else. Training in self as context
would permit Martin to experience a sense of self that is distinct from
the pain, as well as highlighting the fact that other experiences can
coexist with pain. When Martin learns to make more contact with this
sense of self, it also increases his access to values, as a dominant source
of behavior, and a greater sense of self as context will allow him to con-
sistently keep his behavior going in that valued direction. Self as context
will also foster greater acceptance by him because it opens up a safe place
in which pain can be experienced as not completely overwhelming or
dominant. It is a part of who he is, but not all that he is.
At a relational level, RFT suggests that in self as context the doer is
located THERE-THEN, rather than in HERE-NOW, as was the case
with the other two selves (see Figure 1, bottom right). This strong rela-
tional distinction between observer and doer renders this the safest place
from which to view your thoughts, feelings, and so on, and likely facili-
tates the greatest distinction between content and overt behavior. In
other words, when psychological content is not located in the same place
as the observer, the content has no intrinsic power to control behavior.
Thus you can live your life in a values-consistent manner without influ-
ence from psychological content.
From an ACT perspective, self as context facilitates maximum defu-
sion (or least fusion) because it provides the largest distinction between
the observer and the doer. However, there are two important points that
should be remembered. First, it might seem that the ideal place from
which to operate is self as context, such that you should operate in this
mode all the time. But this is neither feasible nor essential, because self
as process should suffice for much content and historically sticky content
will likely draw you back to self as content anyway. As a result, self as
process is perhaps the best mode of operating for most of the time, while
self as context is safest when sticky content has a history of sucking you
into self as content.
Indeed, a primary goal of ACT is to establish psychological flexibil-
ity, which involves the ability to switch among the three selves, as neces-
sary. In short, to minimize fusion, ACT suggests switching from self as
content to self as process. But, because self as process is still a relatively
177
dangerous place to be because you can easily get sucked back into self as
content, ACT exercises also promote flexibility in switching from self as
process to self as context (i.e., to maximize defusion).
Consider again the example of Martin. In the beginning, Martin was
operating in self as content with regard to his experiences of pain and
became primarily a pain sufferer (i.e., maximum fusion). This fusion
then makes it more likely that his behavior will be largely governed by
attempts to remove the pain, with thoughts such as “I cannot be who I
was until the pain is gone.” Teaching Martin to operate with regard to
his pain from self as process would allow him to notice on an ongoing
basis the nature and frequency of pain experiences and would facilitate
some defusion in this regard. For example, his ACT professional might
encourage him to notice one pain event after another, and another, and
another, like leaves floating down a stream. This self as process exercise
would reduce the fusion with some pain events but of course not all,
given his history. Hence, at the same time, it would be important to
teach Martin how to operate from self as context in which he can come
to see that he is much more than his pain experiences (i.e., BIG observer,
small doer). In this case, both self as process and self as context can be
used to facilitate behavioral flexibility in the service of values because
Martin can learn that even when pain shows up, it can be noticed,
acknowledged, and yet alternative values-based action can still happen.
In the sections below, we explore the potential overlap between ACT
and RFT approaches to self and various exercises from the field of posi-
tive psychology. Although each hails from a very different philosophical
and psychological tradition, there is much utility in examining potential
common ground for both scientific and therapeutic perspectives. In par-
ticular, we selected two positive psychology exercises that appeared to
have a strong basis in one’s sense of self.
An RFT Interpretation of Positive

Psychology Exercises
The primary goal of positive psychology is to identify the positive aspects
of an individual’s personality and to harness these in the service of
achieving optimum human functioning. In other words, strategies for
178
promoting well-being lie at the heart of this psychological movement.

There are numerous positive psychology strategies that are beneficial in
this regard (e.g., Algoe & Haidt, 2009; Cohn & Fredrickson 2010). For
example, Sin and Lyubomirsky (2009) conducted a meta-analysis of posi-
tive psychology interventions and found that in general they were associ-
ated with increases in self-reported well-being and decreases in depressive
symptoms. In particular, Seligman et al. (2005) reported that the grati-
tude visit, the three good things in life exercise, and using signature strengths
in a new way were associated with increased subjective self-reported hap-
piness. There is also mounting evidence to support the use of writing
exercises (e.g., Frattaroli, Thomas, & Lyubomirsky, 2011) and gratitude
exercises (e.g., Lyubomirsky et al., 2011) in general. In the sections below,
we explore RFT interpretations of these two positive psychology
interventions.
Writing about life’s positive events and triumphs. Positive writing
exercises are a well-established tool in positive psychology (Seligman et
al., 2005). For example, the three good things in life exercise requires you
to write down three events that have “gone well” each day for the past
week, including the perceived causes of these positive outcomes. Using
this intervention, Seligman et al. found increases in self-reported happi-
ness and decreases in depressive symptoms at one-, three-, and six-month
follow-ups. In an adaptation of this exercise, King (2001) found that
writing down the most positive events that you imagine for your life
ahead was also associated with increased subjective well-being at a three-
week follow-up. According to King, positive writing exercises facilitate a
self-focus on goals, which in turn encourages better behavioral
self-regulation.
In contrast, research by Lyubomirsky, Sousa, and Dickerhoof (2006)
has reported less positive outcomes for writing analytically about positive
life events, relative to simply thinking about these events. Specifically,
participants in the former group reported less life satisfaction; personal
growth; self-acceptance; and general health. In an attempt to explain
these contradictory findings, we will return to this issue later in this
section.
The investigation of positive writing is a relatively new endeavor in
research and treatment, compared to a traditional focus on the effects of
writing about negative or traumatic events. Indeed, the literature on what
is referred to as expressive disclosive writing is simply vast (e.g., Sloan &
179
Marx, 2004b). In short, this technique requires individuals to write down

thoughts and emotions they have about a traumatic life event. Several
studies have reported positive outcomes in the use of this technique,
including reduced health problems (e.g., Pennebaker & Beall, 1986);
faster reemployment after job loss (e.g., Spera, Buhrfeind, & Pennebaker,
1994); better adjustment to college (e.g., Pennebaker, Colder, & Sharp,
1990); and even improved lung functioning for sufferers of asthma (e.g.,
Smyth, Stone, Hurewitz, & Kaell, 1999). Some researchers have sug-
gested that these outcomes may be mediated by the disclosure of previ-
ously inhibited feelings (Pennebaker, 1989) and hence reduced need for
emotional avoidance (Sloan & Marx, 2004a).
In between the two approaches above (i.e., writing about positive
events and negative events), some therapeutic exercises involve writing
down the positive aspects of a negative event. For example, Stanton et al.
(2002) demonstrated that women who wrote down their positive thoughts
and feelings about their cancer had significantly fewer medical visits,
relative to a control group. According to Wing, Schutte, and Byrne
(2006), the writing in this case permits deeper cognitive processing
through better understanding and assimilation of the emotions associ-
ated with these events (Pennebaker & Seagal, 1999).
There may well be benefits associated with writing per se, whether
the subject is positive, negative, or somewhere in between. For example,
Frattaroli et al. (2011) found that an expressive writing exercise about a
forthcoming exam with high school students was associated with signifi-
cantly higher test scores and lower pre-exam depressive symptoms, rela-
tive to controls. Indeed, several authors have suggested that the writing
of self-relevant content facilitates greater self-awareness and subsequent
self-regulation in terms of one’s priorities (King & Miner, 2000). Similarly,
Burton and King (2004) proposed that this enhanced self-awareness in
turn promotes the integration of one’s experiences into the self-concept.
In short, writing may serve to facilitate a more clearly articulated sense of
self.
There appears to be common ground between positive psychology’s
promotion of self-writing and the ACT concepts of self as process and
defusion. That is, for both accounts, the objective is the ongoing experi-
encing and describing of thoughts, behaviors, feelings, and so on, which
enhance self-regulation in terms of values-consistent behavior (rather
than that which is content driven). Indeed for RFT, the writing down of
180
your psychological content is a physical metaphor for defusion, because

writing is an act of self as process (i.e., you notice content as you write it).
In this way, your content HERE-NOW is simply the manner in which
you talk, or indeed write, about your ongoing experiences (Hayes, 1995).
In short, they are what you are describing HERE-NOW but not all that
you are across time and space.
Consider our previous example of Martin. Imagine his therapist
asked him to select a time in which he was experiencing pain or had a
sense that pain was imminent. Imagine that she asked him to slowly and
systematically write down each pain-related sensation or thought as it
emerged, one by one, on sticky notes. She might then ask him to stick
each note, one after the other, on his shirt. For ACT and RFT, the physi-
cal transfer of the thought, for example, from inside his body to the
outside is an act of defusion. The act of writing is self as process as he
watches the content emerge continuously in the HERE and NOW. This
would differ considerably from what Martin has done to date, in keeping
the content tucked away. Notice also that writing in this way is an exer-
cise that is shared with the therapist. Again, this is opposite to what
happened previously when pain-related content showed up for Martin
and he was unwilling to discuss it with anyone else. Perhaps he even tried
to convince himself that it was not actually happening and such experi-
ential avoidance made things worse.
Martin’s previous action lacked flexibility at multiple levels. First, self
as content was so overwhelming that he could see no alternative but to
try to avoid the pain of his content. Second, the more he tried to avoid
the content, the more it showed up, and the more likely that he became
fused with it, thus reinforcing the view that he was nothing more than
his pain. Taken together, these events basically ensured that most of
Martin’s time and energy were spent in “dealing with” pain, at the cost
of any other type of value-based behavior.
From RFT and ACT perspectives, we see one potential limitation in
positive psychology’s focus on the writing of positive experiences, as in the
best possible selves exercise. For ACT and RFT, there is no functional
distinction between positive and negative content; both are types of
content that are simply evaluated differently. Indeed, self as content is
often problematic, irrespective of the type of content with which you are
fused. Similarly, self as process does not concern itself with the experi-
encing of a particular type of psychological content, but with all content.
181
At an intuitive level, you may be more likely to become fused with your
negative content, because it is more painful and more likely to be avoided.
So, the harder you fight not to have it, the more of a threat it becomes.
This is perhaps less likely to be the case with positive content, which you
are less likely to try to avoid. Nonetheless, at a process level, you can
become attached to your positive content, and this is indeed what many
clients try to do (i.e., “I will be better if I could just have happier
thoughts”). But this move would be just as problematic as attachment to
negative content, because you are always more than your content (good
and bad). In short, neither self as content nor self as process separate out
“good” content from “bad”; all content is, by definition, problematic
when viewed from self as content and must be observed constantly in self
as process. To illustrate this critical difference, consider the example of
ACT’s metaphor of the chessboard.
Let us say that the white pieces represent your positive

thoughts, while the black pieces represent your negative
thoughts. And the different types of thoughts and feelings hang
out together in teams. For example, “bad” feelings (like
anxiety) hang out with “bad” thoughts (like “I’m useless”). And
it’s the same with the “good” ones (like feeling happy and
thinking that you are in control of your life). So it seems that
the way the game is played is that we select which side we want
to win. You put the “good” pieces on one side and the bad
pieces on the other, and then you get up on the back of the
white queen and ride to battle, fighting to win the war against
the bad pieces. But from this position, huge portions of yourself
are your own enemy. And the more you try to fight the black,
the more room you give them to dominate your life. So you
have to fight harder and harder and harder. Of course, your
hope is that you will knock enough of them off the board so
that you will eventually dominate them with white pieces. You
feel hopeless, you have a sense that you can’t win, and yet you
can’t stop fighting. If you’re on the back of the white horse,
fighting is the only choice you have because the black pieces
seem life threatening. Yet spending all your time in a war zone
is a miserable way to live.
182
The aim for a client in ACT is to identify with the board as a useful
perspective on her content of white and black pieces. The board holds
the pieces and they need it, not vice versa. If you are attached to any of
the pieces, playing the game is very important and you will be focused on
“winning.” As the board, you can see all of the pieces, you can hold
them, and you can watch the war being played out. You cannot become
attached to specific pieces (even white) without abandoning board level.
Hayes (2004) captured the essence of operating at board level in the fol-
lowing quote: “ACT clients are encouraged to abandon any interest in
the literal truth of their own thoughts or evaluations” (p. 647). As such,
no content is to be believed as literally true and/or as saying something
about who you are as a person, thereby holding firm to a distinction
between the observer and the doer. If you permit attachment to any type
of content, even positive, this distinction is sacrificed.
From an RFT/ACT perspective, it seems plausible that positive
writing exercises serve one of two functions. The first is that they may
facilitate self as content, instead of self as process. This might encourage
you to become fused with your positive content if you are seeking to
reduce or remove negative content. This type of experiential avoidance
is associated with poor mental health outcomes and is not at all consis-
tent with ACT (Hayes, Pankey, & Palm, 2005). The second possibility is
that these exercises facilitate defusion and values clarification. For
example, you might write “I am a really good parent,” if you value sound
parenting. The defusion element of this allows you to have distance from
any painful experiences you may have of faulty parenting. The values
clarification element allows you to see which aspects of parenting you
might do better in the future, and this may enhance your motivation for
achieving this value. Defusion and values clarification have been critical
ACT components since the beginning and there is sound empirical
support for their role in positive clinical outcomes (see Hayes, Luoma,
Bond, Masuda, & Lillis, 2006).
Therapeutic Suggestions for Expressive

Writing Exercises
• Writing exercises should facilitate defusion that allows distance
between the writer and the content that is written.
183
• Writing exercises should facilitate the clarification of values and

discourage avoidance of memories of previously nonvalue-based
actions.
• Writing exercises should encourage self as process over self as

content. Even positive psychological content is problematic
when one is attached to it.
An RFT interpretation of “gratitude.” Gratitude has been defined

by Emmons (2004) as “a sense of thankfulness and joy in response to a gift,
whether the gift be a tangible benefit from a specific other or a moment of
peaceful bliss evoked by natural beauty” (p. 554). Gratitude is an integral
part of the positive psychology movement (Bono & McCullough, 2006;
McCullough, Kimeldorf, & Cohen, 2008), and numerous interventions
based on the experience and development of gratitude have been
designed, such as the gratitude list (see Wood, Froh, & Geraghty, 2010).
Indeed some advocates of positive psychology are so favorable to the
concept of gratitude that they have proposed the implementation of its
interventions on a national scale (e.g., Bono, Emmons, & McCullough,
2004; Froh, Miller, & Snyder, 2007), as well as in clinical settings (Wood,
et al., 2010). In line with this enthusiasm, the available empirical evi-
dence is promising. For example, variations of gratitude exercises have
been linked to increases in psychological well-being (Seligman et al.,
2005), prosocial behavior (e.g., Tsang, 2006), and general positive emo-
tions (e.g., Emmons & McCullough, 2003).
The “gratitude list” and the “gratitude visit” are two of the most
commonly used gratitude-based interventions in positive psychology.
The gratitude list simply involves writing down the list of people, events,
things, attributes, and so on, for which you are most grateful on a daily
basis. The benefits of doing so have been demonstrated by a number of
studies. For example, Froh, Sefick, and Emmons (2008) reported that
adolescents who used the gratitude list over a two-week period showed
enhanced optimism and life satisfaction. In addition, Emmons and
McCullough (2003) reported that participants who wrote about people
or events for whom/which they were grateful made more offers of support
to others than participants who wrote about daily hassles.
The gratitude visit involves writing and delivering in person a letter of
gratitude to someone who has been especially kind to you in the past but
whom you have never fully thanked. Seligman et al. (2005) reported that
184
this technique resulted in an increase in happiness and a decrease in

depression at one-and three-week follow-ups (although this effect was
not maintained at a three-month follow up). However, Lyubomirsky et al.
(2011) have reported greater happiness at a six- month follow-up.
Furthermore, the amount of effort attributed to the intervention was
positively correlated with level of well-being.
Some authors have proposed the concept of dispositional gratitude
(e.g., Froh, Emmons, Card, Bono, & Wilson, 2011; McCullough, Emmons,
& Tsang, 2002). And, others have argued that it is central to generic
well-being and prosocial behavior (Kashdan, Uswatte, & Julian, 2006;
Tsang, 2006). For example, Wood, Maltby, Gillett, Linley, and Joseph
(2008) reported longitudinal findings in which dispositional gratitude
appeared to foster social support during a life transition, and to protect
from ill effects associated with stress and depression. Other data have
also shown that gratitude is an antidote to aggression, in terms of moti-
vating people to express sensitivity and concern toward others (DeWall,
Lambert, Pond, Kashdan, & Fincham, 2012). Indeed, some authors have
even suggested that dispositional gratitude accounts for as much as 20%
of the variance in individual differences in life satisfaction (Wood,
Joseph, & Maltby, 2008). There is even evidence demonstrating gender
differences between how people perceive and react to gratitude (see
Kashdan, Mishra, Breen, & Froh, 2009).
In the language of RFT, gratitude requires complex levels of perspec-
tive taking, in terms of recognizing what you value for yourself and how
you perceive this should be portrayed to, and appreciated by, others.
Consider first the role of the self in gratitude. For me to experience grati-
tude based on something you did for me, I must be able to recognize that
your actions and their outcomes were consistent with something I valued.
Without this type of coordination between your action and my values,
gratitude as an outcome seems unlikely. At one level, a very deep sense
of gratitude suggests a very strong overlap between the actions of others
and your values. Consider second the role of others in gratitude. A deep
sense of gratitude may involve more than the concurrence of what you
do and what I value. In fact, gratitude may also require, at least in the
very meaningful instances, a sense that there is overlap or sharing
between what you value and what I value. This perhaps accounts for why
gratitude connects strongly with prosocial behavior. Furthermore, for
this shared value to be appreciated, I must be able to have a perspective
185
on both what I value and what you value. And in turn, you must have a
perspective on what I value and what you value.
Consider the following example. As an adult, you realize that your
parents had a formative role in your education, which subsequently led to
your achieving a professional career that you now highly value. First,
consider your parents’ perspective taking regarding their role in your
career. Unbeknownst to you in your youth, your parents were enduring
financial hardship to pay your school fees. This is based on the value they
placed on your education and the fact that they believed that you would
in turn value this in the future. So, they had perspectives on their own
values (being good parents, etc.), and their actions and hardships were
consistent with these. And, they had a sense of your perspective later in
life, and their actions were also consistent with your future values. Now
consider your perspective taking. At the time, you probably had no per-
spective on your parents’ actions or perspectives, and you perhaps had
limited insight into what you valued, even then. You certainly would
have been unlikely to have a perspective on what you would value in the
future. Now you have a perspective on your own values and on your
parents’, both then and now. As a result of the perspective taking you
have on what your parents valued, how they acted on it, and the perspec-
tive they had on your future perspective, you have a strong sense of
enduring gratitude, because there was coalescence between what they
valued and what you now value highly. This complex perspective taking
may be illustrated in the following quotation by DeWall et al. (2012):
“When experiencing gratitude, a person is sensitive to the emotion,
thoughts, and actions that underlie the positive contributions of others
… which reflect a shift away from self-interests to mirroring and under-
standing another person” (p. 2).
As well as demonstrating the complex perspective taking and values-
based action involved in gratitude, the example above illustrates how
temporal and causal relations, especially IF- THENs, are important.
Consider the example again. Your parents’ perspective on your future
may be described as “If we pay for her college fees now and she then gets
a career, she will benefit from our efforts then because she will value then
what we value now.” And if you didn’t value your career now, you wouldn’t
feel gratitude for this. However, if you do value your career, your perspec-
tive will go something like this: “I am grateful to my parents now because
what I value now, they facilitated then, and if they had not done so, I
186
would not have achieved what I value.” In a nutshell, this latter type of
perspective taking typifies gratitude.
Furthermore, interventions in both ACT and positive psychology
are most often anchored around behavior change in the service of values
(e.g., Hayes et al., 2006; Seligman et al., 2005). In ACT, for example,
values are highly personalized, and values clarification is designed to
facilitate behavior regulation rather than psychological fusion or avoid-
ance (Fletcher & Hayes, 2005). Similarly, in positive psychology, the
gratitude list is a primary example of a technique in which you must
clarify what you value before you can flourish.
For illustrative purposes, consider again our previous example of
Martin. Imagine his therapist asked him to write down three things in
his life for which he was grateful. And Martin selected his children, the
relationship with his wife, and his career. For ACT, the list serves as
values clarification and as a reliable reference against which his behavior
may be examined. For example, the therapist may ask, “Do your actions
with your children often demonstrate the extent to which you value
them?” In response to this, Martin would likely say, “Yes, when I am pain
free, we have great fun, but when I am in pain, things are more con-
strained.” “What if,” the therapist then asks “you took some time each
day to spend with your children, irrespective of how your pain is at that
time?” This would likely differ considerably from what Martin has done
to date, because pain has been opposed to playing with the children, that
is, he thinks that the value “cannot” be acted upon when pain is present.
Now, in terms of his relationship with his wife, imagine that the
therapist asks Martin to take her perspective on his suffering. He will
begin to see that one of the consequences of his suffering is that she has
also suffered. And is her suffering in any way less “legitimate” than his?
Again, this is unlikely to be a perspective from which Martin has oper-
ated to date. He perhaps sees his own suffering as above all else, includ-
ing values and the suffering of others in the sense that when pain is
present, these other things matter less and require less attention. The
clarification of these two values may then be highlighted, and Martin’s
perspective on his wife’s and children’s perspectives may be enhanced by
a gratitude exercise in which he shares with them his perspective and his
perspective on their perspective. In addition to showing gratitude, he
may make commitments to them to ensure that future actions are more
consistent with shared values. Thus, the gratitude exercise facilitates self
187
as context for Martin because he is moving in a values-consistent manner

irrespective of his pain.
The sections above highlight a strong overlap between positive psy-
chology’s focus on gratitude and the perspective taking and values clari-
fication of RFT and ACT. However, we can identify two possible
differences between these approaches, which may have negative clinical
implications.
1. When values have been clarified and are genuine, then grati-
tude is almost inevitable, and the expression of this gratitude
likely serves an important purpose in bonding future behavior to
these values. In this sense, gratitude is a likely outcome that
follows values clarification. Now, think of this the other way
around. What if you were advised to express gratitude but values
had not been clarified? This may be problematic because you
may not experience a sense of gratitude and you would not be
sure why you were doing it in the first place. As a result, grati-
tude exercises are likely to be most effective only in a context of
shared values. Gratitude without this may be meaningless or even
counterproductive.
2. Similar to the concern noted above in terms of a focus on posi-

tive writing, it is important to emphasize that ACT adopts the
same view of both positive and negative psychological content,
in terms of both having the potential to be problematic.
Specifically, gratitude exercises clearly involve the expression of
positive feelings toward others, and there is nothing surprising
or wrong with that. But there is a risk that the exercises tell you
how you should feel and/or that these feelings should guide your
behavior. Put another way, gratitude is an intimate expression of
shared values that goes above and beyond what is felt, and grati-
tude exercises should focus more on the sharing and values
aspects than on the feeling aspect. This, of course, raises the
possibility that you may engage in a gratitude exercise in the
service of something that is valued, even if you don’t feel grate-
ful. And that would be consistent with ACT but perhaps not
with positive psychology. For example, you might tell your wife
that you love her and that you appreciate her after an argument
and in the service of returning the relationship to harmony,
188
even though you feel anger, rather than love and gratitude, at
that point in time. In short, the gratitude that you are expressing
reflects the effect that many of her previous actions have had on
you and on your relationship across time rather than reflecting
current feelings. Again, for ACT the focus is on values and not
feelings because acting on the basis of current feelings likely
reflects self as content. Acting in the service of what your expe-
rience across time tells you and what you value are more indica-
tive of self as process and context.
Therapeutic Suggestions for

Gratitude Exercises
• In gratitude exercises, you should articulate your perspective and
the perspective of your recipient.
• Gratitude exercises must involve values clarification, preferably

for both the participant and recipient, and in terms of the par-
ticipant’s perspective on what this will mean for the recipient.
• Gratitude exercises should avoid a focus on what is felt over what

is valued in order to encourage self as process or context over
content.
Concluding Comments
The current chapter set out to articulate the putative role of RFT’s three
selves in two key interventions proposed by positive psychology. The
interpretation offers a functional, process-based account of what is hap-
pening when these techniques are used and why, we believe, they have
the outcomes they do. Furthermore, the chapter described a broader
overlap between positive psychology and ACT, with a strong sharing of
emphasis on the self, defusion, and values clarification. In summary,
there is no right or wrong way to do self-enhancement or therapeutic
work, and no right or wrong interpretation of what is happening at the
189
level of process. However, there is considerable overlaps across the various

traditions in psychology, and the current chapter is an attempt to describe
at least some of these and to offer a brief caution of how to watch out for
potential pitfalls.
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CHAPTER 9
Microculture as a Contextual
Positive Psychology Intervention
Robert Biswas-Diener
Portland State University, Positive Acorn
Nadezhda Lyubchik
Portland State University
T hese words represent the first sentence in an introductory chapter

in an academic book connecting Acceptance and Commitment
Therapy (ACT) with the science of positive psychology. You, the
reader, bring a variety of personal and cultural assumptions to this para-
graph including—but not limited to—your particular interest in the topic
of this chapter (microculture and contextual psychology), your under-
standing of edited academic volumes as an intellectual product, and your
unique desires for using the information contained herein. We, the
authors, also bring a variety of factors to this narrative including our
ability to engage you through clarity of writing, evidence of intellectual
authority, and novelty and usefulness of our contribution to the helping
professions. We are bound together, as authors and readers, but will—
ultimately—stop short of co-creating a culture. To take that next social
step we need mechanisms to interact with one another: to give feedback,
debate, synthesize opinions, modify ideas, and socially share information
Microculture as a Contextual Positive Psychology Intervention
or technology. It is especially here, in this last point that culture emerges:

we must have a shared set of understandings that we can transfer to each
other. This is, we hope, a clear illustration of the difference between
simple interaction and the emergence of actual culture.
When thinking about the concept of culture, it is tempting to con-
sider this social phenomenon in classic anthropological terms: kinship
groups, cosmological beliefs, customs related to dress, and other “visible”
aspects. This is particularly true for professionals working across cultural
boundaries. There is a large research and theoretical literature concern-
ing the practice of counseling across cultures (Sue & Sue, 2007) just as
there is a burgeoning literature addressing cultural factors in the work-
place (Ramarajan & Thomas, 2011). To be effective coaches, we need to
be sensitive to how culture might present obstacles to effective work or
might affect a working relationship. However, guidelines for cultural
sensitivity—both at work and in the clinical setting—have been relatively
coarse, frequently conceptualizing culture in only the broadest of terms
such as those related to ethnic, linguistic, or societal differences (Hofstede
& Hofstede, 2005). Among the aims of this chapter is finer attention to
the concept of culture. Larger societal cultures encompass smaller “micro-
cultures” that include, but are not limited to subcultures, countercultures,
organizational cultures, and artificially constructed microcultures.
Microcultures can be thought of as small groups of people who share
common history, goals and values, and verbal and nonverbal communica-
tion systems (Neuliep, 2009). Microcultural groups, as opposed to subcul-
tural groups based on ethnicity or similar demographic factors, may be of
particular interest to interventionists. Although often temporary in
nature, artificially created microcultures represent a contextual frame-
work for effecting positive change with individuals and groups.
In the sections that follow we hope to shift from an understanding of
culture that is primarily static and related to identity to an understand-
ing that is dynamic and focused on interpersonal processes. Because
microcultures can be relatively easily manufactured, especially when
compared to typical cultural change interventions such as antismoking
campaigns (Biglan, 1995), they are of particular interest to intervention-
ists. Moreover, because microcultures are, themselves, the context in
which narrow interventions are delivered, the microculture serves as a
meta-intervention that may act as a mediating influence on the
195
effectiveness of other interventions. In this chapter we hope to make the

case that context is an important aspect of intervention work.
A Positive Psychology Argument

for More Contextual Intervention
There is a temptation in scientific psychology, and especially in the
nascent science of positive psychology, to focus on narrow empirically
validated interventions (see Parks & Biswas-Diener, this volume). This
“tool-based” approach, while certainly a well-intentioned and necessary
first step in the development of applied science, represents a limited
approach to understanding intervention. By strongly promoting the
effectiveness of positive interventions such as the “three blessings exer-
cise” (e.g., Bono, Emmons, & McCullough, 2004), practitioners have
implicitly taken the stance that the products of positive psychology are
more important than the very people upon whom they are intended to
be used. The truth is what we do not know about these interventions
outweighs our certainty regarding their use.
Gratitude interventions provide a case study for the current state of
positive psychological intervention. There is research evidence suggestive
of the emotional benefits of the three blessings exercise and that the
effortful expression of gratitude is associated with greater happiness (e.g.,
Seligman, Steen, Park, & Peterson, 2005). Many practitioners, in our
experience, take this as a metaphorical green light to use gratitude inter-
ventions with clients of all backgrounds. Unfortunately, the research lit-
erature suggests many possible caveats in the prescription and use of this
intervention technique. First, there are studies suggesting that gratitude
interventions interact with people’s cultural backgrounds. For instance,
individualists likely benefit more from gratitude interventions than do
their collectivist counterparts (Boehm, Lyubomirsky, & Sheldon, 2011).
Similarly, there is research suggesting that an individual’s religious orien-
tation can affect the benefits of gratitude exercises such that expressing
gratitude toward God (as opposed to a more generalized thankfulness)
appears to be more beneficial (Rosmarin et al., 2011). A second group of
studies demonstrates the importance of client preferences on gratitude
effectiveness. Lyubomirsky and colleagues (2011), for example, have found
196
that gratitude interventions appear to provide more substantial benefits if

they are chosen by individuals rather than prescribed. Similarly, Schueller
(2011) found that individuals who preferred a given positive psychology
intervention, such as expressing gratitude, were more likely to actually
follow through and complete the intervention. A third group of studies
illuminates the possibility that factors related directly to client psychology
also affect the potential benefits conferred by gratitude interventions. For
instance, it is possible that adolescents who are high in trait positive affect
might reach an emotional ceiling, and, therefore, children with more
chronically low affect might derive more benefit from these exercises
(Froh, Kashdan, Ozimkowski, & Miller, 2009). Along these same lines—
and perhaps most alarming among all the research on gratitude—one
study suggests that this exercise is sometimes contra-indicated in that it
can actually lower self-esteem among people with preexisting depression
(Sergeant & Mongrain, 2011). Thus, the gratitude exercise that has long
been a workhorse of positive psychology intervention is likely far more
nuanced in its real-world application than many practitioners assume.
Many of these studies have only recently been published, and, there-
fore, a strong argument can be made for the critical importance of
keeping abreast of the research to maintain the highest standards of
practice. Coaches, therapists, and consultants who are not staying
current with positive psychology research limit the potential effective-
ness and benefits of interventions and, in some instances, might actually
risk harming their clients. It is here that we offer the caution that posi-
tive psychology intervention should be looked at as psychological inter-
vention first and as potentially positive only second and in light of the
specific context in which it is used. Admittedly, we here posit a strong
opinion on the topic; this stance is not made for the sake of effect but,
rather, to point out that many practitioners who are informed by positive
psychology may have the tendency to overlook issues of person-
intervention fit and other contextual factors in favor of an emphasis on
the proposed general effectiveness of the tool (Biswas-Diener, Kashdan,
& Minhas, 2011). In all fairness we admit that we are guilty of promoting
tool-based intervention approaches ourselves (see, for example, Biswas-
Diener & Dean, 2007). Our enthusiasm was based on the promise of
these tools and the preliminary research findings suggesting their poten-
tial. Years later, however, practitioners should demand higher standards
for practice and advocate for the science to back these better practices.
197
The Importance of
Microculture to Practice
As positive psychological science improves in sophistication, it grows
more elegant in its approach to intervention. Where early positive psy-
chology research focused on narrow outcome measures—usually happi-
ness related—by which discrete intervention tools were validated, more
recent work has become necessarily nuanced. For instance, Sin, Della
Porta, and Lyubomirsky (2011) argue that attention should be paid to
person factors that might influence the effectiveness of positive interven-
tions and that interventions should be accordingly tailored for better
individual fit. Similarly, Seligman (2011) argues that the traditional posi-
tive psychology focus on individual intervention needs to be replaced by
attention to group-level intervention and well-being. This call has been
answered by Biswas-Diener and Patterson (2011), Veenhoven (2011), and
others who argue that we need to shift our collective attention away from
individual happiness as the ultimate outcome toward other desirable out-
comes such as increased social capital, greater interpersonal connection,
and collective welfare. In this way positive psychology is seen not so
much as the science of pursuing happiness but as a mechanism for social
change (Biswas-Diener, 2011).
Attention to cultural factors is an important advance for positive
psychology and for practice in general. Of the 194 citations that appear
in the PsycInfo database for the flagship publication of positive psychol-
ogy, Journal of Positive Psychology, only three are cross-indexed with the
keyword “culture”; thankfully, edited volumes have started to appear
that address well-being from a cultural perspective (e.g., Delle Fava,
Massimini, & Bassi, 2011). We argue that microculture represents a
special case of culture that should be of particular interest to interven-
tionists because it is relatively easier to intervene. We offer three com-
ments on microculture interventions that, we hope, establish its
usefulness in affecting change with clients:
1. Microculture can be artificially created. This means that

although macrocultural influences will always affect individual
thinking and feeling, as well as group behavior, it is also possible
to use microculture to sidestep cultural impasses (impediments
198
related to feelings toward positive psychology within a given

culture). Specifically, artificially constructed microcultures can
provide a new context that liberates individuals from cultural
constrictions that might otherwise limit their willingness,
comfort, or ability to engage in interventions. For example:
When conducting professional skills trainings in collectivist

cultures, particularly those in Asia, we have often
encountered cultural norms for humility that stand as
barriers to the ready acceptance of strengths typical in
Western cultures. One approach to working in such a context
is to avoid singling out individuals and to accept modesty
when it occurs. This can happen by having participants talk
about the strengths of others, rather than their own
strengths, by working in small groups with less potential for
loss of face or by having people offer strengths feedback as a
“gift” to other participants. Interestingly, it is also possible to
accelerate the learning process by creating local microcultural
norms in which modesty is not required. This can be as
simple as explicitly stating the new normative language, as in
“although Singaporean culture influences everyone in this
room, we are also a unique culture unto ourselves … one in
which, for this one afternoon, we can speak freely about
personal strengths without anyone misconstruing this as
bragging.” We have been impressed with the appetite for
which collectivist workshop participants abandon traditional
norms and behave in countercultural ways.
Lest the reader fear that we are insensitive to issues of
cultural imperialism, we offer two caveats. First, the norms
created in microcultural interventions are temporary and in
no way are intended to permanently replace macrocultural
norms. For instance, a consultant interacting with an intact
work team can artificially create a new microculture in which
traditional roles are skewed such that leaders no longer hold
positions of power or in which talkative group members have
fewer opportunities to dominate conversation. Because
microculture is temporary and lacks mechanisms through
which these new norms are reinforced and internalized, they
199
will decay quickly, and group members will revert to their

traditional roles and interaction styles. In one course we
recently taught, for example, we asked students to shout
“Whoo-hoo” anytime they heard mention of researchers
Martin Seligman or Ed Diener, with the hopes that this
would increase learning and engagement. Although there
was initial enthusiasm for this new way of doing things
students fell back into their more passive roles within 20
minutes. As a second defense against possible charges of
cultural imperialism we note that it is just as possible to
create new collectivist norms among individualists as it is to
create individualistic norms among collectivists. For example,
we have created university classroom environments in the
United States wherein students are expected to work on all
projects together and to be responsible for one another’s
learning (see Biswas-Diener & Patterson, 2011).
2. Microcultures can be used to sidestep interpersonal impasses

(impediments related to interactions between people of different
cultural backgrounds). Positive psychology, for instance, has
sometimes been criticized for being an overly Western—indeed,
overly American, discipline (Lazarus, 2003). Wierzbika (2008)
argues that much of the language that is central to positive
psychology— motivation, well-being, self-interest, quality of
life—are not readily translatable to other languages. Wierzbika
suggests that the very notion of the “good life” is Anglocentric
in nature and rests upon a notion (the good life itself) that trans-
lates neither semantically nor culturally to non-Western groups.
Further evidence for this criticism of positive psychological con-
cepts comes from Scollon and King (2010), who argue that col-
lectivists such as South Koreans define the “good life” in ways
distinct from the individualistic understanding of this concept.
Rather than allowing broad cultural divides to act as insur-
mountable barriers to individual connection, it may be that cre-
ating new “neutral ground” microcultures can act as a temporary
meeting place for people of different backgrounds. A clear
example of this can be seen in organizational trainings, such as
the type that many psychologists, coaches, and consultants
200
deliver. There are differences in cultural norms around public

participation such that people from North America, Africa, and
South America are more likely to be vocal and offer personal
opinions in a public forum than their counterparts from Asia or
the Middle East. When placed in a mixed cultural group those
with Western, individualist backgrounds tend to speak up rela-
tively more frequently than do others, and this might actually
act as a barrier to participation for non-Westerners. By forming a
microculture that emphasizes shared goals or makes shared ele-
ments of identity salient, trainers can—to a limited extent—
encourage participants to temporarily shed their native culture
for the sake of the current learning.
This point is especially germane to positive psychology
wherein concepts such as happiness, agency, and self-esteem are,
in part, the products of culturally specific thought. Despite argu-
ments against Western biases, researchers and theorists in posi-
tive psychology have been largely from the United States and
other Western cultures. This can be seen in the published atten-
tion given to concepts that are certainly Western in nature, such
as the body of literature on Aristotelian notions of well-being
based on the fulfillment of individual potential, commonly
known as “eudaimonic happiness” (Waterman, Schwartz, &
Conti, 2008). Similarly, we should guard against the notion that
people from non-Western cultures are capable of appreciating
only non-Western positive psychology concepts such as the
notion that true happiness is the balance of inevitable negative
experiences along with positive ones, where inherent contradic-
tions such as “acceptance” and “change” can coexist (Ho, 2010).
An Introduction to Microculture
Microculture is simply the distinctive culture—the agreed upon ways of
temporarily behaving, thinking, or feeling—of a small group of people
within a limited geographic area or a small organization such as a school
or business. There are, for instance, separate microcultures for riding on
an airplane rather than riding on a public bus regardless of geographic
location. Riding on a plane, specifically, lends itself to a higher incidence
201
of protracted and—indeed—meaningful interactions between strangers,

perhaps because of the longer travel time. Within psychological science
there is a long, but not well-known, history of attention to microcultural
processes as a research methodology (Whiten & Flynn, 2010). Studies
from decades ago employ social learning paradigms to examine the
transfer of technology and information from one “generation” to the
next. This method has been employed extensively with nonhuman pri-
mates (Hannah & McGrew, 1987) and with children (McCrone, 2005).
Because a core element in the establishment of all culture, including
microculture, is behavioral traditions and rituals, the topic of microcul-
ture is particularly relevant to clinical and therapeutic concerns that
employ a behavioral methodology. Although Moreno (Fox, 1987), the
founder of “psychodrama,” was among the earliest to pioneer a therapeu-
tic technique ensconced in a behavioral technique—theater in this
instance—modern psychotherapy is replete with therapies that rely on
behavioral contexts. These include, but are not limited to, Lego therapy
(LeGoff, 2004), which uses the popular children’s building toy as an
experiential intervention; wilderness therapy (Harper, 2009), which har-
nesses the natural environment and its physical conditions to build self-
confidence; expressive arts therapies (Kossak, 2008), such as the use of
painting to encourage cathartic expression; and culture-specific thera-
pies such as cuento therapy (Costantino, Magady, & Rogler, 1986), in
which local story-telling traditions are harnessed to help clients shift to a
healthy narrative of their own life and capacities. The popularity of these
therapeutic modalities might reflect an increasing understanding that
behavioral contexts are important to therapeutic success.
Design Elements of Microculture

This preliminary chapter is intended not only to argue for the impor-
tance of microcultures as meta-interventions but also to offer practical
guidance regarding the actual creation of microcultures. We offer recom-
mendations concerning four areas that are important to the creation of
microcultures: rituals, role induction, contrasting, and shared experi-
ence. We discuss them as individual entities with the understanding that
they each impact the others. We have chosen these specific areas because
202
of their conceptual importance to microcultures and the existence of

preliminary empirical research into these topics.
1. Rituals/Traditions
Whether it is a Yanomamo ritual in which men strike one another
on the chest (Chagnon, 1996) or patriots standing for the national
anthem at the onset of a sporting event, rituals and traditions provide a
shared sense of purpose and identity. It may even be that engaging in
rituals that are closely associated with a cultural identity prime that iden-
tity and make certain features of it salient. These habitual behaviors are
often engaged in without reflection.
This is particularly important in the psychotherapy context. Clinical
delivery has seen a number of innovations since its Freudian heyday of
couches and dream analysis. The advent of various technologies has
impacted clinical delivery such as the use of physiological monitoring to
provide neurofeedback (Masterpasqua & Healey, 2003) and the use of
telephonic technologies to allow therapy to be delivered across geo-
graphic distances (Jerome et al., 2000). In recent years there has also
been a groundswell of popularity in therapeutic techniques related to
mindfulness (Vujanovic et al., 2011) and well-being enhancement (e.g.,
Frisch, 2006). Despite these trends there has been surprisingly little
innovation in talk therapy itself as a delivery mechanism for change.
Despite variability in therapy duration and theoretical orientations, the
basic format of talk therapy follows the same conversational format.
Therapists and clients sit in chairs in a private office and discuss prob-
lems. One noteworthy exception to this format is the addition of experi-
ential exercises typical to the expressive therapies such as art therapy
(Kossak, 2008) and drama therapy (Fox, 1987).
It is surprising how little deviation there is in the format of typical
talk therapies until one considers the powerful but subtle influences of
cultural norms. Most, if not all, practicing therapists are socialized in
graduate school regarding the norms of therapy. This commonly includes
discussions of accepting gifts from clients, professional dress codes, and
other issues that are not, in themselves, directly therapeutic but which
still reflect widespread professional norms. It is curious that therapists
have not overtly questioned—in a systematic rather than individual
203
way—whether sitting and talking in a private office is the optimal

format. To some degree coaching offers a nice example of strategic
experimentation with such issues. Driver (2011), for instance, recom-
mends the use of pacing, walking, or changing positions as a means of
pulling back from problems and gaining a fresh perspective (also see
Whitworth, Kimsey-House, & Sandhal, 1998). One notable example of
incorporating less traditional techniques can be seen in Dialectical
Behavioral Therapy (DBT; Linehan, 2006). In many DBT programs
clients have access to round-the-clock telephone coaching and partici-
pate in mindfulness meditation exercises, often accompanied by chimes,
gongs, or similar Eastern cultural artifacts.
Herein lies the power of creating microcultural norms in the consult-
ing room. Therapists have the ability to give permission to clients for a
wider range of therapy room behaviors than normally occurs. Discussing
the possibility of eating food, writing on a whiteboard, or pacing the
room—just to offer three simple examples of deviations from the norm—
may enhance client learning or expression. This is an interesting and not
inconsequential point: one of the advances in psychotherapy is psycho-
education, including teaching of emotional regulation, mindfulness, and
other psychological skills. The focus of these in-session trainings is often
on the skills themselves with little attention paid to client learning pref-
erences that might help or hinder this process. The informal presenta-
tion of case studies to clients, cooperative learning strategies, modeling,
problem-based learning, and other experiential techniques, for example,
might be powerful mechanisms for client learning and made more pow-
erful by matching specific strategies to individual client learning styles
(Akella, 2010). To effectively pursue this specific route of thinking, clini-
cians would be called upon to expand the scope of their reading and
training to content in education and learning. For example, it might be
useful to read research on learning styles and how these might affect the
effectiveness of psychoeducation with specific clients.
To be certain, there are some therapists who are already making use
of such techniques. Our purpose here is not to criticize the effectiveness
of psychotherapy or the clinical wisdom of therapists, or to take aim at
therapeutic schools of thought. Indeed, much of this commentary is just
as relevant to professional coaching and educational situations. It is our
intention to highlight the importance of reflecting on the influence of
professional cultural norms in which virtually all therapists are socialized
204
during their education. This process of questioning norms and creating

new norms specific to each client reflects the very process of flexible
responding at the core of ACT (Luoma, Hayes, & Walser, 2007).
2. Role Induction
Role induction is the use of social influence to assign expectations of
specific roles. People, especially those in “power positions,” often acculter-
ate new or lower ranking members of a group to how role expectancies
will be filled through didactic instruction and/or subtle cues. A business
owner, for instance, might indicate to a job applicant where to sit in the
office, how formally or informally to behave, or when it is appropriate to
shift from the initial “chit-chat” phase of the interview to the more
serious part. Similarly, therapists often engage in pretherapy role induc-
tion processes, such as discussing the importance and limits of confiden-
tiality, setting expectations for treatment compliance, and opening a
dialogue about the nature of the therapeutic alliance. Professional
coaches who discuss the distinctions between therapy and coaching with
their clients are engaging in a form of role induction that establishes
clear cultural parameters for the relationship. In our own introductory
coaching sessions we explain to clients that—unlike therapy as it is por-
trayed in popular media—we, the coaches, will interrupt frequently. We
explain that this is done strategically in an effort to move the action
forward rather than rehashing past events. Childress and Gillis (1977)
suggest that pretherapy role induction is an important predictor of later
therapy success because, in part, it clarifies expectations and raises the
chances for client compliance.
When thinking about the creation of microcultures, bear in mind
that role induction can occur at the level of conscious awareness or as
the result of nonverbal paracommunication, such as when instructors
implicitly reward students at the front of the classroom by being more
likely to include them in discussion and call on them when their hands
are raised. Similarly, when an executive sits behind a large desk or a
workshop leader stands in front of a room full of participants or touches
someone on the shoulder, he is using haptics (relating to the sense of
touch) and kinesics (relating to the movement of the body in space) to
communicate with others (Beitman & Viamontes, 2007). Facial
205
expression, touch, the strategic use of space, and other nonverbal cues
can influence role induction. Seemingly small behaviors such as smiling
to reinforce desirable behavior or arranging chairs so that they are angled
both toward one another and toward a white board can be subtle but
powerful indicators of the role expectancies of both the client and the
practitioner.
In a dramatic illustration of role induction, Rose Inza Kim, a thera-
pist working in Seoul, South Korea, limits the number of sessions with
clients at the onset to motivate them to seek rapid solutions and expend
effort. By addressing limited sessions, Kim explicitly suggests that being
resourceful and committed is an essential part of the client role. This
may differ from expectations some clients bring to therapy in which they
assume therapy is a passive, enduring endeavor.
3. Contrasting
Contrasting is the use of mental comparisons to arrive at a particular
emotional, behavioral or attitudinal perspective. Contrasting is a basic
part of information processing and everyone engages in cognitive con-
trasting automatically, as in the case when we use a mental “anchor”
point and then adjust our thinking against it (e.g., a charity solicits a
donation and requests 50 dollars but allows you to write in any amount—
presumably a lesser amount— influenced by this anchor point).
Contrasting is occasionally used explicitly for therapeutic outcomes. In a
“solutions focus” approach to therapy and coaching, where there is a
focus on progress, growth, and possibilities (Jackson & Waldman, 2010),
techniques include “scaling” (using numeric or other scales to evaluate
progress) and “interviewing for exceptions” (asking clients to identify
instances when they have not experienced problems or setbacks). Both
techniques surprise clients by presenting questions and information that
is in stark contrast with client expectations. In solutions focus scaling, for
example, a score of a 3 on a 1 to 10 scale assumes that the client auto-
matically attends to the distance between his or her score—a 3—and a
presumed perfect outcome of a 10. The solutions focus practitioner trans-
forms this assumption by shifting attention to the distance between the
score—a 3—and the presumed worst score of a 1. This perspective
206
change offers clients an opportunity to take stock of progress and

resources instead of problems.
There are several reasons contrasting techniques may be useful: they
may help clients overcome inhibitions that are influenced by culture
(e.g., a Christian client who might be reluctant to engage in mindfulness
practices due to spiritual concerns); groups form a sense of shared iden-
tity (e.g., human resources experts from a variety of companies view
themselves as similar and working toward a common purpose).
Contrasting works by highlighting the microculture (its norms, roles,
etc.) and making small group membership a salient identity point for
clients or training participants. Pointing out the client’s culture of origin
and explaining the limits of that culture to affect the therapeutic or
coaching milieu serves the purpose of re-anchoring them in a new cul-
tural context, albeit temporarily. Macrocultures can influence without
dictating microculture thoughts, feelings, and behaviors.
It may be that effectiveness rests on the relative size of the contrast,
such that small contrasts are met with more “buy in” than large contrasts
that might threaten strongly held beliefs. It is possible, for example, that
creating a microculture among Pacific Rim Asians in which personal
achievement and interpersonal challenging are the norms would be more
difficult than creating one in which it was considered normal to take
ownership of one’s own strengths to connect with one another.
4. Shared Experience
Shared experience can be a powerful force in the development of a
collective identity because it allows individuals a sense of intimacy pro-
vided by the perception of increased understanding of one another.
People who have been through natural disasters together, for instance,
can find a mutual point of connection that can help them make sense of
the events. Candau (2010) suggests that shared experiences act as “socio-
transmitters” that connect people to one another much in the same
fashion that neurotransmitters act as delivery mechanisms for complex
connections in the brain. Shared experiences are—perhaps—the aspect
of microculture that is the least artificial. Shared experiences, regardless
of their specifics, include shared emotions, a common reference point (as
in the case of “inside jokes”), and increased self-other overlap (Aron,
207
Aron, & Smollan, 1992). There is, for example, initial research suggest-
ing that people naturally “sync” with one another by mimicking body
language (Vacharkulksemsuk & Fredrickson, 2012) and that mere expo-
sure breeds liking for an object (or person) as well as approach motiva-
tion toward that object (or person) (Jones, Young, & Claypool, 2011).
Indeed, research suggests that shared experience— especially highly
positive experiences—are linked to relationship satisfaction (Reissman,
Aron, & Bergen, 1993). These studies point to the importance of shared
experience as a relationship and—we would argue here—a microculture
building phenomenon at the heart of which is a number of empathic
benefits. It should be noted, however, the majority of self-other overlap
and shared experience research has been conducted in the context of
close or romantic relationships and our understanding of cross-cultural
issues or stranger-stranger contact issues is limited.
Case Study
In this penultimate section we offer a brief case to showcase how micro-
cultures can be quickly and intentionally created as well as its effect on
people. Rather than make strong pronouncements about specific tech-
niques, we present preliminary observations drawn from real-world expe-
riences. To be clear, we do not believe enough is known about
microcultures and their creation to offer clear, strategic advice regarding
their construction and use. We leave it, instead, for readers and practitio-
ners to draw their own conclusions about the relative promise and limita-
tions of microculture in the contexts in which they work.
At the biannual conference of the International Positive Psychology
Association (IPPA), one of the authors (RBD) gave a 4-hour workshop in
which he attempted to create a microculture that would be noticeably
distinct from the macroculture in which it existed (American society)
and even from the subcultures that might otherwise define it (academia,
annual gatherings of professional societies). To gauge the speed of cre-
ation, extent of impact, and effectiveness of the microcultural interven-
tion, the author chose to establish a new group norm that would be
obviously counter to larger culture norms. In this particular, he decided
that no critical questions would be taken from the audience. Critical
remarks and clarifying questions have long been assumed to be an
208
integral part of the learning process in general and to the workshop

format specifically. While the goal of the IPPA workshop was primarily
to teach the application of positive psychology, it was secondarily a dem-
onstration of the power of microcultural norms.
To create a sense of group identity that would support such a strong
and arguably disagreeable group norm, the author began by telling a per-
sonal story. The specific content of the story is less important than is the
acknowledgment that the story was chosen for its emotional value.
Contained within the story were moments of high humor and also sober-
ing moments of reflection and self-doubt. This story acted as the anchor
point of shared experience for the workshop based on the principles of
emotional contagion. The author purposefully included catchphrases
and buzz words that he then used throughout the remainder of the work-
shop to remind participants about their shared experiences and therefore
shared identity.
In addition, specific roles were assigned to particular audience
members including note-taker, tweeter (actively posting to the Twitter
website during the workshop), and photographer. These roles were
assigned publicly so that all the participants would understand that the
workshop contained specific norms including the use of photography
and social media that might differ from other academic experiences. All
of the workshop participants also received specific instructions where
the microcultural norm was concerned. The author leading the work-
shop instructed: “Please do not think critically. Critical thinking is nega-
tive and can be socially off-putting. Instead, you are encouraged to be
curious and explore your sense of wonder about the topics presented.
Due to time constraints, however, no broad philosophical questions will
be allowed. Only those questions that deal specifically with the clarifica-
tion of skills and techniques presented here are within the scope of this
workshop.”
The reaction to this peculiar instruction was a curious phenomenon.
There were those in the audience (of approximately 100 people) who
naturally wanted to question elements of the workshop with which they
disagreed. One man, for instance, questioned the very notion of not
questioning. “Isn’t this a dangerous group norm to establish,” he asked,
“as it might lead to group think and interfere with individual thought
and creativity?” When the author responded that, although the question
appeared to have merit, it was beyond the scope of the training, a number
209
of the other workshop participants actually applauded! We interpret this

aspect of the crowd reaction as evidence of the dramatic power of people
in leadership positions to establish norms quickly, especially those that
appear to serve a useful but temporary purpose. We admit we cannot
fully determine the exact mechanisms by which the microculture was
established. The role of leader persuasion, the use of humor, the demo-
graphic characteristics of the audience, the topic of the workshop, and
other factors cannot be ruled out as important facets of microcultural
intervention. We do feel confident, however, that local group norms
were, in fact, established and learned and reinforced by the members of
the group to such an extent that they applauded when an audience
member was told he could not ask a legitimate question.
Future Recommendations
Microcultures, as discussed in this chapter, are temporary and artificial
cultures that carry unique norms, roles, and rituals. We argue that micro-
cultures can be used as meta-interventions to provide a context through
which more traditional interventions can be more effectively delivered.
We suggest here that this contextual approach is a necessary step forward
for the young science of positive psychology. As an applied science, prac-
titioners have often emphasized the relatively limited number of empiri-
cally validated tools that are widely accepted as a core component of the
positive psychology cannon. We have argued elsewhere (Biswas-Diener,
2011) that many of these empirically validated tools have been tested on
only a narrow range of outcomes and that little is known about the best
ways to deliver them, possible contraindications, and client factors that
that might affect their effectiveness.
This tool-based emphasis and preference for one’s own epistemology
is an unavoidable aspect of any intellectual endeavor (Kagan, 2009). As
positive psychology matures and explicitly addresses these issues
(Schueller, 2011), this nuance and sophistication will better inform other
intervention approaches such as coaching and ACT. We believe, in par-
ticular, that creating microcultures may represent a means of better
understanding the contextual factors of intervention, an approach that
converges with the ACT emphasis on context and flexible responding.
210
Unfortunately, little is known about how to effectively create micro-

cultures or the impact creating such a culture might have on positive
psychology intervention. It is likely, in our opinion, that the same social
processes implicated in conformity (Asch, 1956), obedience (Milgram,
1963), and de-individuation (Diener, 1980) are implicated—at least in
the group setting such as the training example presented above—in the
effective establishment of microcultural norms, especially those that
might run counter to the norms of the macrocultural context of group
members. Although not systematic in our analysis, our training and
coaching work in dozens of cultures, including those of African, Asian,
and European countries, suggests that even minor attention to the con-
struction of microcultures can have a powerful effect on groups learning
and using positive psychology.
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CHAPTER 10
Accepting Guilt and Abandoning

Shame: A Positive Approach to
Addressing Moral Emotions among
High-Risk, Multineed Individuals
Elizabeth Malouf
Kerstin Youman
Laura Harty
Karen Schaefer
June P. Tangney
P ositive psychology is not the first thing people think about when
they think of criminal offenders, nor are values and mindfulness.
In our program of research, however, we have found multiple lines
of research from positive psychology useful at enhancing inmates’ reinte-
gration into the community. In this chapter, we describe three forms of
intervention that we have been implementing and evaluating in the
context of a larger program of longitudinal research on moral emotions
and moral cognitions (Tangney, Mashek, & Stuewig, 2007). We first
describe the Impact of Crime (IOC) workshop, an innovative group
intervention that draws on a “guilt-inducing, shame-reducing” restorative
justice model. Next, we describe our efforts to import components of

Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) into a values- based
mindfulness group intervention designed for inmates nearing commu-
nity reentry. Last, we describe the ways in which we have modified moti-
vational interviewing (MI) procedures to best meet the diverse needs
and concerns of “general population” jail inmates.
Across the board, these interventions take a positive approach to
cognitive and behavioral change. Inmates are encouraged to take respon-
sibility and commit to their values rather than to simply avoid negative
behavior. They are encouraged to take positive action rather than simply
avoid further antisocial behavior. Our experience supports the effective-
ness of this positive psychology approach in this high-risk population.
Moreover, we believe this approach is applicable across many other
contexts—at school, in the workplace, anywhere where rules can be
violated, harm can be done, and there lurks the possibility of shame.
The Impact of Crime (IOC)

Workshop: A Restorative Justice
Inspired Group Intervention
The Impact of Crime (IOC) workshop is an innovative group interven-
tion rooted in restorative justice principles. Restorative justice is an alter-
native to the philosophy of retributive justice (the punishment-focused
approach that dominates the criminal justice system in the United States
and in many other parts of the world). Rather than focusing on legal
processes and punishment of the offender, restorative justice theory
emphasizes the harmful effects of crime. Crime is viewed as a violation
of the victim and the community rather than a violation of the state.
Accountability is defined in terms of taking responsibility for actions and
repairing harm caused to the victim and community through restitution,
competency development, and community service. In effect, restoration,
or making things right, becomes the highest priority of the system rather
than the imposition of punishment for its own sake. By taking account-
ability for their actions, offenders begin to understand the harm they
cause to victims and communities, deterring future offenses.
216
Accepting Guilt and Abandoning Shame
The restorative justice approach aims to initiate significant, lasting

change in how offenders think about crime, victims, and personal respon-
sibility. The IOC workshop explicitly encourages offenders to reevaluate
distorted “criminogenic” beliefs and to shift from a self-centered, egoistic
orientation toward a broader appreciation of one’s place and role in the
community.
The IOC workshop is a voluntary group intervention, providing a
cost-effective means of providing a restorative experience to 15- 20
offenders at one time. Delivered over the course of 8 weeks, this 16-
session workshop is part educational and part experiential. Incarcerated
participants have the opportunity to reexamine the ways in which
various types of crime (property crime, sexual assault, domestic violence,
drug use and distribution, etc.) affect victims, families (of both victims
and offenders), and the community as a whole. Participants learn perti-
nent crime statistics and facts, complete a series of workbook exercises
and group discussions about the victim experience, and interact with
guest speakers—victims of crime who discuss how specific crimes have
affected their lives and those around them. With the aid of a trained
facilitator, participants process their reactions to the new information
and presentations, drawing connections to their personal experiences.
Throughout, the facilitator emphasizes and integrates restorative justice
notions of community, personal responsibility, and reparation. An impor-
tant component of the IOC workshop is the opportunity for offenders to
communicate to the community their acceptance of responsibility and
their desire to repair the harm done. This is done in powerful discussions
with guest speakers and via a joint community service project designed
and implemented by each group, over several sessions. A recent IOC
group, for example, constructed a calendar with poems, drawings, and
messages about the consequences of crime for victims, offenders, and
communities. It was distributed to boys’ and girls’ probation homes with
the aim of making a formal apology, actively taking responsibility for
their actions, and warning youth about the negative effects of criminal
activity. Another group created key chains with a message about the
prevalence of drunk driving casualties and gave them to youth at a
driving school, encouraging new drivers to consider the impact their
behavior has on others.
As inmate participants grapple with issues of responsibility in the
IOC workshop, the question of blame inevitably arises.
217
Upon re-examining the causes of their legal difficulties and revisiting the
circumstances surrounding previous offenses and their consequences,
many inmates experience new feelings of shame, guilt, or both. Most
intriguing to us, restorative justice is essentially a “guilt-inducing, shame-
reducing” approach to rehabilitation. Offenders are encouraged to take
responsibility for their behavior, acknowledge the negative consequences
to others, empathize with the distress of their victims, feel guilt for having
done the wrong thing, and act on the consequent inclination to repair
the harm done. Facilitators model empathy in group (and often one-on-
one) discussions about circumstances leading to past offenses and then
actively encourage participants to identify ways of repairing the harm
they have caused. Using affirmations and highlighting steps offenders
have already taken toward reparation shifts the focus from past negative
acts to future opportunities for change and restoration. Additionally,
group members are encouraged to empathize with and support each
other in order to foster openness, collaboration, and sharing of ideas for
restoration. Offenders, however, are actively discouraged from feeling
shame about themselves. In fact, restorative justice approaches eschew
messages aimed at condemning and humiliating offenders as “bad
people.” The emphasis is on bad behaviors that can be changed, negative
consequences that can be repaired, and offenders who can be redeemed.
Why is this guilt-inducing, shame-reducing characteristic of the IOC
workshop (and restorative justice approaches, in general) so important?
Research from our lab, and many others, has shown that shame and guilt
are distinct emotions with very different implications for subsequent
moral and interpersonal behavior (Tangney, Malouf, Stuewig, & Mashek,
2012; Tangney, Stuewig, & Mashek, 2007). Feelings of shame involve a
painful focus on the self—the humiliating sense that “I am a bad person.”
Such shameful feelings are typically accompanied by a sense of shrink-
ing, of being small, by a sense of worthlessness and powerlessness, and by
a sense of being exposed. Ironically, research has shown that such painful
and debilitating feelings of shame do not motivate constructive changes
in behavior. Shamed individuals are no less likely to repeat their trans-
gressions (often more so), and they are no more likely to attempt repara-
tion (often less so) (Tangney, Stuewig, & Hafez, 2011). Instead, because
shame is so intolerable, people in the midst of a shame experience often
resort to defensive tactics, or what ACT refers to as experiential avoid-
ance. They may seek to hide or escape shameful feelings, denying
218
responsibility. They may seek to shift the blame outside, holding others
responsible for their dilemma. And not infrequently, they become irra-
tionally angry with others, sometimes resorting to overtly aggressive and
destructive actions. In short, shame serves to escalate the very destruc-
tive patterns of behavior we aim to curb.
Contrast this with feelings of guilt, which involve a focus on a spe-
cific behavior—the sense that “I did a bad thing” rather than “I am a bad
person.” Feelings of guilt involve a sense of tension, remorse, and regret
over the “bad thing done.” Research has shown that this sense of tension
and regret typically motivates reparative action (confessing, apologizing,
or somehow repairing the damage done) without engendering all the
defensive and retaliatory responses that are the hallmark of shame (Leith
& Baumeister, 1998; Tangney, Stuewig, & Mashek, 2007; Tangney,
Youman, & Stuewig, 2009). Most important, guilt is more likely to foster
constructive changes in future behavior because what is at issue is not a
bad, defective self but a bad, defective behavior. And, as anyone knows,
it is easier to change a bad behavior (drunk driving, theft, substance
abuse) than to change a bad, defective self.
Many offenders come in to treatment with a propensity to experi-
ence shame rather than guilt. Some are so defensive that they feel little
of either emotion. The IOC workshop utilizes cognitive-behavioral tech-
niques to foster a more adaptive capacity for moral emotions by (a) using
inductive and educational strategies to foster a capacity for perspective
taking and other- oriented empathy; (b) encouraging participants to
broaden their vision through a better understanding of the impact of
crime and a greater taking of accountability, cutting through minimiza-
tion and denial of criminal actions; (c) understanding the relationships
between victims, offenders, and the community; (d) encouraging appro-
priate experiences of guilt and emphasizing associated constructive moti-
vations to repair or make amends; and (e) explicitly avoiding language
that may be construed as condemning or humiliating inmate partici-
pants as “bad people.” Instead, the strong message is that redemption is
possible.
The IOC curriculum begins with discussions of crime, its conse-
quences, and how to repair the harm caused, in the abstract. Over time,
the completion of workbook exercises, group discussions, and interac-
tions with guest speakers prepares participants to look at their own
actions honestly and to use their newfound understanding to change
219
their behaviors. Recently, one participant revealed that he was experi-

encing intense shame about his history of drunk driving. He spoke very
little in class but responded thoughtfully to homework exercises and
responded well to the facilitator’s written and verbal praise of his efforts.
As he began to speak up in class to support other participants’ attempts
to understand and change their behaviors, he likewise received empathic
and encouraging responses that allowed him to confront his past actions
and identify ways to repair the harm he caused. A turning point occurred
for him during the lesson about drunk driving, when the guest speaker,
the mother of a girl killed by a drunk driver, explained that the one thing
that she would want from the man who killed her daughter would be for
him not to drive drunk again. For this participant, the idea that restora-
tion is possible allowed him to view himself as someone who could
change and redeem himself. At the end of the workshop, he led the
group in a community service project that petitioned Congress for a law
to make built-in breathalyzers mandatory in cars in an effort to curb
drunk driving casualties. In short, the intervention emphasizes that
inmate participants can take steps to repair the fabric of their relation-
ships and the community, and they can make lasting positive changes in
their behavior moving forward.
Currently, we are conducting a randomized clinical trial to assess the
efficacy of the IOC workshop in reducing postrelease reoffense and in
enhancing adjustment in the community. A key hypothesis is that the
IOC workshop will reduce recidivism via its impact on moral emotions
and cognitions—that is, by enhancing adaptive feelings of guilt, reduc-
ing problematic feelings of shame, and restructuring criminogenic beliefs.
The Re-Entry Values and

Mindfulness Program (REVAMP)
Research has shown that a majority of jail inmates have significant psy-
chological and behavioral problems. Upwards of 70% of jail inmates in
our sample had clinically significant elevations on one or more symptom
clusters. For example, 47% scored in the clinical range for drug problems,
26% for alcohol problems, 10% for anxiety, and 19% for depression
(Drapalski, Youman, Stuewig, & Tangney, 2009; Youman, Drapalski,
220
Stuewig, Bagley, & Tangney, 2010). Additionally, a remarkable propor-

tion (31.7%) report clinically significant symptoms of borderline person-
ality features (Conn, Warden, Stuewig, Kim, Harty, Hastings, & Tangney,
2010). Few of these inmates have sought or received traditional mental
health treatment in the community, and there are limited resources for
mental health treatment in jails (Drapalski et al., 2009; Meyer, Tangney,
& Stuewig, under review; Youman et al., 2010). While anecdotal evi-
dence suggests that few inmates perceive themselves as living a reward-
ing life in accordance with their own values, little empirical research in
this population has investigated positive psychological outcomes. It is as
if the possibility that inmates might have a sense of meaning, happiness,
optimism, or gratitude hasn’t been considered.
With an awareness of the need to reduce symptoms and enhance
value-based living in this population, we developed a short-term group
intervention specifically designed for jail inmates nearing reentry to the
community: the Re-Entry Values and Mindfulness Program (REVAMP).
This program, derived primarily from Acceptance and Commitment
therapy (ACT), empowers the individual and is flexible enough to
address the diversity of problems and life experiences encountered in a
jail population (Hayes, 2004; Hayes & Smith, 2005). In addition to ACT,
REVAMP draws tools from several mindfulness- and acceptance-based
interventions, notably mindfulness-based relapse prevention (Bowen,
Chawla, & Marlatt, 2011), dialectical behavioral therapy (Linehan,
1993), VA Maryland Health Care System ACT group manual (VAMHCS
ACT Therapy Team, 2007), and skills for improving distress intolerance
(Bornovalova, 2008).
REVAMP is distinguished from other jail-based programs by its
acceptance-based approach to symptom reduction and its focus on values
in action. Psychological interventions for inmates generally only focus on
reducing symptoms of psychological distress and/or behavior problems.
However, REVAMP aims to both reduce symptoms, and improve indi-
viduals’ ability to lead a values-driven, personally meaningful life. These
dual aims of reducing symptoms and enhancing valued action are intrin-
sically linked. Symptoms often serve as barriers between individuals and
their values. In turn, values serve to motivate the behavior change neces-
sary to reduce symptoms. Thus, enhancing valued action and reducing
suffering represent two major overarching, interconnected themes
throughout the REVAMP program. We discuss each in turn, outlining
221
how both reinforce each other and highlighting how each serves to over-
come treatment barriers for this challenging population.
Focus on Values-Based Action:

Clarifying Values and Setting Goals
The REVAMP program begins with a focus on personal values. By
starting with an identification of personal values, defensiveness is
decreased and personal investment in the program is heightened. This
also appears to be a refreshing change for individuals who are used to
being judged and who are accustomed to being told what to do and when
to do it by the correctional system. REVAMP facilitators emphasize that
there are no “right” or “wrong” answers and encourage participants to
say what they really believe rather than what they think we want to hear.
One might wonder what sorts of values inmates generate and if this
might be a foolhardy or even dangerous endeavor. Given their often
extensive criminal histories, might inmates’ values orient them in a
direction that would be harmful to the community? For example, inmates
might value material wealth attained by any means necessary or risky
sexual behavior.
Our experience with multiple groups of inmates over the course of
the treatment is that they consistently identify prosocial values. Inmates’
values often not only reflected a desire to achieve well-being for them-
selves but also to positively contribute to others (see Table 1). In fact,
across program participants, there were no examples of clearly antisocial
values (though a few mentioned different sets of values they had at
younger ages that they now see as misdirected).
Table 1: Example of Inmate’s Values and Goals

Values Goals
Be a friend and partner for my Find activities that we both enjoy
spouse and do them
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A close family Talk to my relatives at least once

a month
Be a man who protects, provides Get and keep a good-paying job
for, and shelters his wife
Live drug and alcohol free Sobriety one day at a time
Help uplift my community Coach a little league team
Be a person who respects other Listen more to other people
people’s thoughts
Live my religion Attend church every Sunday
Once values are generated, REVAMP leaders facilitate a refinement

of these values to an appropriate level of specificity. For example, a par-
ticipant might identify “family” as a personal value. He or she would be
encouraged to elaborate—e.g., “providing for my family” or “making my
family proud.” A helpful values metaphor is to have participants imagine
themselves as a bus driver with the value as the direction they want to
drive their bus (Hayes & Smith, 2005, p. 153). At the end of the first
session, inmates are asked to write their own epitaph. This exercise,
which is employed in ACT and other acceptance-based interventions,
focuses inmates on defining their intended legacy, what they want their
lives to stand for (Hayes & Smith, 2005, p. 170). During the second
session, inmates expand this by identifying their specific personal values
with a worksheet listing major life domains (e.g., career, family, health)
and prompts to identify a value in each domain (Hayes & Smith, 2005,
p. 170). They rate the importance of each value to help prioritize the
values they would like to begin working toward. Inmates then set goals
consistent with their values, or in terms of the bus metaphor, stops they
want to make on the journey toward their values.
223
Barriers to Values: Bridge from Values

Enhancement to Reduction of Suffering
Inevitably, these values exercises begin to raise awareness of discrep-
ancies between inmates’ values, their recent behavior, and their current
situation. In fact, a key aim of Sessions 1 and 2 is to highlight the discrep-
ancies between where inmates are and where they want to be heading. In
group, having identified a broad list of values, the perceived barriers (e.g.,
“yeah, buts…”) begin to flow. Participants focus on the genuine difficul-
ties they anticipate facing when they return to the community (e.g., poor
economy, stigma related to a criminal record, racism, disappointed family
members, logistical requirements of probation that complicate maintain-
ing successful employment).
Inmates may also acknowledge obstacles to their values that involve
their own behavior. However, inmates are often ambivalent about their
own role in contributing to these difficulties. They may acknowledge
partial responsibility, yet often externalize blame to flaws in the legal
system, discrimination, or other circumstances beyond their control.
Perceptions of unjust treatment associated with their current incarcera-
tion may exacerbate inmates’ defensiveness, heightening their awareness
of external obstacles and increasing reluctance to focus on the role that
they have played in their own suffering.
Given that the immediate jail environment can further elicit defen-
siveness, REVAMP is careful not to imply judgment, while still encour-
aging a focus on one’s own behavior. This is accomplished by openly
probing for perceived barriers to valued action and validating the emo-
tional response to these barriers (e.g., frustration). Next, the program
provides psychoeducation about the distinction between “external”
obstacles (problems in the environment they are returning to) and
“internal” obstacles (one’s thoughts, emotions, and behavior). Facilitators
present the outline of a person and ask participants to classify the obsta-
cles they identified as either internal or external (see Figure 1). When
external obstacles are identified (e.g., burdensome probation require-
ments) they are written outside of the outlined figure, and facilitators
probe for related internal obstacles (e.g., frustration, missing meetings),
writing these in the interior of the figure. Often, participants spontane-
ously recognize connections between internal and external obstacles.
224
(These connections are also incorporated into the figure, providing

visual emphasis.) Following the group discussion, participants identify
the internal and external obstacles they will face as individuals. Because
both values and obstacles are defined by the participant, the perception
of judgment or blame is minimized.
Figure 1: Internal and External Barriers
In a collaborative process, REVAMP facilitators acknowledge that

participants’ ability to achieve a values-driven, meaningful life is ham-
pered by both external and internal barriers, which often are intercon-
nected. However, REVAMP directs attention to that which individuals
can directly impact while still incarcerated: the internal barriers.
225
Reducing Suffering: Confronting

and Breaking Barriers to Values
Given that jail inmates are diverse, there is substantial variety in
both the internal and external barriers they face. Therefore, a successful
reentry program must provide flexible tools to prepare participants to
overcome a range of behavior problems and life challenges.
The theoretical underpinning of REVAMP provides such flexibility.
REVAMP identifies and focuses on a common factor related to many of
the psychological and behavioral problems experienced by inmates: the
maladaptive avoidance of emotional pain (Hayes, Wilson, Gifford,
Follette, & Strosahl, 1996). Pain is understood as a normal and inevita-
ble part of life. Although many essential aspects of life involve pain, indi-
viduals may try to avoid or escape pain. This unwillingness to experience
pain can manifest as a variety of problematic avoidance behaviors, such
as substance abuse, social isolation, and risky sexual behavior. In turn,
problematic avoidance behaviors result in additional pain (e.g., health
problems, loneliness, strained relationships). This “extra” pain resulting
from one’s own attempt to avoid pain is referred to as “suffering.” Over
time, patterns of problematic avoidance behavior may become habitual
and difficult to break (Hayes & Smith, 2005, pp. 1-16).
This conceptualization is applicable to a variety of distinct problem
behaviors found among inmates. To illustrate, consider two examples.
Inmate A reports that he began to drink heavily soon after the unex-
pected death of a loved one. He describes his drinking as becoming “out
of control,” leading him to lose his job and straining his relationship with
his surviving family members. Inmate B describes being “addicted” to
the power and quick money of selling drugs, which he attributes to his
impatience for the slow pace it takes to improve one’s status through
education and entry-level positions. Following previous incarcerations,
he has tried to maintain employment but says he cannot tolerate the
mundane routine of the type of job that he can attain given his criminal
record. He adds that his daughter has “expensive tastes” and pressures
him to provide her with expensive things.
As shown in Table 2, these vignettes illustrate that a common element
of two different problematic behaviors (alcohol abuse and illegal activity)
can be conceptualized as avoidance behavior. While each inmate faces
226
Table 2: Pain and Suffering Conceptualization
Difficult Situation Pain Avoidance Behavior Suffering
Inmate A Death of a family Feelings of loss Excessive alcohol use Legal trouble
member Unemployment
Strained relationship
with family members
Inmate B Long history of Feeling of powerlessness, Selling drugs to make Legal trouble
incarceration and frustration, shame quick money Separation from
separation from family daughter and loss of her
Daughter asking for respect
money
227
different situations and experiences different emotional reactions, both

attempt to escape their pain through risky avoidance behavior. In
REVAMP, one’s relationship with pain is a major target of treatment. In
this way, the program’s focus is on the common element of different
problem behaviors. By focusing on one’s relationship to affective experi-
ence, rather than on specific types of experiences, REVAMP is able to
accommodate the diverse group of participants represented in a jail setting.
During session 3, inmates are provided with psychoeducation about
the difference between acceptance and avoidance of pain, and the rela-
tionship with suffering. Two metaphors often employed in ACT are used
to illustrate these concepts: quicksand and Chinese finger traps (Hayes
& Smith, 2005, pp. 3-4, p. 37). First, participants are asked to imagine
their reaction if they were to find themselves caught in quicksand. Most
imagine that they would panic and would try to pull, swim, or run out.
In quicksand, the more you struggle the more you sink, so these frantic
movements would cause someone to sink deeper and deeper. It is clear
that, for most people, acting on the first impulse would serve to make a
bad situation worse, which illustrates the concept of suffering. Next, par-
ticipants are provided with Chinese finger traps—woven straw tubes just
large enough to insert an index finger into each end. The tubes are con-
structed to “trap” the inserted fingers when one quickly attempts to pull
out the fingers directly. But by pushing in, the finger trap relaxes allow-
ing the fingers to become freed. Inmates are asked to imagine that the
finger trap represents pain. Inmates experience how their first impulse,
which usually is to jerk the fingers apart, serves to tighten the trap and
restrict their flexibility. The Chinese finger trap allows inmates to expe-
rience, in a physical way, the paradox of acceptance. By allowing the
fingers to go further into the trap, essentially doing the opposite of one’s
immediate avoidance impulse, more space and flexibility are created,
which ultimately allows escape. While some might be skeptical that
criminal offenders would appreciate the abstract nature of metaphors,
our experience has been that inmates readily identify with these meta-
phors. Several have generated additional metaphors to illustrate their
own futile struggle with pain (e.g., swimming against a riptide). Both in
group and individually, participants reflect on their own experience of
suffering resulting from impulsive avoidance behavior. Individually, by
completing worksheets, inmates reflect on how acceptance would allow
them to lead a life more in line with their values.
228
After the rationale for pursuing a healthier way to react to pain is

established, participants are taught concrete skills to better manage pain.
Sessions 4, 5, and 6 cover three major classes of skills: present awareness,
short-term distress tolerance, and defusion skills. During session 4, which
is devoted to present awareness, participants are taught about the concept
of automatic behavior, action without awareness, and automatic pilot
mode (Bowen et al., 2011, pp. 32-47). During automatic pilot mode, indi-
viduals’ behaviors are influenced by their thoughts and feelings without
conscious awareness of this process, such that a situation can trigger
harmful automatic reactions. Facilitators explain that awareness is nec-
essary in order to respond to internal states with intention and choice,
rather than automatically. Participants engage in several exercises to
bring awareness to their experience. First they complete a body scan
(Bowen et al., 2011, pp. 42-43), which involves focusing on sensations
experienced in each part of the body, without reacting to them.
Participants then bring awareness to their thoughts by writing what goes
through their minds, or their “mental chatter,” for 2 minutes (Hayes &
Smith, 2005, p. 55). Later, participants further raise nonattached aware-
ness of their thoughts with a mindfulness exercise in which they picture
their thoughts as leaves floating down a stream (Bowen et al., 2011, pp.
140-141).
Session 5 focuses on adaptive management of emotional pain. In this
session, group leaders acknowledge that bringing acceptance to pain is
not an immediate fix. Similar to other acceptance-based interventions,
REVAMP takes the stance that sometimes taking healthy action to tem-
porarily reduce the pain can be the best option (Linehan, 1993). The
difference between adaptive and maladaptive coping action is explained
in reference to the outcome of the behavior; adaptive coping behaviors
have positive outcomes, while maladaptive coping behaviors have nega-
tive long-term outcomes. Participants brainstorm examples of each type
of coping behavior and identify the consequences. In an individual exer-
cise, participants monitor changes in their distress as they practice
several coping behaviors (Hayes & Smith, 2005, p. 28). These short-term
distress tolerance skills are presented as quick fixes to be used during
times of intense pain rather than as permanent solutions. Session 6 pres-
ents a long-term strategy to manage distress by transforming the rela-
tionship participants have to their own thoughts and feelings. Inmates
are provided with psychoeducation on observer perspective and
229
defusion. Group leaders explain that taking a step back from thoughts
and emotions and adopting an outside perspective can reduce the auto-
matic impact on behavior. To illustrate this, group leaders present an
ACT metaphor of a chessboard (Hayes & Smith, 2005, p. 96). Inmates
are instructed to imagine their internal struggle as a chess game with
positive and negative thoughts and emotions as two opposing teams of
chess pieces. Group leaders then ask the inmates which part of the meta-
phor represents them (e.g., the pieces, the player, or the board).
Participants usually immediately respond that they are the pieces or the
player. Group leaders explain that the board represents an observer per-
spective; it holds the internal content (e.g., thoughts and emotions) but
is not a part of the struggle. Inmates then participate in a visualization-
based centering exercise referred to as the mountain meditation (Bowen
et al., 2011). In this meditation, an image of a mountain is used to repre-
sent a grounded, unmoving, nonreactive presence.
The worksheet assigned at the end of session 6 integrates distress-
monitoring material from sessions 4-6. Participants are first instructed to
identify their own past maladaptive reactions to distress. Then they are
asked to reflect on the distress that they will likely experience in the
future and describe alternative adaptive reactions. This allows partici-
pants to apply the material related to present awareness, short-term adap-
tive coping, and/or observer perspective to their own anticipated distress
(Bornovalova, 2008).
Session Structure
REVAMP is designed to have a consistent structure across sessions
to provide a challenging, yet predictable, group experience. Session 1
differs from the other sessions due to the need to orient participants to
the program by presenting its purpose and goals, enhancing curiosity and
interest in the remainder of the intervention, creating a safe environ-
ment to promote personal participation, and introducing centering exer-
cises for the first time. Sessions 2-8 each follow the same pattern:
• Centering exercise
• Review/discussion of previous assignment
230
• Curriculum beginning with bridge from last class and often

including a new or expanded metaphor
• Exercise that illustrates the lesson of the day
• Discussion of the curriculum and exercise
• Assignment of worksheet to be completed prior to the next

session to personalize the lesson for each inmate and/or practice
putting the lesson into action
• Distribution of a take-home message providing the curriculum

in a succinct phrase or two
• Centering exercise
For example, session 7, which focuses on integrating values-based

living with distress tolerance skills, begins with the mountain meditation
for the centering exercise, followed by a review of the distress-monitoring
worksheet assigned at the end of session 6. Next, group facilitators
present the curriculum, which focuses on valued action, goal setting, and
overcoming barriers. Group facilitators utilize the bus metaphor to rein-
force material on values (direction the bus is heading), goals (stops along
the way), internal barriers (distracting passengers on the bus), and exter-
nal barriers (traffic jam). An exercise in which participants set short-term
achievable goals is followed by a discussion of overcoming barriers in the
community. Participants are then given a worksheet to identify potential
barriers and strategies to overcome these barriers. Next, participants are
provided with a “take-home message”: “Practicing mindfulness and
trying new things can help you live the life you want to live.” Finally,
participants complete a present awareness-based centering exercise.
The final group, session 8, follows the same general structure as
sessions 2-7, with a few differences to promote reflection of what has
already been presented and how the group experience can help each
person when he or she reenters the community. We start with a center-
ing exercise, as usual, but the group chooses one of three previously
used exercises. We also review the worksheet assigned during the previ-
ous session. Then, instead of introducing a new lesson during the cur-
riculum section, we review: the goals of the program; the theoretical
rationale for each goal; and how each goal was promoted in the lessons,
exercises, centering techniques, and discussions. Instead of having one
231
discussion section after the curriculum review, we discuss the personal

application of each course goal for each individual. We also distribute
a compiled list of all of the take-home messages. Finally, the group
again selects a final centering exercise from a menu of previous center-
ing exercises.
Acceptability
Outcome data are not yet available from our pilot randomized clini-
cal trial, but evidence suggests that REVAMP is well received by a
diverse group of inmates. All participants were given anonymous feed-
back forms to complete. Overall, feedback has been very positive.
Participants provided ratings on a scale of 1-4 of the intervention’s
quality (M= 3.3), usefulness (M= 3.5), and their overall satisfaction
with the program (M= 3.6). Retention throughout the program has
been strong for a jail-based program, comparing very favorably with
attendance observed in other multiweek programs and interventions
offered at this jail.
Applicability
REVAMP was designed to be generally applicable to a broad range of
inmate participants that are diverse in terms of age, ethnicity, criminal
history, values, and barriers (e.g., mental health concerns, substance abuse
problems, etc.). Accordingly, participants in REVAMP were eligible for the
study if they met basic requirements meant to ensure the ability to partici-
pate in the program (e.g., were assigned to the general population, had
remaining sentences long enough to participate in the program, would be
released directly to the community). Participation in REVAMP was
entirely voluntary. Thus far, participants in this program have ranged in
age (from 18 to 81), criminal history, and type of instant offense.
In sum, the 8-session REVAMP treatment has dual aims of reducing
distress and enhancing values-based living. REVAMP is specifically tai-
lored to the jail setting, and preliminary feedback suggests that it has
been well received by a diverse group of inmates. We are in the process
of collecting empirical data on REVAMP’s effectiveness.
232
Motivational Interviewing with

“General Population” Inmates
What Is Motivational Interviewing?
Motivational interviewing (MI) is a brief intervention developed by
Miller and Rollnick (2002). Often, MI is used as a “pretreatment” inter-
vention, typically delivered in 1-2 individual sessions just prior to the
initiation of treatment. In other contexts, it is provided as a stand-alone
intervention, in anticipation of treatment or change.
The goal of the motivational interview is to enhance a person’s moti-
vation to change. MI is especially useful for “resistant” or “uncommitted”
clients—people in need of treatment who are ambivalent about change
or who are not committed to change. Using a directive, yet client-
centered approach, the MI clinician: (a) probes to make the client’s goals
and personal values salient; (b) highlights discrepancies by helping the
client identify ways in which his or her current behavior and life circum-
stance are at odds with those values and goals, and (c) helps the client
utilize dissonance arising from recognition of such discrepancies as a
source of motivation for (and commitment to) positive change. In the MI
interview, the clinician works from the client’s perspective, expresses
empathy, highlights discrepancies in the client’s current circumstance
and future goals, reframes resistance, and supports the client’s sense of
self-efficacy. Initially developed for the treatment of alcoholics, MI has
evolved into a broadly applicable technique and associated theory, com-
plete with specified mechanisms of action including motivation for
change, stages of change, “change talk,” and “commitment talk” (Miller
& Rollnick, 2002).
Although not explicitly developed within the context of positive psy-
chology, motivational interviewing techniques stem from positive psychol-
ogy principles. MI techniques to enhance self-efficacy focus on the client’s
positive individual traits (e.g., “What strengths do you have that will help
you make this change?”). Additionally, MI techniques to enhance motiva-
tion focus the client on the positive results of enacting a change (e.g., “If
you make the change, what would be better about your life?”).
233
Empirically, How Has

Motivational Interviewing (MI)
Fared in the Community?
Motivational interviewing techniques have been employed in con-
junction with many different kinds of treatment aimed at changing
behavior in a variety of domains. There is now an impressive body of
research documenting MI’s effectiveness in increasing treatment motiva-
tion and subsequent behavior change. Three meta-analyses, each of
somewhat different study samples, converge—MI yields medium effects
across diverse samples and in a variety of problem areas, both when eval-
uated as a stand-alone intervention and when assessed as an additive
effect in combination with a focal treatment (Burke, Arkowitz, &
Menchola, 2003; Hettema, Steele, & Miller, 2005; Rubick, Sandbaek,
Lauritzen, & Christensen, 2005).
Why Is MI Especially Relevant

to Inmates?
Some limited research with individuals who are incarcerated or on
probation has yielded promising results (Ginsburg et al., 2002; Walters et
al., 2007). For example, a motivational enhancement intervention with
domestic violence offenders increased readiness to change substance use
(Easton, Swan, & Sinha, 2000). Among incarcerated adolescents, moti-
vational interviewing reduced the frequency of postrelease drinking and
driving, and being a passenger in a car with someone who had been
drinking, especially among those with low levels of depression (Stein et
al., 2006). In addition, MI appears effective with individuals who are
angry or oppositional and with individuals who are not motivated to
change (Hettema et al., 2005; O’Leary Tevyaw & Monti, 2004).
Moreover, a meta-analysis found that the effects of MI are significantly
larger for minority samples than for Caucasian samples (Hettema et al.,
2005), especially relevant to a jail setting given that minorities are dis-
proportionately represented in jails and prisons.
234
Special Challenges in Using MI

with Prerelease Jail Inmates
MI is typically employed in contexts where the actual target of
change is unambiguous (e.g., among individuals referred specifically for
substance abuse treatment, among adolescents with eating disorders,
among clients seeking mental health treatment for depression). In most
contexts, the ultimate focus of change is clear from the outset—to both
client and interviewing clinician.
In contrast, jail inmates nearing community reentry, especially those
with comorbid substance dependence and psychiatric disorders, face
myriad challenges and a long list of potential targets for change. For
some, the primary goal is to obtain employment and find a place to live.
For others, abstinence from substance use is paramount. For others, con-
tinuation of psychotropic medication (often first prescribed during incar-
ceration) and supportive therapy is at the top of the list. In the absence
of MI, inmates typically express a fervent wish to live life differently from
their pre-incarceration days, but plans to reach and maintain these goals
are underdeveloped or entirely absent. In short, the use of MI procedures
with jail inmates, especially those with comorbid substance dependence
and psychiatric disorders, is complicated by the need to clearly identify
achievable goals (emanating from personal values) and to then move on
to the prototypical MI business of enhancing motivation, delineating
plans for action, and bolstering self-efficacy for implementation.
Having obtained extensive training in MI procedures and having
piloted these procedures with jail inmates nearing reentry into the com-
munity, we are convinced that the use of MI in this context is necessarily
quite different from its use in more conventional contexts (e.g., substance
abuse treatment programs). Conventional approaches must be modified
because of the need to identify idiographic targets of change. There is a
diversity of potential goals and targets of change among general popula-
tion offenders ( e.g., reducing or eliminating substance use, gaining
employment, strengthening family ties, desisting from criminal activi-
ties). It is also especially important to minimize the potential for inmates
to feel judged, stigmatized, or even shamed by the MI clinician.
Our initial efforts to probe to identify person-specific targets of
change appeared to do just that. We tried opening our interviews by
235
saying “Mr. X, you’re due to be released from the ADC in XX weeks.

Thinking about rejoining the community, what kind of changes would
you like to make to avoid being incarcerated in the future?” The inter-
views fell flat. We met with considerable resistance. A number of inmates
bristled at the idea that they needed to make changes to avoid re-
incarceration. Many responded with stories about external factors—
especially how the system had failed participants. Others stated
categorically that they weren’t going to return to jail. They’d already
made all the changes they needed to make. In effect, we communicated
our assumption that participants needed to make changes. Our opening
question inadvertently implied that inmate participants were deficient in
some fundamental way and that we knew they needed to make changes
(and likely that we knew best what needed to be changed).
We spent several months piloting a number of strategies, and one
approach clearly emerged as more effective than the rest: tapping into
inmates’ personal values and goals right from the outset. We now begin
MI interviews with inmates by thanking them for meeting with us and
asking, “So Mr. X, what kind of things are most important to you? What
do you value most?” Using this approach, the way opens like magic. As
in the REVAMP program, inmates have no difficulty coming up with
personal values—values that are, almost without exception, positive
prosocial values that most of us share. The interview opens on an upbeat
note. Rapport is readily established, as inmate participants feel respected
and valued as individuals.
Having identified personal values, it is a short step for the MI clini-
cian to note how a criminal activity and incarceration have interfered
with pursuing personally relevant values and associated goals. “Developing
discrepancy,” a key MI technique, is a natural transition—done in a way
that inmate participants experience as not threatening or judgmental
but rather as supportive and caring. Targets of change are much more
readily identified. Inmate participants readily move through one or more
stages of change. And the interview concludes on a positive note, reaf-
firming the participant’s own values and goals and the changes she iden-
tified that would pave the way toward reaching these personally relevant
goals.
236
Summary and Conclusion

There is a tremendous need for psychological interventions tailored to
the needs of inmates and the constraints of the jail or prison environ-
ment. Because of their severity and potential danger to society, a focus
on inmates’ psychological and behavioral problems may seem more
important than a focus on positive outcomes. And in fact, whereas recent
years have seen a growth in empirical research on positive psychological
interventions in clinical and community settings, little work has focused
on translating this research into interventions for inmates.
In this chapter, we described three treatment approaches designed
for “general population” jail inmates. Several common threads run
through each of these interventions. First, these approaches are shame-
reducing in nature. Each intervention takes a slightly different response
to the inevitable shame resulting from inmates’ reflections. Consider, for
example, this inmate’s expression of shame: “Now that I am clean and
sober in jail I see how my substance use has hurt myself, my family, and
my community. I am so stupid for having let this go on for so long.” IOC
encourages inmates to take responsibility and to develop and carry out a
reparative plan. REVAMP encourages acceptance and refocusing on
valued action. In MI, therapists express empathy, reframe and affirm
clients’ strengths and values, and encourage a sense of self-efficacy in
order to enhance motivation. While these approaches are not mutually
exclusive, they help illustrate ways in which each treatment can address
clients’ experiences of shame.
Second, these treatment approaches share an emphasis on making
positive change for the future. Modifications were necessary for both MI
and the ACT-inspired REVAMP. Pilot testing of both led us to anchor
the intervention in an initial discussion of personal values and goals.
Our work has emphasized that encouraging “the positive” and curing
“the negative” are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Our experience
across interventions has shown that inmates’ motivation to change is
strongest when it is driven by positive motivations (e.g., a valued goal or
restoration following an offense) rather than by simple avoidance of
shame, further punishment, and re-incarceration. In sum, working to
enhance values and reduce symptoms can be complementary and mutu-
ally reinforcing in this population. Offender rehabilitation could be
237
substantially enhanced by a greater consideration of constructs and

interventions emanating from the field of positive psychology.
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CHAPTER 11
Using the Science of Meaning to

Invigorate Values-Congruent,
Purpose-Driven Action
Michael F. Steger
Colorado State University
North-West University, South Africa
Kelly Sheline
Leslie Merriman
Todd B. Kashdan
Using the Science of Meaning
T here’s an interesting parallel between Acceptance and

Commitment Therapy (ACT) and positive psychology. Both
strive to help people achieve their best possible futures. But
there is a key difference. ACT is based on a theory that integrates the
positive and negative with a large set of interventions aimed at reducing
barriers that prevent people from striving toward healthy aims, being
autonomous when striving, and being able to integrate these strivings
into a reasonably coherent life plan. Positive psychology has been defined
by diverse research that emphasizes subject matter that has been labeled
as good, desirable, or “positive” such as happiness, gratitude, and kind-
ness without sufficient integration among different forms of positivity,
much less the rest of the spectrum of human experience. As a contrast,
ACT has put people, not surface-level positivity, at the center.
Positive psychology has gained a great deal of ground focusing on the
ways in which happy people are alike and creating relatively universal
interventions (e.g., expressing gratitude or kindness more regularly to
other people). ACT has gained ground by relying on the assumption that
a primary source of suffering is common to all people: language. From
this starting point, ACT practitioners focus on the dormant aspirations
aligned with each person’s unique configuration of values.
Perhaps the meeting ground of these two perspectives is each per-
son’s unique journey toward a common vision of a well-lived life. In this
chapter, we describe some of the ways in which meaning in life takes a
step outside the typical terrain of positive psychology to provide this
meeting ground. After highlighting the ways in which ACT has already
invested in meaning in life, we use a case example to show how meaning
in life enhances ACT and provides new insights to help people achieve
their best possible futures.
ACT, Positive Psychology,

and Meaning in Life
Meaning in life had often been included in models of optimal human
functioning that predated the introduction of positive psychology. For
example, Ryff’s (1989) model of psychological well- being included
purpose in life, and many investigations seeking to understand the basic
241
building blocks of well-being included measures of meaning and purpose

in life (e.g., DeNeve & Cooper, 1998; Harlow & Newcomb, 1990).
However, most of the well-being research completed in the 1970s–1990s
focused on personality traits, emotions, and life satisfaction. Perhaps it
was to be expected that the positive psychology movement would also
focus on personality traits (called character strengths) and positive emo-
tions, and embrace the research that combined emotions and life satis-
faction into the notion of subjective well-being. Although calls to focus
on other variables were issued (e.g., Ryan & Deci, 2001), few ideas were
able to penetrate the fog of enthusiasm about positive emotions.
However, the one or two successfully competitive ideas are highly
instructive. First, mindfulness captured enthusiasm in the media and
among practitioners. Second, meaning in life began to appear once again
on lists of important variables in social psychology, and among the targets
of interventions in palliative and oncology nursing. Mindfulness is
central to ACT, and one aim of this chapter is to demonstrate that
meaning in life as well. Thus, it could be argued that the “second wave”
of positive psychology strongly resembles the “third wave” of behavior
therapy.
Most often, and unfortunately, business-as-usual positive psychology
has seemed overly focused on gratification, success, and enjoyment in
the moment. This can be seen in its most common application: simplistic
behavioral tallying techniques to draw attention to positive experiences
as in “counting blessings” or writing down three good things from the
day. These tools might inspire people to pursue positive emotions or urge
people to do what comes easily, enjoyably, and naturally. Positive psy-
chology 1.0 (cf. Wong, 2011) is positioned to be delivered as a commodity
and to be accumulated by consumers in an almost materialistic manner.
This strong focus on positive experiences has created a strange econom-
ics of utility—forgive someone, it’ll make you feel better; express grati-
tude, it’ll make you feel better.
Positive psychology 1.0 also has focused on relatively static character
strengths, although rather than simply basking in appreciation of one’s
attractive qualities, the spotlight recently has begun to shine on the
promising avenues of using strengths, or even developing new strengths
(Biswas-Diener, Kashdan, & Minhas, 2011). Other encouraging trends
include adaptations of cognitive therapy to promote resilience. Positive
psychology can continue to grow by adapting to the complex and
242
dynamic texture of life as it is lived, full of the good, the bad, the ambiva-
lent, and the uncertain. A thoughtfully orchestrated merger between
ACT and meaning in life work could help achieve this growth.
Meaning in life research is about going beyond “feel-good” motives
to address a more complex landscape of human strivings. Although most
would associate a meaningful life with feeling good, people are also adept
at finding meaning under awful circumstances. Everyone’s life brings
some ambiguity, some struggle, and some unique burden. Meaning in life
is built from all of those experiences, as well as the happy moments. The
birth of a child and the death of a parent are both meaningful, though
either could be positive, negative, or a blend. As another example, creat-
ing meaning in life can often lead to scapegoating and the creation of
enemies. In ambiguous situations where something bad happens, we look
to make sense of it all (Sullivan, Landau, & Rothschild, 2010). Threats
of meaninglessness increase the likelihood of blaming other people for
the unfortunate situation, which temporarily restores a sense of meaning
(Sullivan, Landau, & Rothschild, 2010). Thus, when and how the pursuit
of meaning is healthy is not a simple question with a single answer.
Meaning in life shifts the emphasis from what feels good for the
individual to what is important for the individual, for his/her group, and
for the wider universe. Meaning in life also focuses on the journey, rather
than the hedonic outcomes of the journey (Steger, Kashdan, & Oishi,
2008), and thereby provides a language and stable framework for sustain-
ing fulfillment even in the face of pain and setbacks. With the right
interventions to guide people, the emphasis can be on the greatest psy-
chological benefits and the least costs to detecting and creating meaning
in areas that matter the most.
This suggests an immediate resonance with ACT’s emphasis on
experiential acceptance rather than avoidance. Much of the research lit-
erature on avoidance has contrasted the erosive influence of attempting
to avoid negative states, thoughts, and experiences with the constructive
influence of attempting instead to achieve, or obtain, positive states,
thoughts, and experiences (e.g., Elliott & Thrash, 2002). Although the
message that “avoiding bad is bad” has generally gotten across in positive
psychology, perhaps the message that “seeking good is good” may have
been overapplied. At times, the clamor for more happiness seems to have
created a warped psychological tourism, with metaphorical busloads of
people being driven past a sequence of great positive attributes to acquire.
243
Character strengths! Positive emotions! Optimism! Gratitude! Curiosity!

Meaning in life! The concern that positive psychology would devolve
into a singular focus on the acquisition of the good—and only the
good—things in life has been with the movement since the beginning
(Lazarus, 2003). In this chapter, we emphasize that the best things in life
involve both positive and negative experiences.
Each individual is faced with the challenge of making sense of an
existence beset by threats, change, confusion, and failure. Despite grave
existential issues around the threat of death, the pain of loneliness, and
constraints on autonomy, humans cope. Humans continue to find a wide
number of sources of meaning in life and show great creativity in com-
prehending what is happening to carve out a purpose in life (McKnight
& Kashdan, 2009). Perhaps this is because among positive psychology
constructs, meaning in life is notable for its origins in clinical work.
Perhaps it is unsurprising that many people are willing to forego short-
term gratification because of the wisdom that meaning grows from hard
work, not easy work (e.g., couples craving parenthood, military recruits,
graduate school applicants) (King & Napa, 1998; King & Hicks, 2007).
Like ACT, the ideas central to meaning and purpose in life evolved in
response to the special partnership of client and therapist, facilitator and
organization.
Meaning in Life—What Is It and

How Does It Connect with ACT?
Clinicians and researchers across the field of psychology have written
about the importance of meaning making in cultivating a life worth
living (e.g., Baumeister, 1991; Frankl, 1963; Ryff & Singer, 1998; Wong
& Fry, 1998). At various times, different psychologists have meant differ-
ent things by the term “meaning in life.” It is often meant to convey the
sense that people make in life, capturing the idea that, similar to meaning
making in language, meaning in life holds symbolic content. As a sen-
tence conveys information, so then does life. This is the cognitive quality
of meaning in life. Steger (2009, 2012; Steger, Frazier, Oishi, & Kaler,
2006) has referred to this aspect of meaning as comprehension. Meaning
has also been used to describe the point of life: what people are trying to
244
do, accomplish, and aspire to. This dimension has been nearly univer-
sally referred to as purpose (Kashdan & McKnight, 2009; McKnight &
Kashdan, 2009; Reker, 2000). Taken together, meaning in life is the
degree to which an individual makes sense of and sees significance in
their life and believes his or her life to have an overarching purpose
(Steger, 2009).
These two dimensions of meaning in life are readily connected to
key processes that ACT proposes lead to psychopathology and rigidity.
Comprehension links nicely with the dominance of people’s ideas about
their past and their future, which prevents nondefensive, open contact
with what is being experienced in the present. When people become lost
in their ideas about the past and future, it blocks self-development and
the ability to grow from wanted and unwanted experiences that occur in
each moment. Experiential avoidance renders people’s comprehension
systems inaccurate, fragile, and constantly in need of protection.
Comprehension also can be linked to people’s attachment to the self
as they conceive of it rather than as they experience it. When the self is
viewed through the prism of feelings, thoughts, and ideas about who one
is (the content of one’s mind; Luoma, Hayes, & Walser, 2007), the poten-
tial for personal growth is limited. As with the first pathological process
of experiential avoidance, becoming overly attached to particular con-
ceptualizations of ourselves can divide us from knowledge of our true
self. The comprehension dimension of meaning in life emphasizes the
important role played by our conceptualizations and understandings of
ourselves, the world around us, and our interactions with the world. By
incorporating the world as the context for personal experience and by
calling attention to the ways in which people understand the dynamic
interactions of their selves and changing contexts, the comprehension
dimension is broader than the two pathological processes identified in
ACT. Yet, by addressing people’s orientation to past and future events as
potential barriers of authentic experience, ACT is broader than meaning
in life theory. Whereas ACT often focuses on creating a better life by
helping people detach from unhelpful self-concepts (defusion) and main-
tain an accepting attitude about what is happening in the present
moment (mindfulness), meaning in life is about how to elaborate the
sense of self in a productive way. That is, by attending to meaning in life,
individuals create a better life through the expansion of the self out into
245
the world and into the abstract realm of people’s ultimate concerns. Both
ACT and meaning in life can be strengthened through collaboration.
A Little More about Meaning in Life

Generally, research has focused on whether people have meaning in life
or how much of it they have. Hundreds of studies have linked the pres-
ence of meaning in life to desirable characteristics, ranging from charac-
ter strengths and well-being variables to less distress and even lowered
risk of Alzheimer’s and death (Shin & Steger, in press; Steger, 2009;
Steger et al., 2006). However, research also suggests a distinction between
the presence of meaning and the degree to which people search for
meaning (Steger et al., 2006; Steger, Kashdan, Sullivan, & Lorentz,
2008). The search for meaning refers to the active pursuit of meaning in
life (“I am seeking a purpose or mission for my life”) and is related to
neuroticism and negative emotions (Steger et al., 2006). Searching for
meaning may range from straining to establish a minimal level of
meaning to viewing life as a continuous attempt to understand one’s
purpose in life (Steger, Kashdan, et al., 2008). It appears to matter
whether people are searching for meaning from a position of strength—
trying to build an already healthy sense of meaning in life—or from a
position of desperation—trying to rebuild or simply find some way for life
to hold meaning. People who are searching for meaning in the absence of
meaning in life are less happy and satisfied than people who are not
searching for meaning; yet searching for meaning does not appear to
detract from happiness among people who feel their lives are meaningful
(e.g., Park, Park, & Peterson, 2010; Steger, Kashdan et al., 2008; Steger,
Oishi, Kesebir, 2011).
Helping people find healthy and effective ways of constructing
meaning therefore appears important for how well people are able to live
their lives (Read, Westerhof, Dittmann-Kohli, 2005). Although the focus
of meaning in life research and interventions is on the overarching,
encompassing comprehension and purpose people create in their lives as
a whole, other research has focused on the way in which people make
meaning from specific events (e.g., Davis, Nolen-Hoeksema, & Larson,
1998). King and Hicks (2009) demonstrated that negative events are
more likely to be perceived as meaningful. Finding meaning in negative
246
events such as chronic or life-limiting illnesses like cancer and conges-

tive heart failure appears to support health (e.g., Cohen, Mount, Tomas,
& Mount, 1996).
We have taken a brief look at some of the complexity that meaning
in life theory can add to the current landscape of positive psychology. We
have also quickly outlined some of the ways in which ACT and meaning
in life overlap and can be combined to create new insights. In the next
section, we will use a case study to illustrate how we think ACT and
meaning in life can be used together to yield interventions.
• Understanding Mandy
Mandy is a 34-year-old woman whose divorce was finalized 6
weeks ago. She shares custody of her two daughters with her
former husband. If you ask Mandy why she is divorced, she says
it’s because her husband wanted to “upgrade his wife.” In fact, he
is already living with someone. Like her ex-husband, her ex’s
new partner is a middle manager at a large electrical parts man-
ufacturing corporation. Mandy has been working for a title
company for 12 years, moving up to underwriter during the start
of the housing boom. Her income at the peak easily rivaled her
ex-husband’s and they enjoyed a high standard of living. In the
past few years, so few home sales have closed that Mandy’s
income has plummeted.
Mandy expresses little hope for the future, worries about the
bad influence of the new woman in her children’s lives, and has
recently emerged from a prolonged major depressive episode.
She now expresses constant worries about doing a poor job of
raising her kids, having something bad happen to them while
they are in her ex-husband’s custody, and losing her job and her
house. She says that her sleep and work performance have suf-
fered because of the time she spends worrying and the intensity
of her anxiety, particularly over the weekends when her children
are in her ex-husband’s care. When pressed, Mandy admits that
she deeply misses the days when her income was so high that she
never worried about money.
247
Mandy is obviously dealing with tremendous change and stress. One

way to work with someone in Mandy’s situation is to explore Mandy’s
self-concept, or in ACT terminology: the “conceptualized self.” Many of
her worries stem from the seemingly vast divide between how she once
saw herself and how she now sees herself. She once lived a life of few
worries and many pleasures. As she goes through her days, she dwells on
how hard things are now and how great things were before. She also
revisits the pain of being left by her ex-husband and the humiliation of
learning that he already had replaced her. As the weekends approach,
she grows increasingly anxious about the time her children will spend
with her husband. By ruminating about the greatness of the past and
worrying about the future, Mandy has no idea how to rebuild her life.
From an ACT standpoint, Mandy may be suffering from the domi-
nance of her conceptualizations of the past and the future, as well as
from a narrow and unhelpful self-concept. She has poor contact with the
present moment.
From a meaning in life standpoint, the core components of Mandy’s
comprehension of her life are no longer accurate, useful, or nurturing.
Instead, they have been broken down by her divorce and all that has
resulted from it. Instead of guiding Mandy’s actions, cradling her values,
and shaping her purpose, her meaning system degrades and demoralizes
her. Because Mandy’s life has changed so much, she needs to accommo-
date or alter the defining features of her self-concept (i.e., her meaning
systems).
We would suggest two approaches to working with clients to help
them revisit, restore, rebuild, or revitalize their basic comprehension of
their lives. They are similar to values exploration exercises that are com-
monly used within ACT, although they may be even more basic.
1. Givens. “We hold these truths to be self-evident…” The authors

and signatories of the United States Declaration of Independence
boldly and clearly stated their given assumptions about the
equality of all men. Aside from the fact that many of these sig-
natories had slaves who were treated with anything but equality,
this “given” puts the rest of this document in context. How often
do we, or out clients, express the fundamental “givens” that put
our lives in context? This exercise simply asks clients to take a
week to think about the things they assume are true, the things
248
they believe and never have to question, or the truths that they
hold to be self-evident. For example, clients might think about
their family life. I will never turn down a hug from my children.
Each child will be treated as a unique individual. Whenever pos-
sible, the family will eat dinner together. Or, I will never disci-
pline my children like my parents disciplined me. When clients
return with this homework, clinicians lead a discussion about
the implications and the themes of these givens, helping to illu-
minate the fundamental assumptions— the most basic
comprehensions—people have. These may need to be chal-
lenged in order to move forward, so clients should be encouraged
and empowered to be completely honest about their givens. In
the parenting examples above, despite their laudable nature,
“absolute” phrasing often reveals reactive givens—those that are
generated because of somewhat unresolved pain. This is most
clear in the given about never disciplining like one’s parents.
This might or might not be a great idea, but the absolute nature
of that given likely sets a person up for failure and may even be
used to prevent effective and reasonable responses to a child’s
behavior. Therapists and coaches are a great resource for helping
clients discover and reconsider their most basic comprehensions
of the world.
2. Values Work. The aim of both ACT and a meaning in life stand-
point is to assist and inspire people to live in accordance with
what they care most deeply about. This is tough to do without
exploring one’s values; an act done less often than presumed.
Here, we draw on Schwartz, Kurtines, & Montgomery (2005) to
give clients a concrete way to think about values (for additional
activities, see Shin and Steger, 2012).
Ask your client to identify one or two of the important life
choices or dilemmas he or she has faced in the past. Ask the
client to describe what made that situation so difficult. For
example, many clients face hard choices between dedicating
their time and effort to their careers or to their families. Often
clients will say that there were no good choices or that which-
ever decision they made they would let someone down. Make
note of the themes that arise, but do not address them yet. These
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reasons provide powerful clues about your client’s values. Next,

ask your client to talk about the decision, and in particular how
selecting the chosen option made him or her feel. Then, depend-
ing on your preferences in working with this client, you have two
choices. You can help the client draw links between the feelings
that resulted from the decision and the reasons the client gave
about why the choice was so tough. A client who chose to focus
on family rather than career might say that she favored family
because she was raised with the notion that being a parent is the
most important job she will ever have. Immediately after choos-
ing to forgo an important career opportunity, our client might
have felt great pride but also worries that friends and family
would feel she’d made a stupid decision or failed to reach her
potential. In this case, you could help her explore how strongly
and deeply this client actually valued parenting versus career
pursuits, as well as self-direction versus the importance of others’
opinions. Alternatively, you can continue to explore with your
client why she thinks she felt that way and how she feels about
her decision now. To continue our example, our client might
now feel smothered by family and feel inadequate in comparison
with friends flaunting the milestones of career success. Here,
work with this client might focus even more tightly on the
importance given to others’ expectations, as well as on how large
a role those expectations might have played in driving the cli-
ent’s apparent valuation of parenting. Whichever approach
seems relevant to you, the idea is to work to help clients see what
is important to them because this is what drives both decisions
and feelings in their aftermath.
Some clients will lack sufficient insight to identify their values

without considerable assistance. They may characterize their givens and
decisions in mechanical or concrete terms (“I guess I didn’t have a choice,
I didn’t want to go to jail”). They should be guided to explore their values
in similarly concrete terms (“Perhaps that is because you couldn’t be
there for your family if you were in jail?”). In helping clients explore—
and commit to—their values, we should always be aware that we our-
selves may have values that conflict with those of our clients. We
recommend an exercise developed by Luoma and colleagues (2007) that
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asks you as a clinician about what you do best, what you most want to
give to your clients, and the lasting impact you would most desire to have
on clients. Their exercise can provide a language you can use when
working with clients to explore their values. This includes those moments
when there is conflict between your values and those of clients. Managing
conflicts requires tolerance for tension, self-honesty, and candid dialogue
with clients about how our values impact the way we interpret what our
clients tell us.
Finally, we must face the possibility that some people’s values are
morally objectionable. As one of the authors (MFS) likes to say “Saints
have holy purposes, and assholes have assholey purposes.” Based on
available research, most people have pretty decent purposes, some have
awe-inspiring purposes, and a small portion have horrible purposes.
Working with this latter group is difficult, and therapy may need to
proceed by showing how it is eventually in the client’s selfish interests to
figure out how to have reasonably prosocial values and purpose.
• Mandy’s Meaning Making

Mandy tells her therapist that she once had great plans for
herself. She was a good student in high school and college, and
always felt that she was well-liked. When she met her ex-husband,
she had already decided to get involved in the real estate busi-
ness. She initially worked as a real estate agent, but then she had
her first child; she agreed to stay home with the baby for the first
year. She went to work for the title company part-time, only
gaining promotions as her daughters grew older and were in
school full-time. Now that the real estate market has gone bust,
Mandy says she can’t see any way that she’ll be successful. Even
making a little money these days takes following many dead
ends, watching appraisals fall short, banks pull out, and deals fall
apart at closing. She can’t see herself doing anything else and
seems convinced that her next step will be poverty. She says that
her daughters would never forgive her for destroying their lives
like that and maybe she should just go ahead and give up custody
so that they can have a better life with her ex-husband.
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Here we begin to see that Mandy’s rigid attachment to “how things

were” has become despairing paralysis in the face of her new reality.
Beyond feeling stuck in her present circumstances, Mandy seems to
struggle to figure out who she really is and how her life can “return to
normal.” Much of the way she frames her situation is in terms of what
cannot be done and the failures that seem to await her.
One way of looking at her problem is that her predivorce compre-
hension system—the network of beliefs about self, world, and self in the
world—has been shattered and has failed to adapt to the impact of this
difficult event. Elsewhere, we have speculated that when difficult things
happen, two kinds of comprehension systems might predict the best out-
comes (Steger & Park, 2012). The first is an exceptionally rigid, one-size-
fits-all meaning system. In such a system, people have unquestioning
confidence that their relatively simple comprehension system can explain
all life events. One possible example comes from religious comprehen-
sion systems, in which the belief that “it is God’s will” can be used to
account for everything that happens. Such systems may be able to with-
stand significant impacts from negative life events without requiring any
alteration. However, it seems possible that any event(s) that could shatter
such a comprehension system would be devastating, leaving people
without much of an intact way of understanding and integrating their
experience.
The second comprehension system is one that is flexible, iterative,
and dynamically responsive to life events. People adapt their comprehen-
sion as they gain feedback from living their lives. These systems may be
more resilient in the face of negative life events (Kashdan & Rottenberg,
2010), but it may be that people fall into the tendency to overthink and
show a lack of commitment to completing important life projects, like
the perfectionist author who can never stop tinkering with a
manuscript.
Mandy seems to need to make meaning from her divorce and perhaps
reexamine her comprehension system. Cognitive therapy already uses
cognitive restructuring to help people work on similar tasks, and narra-
tive therapy has several techniques for helping clients re-author their
stories. We consider an additional way of helping people articulate their
comprehension system. We are currently researching this approach and
are excited about its use in the context of ACT because a large part of
what it is about exists entirely apart from language. Although it may be
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well suited for helping clients chart out their existing values and compre-
hension systems, we believe it can also be used to revise and clarify a
newly emerging comprehension system in the wake of negative life
events. We call this intervention “The Photojournalist.” We also suggest
another way of eliciting growth narratives from clients, which can be
used to alter or rebuild comprehension systems.
1. The Photojournalist. In the most basic application of this inter-

vention, participants are simply given a digital camera and asked
to take 10-12 photos of “what makes your life meaningful.”
Because not everyone is in close proximity to the things that
make life meaningful (a child may have moved out of the house,
and not everyone lives in their ideal vacation destination), we
tell people they can take photos of mementos or even other
photos. When they return the camera, their photos are uploaded
to a computer and printed off in a format of one photo per page,
with a space provided for writing. When the photos are printed,
the client is asked to describe what it is a photo of and how it
contributes to life’s meaning. In our lab, we also ask people to
rank-order photos in terms of centrality to their life’s meaning.
This allows us to gauge whether there are any discrepancies in
what people say about their values or purpose and how they rank
photos that seemingly align with those values or their purpose.
For making meaning from negative life events, we would suggest
altering the instructions to allow clients to choose to take photos
of one of the following: what makes life meaningful, what used
to make life meaningful, or what someday will make life more
meaningful. The eventual point is to lead clients in a discussion
of what is different about the photos they took to address each of
the three choices. Perhaps a new comprehension system can be
built on what is meaningful now, perhaps new versions of what
used to make life meaningful can be found or a comprehension
system can be built that no longer needs those things, and of
course it will be important to help clients find ways to bring into
their lives that which they hope will give meaning to their lives
someday. Not all clients will be able to see a hopeful, meaningful
future, which is why we like providing those three choices.
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2. Growth Narrative. This intervention would ask a client to reflect

on life, beginning in childhood and adolescence, and have her
or him identify two areas in which growth has occurred (e.g.,
where he or she gained a newer, more adaptive and mature self-
awareness, insight, or positive self-transformation). The clini-
cian would ask the client to anchor these growth areas with
specific life examples. As the clinician asks for details, she or he
is also helping the client to identify themes and how the growth
that was accomplished aligns with the client’s values. Finally,
the client is asked to propose a future vignette exemplifying
future growth, including in what areas growth would need to
occur and what the client’s activities, internal experience, and
social circumstances would look like.
These interventions should be helpful in assisting clients to explore

the landscape of their present and future comprehension systems.
However, stopping here might trap clients in an artificial world domi-
nated by their conceptualizations of the “big picture,” “what life’s really
all about,” or “the meaning of life.” The critical next step is to help clients
put their meaning into action. This is done through purpose.
• Mobilizing Mandy
When her therapist asks her about what she wants to accom-
plish in her life, Mandy is vague. She says she wants her daughter
to be happy and that she wants to be successful again, but when
pressed for details, she seems to become hopeless and says she’d
just be content if her ex-husband would pay for what he did.
Mandy says she is a good person at heart and that she still trusts
people, but that she feels vulnerable because of this experience
and “not like herself.” She perseverates about her husband’s new
life and frets over comparisons between herself and his new wife.
She is not sure what she wants to accomplish any more, but she
says that the most important thing to her right now is to give her
daughters a good role model. Part of this, for Mandy, is showing
how to be strong and recover from setbacks.
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Mandy is aware of some of her core values. In particular, she is con-

sistent about wanting to bear up for her daughters and give them a good
life. Bearing up under strain is a noble aim, but it is inherently a limited
one. What does bearing up look like? What purpose does being strong
serve? What does it mean to recover from a setback? What comes after
the bearing up? Mandy wants to do right by her daughters, but it really is
not clear what that looks like, and it appears that thoughts of vengeance
and inadequacy slip into the gaps created by that lack of clarity. In the
end, our values can come to define us only if we do something to stand
up for them and act them out. ACT identifies a lack of clarity and contact
with values as a pathological process because in the absence of this
knowledge, short-term needs can dominate. Mandy needs to move away
from treading water and find something to move toward. We are fond of
saying that purpose is the anchor we throw to pull us to our future.
Mandy needs help discerning her purpose.
The basic process of discerning a purpose calls for a careful and
honest exploration of the comprehension side of meaning in life. This
exploration then must lead to a shift from static knowledge to what that
knowledge implies about how people should act in the world. At this
point, comprehension is used to give people a sense of what they are
about and what they are good at doing, what the world needs, and the
ways in which people are best at navigating the world around them to
accomplish their aims. In Mandy’s case, the straightforward question
about what she wants to accomplish was not sufficient. She needed a
process that is not so overwhelming. We suggest two intervention strate-
gies for helping people discern a purpose.
1. Mobilizing Values. A question many clients should have after

exploring and clarifying their values is “so what?” In reality, how
often are people really called to task for their values? The aim of
this intervention is to answer the question “so what?” by showing
that one of the “points” of having values is turning them into
action. If values work has already been done, such as the activi-
ties we suggested above, those that ACT manuals recommend,
or others clinicians are comfortable with, then the output of
those activities can be used. Otherwise, you can ask clients to
tell you about what they stand for, what they believe in, what
makes them proud about their own conduct, and so on. Then
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you can ask your client how she or he shows the world that these
are important values. Essentially, how do other people know
what your client stands for without your client verbalizing. This
line of questioning may identify behaviors your client has already
used to activate values. You can continue this line of question-
ing by asking your client about what she or he is really good at
doing, what people compliment her or him for, and what she or
he does that feels most authentic. In other words, you are asking
your client about personal strengths. Finally, you can ask your
client what it would be like to use his or her strengths to act out
their values for the world to see. This line of questioning should
continue to push your client to talk about what the end result of
all of this would be—ideally, if we used the best of ourselves to
act out what we truly valued, we would do so in the service of a
natural purpose.
2. What the World Needs Now. This intervention strategy starts on

the other side of the equation. Rather than beginning with what
clients value and do best, it starts with what the world needs.
You can ask clients about one or two things they would change
about the world, or about news stories they have read recently
that have really moved them, or even what part of their experi-
ences they would want most to spare their children and those
they care about. This identifies some things that people may
want to work toward as part of their purpose. Continued dia-
logue can help clients find the most magnetic need in the world.
When paired with the “mobilizing values” intervention, people
can be helped to find a purpose they care about and articulate
some rough ideas about how they would like to pursue it.
• Keeping Mandy Moving

Mandy has been struggling to do the things that are necessary to
make a title company’s work successful in a down market. She
doesn’t see the point. When the market was good, Mandy loved
the excitement and making as much money as her husband.
Now, the work seems like pointless drudgery. As Mandy explores
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her stagnant career with her therapist, she realizes that although
she enjoyed it at its peak, being a title officer was a job she backed
into rather than chose. Through her work experience, she came
to appreciate her talents and came to enjoy some of her work
activities. Currently, she cannot see how what she is doing at her
present job does anything to support her value of providing a
better life for her daughters. As she relinquishes her desire to
compete with—and hurt—her ex-husband, she explores her
values, talents, and interests. She realizes that she can provide a
better world for her daughters in a way that has nothing to do
with whether she earns as much as her ex-husband. This will
entail making sure that her daughters understand what hap-
pened to their family and that, even though she is hurt, Mandy
is still strong, raising them with positive values, encouraging
their dreams. In her work, she sees that she can use her book-
keeping skills to maintain steady employment while she attends
weekend classes in property law at a law school that caters to
midcareer professionals. In Mandy’s case, her value of a better
future for her daughters mingled with the craving for stability
and permanence that grew from the divorce to prompt a new
purpose: working to preserve the landscape for future genera-
tions through conservation and agricultural easements.
Among the many values Mandy identified, a few consistently rose to

the top. She emphasized her daughters’ future, she liked variety and
growth in her work, and through the divorce she had come to value
things that stood for timelessness, permanence, and the preservation of
good things. The main task for Mandy at this point was to commit to
some purpose and engage in the activities that would help her pursue it.
ACT points to the damaging effects of inaction, impulsivity, and avoid-
ant persistence. When people are gripped by any of these processes, they
cease to act in self-determined ways and instead act sporadically or fear-
fully. Being able to align daily activities with one’s purpose is an antidote.
But there can be a large difference between discerning and pursuing a
purpose. In this section we provide suggestions for helping clients engage
with their purpose through planning, goal setting, progress monitoring,
and flexible responding to obstacles.
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1. Signs of Progress. One’s purpose can sometimes be frustratingly

abstract. “Make the world a better place.” “Be a good parent.”
“Heal suffering.” There are a million ways to try to do these
things. Clients often need help breaking the large task of pursu-
ing their purpose into small markers of progress. A big part of
this is helping clients accept that a purpose is not easily accom-
plished, and that, at least in some ways, a purpose might be best
if it cannot be accomplished at all. That is, purpose is best
defined as a central, self-organizing life aim that provides direc-
tion rather than a terminal end point to be completed. For
instance, the desire to be a loving father (life journey) rather
than being dedicated to spending at least one day each weekend
with his daughter and helping her get to college (tangible tar-
geted outcomes). Rather than having clients focus on how they
will check their purpose off their list, we want to encourage
them to see their purpose as an ever-unfolding way of expressing
their values and their selves in the world around them. So,
encourage your client to work backward. Whatever his/her
purpose is, what are some things that could be accomplished
over the next 5 years that would show movement toward
purpose? Within that 5 year span, what are some specific mile-
stones that can be identified? What are 3-5 goals that add up to
the first milestone? What activities need to be done in order to
accomplish the first of these goals? How can these activities be
implemented this month? This week? Today?
2. Rerouting. At the heart of ACT is psychological flexibility, which

is the ability to adjust one’s behavior and thinking to best pursue
valued goals based on an authentic understanding of the moment
(Kashdan & Rottenberg, 2010). Flexibility is at the heart of suc-
cessful, sustained pursuit of purpose. Define purpose as a journey
rather than an outcome to accomplish. This sets the stage for
clients to view their purpose as being attainable by an infinite
number of paths. In this intervention, this theme is reinforced by
using metaphors. We like the metaphor of a GPS unit that keeps
the destination in mind but is able to update a new course
depending on wrong turns, road closures, or side trips. A key
skill for clients to learn is to be mindful of how their behavior is
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reflecting their purpose. This awareness can help them identify

when they have encountered an obstacle to their pursuit of
purpose and help them reroute. You can help your clients by
using thought experiments about helpful responses to obstacles.
The ACT techniques directed at defusion are critical here.
There are many roads to one’s purpose, and although it may be
tempting to judge obstacles on one of them as being disastrous,
it is just one obstruction on one road.
In Mandy’s case, once she had identified a purpose for her career, it
became clear that there was a conflict with another purpose. Mandy
could not both attend a traditional law school and be there for her daugh-
ters during the week. Rather than giving up and viewing her purpose as
unobtainable (and herself as worthless), Mandy found another road. She
registered for weekend classes through a nontraditional law school to
gain competencies and qualifications to work effectively in her chosen
area of land preservation easements. In making this decision, she needed
to be creative and relinquish superficial needs for prestige (in the eyes of
others). It was a longer road to her career purpose, but she found a way to
encounter both life aims along the path she chose.
Additional Collusion between ACT

and Meaning and Purpose in Life
Mandy’s case helped us discuss suggestions for ways in which the
pathological processes identified in ACT could be addressed in ways
rooted in meaning in life. These processes are not the only ways in which
ACT and meaning in life can be brought together. Two other areas for
collusion are mindfulness and suicide.
Mindfulness
Whereas ACT has brought a great deal of attention to mindfulness,
meaning in life research and practice has been mostly silent. Maintaining
an accepting attitude as each moment unfolds in the present would seem
to set the stage for meaning making. One isolated research study has
259
found that a 6-week-long interpersonal mindfulness training program

reduced people’s tendencies to chronically search for meaning in life
among participants. This is an interesting finding because people who
are chronically searching for meaning typically report less well-being
(Steger, Kashdan et al., 2008). However, with so little research, we
explore the theoretical links among mindfulness, ACT, and meaning in
life.
Mindfulness has been described as a nonjudgmental way of paying
attention to the internal and external qualities of our experiences. Life is
what we pay attention to. Therefore, this refinement of attention may
give people a key way to live a better life. Indeed, mindfulness may
directly contribute to well-being and happiness by adding clarity and viv-
idness to experience (Brown & Ryan, 2003). Yet, despite a history rooted
in Eastern meditative practices and new attempts to integrate mindful-
ness into clinical interventions (Baer, 2003), mindfulness hasn’t really
caught on as a stand-alone therapeutic tool. In this way, mindfulness is
the psychological equivalent of eating more kale: everyone knows it’s
good for you, but few people really commit to it.
ACT strives to make mindfulness more accessible to clients by
breaking it down into distinct processes that can be targeted individu-
ally, none of which are implicitly linked to the task of meditation: contact
with the present moment, acceptance, defusion, and self-as-context.
Mindfulness is not only a route to gaining psychological flexibility but to
building existential strength from the wider range of possibilities the self
can inhabit, once its content is shed and a broader context is adopted.
Redefining one’s self has implications for wrestling with life’s existential
dilemmas, as “one answer to the existential dilemma of death is to tran-
scend one’s mortal self” (Steger & Shin, 2010, p. 98).
What then, does meaning in life research have to offer ACT, via the
concept of mindfulness? Both perspectives value how mindfulness helps
us to understand the reality of the self and foster a more universal iden-
tity, apart from the stories and thoughts we narrowly use to define our
lives. ACT’s clearly stated desirable outcome is to bring behaviors in
accordance with values, and mindfulness is embedded in the model as a
means to reach that goal. Mindfulness is a tool to live well, not a replace-
ment for living. Mindfulness provides the link for clients to bring their
behaviors and activities into accord with their defining values, by paying
260
attention to whether what one is doing is aligned with core, central

values.
Of course, aligning action with values and purpose is a central aim
of meaning in life theory and practice as well, so those focusing on
meaning in life should consider incorporating ACT’s approach to mind-
fulness. At the same time, meaning in life theory makes some place for
mindfulness in its emphasis on self- transcendence (Reker, 2000).
Although most meaning in life theorists are agnostic about what kinds of
meanings are “best,” several have argued that as people mature, their
meaning in life becomes increasingly directed at a greater good that
transcends their momentary, individualistic desires. This notion of self-
transcendence is often a descriptor used of people experiencing a mindful
mindset (Brown, Ryan, & Creswell, 2007).
But again, we see a divergence in what ACT has often focused on—
freeing people from paralyzing conceptualizations of the past and
future—and what meaning in life has focused on—freeing people from
being engrossed by the fidgety distractions of daily life. We also see an
apparent conflict. Whereas ACT encourages people to be open and non-
judgmentally aware of their present experience, meaning in life seems to
beg people to judge whether their activities in the present are aligned
with and are helpful in achieving their purpose at some point in their
future. Although ACT encourages people to assess how present actions
align with values, those values do not necessarily invoke any particular
future state. Meaning in life seems to have the potential to shift people’s
focus toward the future and the potential fulfillment of their purposes.
ACT could provide the pursuit of meaning in life with a healthy dose of
present centeredness, and perhaps meaning in life could help people
connect their values with their overall aims in life.
The subtext we perceive running through ACT is that with training,
people’s tendency to automatically frame life in judgmental, avoidant,
fearful, rigid language can be rendered less powerful. With mindfulness,
people learn to let go of these language processes. You can still have
these language processes, but they no longer dominate everyday exis-
tence. Within ACT, mindfulness has two aims: (a) loosen the hold of
unhelpful language processes (through defusion, self-as-context work)
and (b) put people in greater touch with the world of experience beyond
mere words (through values clarification and behavioral commitment to
these values).
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We argue for the benefit of also altering language itself so that greater
attention is given to the dimensions of meaning: (a) comprehension and
(b) purpose in life. Rather than frantic avoidance, nervous rigidity, or, we
would say, ceaseless pursuit of the secret key to the good life, the lan-
guage and narrative of people’s lives should be founded on cherished
values, beliefs they have tested, a clear-eyed appraisal of their abilities
and shortcomings, and ultimate aspirations for their one shot at exis-
tence. If meaning is woven into the language by which people meet the
world, then mindfulness does not need to conflict with a desire to live in
accordance with one’s purpose— it is a way of filling one’s present
moments with gentle reassurances of what one comprehends in life and
navigational nudges toward one’s purpose.
A meaning in life approach offers ACT a way to conceptualize those
“larger and larger patterns.” Meaning in life research directly addresses
how behaviors and values, as a holistic unit, bring one’s life into harmony
by serving a greater purpose. In conjunction with ACT’s model, meaning
in life offers the people we work with greater cohesion in mindfully
instilling the moments of their lives with value and purpose.
Suicide, Meaning, and Early Applications

of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy
What happens when people have so little meaning in their life that
they can justify killing themselves? Suicide research suggests that people
who feel that they are connected to others and personally effective have
a stronger will to live (Joiner, 2005). These two dimensions map onto the
comprehension and purpose and aspects of meaning in life. An impor-
tant component of comprehension is the way in which we understand
the world around us. Research consistently demonstrates that the most
important elements in our environment are other people—that people
create the context in which we live (Baumeister & Leary, 1995). Paying
attention to the ways in which people comprehend their worlds auto-
matically implicates their sense of belonging and connectedness, and
research shows that people who invest in their relationships experience
greater meaning in life (Steger, Kashdan, & Oishi, 2008). Our sense of
effectiveness, the view that we are not burdens but rather contributors to
life, is related to the purpose dimension of meaning in life. Purpose
262
captures the sense that we are useful, functioning, important parts of the
world, that we ourselves “have a point.” Losing this sense of contribution
and usefulness was among the earliest identified causes of suicidal behav-
ior (Durkheim, 1897/1953). Developing an individual’s sense of meaning
in the context of a therapeutic relationship has promising applications
for decreasing suicidal ideations and possibly preventing suicide.
Research indicates that suicide is associated with hopelessness, a
negative perception of one’s future (Beck, Rush, Shaw, & Emery, 1979),
and a lack of meaning in life (e.g., Rothermund & Brandtstädter, 2003).
Unfortunately, there are few empirical studies examining meaning-based
interventions in suicidal populations. Research by Edwards and Holden
(2001) suggests that life meaning acts as a buffer between coping style
and suicidal manifestations, and the authors argue for the addition of
meaning variables to improve the accuracy of the prediction of suicidal-
ity. Having reasons for living and/or leading a meaningful life is incom-
patible with suicide. This is an idea supported by research in which early
retirees who expressed suicidal ideation were enrolled in a personal goals
management program (Lapierre, Dubé, Bouffard, & Alain, 2007).
Following the program, participants reported increased self-efficacy in
reaching their goals and greater psychological well-being. Meaning in life
is all about linking goals to a grander life purpose.
Conclusions
As we have argued throughout this chapter, the core processes of ACT—
encouraging clients to think about what they really want in life, reflect-
ing on avoidance and control strategies, and focusing on becoming aware
of important personal values and making decisions based on those
values—are not merely harmonious with, but perfectly suited to take
advantage of the additional leverage provided by meaning in life. As a
growing body of literature has shown, ACT can achieve medium to large
clinical effects among people with depression (e.g., Bohlmeijer, Fledderus,
Rokx, & Pieterse, 2011), and research is ever-emerging on its benefits for
those with other psychological disorders. We suggest that by combining
the applications of ACT with the encompassing perspective of meaning
in life, more effective treatment strategies can be developed to help
clients live the lives they want. By anchoring clients’ personal values in
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their overall comprehension of their lives, and anchoring their willing-

ness to be flexible in pursuit of valued life aims in their purposes, clients
can be drawn toward positive, hopeful, futures of contributing to those
around them.
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CHAPTER 12
Nurturing Genius: Using Relational

Frame Theory to Address a
Foundational Aim of Psychology
Bryan Roche
National University of Ireland, Maynooth
Sarah Cassidy
Smithsfield Clinic, Co. Meath, Ireland
Ian Stewart
Authors’ footnote: Visit RaiseYourIQ.com for online relational frame training designed
to improve general intellectual ability.
I n the current chapter we will outline our vision of how psychologists

can, for the first time, embark on an empirically supported program
of research and practice to literally “nurture genius” in children. We
are not merely referring here to a program of early and intensive educa-
tional intervention to ensure that disadvantaged children reach their
scholastic potential, or to the use of teaching methods that are more
efficient and effective than those already in use. We are talking about
new and radical developments in the experimental analysis of human

behavior that may be opening the way for the intelligence quotients
(IQs) to be raised by degrees previously thought impossible. That is,
recent research in the field of relational frame theory (RFT; Hayes,
Barnes-Holmes, & Roche, 2001) has suggested that by using what is
called a relational frame training intervention, real and profound differ-
ences can be made to the intellectual abilities of children. Of course, this
RFT intervention did not come out of thin air: it emerged from two
decades of research into language and cognition and a concerted effort
to understand what it is we mean by intelligence and how we might go
about raising it. In effect, our mission has been consistent with one of the
original aims of psychology as a profession and one which has recently
been revisited by positive psychology, the mission to nurture genius (see
Seligman & Csikszentmihalyi, 2000).
In this chapter, we will begin with a brief history of the behavior-
analytic approach to intellectual development to show how the pathway
to the recently developed RFT intervention was carved. We will then go
on to consider the concept of intelligence itself, and how it is viewed
from the broadly Skinnerian analytic perspective shared by RFT. Finally,
we will consider the RFT approach itself and illustrate how it orients us
toward the types of environmental histories and current interventions
that maximize intellectual capacity.
Intelligence as the Behaviorist

Views It
Our modern behavior analytic approach to human intellectual develop-
ment focuses on the exploration of human potential rather than its limits.
From our perspective, IQ tests simply measure the speed and accuracy
with which an individual can perform tasks associated with educational
attainment (e.g., add numbers, translate metaphors, remember informa-
tion, deal with objects in 3-D space) in our culture today. Stated this way,
the concept of intelligence cannot be used to quantify individuals, but it
can be used to index their skill levels in various domains.
As behavior analysts, we concur with the positive psychology posi-
tion that psychologists require a broadening of our view of intelligence
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Nurturing Genius
that makes it amenable to intervention (Duckworth, Steen, & Seligman,

2005). Indeed, Sternberg (2003) described the traditional view of intel-
ligence as a form of “negative psychology,” one in which IQ tests measure
intellectual limits rather than potential. According to this traditional
view, the measurement of intelligence serves institutions but not indi-
viduals. Interestingly, Sternberg also emphasized that positive psychology
as a movement sorely requires studies that show real and empirical effects
of interventions designed to improve the potential and fulfillment of
individuals if it is not to be seen as “soft” by serious scientists. Modern
behavior-analytic interventions designed to measurably raise intellectual
achievement constitute just such an instance of hard, persuasive science.
Seligman, Ernst, Gilham, Reivich, and Linkins (2009) view educa-
tional interventions as key to reaching the goals of the positive psycholo-
gist. Seligman and colleagues proposed that school interventions provide
an excellent opportunity to reach entire populations and therefore are a
powerful way to enhance the lives of whole communities. In particular,
they suggest that any interventions that serve to enhance the frequency
of positive emotions in one’s life will serve to enhance learning. More
specifically, positive emotions are associated with broadened cognitive
focus (e.g., Basso, Schefft, Ris, & Dember, 1996) and enhanced creativ-
ity and insight in learning situations (e.g., Estrada, Isen, & Young, 1994;
Isen, Daubman, & Nowiki, 1987). In short, it appears that “more well-
being is synergistic with better learning” (Seligman et al., 2009, p. 294),
which is the aim of traditional education. It is important to note, however,
that while well-being is an end in itself, its potential impact on intellec-
tual ability is also important because intellectual ability roughly predicts
educational success (Deary, Strand, Smith, & Fernandes, 2007) and is
associated with a range of several positive life outcomes (Schmidt &
Hunter, 1998). One study (Frey & Detterman, 2004) found a high cor-
relation of 0.82 between IQ and American Standard Aptitude Test
(SAT) scores. The latter are widely used as selection criteria for college
places and other training and employment opportunities. Another study
(Deary et al., 2007) found a correlation of 0.81 between IQ and British
GCSE scores (a measure of scholastic success administered to all high
school graduates in the United Kingdom). Taken together, these findings
strongly suggest that any enhancement of intellectual skills will broaden
educational and employment opportunity for the individual.
269
The reader may be surprised at this point to hear us speak confidently

about the possibility of raising the measurable intelligence quotients of
individuals. After all, IQ is supposed by many to index an invariant trait.
However, intellectual ability does vary across the life span, contrary to the
best efforts of psychometricians to correct for these routine variations in
the statistical computation of IQ scores. Indeed, it has been known for
some time now that any intensive educational program can lead to IQ
gains (Ceci, 1991). Moreover, new evidence provided in a recent article
published in Nature shows that IQ can vary considerably in the teenage
years as a function of environmental influences (Ramsden et al., 2011).
The specific challenge for the current research, then, is not just to raise
IQ but to improve intellectual skills by factors sufficient to raise full-scale
IQ scores into new qualitative ranges (e.g., from subnormal to normal) or
by more than a standard deviation (typically around 15 points). Before
examining how RFT can help us reach this goal, we should first consider
some previous attempts to raise intelligence.
Previous Attempts to Raise IQ

There have been numerous claims made in the literature and by online
software companies about various interventions that supposedly raise
intelligence levels. Most of these are of dubious merit (e.g., the “Mozart
effect”; Rauscher, Shaw, & Ky, 1993; but see Chabris, 1999; Lorant-Royer,
Spiess, Goncalvez, & Lieury, 2008; McKelvie & Low, 2002; Newman,
Rosenbach, Burns, Latimer, Matocha & Vogt, 1995; Steele, Bass, &
Crook, 1999). However, some respectable studies have shown that intel-
lectual stimulation in the form of “cognitive training” can help to slow
down cognitive decline in the elderly and among those with dementia
and Alzheimer’s disease (Belleville, Gilbert, Fontaine, Gagnon, Menard,
& Gauthier, 2006; de la Fuente-Fernandez, 2006; Spector et al., 2003;
Willis et al., 2006; Wilson et al., 2002). Nevertheless, while neurogenesis
(the stimulation of nerve brain growth) is a well-established phenome-
non, there is no known link between engagement in cognitive exercises
and improvements in full scale IQ (i.e., IQ as assessed by a full standard-
ized IQ test), although improvements in one aspect of intelligence known
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Nurturing Genius
as fluid intelligence1 have recently been reported (Jaeggi, Buschkuehl,

Jonides, & Shah, 2011).
Much of the best support for brain training comes from studies
examining its effects on stroke recovery and management of dementia in
the elderly (e.g., Smith et al., 2009). The skills improved by such training
are generic skills, like memory and attention, which had already been
well established at an earlier time. For instance, the Advanced Cognitive
Training for Independent and Vital Elderly (ACTIVE) clinical trial is the
U.S.’s largest study of the effects of cognitive or “brain” training. Ball et
al. (2002) found that this program could produce improvements in cog-
nitive ability sufficient to stem age-related cognitive decline. That study
also found that weekly regular training, with a range of cognitive tasks
for five weeks, led to measurable improvements in memory, reasoning,
and information-processing speed. However, the big challenge is to show
that such interventions do more than simply improve people’s skills at
the very tasks at which they practice. What is needed is evidence that
training at one task generalizes to real-life situations (e.g., involving
problem- solving or remembering) or to other aspects of cognitive
functioning.
A promising research program into the generalized effects of cogni-
tive training has been led by Susanne Jäeggi, John Jonides, and colleagues
at the University of Michigan. These researchers found that practice on
a demanding memory task known as the dual n-back procedure2 led to
gains in fluid intelligence (the ability to reason and to solve new prob-
lems independently of previously acquired knowledge, and denoted as
Gf; see Jäeggi, Buschkuehl, Jonides, & Perrig, 2008). Fluid intelligence
(not full-scale intelligence) was measured using the Raven’s Matrices test
1 In Cattell’s original 1963 formulation, fluid intelligence was hypothesized to “reflect

the physiological integrity of the organism useful for adapting to novel situations.”
(Lohman, 1989, p. 339).
2 In an n-back task, a subject is presented with a series of stimuli, such as letters or

words or pictures, one by one across separate trials. The object of the task is to indicate
when the stimulus on screen is the same one presented a given number of trials previ-
ously. For example, in a 3-back task, the subject has to respond whenever he or she sees
a stimulus that was also on the screen three trials previously. More recently, the dual
n-back task was developed. This involves the presentation of two n-back tasks simulta-
neously, usually using different types of stimuli, such as visual and auditory.
271
(Raven, Raven, & Court, 2003). The findings suggested that cognitive
training may indeed show general effects that extend beyond the task
type used during training. The results were particularly exciting because
both fluid intelligence (Rohde & Thompson, 2007) and memory ability
(Pickering, 2006) are associated with scholastic success.
Jäeggi and colleagues (Jäeggi, Studer- Luethi, Buschkuehl, Su,
Jonides, & Perrig, 2010) later found that performance on the n-back task
is more strongly correlated with two measures of Gf than with measures
of working memory. In a second experiment reported in their 2010 paper,
two groups of students were trained for four weeks with either a single or
a dual n-back intervention. A control group received no training. The
researchers reported that improvements in Gf were more marked than
improvements in working memory following practice at either n-back test
compared to the outcome for the control group (see also Jäeggi et al.,
2011, for a similar study that also demonstrated maintenance of Gf
increases across a three-month follow-up period).
It is important to understand that fluid intelligence is only one com-
ponent of general intelligence and improvements in fluid intelligence
should not be mistaken for improvements in full-scale IQ (see Flynn,
1987). More specifically, fluid intelligence is associated strongly with
working memory and attentional skills such as speed of information pro-
cessing. Full-scale IQ, however, is measured across a broader ranger of
skills than this. Moreover, in full-scale IQ testing, scores on tasks that
measure working memory and speed of processing information (e.g., on
the Weschler Intelligence Scale for Children [WISC]) can be ignored in
calculating overall IQ if the clinician or psychometrician believes the test
taker has attention deficits. Nevertheless, memory and attentional skills
are important in an educational context, and it is likely that n-back pro-
cedure training works by improving these skills, thus enhancing the indi-
vidual’s ability to attend to and remember key aspects of problems,
solutions to which the individual is already capable of providing.
Behavioral psychologists have also made occasional efforts to
improve intelligent behavior skills (and therefore IQ scores), usually with
special needs populations. The late O. Ivar Lovaas (1987) reported IQ
gains up to 30 points (roughly two standard deviations) following a three-
year applied behavior analysis (ABA) intervention for autism. Nearly
half of the autistic children in that study were not noticeably intellectu-
ally different from normally functioning children after the three-year
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Nurturing Genius
program (Reed, Osbourne, & Corness, 2005). However, even within

behavior analysis, concerns were raised that such rises in IQ were unlikely
to be reliable (Connor, 1998; Gresham & MacMillan, 1997; Reed et al.,
2005). For instance, Magiati and Howlin (2001) criticized the study on
the grounds of methodological flaws regarding subject selection, treat-
ment condition assignment, differing treatment periods across the exper-
imental and control groups, and the already high-functioning intellectual
ability of the treatment group. They also noted that different IQ tests
were often used at baseline and at follow-up. Nevertheless, in an inde-
pendent replication of the Lovaas study, Sallows and Graupner (2005)
recorded similar significant IQ rises among autistic children. In a further
study, Smith, Eikeseth, Klevstrand, and Lovaas (1997) used an ABA
treatment program to improve expressive speech and adaptive behavior
among severely mentally retarded children with autistic features. They
also measured IQs at follow-up. While behavioral problems diminished
in both groups, children in the treatment condition displayed a higher
mean IQ at follow-up and evinced more expressive speech than those in
the comparison group.
The foregoing studies strongly suggest that IQ can be affected by
broad intensive behavioral interventions. It is important to remember,
however, that these studies did not specifically target general intelligence
in their interventions but employed IQ measures as part of a larger range
of dependent measures. However, in what follows we will outline a
modern behavioral research program designed specifically to understand
how the skills associated with high intelligence might be established in
educational interventions.
A Relational Frame Approach

to Nurturing Genius
Relational frame theory is an account that explains the human ability to
derive stimulus relations. For example, most verbally able children will be
able to understand that if any object, let’s call it A, is bigger than a second
object B, and if B is in turn bigger than C, that C must be smaller than
A. This last conclusion was derived by the child, and this particular
learned skill is known as derived relational responding (or arbitrarily
273
applicable relational responding). Different researchers (e.g., Sidman,

1971; Sidman & Tailby, 1982) have described this ability using different
terminology (such as stimulus equivalence), but RFT has identified three
main features of derived relational responding, which it describes as
mutual entailment, combinatorial entailment, and the transformation of
function (Hayes, 1994).
Mutual entailment. Arbitrarily applicable relations are always bidirec-
tional. If any stimulus (A) is related to (e.g., bigger than, before, etc.)
another one (B), then a second relation between the two stimuli (i.e.,
from B to A) is automatically entailed. The type of relation entailed
depends on the nature of the relation between the two stimuli. For
instance, if A is opposite to B, then B is also opposite to A. In this case,
the same relation as trained is entailed. However, if A is bigger than B,
then B is smaller than A—a novel relation is entailed.
Combinatorial entailment. If a stimulus A is related to B, and B is
related to C, then a relation between A and C is combinatorially entailed.
Once again the nature of the combinatorially entailed relation depends
on the nature of the trained relations. For example, if A is more than B
and B is more than C, then A is more than C (i.e., the same relation as
trained is derived). However, if A is opposite to B and B is opposite to C
then a relation of coordination or sameness is combinatorially entailed
between A and C (i.e., a relation different to that trained).
Transformation of function. If a stimulus A is related to another stim-
ulus B, and a response function is established for A, then the functions
of stimulus B will be transformed in accordance with the A-B relation
(given appropriate contextual cues). For example, if A is in a combinato-
rially entailed relation with a stimulus C, and A elicits a fear response in
context X, C will also elicit the same fear response in that context.
Perhaps the most important feature of RFT is its view that the ability
to derive relations in accordance with relational frames is an acquired
skill. In other words, RFT maintains that humans must learn the various
ways in which stimuli can be related. This ability is most likely estab-
lished during early development as the child navigates normal social
interactions with caregivers. For example, suppose a mother wishes to
teach a child to say the word “doll” when presented with a doll (doll first,
word second). This would require multiple exemplars of the object-word
relation, perhaps with the mother first holding up a doll, followed by
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Nurturing Genius
speaking the word “doll” aloud and then asking the child to repeat the
word.
Now suppose that the mother then reverses this relation across mul-
tiple other exemplars. Specifically, the mother first says the word “doll”
and asks the child to point to the doll (word-object relation). Once this
word-object relation has been reliably established the relation has become
bidirectional. Importantly, however, the relation was not derived by the
child; it was directly established in both directions by the mother. Across
a sufficient number of such directly trained bidirectional relations estab-
lished across numerous objects and words, a pattern of spontaneous bidi-
rectional relational responding will eventually emerge for new objects
and words (see Hayes, Fox, Gifford et al., 2001, pp. 26-27). For example,
the mother might teach the child a novel object-name relation by point-
ing to a novel object (e.g., a cat), producing its name and prompting the
child to repeat that name (e.g., “This is a cat. Can you say cat?”). This
trains a relation from “object” to “name.” If the mother subsequently asks
“Where is the cat?” the child might spontaneously point out the animal,
thus showing the derived or untrained “name-object” (i.e., reverse) rela-
tion. Derivation might also happen in the opposite direction so that
being given a novel name (e.g., “chocolate”) and taught to pick the
correct object (e.g., a chocolate bar) results in the untrained response
that given the object (e.g., seeing a similar chocolate bar on TV) a par-
ticular name is the correct one (e.g., the child says “chocolate” without
prompting).
Behavioral research has long suggested that the ability to derive rela-
tions between stimuli in this way is likely a very important skill for lan-
guage learning (e.g., Barnes, McCullagh, & Keenan, 1990; Devany,
Hayes, & Nelson, 1986). This is because language is replete with word-
sound associations that are entirely arbitrary (i.e., a child cannot figure
out what the sound “dog” refers to in print because it is an arbitrary
sound and its relation to the printed letters D-O-G must be taught).
Where the ability to derive stimulus relations is very fluent, we should
expect to see excellent vocabulary acquisition and rapid and improved
ability to remember word meanings, because the ability to derive (and, if
necessary, “re-derive”) relationships supports these repertoires.
Relational frame theory researchers maintain, for both theoretical
and empirical reasons, that the ability to derive relations must be learned
(i.e., it is not an innate ability). RFT explains how this emergence occurs
275
and attempts to identify the most important types of relations (e.g., more,
less, before, after, opposite, different), or relational frames, involved in
intellectual, behavioral, and emotional development. It may sound
radical, but RFT researchers attempt to understand the full array of cog-
nitive skills (e.g., language, deductive reasoning, problem solving) in
terms of a relatively small range of relational frames. From an RFT per-
spective, much of what is measured in standard IQ tests can be under-
stood in terms of relational frames. It is both a conceptual and empirical
matter to work out precisely which relations or combinations of relations
are involved in which types of intellectual skills. Nevertheless, the idea
that we may have already identified a basic behavioral unit (i.e., rela-
tional responding) of intelligence is exciting to say the least. The most
obvious implication of this is that by enhancing those fundamental rela-
tional framing skills, we may be able to move the entire intellectual skills
repertoire in one single intervention.
Importantly, the ability to derive relations between new words and
objects will remain under contextual control so that the relevant relation-
ship between any two items is always specified by a cue, such as the word
“Same.” That is, in speech we will always use (in one way or another) one
of the relational frame labels to specify for a child which relation we are
talking about when we refer to two objects, or a word-object relation
(e.g., “show me something bigger than your doll”).
Through ongoing exposure to and interactions with the socioverbal
community, relational framing becomes increasingly fluent, and the rela-
tions involved become more and more abstracted so that the ability to
frame events relationally becomes increasingly unhinged from any par-
ticular words and objects. It might be helpful for the reader to think of
mathematical relationships (e.g., 3 + 5 is the same as 8) as examples of
fully abstracted relations that are arbitrarily applicable to any set of items
(e.g., sheep, apples, widgets). In simple terms, the child has now learned
the very rules of derived relational responding and can even state them.
It is at this point that we can ask a child, for example, to imagine x
number of items that is more than y number of items. The relations and
the rules of derived relational responding are not violated by the use of
the algebraic terms x and y, but in this case there are no particular stimuli
specified at all.
So fundamental is derived relational responding ability to a whole
host of cognitive tasks that RFT theorists have suggested that it may
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Nurturing Genius
underlie intelligence itself (see Barnes- Holmes, Barnes- Holmes, &

Roche, 2001; Barnes- Holmes, Barnes- Holmes, Roche et al., 2001;
Cassidy, Roche, & O’Hora, 2010). Several published studies have sup-
ported this idea. For instance, one study found that relational responding
ability predicts performance on several IQ measures. Specifically, O’Hora,
Pelaez, and Barnes- Holmes (2005) assessed people’s ability to show
complex rule following conceptualized in terms of patterns of derived
coordinate (sameness) combined with temporal (before/after) relational
responding. They found that 31 participants who successfully completed
the derived relational protocol involved performed significantly better on
the Vocabulary and Arithmetic subtests of the WAIS-III than the 44 sub-
jects who had failed the task. (Task completion did not predict differ-
ences in the Digit-symbol coding subtest score). Moreover, correlations
were observed between performance in before/after responding and the
Vocabulary (r = .342, p = .002) and Arithmetic (r = .231, p = .003)
subtests of the WAIS-III. In a follow-up study, O’Hora, Pelaez, Barnes-
Holmes, Rae et al. (2008) found further correlations between perfor-
mance in before/after relational ability and Full Scale (r = 0.437, p <
.0005), Verbal (r = 0.302, p = .006), and Performance (r = 0.419, p <
.0005) IQ. The strongest correlations were observed for the Verbal
Comprehension (r = .40) and Perceptual Organization (r = .41) factors
of the WAIS-III IQ test. In that study, significant moderate correlations
were also observed between relational responding and scores on the
Verbal Comprehension (r = 0.403, p < .0005) and Perceptual
Organization indices (r = 0.409, p < .0005). Correlations with Working
Memory (r = 0.052) or Processing Speed indices (r = 0.203) were not
significant.
O’Toole and Barnes-Holmes (2009) employed a complex relational
task known as the Implicit Relational Assessment Procedure (IRAP;
Barnes- Holmes, Hayden, Barnes- Holmes, & Stewart, 2008) to test
before/after and same/different relational responding fluency. They found
that fluency at this task correlated with IQ as measured by the Kaufman
Brief Intelligence Test (Kaufman, 1990). Specifically, correlations of r =
.38 and r = .35 were found for before/after and same/different responding
fluencies, respectively. Finally Gore, Barnes-Holmes, and Murphy (2010)
found significant correlations between performance on a test for deictic
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relations (i.e., perspective-taking relations involving “I” and “You,” and

“Here” and “There” relations) and Full Scale (r = .43), Verbal (r = .45)
and Performance IQ (r = .45; p. 12) as measured by the Wechsler
Abbreviated Scale of Intelligence (WASI; Weschler, 1999).
Some Relational Frames and Their

Role in Intelligent Behavior
In this section, we illustrate a very basic RFT account of intelligence by
outlining the roles of specific and common forms of derived relational
responding. However, we will deal here with only the most common rela-
tions. More complex relations, such as deictic relations and relations
among relations, also play an important role in higher level cognitive
functioning (see Cassidy et al., 2010).
Frames of Coordination. A frame of coordination is essentially a rela-
tion of sameness. We think of this as the simplest relational frame, largely
because it appears to emerge first in the behavioral repertoire and also
because all of the relations derived in accordance with this frame are of
the same kind as those trained. For example, if A is the same as B, and
B is the same as C, this implies a relation between C and A that is also
one of sameness. Laboratory findings also indicate that the derivation of
Same relations requires less response time than deriving other relations
(see O’Hora, Roche, Barnes-Holmes, & Smeets, 2002; Steele & Hayes,
1991). This confirms for us that understanding Sameness is probably the
most fundamental and earliest type of relational ability to emerge. This
is not surprising because words are usually taught to stand for (i.e., are
the same as) things, or for other words, when they are first encountered
by children. For example, a parent will likely teach a child that “this”
(pointing to a doll) is a “doll,” before they teach a child that “this” (point-
ing to an apple) is something different to a doll. Frames of coordination,
therefore, are absolutely foundational in early language training.
A well-honed ability to respond to and derive frames of coordination
is crucial for the acquisition of a broad and well-organized vocabulary.
Most IQ tests examine vocabulary in some form and to some extent or
other. Vocabulary is a fundamental and basic prerequisite to normal
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language development, the extent of which is both predicted by and pre-

dicts general intelligence.
Frames of Opposition. One important gauge of a child’s understand-
ing of opposition relations is that he or she can choose not just stimuli
that are opposite to a range of objects or words but also that are the same
as or in other relations with those stimuli. More specifically, we cannot
conclude with confidence that a child understands what “opposite”
means, just because he or she always chooses the opposite of any stimulus
presented (e.g., choosing the word “hot” from an array of words when we
present the word “cold”). This is because the child may make the same
choices regardless of what instructions we provide to identify the relation
of interest. For example, he or she may also choose the opposite stimulus
to our sample stimulus when instructed to choose one that is the same as
the sample. In order to fully establish that the word “opposite” has some
properties as a cue for a specific type of relational responding, we need to
contrast the effects of its use with those of other relational terms, such as
“same.” IQ tests often ensure that such contrasting control is exerted by
same and opposite cues or words, even within the same test item. For
example, the Heim AH4 intelligence test (Heim, Watts, & Simmonds,
1968/1975) presents the following task: “Near means the opposite of 1)
close, 2) road, 3) speed, 4) far, 5) distance.” A person for whom the words
“same” and “opposite” provide little control over responding (i.e., in
simple terms, he or she does not understand them well) will likely be
drawn to respond to this test item by always producing a default coordi-
nation response (i.e., ignoring the relational cue “opposite”). In this case
he or she may respond to close as the opposite of near. However, if he or
she can reliably respond to opposite in preference to same relations in the
presence of the ‘opposite’ cue and can do so across a variety of exemplars,
this strongly suggests that both coordination and opposition responding
repertoires are likely well established. This is indicative of a well-formed
vocabulary because not only are the words meaningful, they are specifi-
cally meaningful in relation to one another.
Frames of Comparison. These relations are defined by Cassidy et al.
(2010, p. 44) as being required when responding “to a novel stimulus in
terms of its directional displacement from a known stimulus (e.g., more
than/less than, half of, above, below).” Such frames appear to be particu-
larly relevant to the types of mathematical skills assessed in standard IQ
tests. The Arithmetic subtest of the WISC-IIIUK for example, poses
279
several questions on subtraction that require the application of relational

comparisons between numbers (e.g., which is bigger than which).
Consider the numbers 1-5, for instance. For a child to be able to answer
any question regarding the subtraction of any number in the range 1-5
from any other number in this range requires that the sequence of
numbers from one to five be very well established and elaborated across
countless exemplars in the past. The task of truly counting from one to
five in the relational sense (as opposed to “parroting” the number
sequence, as very young children and many animals can do) is more
complex than the reader may have previously considered. Figure 1 pro-
vides just a few examples of the numerous relations of comparison that
obtain between the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. There are 15 possible two-
digit subtraction problems that can be generated using just five digits
that lead to nonnegative solutions (there are many more such problems if
we are to include negative solutions). If a child cannot answer at least
these positive solution questions correctly, we can fairly say that the rela-
tional frames of comparison have not yet been fully established and elab-
orated for this child across this number range.
Clearly, it is inefficient to teach the interrelations between the five
numbers by rote. It is far more efficient to teach the framing skill itself so
that the same relational responses can be applied to the numbers 1-5 and
the numbers 100-105, 1,000-1,005, 1,000,000-1,000,005, and so on. This
can be achieved using multiple exemplar training (MET) using a wide
variety of objects (e.g., coins, cups, playing cards, etc.) as we teach chil-
dren to subtract using this number range. It might escape some caregiv-
ers, but the broader the range of stimulus objects used, the more effective
will be the generalization of the framing responses established. It may
even be necessary to train the generalization of the subtracting responses
to the numbers 100-105 and to 1,000-1,005 and so on until it eventually
generalizes to any sequence with the same relational characteristics.
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Nurturing Genius
Figure 1: Examples of just some of the derived relational frames of com-

parison entailed by the number sequence 1-5, when each number in the
range is sequentially trained as being directionally displaced by one unit
from the previous number.
Of course, children do learn arithmetic tables by rote, and this is of

use in establishing a basic ability to deal with numbers in everyday life.
However, a truly relational response could be arrived at using generalized
relational responding alone, as employed by, for example, highly trained
mathematicians when dealing with numbers in ranges not dealt with in
school-based rote learning or in unusual tasks (e.g., working out square
or cubed roots of large numbers or mentally counting through the prime
numbers ad infinitum).
While the use of multiple exemplar training no doubt lays the ground
work for relational abilities in the first instance with small numbers, the
skill is arbitrarily applicable (though applied only in appropriate con-
texts) to any set of numbers at higher ranges (e.g., we can imagine the
directional displacement of 100 and 200 in the same way once a
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sufficiently large number of interrelations amongst numbers in the 1-10

range have been established).3
Once relational skills involving numbers have become sufficiently
generalized across stimulus sets, it should even be possible for the child to
identify a question (i.e., the context of division) from its answer (i.e., “the
numbers are 36 and 4 and the answer is 9. What is the question?”). This
latter skill is a high-order skill related to executive function that we asso-
ciate with high-level problem solving and is referred to as pragmatic verbal
analysis. An outline of pragmatic verbal analysis is beyond the scope of
this paper, but the reader is referred to Hayes, Gifford, Townsend, and
Barnes-Holmes (2001).
More complex mathematical problems may involve control by mul-
tiple contextual cues simultaneously or in sequence. For instance, a child
may be asked how many of 6 sweets he will have finally when he gives
half away and then is subsequently given three times more than what he
had left. Such a problem involves the application of division and multi-
plication in sequence and represents a considerable challenge even to
many normally functioning adults.
Temporal Relational Frames. Responding to an event in terms of its
temporal displacement from other events represents an example of
responding in accordance with temporal relations, such as before/after.
We normally understand these relations as types of comparison rela-
tions, but this is a matter of conceptual convenience rather than an
empirical matter. Several common IQ subtests measure the fluency of
before/after responding. For example, in the WISC, the Information
subtest examines the before/after relations that obtain between the
months of the year and days of the week (e.g., “Which month comes next
after April?”). When one looks across subtests and considers test items
carefully, it is apparent that before/after responding is also being exam-
ined in other contexts. For instance, a naturalistic test for before/after
relational responding can be found in the Picture Arrangement subtest of
the WISC. In the third edition (UK) of this test, a child is asked to
3 The reader should note that establishing fluency from 1-10 is required for full
numerical competence because in the modern Western world we use a numerical system
to the base of 10. If we decided to switch to a number base system of 5, we would need
only to establish full relational fluency with the numbers 1-5 to allow counting to infin-
ity and the effective dealing with mathematical problems in precisely the same way as
we do presently.
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arrange sequentially a number of cards with images on them so that they

tell a meaningful story. The idea is that all of the images (e.g., money, a
wallet, a vending machine, a chocolate bar) are effectively randomly pre-
sented from the child’s point of view, and unless the child has previously
been shown how to perform this task with that precise stimulus set, he or
she is likely to be producing relational frames of before and after using
this stimulus set for the first time (i.e., the frame is arbitrarily
applicable).
Hierarchical Relational Frames. Hierarchical relational responding
might be roughly thought of as responding to things in terms of higher or
lower order relationships to each other. The most common example
might be assigning class membership and categorization. So for example,
a rose is a type of flower. In this case, a rose is responded to in terms of
its lower order relationship to flowers. The mutually entailed relation in
this case is not the same as that established; in this example, a flower is
not a type of rose. This type of relational responding has been studied
extensively by Piagetian researchers, who refer to its unfolding in the
developmental process as the emergence of the operation of classifications.
Interestingly, the latter pattern typically emerges relatively late in child
development (between 7 and 8 years), indicating the relative complexity
of hierarchy, how many relational repertoires involving more basic rela-
tions must likely be first established, and how much training it takes to
become reasonably fluent in it.
Hierarchical relations are crucial to understanding the organization
of language itself (classes of words), and the fully abstracted form is com-
monplace in mathematics (e.g., x is a member of the set of y). They are
also applied in describing attributes of objects and are therefore crucial in
controlling complex transformations of functions. For example, the
WISC asks the question, “What is the main material used to make
glass?” Of course to answer this correctly the child will have to respond
to glass as made of sand and not to sand as made of glass. More interest-
ingly, however, once the relation is applied, the psychological response to
glass is altered such that it now evokes some of the same responses nor-
mally produced by sand. A child may, for example, now continue to be
reminded of sand or beaches whenever she sees glass, or she may imagine
that the inside of a pane of glass may have a gritty texture, and so on.
Later on she will learn that the sand itself is transformed utterly in the
glass-making process, and so this will in turn involve the application of
283
further frames of hierarchy (among others). For instance, sand is made of

stone, which melts at high temperatures, and so forth. Each application
of another frame of hierarchy, involving further specific attributes (i.e.,
response functions specified in that context), such as transparency,
makes the psychological functions produced by glass and sand more
numerous and richly interacting, and requires further and further degrees
of refined contextual control so that the appropriate features of either
stimulus are responded to in the appropriate context (for example, glass
is responded to as transparent, but sand and stone are not).
Summary
Clearly, there are many more types of relational frames that we might
analyze in the current chapter (e.g., deictic or “perspective” relations,
analogical relations, etc.). However, the foregoing was intended only to
illustrate the types of interpretive analyses possible given the nomencla-
ture and concepts developed by RFT. They are all provisional and open
to correction by empirical analysis. The important point to take away,
however, is that by conceiving intellectual ability as measured by IQ tests
and other forms of educational assessment as relational framing ability,
at least to some extent, the possibility of improving this ability immedi-
ately presents itself, at least if relational skills can themselves be taught
and enhanced.
Improving Relational Skills

The strategy of teaching relational skills by training multiple exam-
ples of the very skill we are trying to establish is known as multiple exem-
plar training (MET). Relational frame multiple exemplar training
involving feedback and response correction (e.g., showing the child the
correct answer to relational questions) continues indefinitely across a
potentially infinite range of stimuli until regular testing without prompts
or feedback demonstrates that the child can provide the correct response
to the same problem but with novel stimuli on every occasion. For
example, we might teach a child that given any statement of the form A
is opposite to B, which is opposite to C (where A, B, and C are randomly
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selected stimuli that bear no consistent physical relationship to each

other across statements), it follows that A is the same as C, C is the same
as A, B is opposite to A, and C is opposite to B. Problems of this kind
cannot be solved by looking at the forms of the stimuli because these are
randomly selected and unrelated to each other. Rather, only the relations
between the stimuli presented in the question can be used as a basis for
the answer. The task is abstract and entirely relational (as in algebra). Of
course, in some cases, one may need to establish the basic skill set using
nonarbitrarily selected stimuli. For instance, we might begin to teach the
frame of comparison by showing a child that if a large ball A is larger
than a small ball B, then B must be smaller than A. In this case, however,
exemplars will still be required to generalize this form of nonarbitrary
relational responding to sets of stimuli where the non-arbitrary relation-
ships no longer provide a guide to correct responding (e.g., coins of the
same size but different in value; see Vitale, Barnes-Holmes, Barnes-
Holmes, & Campbell, 2008).
We already have a healthy literature base illustrating that MET
interventions can be successfully employed to enhance repertoires of
derived relational responding. For example, Barnes- Holmes, Barnes-
Holmes, and Roche (2001) employed exemplar training to produce gen-
eralization of a relational skill in accordance with mutual entailment for
a sample of young children. More specifically, children were trained
across four experiments (using various methods including MET) to
reverse action-object relations (i.e., see object, perform an action). This
effect was replicated by Barnes-Holmes, Barnes-Holmes, Roche, and
Smeets (2001) and extended by Gomez, Lopez, Martin, Barnes-Holmes,
and Barnes-Holmes (2007). A similar finding was reported by Luciano,
Becerra and Valverde (2007).
Generalization of more complex derived relational responding
involving Same and Opposite has also been demonstrated empirically
with child populations using a MET procedure. In one study (Barnes-
Holmes, Barnes-Holmes, & Smeets, 2004) children were trained to relate
stimuli in accordance with relations of opposition and then to derive
novel same and opposite relations across several sets involving three
stimuli rather than just two. Specifically, the derived relational feature
tested for was what we defined earlier as combinatorial entailment. That
is, if any two stimuli are opposite to a third, they must be the same as
each other. This is a concept that might not be properly established even
285
in many fully developed adults. Yet in the Barnes-Holmes et al., (2004)

study, cited above, children were trained to near perfect levels of fluency
in deriving such combinatorially derived relations with novel stimuli
across multiple test trials.
In another study, relational frame repertoires of More than and Less
than relational responding were established for a group of young children,
who previously were unable to demonstrate such relational response rep-
ertoires (Barnes-Holmes, Barnes-Holmes, Smeets, Strand, & Friman,
2004; see also Berens & Hayes, 2007, and Vitale et al., 2008, for further
demonstrations of the use of MET to establish generalized relational
frames of comparison).
The foregoing clearly illustrates that the use of MET to establish
improved fluency in relational framing skills is a relatively successful
enterprise. The central question here, however, is whether such improve-
ments are accompanied by rises in general or specific intellectual abili-
ties. This was the focus of one recent study that examined the effect of a
large relational frame training battery across two experiments, with both
normally developing and educationally challenged children. In
Experiment 1 of a study by Cassidy, Roche, and Hayes (2011), four chil-
dren were exposed to multiple exemplar training in stimulus equivalence
(effectively a simple frame of coordination) and later a battery of MET
for Same, Opposite, and More than/Less than relational responding across
several regular sessions and across several months. Computer software
administered blocks of training for stimulus equivalence and later for the
four relations. Tests, without feedback, for equivalence and relational
frames using novel stimuli required a 100% correct level of responding in
order to be completed successfully. If an error was made on a test block,
training was readministered using the stimulus set previously employed
on the failed test. In effect, children were being trained to form relations
(using trial-by-trial feedback) with the very stimuli that had appeared in
a test in which they had failed to derive relations without feedback.
Following retraining, further training was administered with a further
novel stimulus set, followed by a further test with another novel stimulus
set. This training-testing-retraining-retesting cycle continued until the
child could produce 100% correct derived relational responding on a test
without feedback and with a novel stimulus set. Each of the five derived
relational skills was established this way in sequence.
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Baseline IQ scores were calculated using the Wechsler Intelligence

Scale for Children (WISC-IIIUK), which was re-administered following
both the stimulus equivalence (Time 2) and the relational frame (Time
3) training batteries. Administrations of the test were separated by at
least three months to preclude the possibility of test-retest effects, which
account for rises of less than one standard deviation. The four experi-
mental participants were matched against a no-treatment control group.
The treatment group showed significant improvements in full-scale IQ
following stimulus equivalence training but an asymptotic rise in IQ fol-
lowing the relational frame training battery. Table 1 shows participants’
Full Scale IQs at times 1, 2, and 3 as well as their composite Verbal and
Performance IQs at these measurement points. The table shows that
mean Full Scale, Verbal, and Performance IQ scores rose from baseline
to postrelational frame training by unprecedented factors, well in excess
of one standard deviation. This is particularly impressive when one con-
siders that IQ tests are carefully designed to preclude such a possibility by
chance or transient environmental circumstances alone.
287
288
Table 1
Control Experimental
Mean SD Range Mean SD Range
Full Scale IQ Baseline 106.50 3.32 104-111 105.50 10.66 96-119
SE Training 107.25 4.79 101-111 110.25 5.74 105-118
Relational Training 104.25 3.86 99-108 132.75 4.03 128-137
Verbal IQ Baseline 108.25 4.86 101-111 109.25 8.88 101-120
SE Training 107.50 6.66 98-113 107.75 9.03 100-120
Performance IQ Baseline 102.75 6.13 94-107 100.25 11.24 91-115

SE Training 105.00 7.07 96-113 111.50 3.32 107-115
Means, standard deviations, and IQ ranges for control and experimental participants at baseline, following stimulus equiva-
lence (SE) and relational frame training in Experiment 1 of Cassidy et al. (2011).
Nurturing Genius
In Experiment 2, a further eight children, this time with educational

difficulties and below-normal IQs, were exposed to a slightly modified
multiple exemplar-based relational frame training intervention. There
was no comparison group employed, because by this stage in our research
we felt that it was unethical to deny what appeared to be a viable treat-
ment to children with learning deficits. Time and monetary resources
also precluded a full multiple baseline design being employed, and so a
simple A-B (baseline measurement of IQ followed by a relational training
intervention) was used. In this study, full-scale IQ as measured by the
WISC-IVUK, rose by at least one standard deviation for seven of the
eight children. This change was also significant at the group level (see
Table 2). To put these IQ rises in context, the relational frame training
intervention succeeded in raising the IQs of almost all of the education-
ally challenged children to such an extent that seven of eight of them
changed IQ band (e.g., from below average to average or above average).
More recently, all eight children were revisited for follow-up IQ
testing, almost four years since the completion of the relational training
intervention (see Table 2). In all cases IQ rises were maintained well
across this very large follow-up period. Only scores on one of the four IQ
domains (processing speed) decreased across the follow-up period. The
other three IQ domain scores continued to rise (at the group level across
this extended follow-up period). Full-scale IQ dropped slightly since the
postintervention assessment (i.e., due to the drop in processing speed
scores) but was still considerably higher than at baseline.
Interestingly, processing speed is a measure of the ability to focus on
a visual task, work quickly, and follow through in its completion under
strict time constraints. This measure is highly subject to the effects of
transitory, as well as more sustained motivational and attentional prob-
lems. Indeed, full-scale IQ scores can be calculated without this index
(and/or the working memory index), where the clinician feels that atten-
tional problems may detract from a representative index of general cogni-
tive ability in contexts in which the latter is of primary concern. Thus,
what the follow-up data reported in Table 2 suggest is that in terms of
cognitive ability, scores on core IQ domains continued to rise over time
postintervention, but in those domains not targeted directly by the inter-
vention, deterioration was observed. It may be of relevance that all of the
children were currently out of the school setting for a one-year period to
attain workplace experience and undergo personal development when
289
follow-up testing took place. It may well be, therefore, that attentional
skills were deteriorating during this period in the absence of the usual
scholastic contingencies. Nevertheless, skills in those IQ domains repre-
senting pure relational ability continued to grow and develop across time
since the intervention. This is not at all surprising from a relational
frame theory perspective. We would fully expect a relational training
intervention to enhance repertoires that would make learning more sen-
sitive to instruction and experience on an ongoing basis. The effect of a
relational frame training intervention, therefore, should be accumulative
as well as immediate. The fact that the improved full-scale IQs reported
in Experiment 2 of Cassidy et al. (2011) have maintained well across time
strongly suggests that the relational training intervention successfully
targeted skills sets that were of enduring importance in the ongoing
intellectual and educational activities of the children.
290
Table 2
Baseline Postlntervention Four-Year Follow-Up
Mean SD Range Mean SD Range Mean SD Range
Full Scale IQ 82.9 8.3 70-92 95.9 10.6 76-111 102.57 12.19 91-126
Verbal Comprehension 82.3 7.3 73-93 92.4 9.2 83-110 100.86 6.91 90-112
Perceptual Reasoning 82.1 10.3 65-96 94.5 6.7 84-106 103.14 16.12 83-123
Working Memory 94.9 16.6 59-116 97.5 12.3 77-116 88.14 14.78 65-103
Processing Speed 91.0 9.8 83-109 107.0 15.6 78-121 98.86 10.33 86-114
Means, standard deviations, and ranges in full-scale IQ in all four IQ domains at baseline and postintervention as reported
in Experiment 2 of Cassidy et al. (2011). Previously unpublished four-year follow-up IQ scores in all four IQ domains are also
provided in the rightmost columns of the table for the seven of the eight children that were available.
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Given the considerable impact the relational training interventions

had in the two experiments outlined above, it would appear that a rela-
tional frame approach to intellectual deficit treatment has the potential
to not only help children and families in need but to change lives in a
real and measurable way. Of course, the samples used in both experi-
ments were small, and there were other methodological imperfections,
such as the use of en masse training instead of a multiple baseline design
or a blind randomized control trial technique. Nevertheless, the IQ data
moved dramatically in the right direction, and there is little ambiguity in
the findings.
Relational Training Exercises for

Teachers, Parents, and Clinicians4
So far we have outlined a relational frame analysis of intelligence and
suggested that intelligence may be considered to comprise a well-
developed repertoire of relational skills. We have also shown that these
skills can be enhanced and that improving relational skills may lead
directly to improved intelligence levels. However, up to this point the
methods for enhancing relational skills that we have considered have
been entirely laboratory based and have involved computer-controlled
task presentation. Of course, this use of such research methods is part
and parcel of good scientific practice, but many of these laboratory tech-
niques can be employed at home more casually using printed materials or
simply by using spoken words. In this section, we will suggest some easily
employed exercises that parents, teachers, and clinicians can use with
any children, casually, in any context and for either short or extended
periods of time. These exercises are suitable for children roughly in the
8-14 years age bracket. For each of the following exercises, nonarbitrarily
related stimuli can be employed in the place of the types of arbitrary ones
suggested here in the event that the child is having difficulty providing
correct answers to the questions (e.g., due to developmental stage or age).
Providing exemplars using nonarbitrary stimuli will serve as a good
4 For online relational frame training software visit RaiseYourIQ.com
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foundation for improved fluency on the exercises as we have outlined

them in Table 3. For instance, in the case of the relational frame of com-
parison, names for objects that are of actual different sizes to each other
(e.g., penny, football, house) can be used in the place of the arbitrarily
related stimuli (i.e., coins of different value) to illustrate the number of
relations that can be derived from just a few statements, and the fact that
relations other than those used in the statements may also be derived
(e.g., A more than B, and B more than C entails C less than A).
It is essential that correct answers are met with praise and positive
feedback, and that correct answers are provided for the child whenever
there is an error. A child should be moved through these levels and rela-
tional frames at a pace that allows him or her to succeed and not so
quickly that the effort becomes punishing. Practice these exercises often
in casual conversation, in different contexts, and with various stimuli as
the opportunity arises. You should provide as many such exercises as pos-
sible, moving from easier to more difficult questions (i.e., levels) as the
child’s fluency improves (across several weeks) and working roughly from
the more basic relations to the more complex relations, such as in the
order presented here (i.e., 1-6). Remember, you need to provide your own
stimuli, such as colors, stimulus names, and words as suggested for each
exercise, and to vary them across each and every delivery of the exercise
so that the child is continuously being exposed to the same types of ques-
tions but with different stimuli used in each case.
There are many different variations on these exercises that the
reader can make, and there are numerous other levels of complexity that
can be invented ad hoc. There are even other relations that can be
worked on, but the relational range presented in Table 3 is enough for
most children to begin with. Please be aware that many children will find
the higher levels of questioning very difficult, and many may be unable
to reach 100% accuracy on the hierarchical and deictic relations exer-
cises. However, if the exercises are worked through slowly and systemati-
cally, moving forward only when fluency has been reached at a given
level of complexity and for a given relational frame, then the child will
eventually finish the entire exercise set. This will likely take several
months of regular practice.
In Table 3 we have included different ways of presenting the various
questions within the exercises—sometimes as detailed questions regard-
ing relationships between words and objects, and sometimes as true/false
293
questions (known as relational evaluations in RFT). You should feel free

to mix and match the styles and methods to suit yourself and the child.
Table 3. Sample Relational Training Exercises

for Parents, Teachers, and Clinicians
1. Relational Frame of 2. Relational Frame of
Coordination (Sameness) Comparison (More than
/Less than)
Stimuli: Spoken words from Stimuli: Objects with various
different languages but with levels of arbitrary values (e.g.,
shared meaning. monetary, aesthetic, etc.).5
Level 1. “Manzana” is the Level 1. If a dime is worth more
Spanish word for apple. than a nickel, is a nickel worth
What is an apple in Spanish? more or less than a dime?
Level 2. “Madra” is the Irish Level 2. If a dime is worth more
word for the French word than a nickel, and a nickel is
“Chien.” “Chien” is the French worth more than a penny, is a
word for the English word “dog.” dime worth more or less than
What is a “dog” in Irish? a penny?
Level 3. “Coche” is the Spanish Level 3. Imagine that I have four
word for the English word “car.” objects; A, B, C, and D. If A is
“Car” is the English word for larger than B, and B is larger
the Swedish word “bil.” “Bil” than C, and C is larger than D, is
is the Swedish word for the D less than or more than A?
Italian word “auto.” What is
an auto in Spanish?
5 Note that in this particular example, coins of a larger size (e.g., a nickel) are worth
less than coins of a smaller physical size (e.g., a dime), and so the monetary value of the
stimuli is not ascertainable from the formal size of the coins (i.e., their nonarbitrary
features). To create a potentially infinite variety of “coins” for use in these exercises,
simply make them out of pieces of colored paper cut into circles.
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Nurturing Genius
Level 4. “Car” is the English Level 4. Imagine that I have four

word for the Swedish word “bil.” objects; A, B, C, and D. If B is
“Car” is also the English word larger than C, and A is larger
for the Italian word “auto.” than B, and D is larger than C, is
“Coche” is the Spanish word D less than or more than A?
for the Italian word “auto.”
What is a coche in Swedish?
3. Relational Frame 4. Temporal Relational Frames
of Opposite (Before/After)
Stimuli: Pairs of words with Stimuli: Any temporally related
opposite meanings or events
designations
Level 1. I have two dogs, Aaron Level 1. If Tuesday comes before
and Bart. If Aaron is really big Thursday, does Thursday come
and is opposite to Bart, then before or after Tuesday?
what is Bart?
Level 2. If Jack (who is very tall) Level 2. If Tuesday comes before
is opposite to Paul, and Paul is Thursday, and Thursday comes
opposite to Charlie, then what is before Friday, does Friday come
Charlie like? before or after Tuesday?
Level 3. If A is opposite to B, and Level 3. Imagine that we give
B is opposite to C, and C is each day of the week a color
opposite to D, are A and D the label. If blue day comes before
same or opposite? What about A red day, and red day comes before
and C? If A is really big, then purple day, does purple day come
what is D? before or after blue day?
Level 4. If A is opposite to B, Level 4. Imagine that we give
and D is opposite to C, and B each day of the week a color
is opposite to C, are A and D label. If blue day comes before
the same or opposite? What red day, and red day comes before
about C and A? If D is hot, purple day, and yellow day comes
then what is A? after purple day, does yellow day
come before or after blue day?
295
5. Relational Frame 6. Deictic Relational Frames

of Hierarchy (to enhance perspective taking)
Stimuli: Category labels and Stimuli: The words I, you, here,
names of category members there, now and then
Level 1. If a broad bean is a Level 1. If I am here and you
type of bean, is a bean a type are there, where are you and
of broad bean? where am I?
Level 2. If an Alsatian is a type Level 2. If I am here and you
of dog, and a dog is a type of are there, and if I were you and
mammal, is an Alsatian a type you were me, where would you
of mammal? Is a mammal a type be? Where would I be?
of Alsatian?
Level 3. If an object A is a type Level 3. If yesterday I felt sad
of object B and an object B is and today I feel happy, and if
a type of object C, then is an now were then and then were
object A a type of object C? now, how did I feel then?
Level 4. If a broad bean is a type Level 4. If I feel sad and you feel
of pulse and a pea is a type of happy, and if I were you and you
pulse, is a broad bean a type were me, and if sad were happy
of pea? (This is a tricky question. and happy were sad, how would
We cannot know the answer you feel? How would I feel?
to this.)
Conclusion
The current chapter examined a behavior-analytic and RFT conceptual-
ization of intelligence and illustrated how it might help us to better
understand in practical terms precisely which skill sets IQ tests measure.
In doing so, we have been able to point the way toward intervention
formats that may prove capable of helping to raise intelligence levels.
This is a feat that was previously considered impossible by psychologists.
Of course, our analysis is somewhat speculative and far from complete. It
296
Nurturing Genius
is presented here only as a starting point from which other researchers

can embark on exciting investigations and analyses of their own. This is
only the beginning of a potential revolution in behavioral and educa-
tional psychology. No doubt, as it comes in, the data will shape the anal-
ysis. In the meantime, we have a starting point from which to move
forward, alongside our colleagues in the positive psychology movement,
to address the challenge of improving the human condition rather than
merely maintaining it.
There are many challenges ahead in honing the relational training
interventions outlined here. A whole host of variables influence the
functioning of such interventions, including biological variables, such as
diet, sleep, and motivation, and social variables, such as family structure,
the quality of the schooling system, and levels of social skills. For instance,
it has been argued that a child’s level of self-discipline is twice as good a
predictor of his or her school grades as IQ (Duckworth & Seligman,
2005). Thus, there are several dependent measures that also need to be
taken in future research to fully assess the impact of relational training
interventions, including standardized scholastic measures, school grades,
and reports, as well as scores on specific tests of aptitude across various
domains. However, the outlook is good. The confluence of various RFT
research strands regarding the relationship between relational respond-
ing fluency and measured intelligence is promising indeed. This research
has at least given us a direction in which to head to make improvements
in the lives of others. The more recent findings of Cassidy et al. (2011)
are even more promising and suggest that, maybe for the first time in the
history of psychology, we have in our grasp the roughly hewn semblance
of a technology with which we can literally nurture genius.
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CHAPTER 13
The Genuine Conversation
Steven C. Hayes
University of Nevada
W hat you hold in your hands is the beginning of a conversa-

tion. This book opens a dialogue between two traditions,
positive psychology and the acceptance and mindfulness
traditions, particularly as represented by contextual behavioral science
(CBS) and its subcomponents of ACT and RFT, but spreading into
related approaches such as MBCT or DBT.
A conversation or dialogue involves an exchange of thoughts, opin-
ions, and feelings between two or more persons, and they can be of two
kinds: rote or genuine. A rote conversation is a kind of oral turn taking,
in which the familiar and well-practiced statements or ideas of one party
serve primarily as an occasion for the familiar and well-practiced state-
ments of the other. A genuine conversation involves perspective taking,
sharing, and the risk of change. It means being willing to see the world
through the eyes of another, to share one’s own views, and to allow simi-
larities, distinctions, and innovations to emerge in an honest way that
can alter the previously held views of both parties.
In social interchanges, rote conversations leave each party largely
unchanged, while genuine conversations offer the opportunity for growth
and transformation. Political conversations are almost always rote, as any
observer of modern political discourse has undoubtedly noted. There is a
reason for that: the participants are more interested in being right (and
being viewed as such by others) than in learning. Conflicted social con-
versations (e.g., the well-worn battles between spouses) are usually rote
and for much the same reason. Genuine conversations are different.
They are not about being right or ending up on top; they are not about
power and politics; they are not about who thought of it first or last; they
are about seeing what can be gained through mutual understanding.
Most books that are meant to be conversations are structured in a
relatively rote way for structural reasons: books are linear, it is easier for
authors to state again what they have stated before, and the ideas of
others have to be considered by authors with different views, which is
difficult. But with the right posture of authors, and indeed of readers,
even the linear dictates of the written page can yield a genuine conversa-
tion. Instead of authors arriving ready to defend their views, and readers
arriving ready to be proven right in their existing beliefs, authors can do
their best to consider other points of view, and readers can bring an open
posture to the experience of reading the sequential monodies in the
volume, integrating them into a larger conversation.
Even before the exchange of ideas begins, a real conversation is made
more likely if these processes are embraced psychologically in the inter-
ests of the positive potential of dialogue. People who are interested in
positive psychology, or in acceptance, mindfulness, and values, seem par-
ticularly likely to have the psychological tools needed to enter such a
genuine conversation as writers and readers. Both of these areas address
issues such as values, relationship, empathy, compassion, and perspective
taking that are central to any genuine social interchange.
I was allowed the opportunity in this brief closing chapter to con-
sider the other chapters and to reflect on what this project may mean
going forward. It is my sense that the editors and authors of this book
have created a genuine serial conversation, and if the reader has
approached these pages with openness to possibilities, there is much to
be gained by the experience. Most of the chapters made serious attempts
to consider the interconnections between these different ideas and tradi-
tions, and they have done so in a transparent way that readers can build
upon. It does, however, require openness on the part of readers to make
sure that the potential of a genuine conversation is realized.
In this chapter I would like to explore a few of the areas of overlap
and connection that I saw, looking broadly across the chapters. Rather
then get into details I will try to bring these areas down to the ground by
speaking more generally, focusing on what practitioners and researchers
might do going forward. This book is meant to help guide teachers,
304
therapists, coaches, and health professionals among others. What does it

say for now, and for the future?
What ACT Has to Teach Positive

Psychology: Not Positive Form,
Positive Function
In the earliest days of positive psychology (e.g., Seligman &
Csiksentmihalyi, 2000), it was easy to see this tradition primarily as one
that had turned away from the almost obsessive focus in applied psychol-
ogy on disorder and dysfunction toward positive human traits and
virtues. Instead of considering how we might treat anxiety and depres-
sion, we would study, say, flourishing or meaning. Rather than dealing
primarily with the abnormal, we would deal with the positive potential
of the normal.
The founders of positive psychology invited this characterization by
seemingly presenting certain traits as inherently “positive”:
The field of positive psychology at the subjective level is about

valued subjective experiences: well-being, contentment, and
satisfaction (in the past); hope and optimism (for the future);
and flow and happiness (in the present). At the individual
level, it is about positive individual traits: the capacity for love
and vocation, courage, interpersonal skill, aesthetic sensibility,
perseverance, forgiveness, originality, future mindedness,
spirituality, high talent, and wisdom. At the group level, it is
about the civic virtues and the institutions that move
individuals toward better citizenship: responsibility, nurturance,
altruism, civility, moderation, tolerance, and work ethic.
(Seligman & Csiksentmihalyi, 2000, p. 5)
Despite the above quote, positive psychology was never completely

bound to a mere list of so-called positive traits, even in what Steger,
Sheline, Merriman, and Kashdan (Chapter 11 of the present volume)
rightfully label “Positive Psychology 1.0.” There was always acknowledge-
ment of the importance of so-called negative emotions, for example, but
305
formally positive features were emphasized, even over-emphasized in an

effort to put better balance into the field (Duckworth, Steen, & Seligman,
2005).
In the same way that health and flourishing is not merely a bipolar
opposite of disorder and dysfunction, however, positive experiences are
not the bipolar opposite of negative ones. As Ciarrochi, Kashdan, and
Harris (Chapter 1 of the present volume) point out, there have at times
been excesses in the thinking of some wings of positive psychology that
are put right by finding the contextual boundary conditions for all of
these experiences and actions. There are healthy ways to relate to emo-
tions, positive and negative, and these depend on context; there are
healthy ways to act, and sometimes these are not merely “the more virtue
the better”—it depends on context. In every area, meaning, purpose, and
context matter (Steger et al., Chapter 11).
The list where this has been shown to be true is impressive. A recent
article by McNulty and Fincham (2012) documents this fact in some
detail. For example, although forgiveness predicts relationship adjust-
ment overall (e.g., Toussaint, Williams, Musick, & Everson, 2001), in
some contexts forgiveness can be pathological. Women with high levels
of forgiveness who are the victims of domestic violence are more likely to
return to an abusive spouse (Gordon, Burton, & Porter, 2004) and once
there will experience continuing or increasing levels of psychological and
physical aggression, not the declining rates experienced by less forgiving
partners (McNulty, 2010). There are contextual limits to altruism, which
can at times be pathological (Oakley, Knafo, Madhavan, & Wilson,
2011; Vilardaga & Hayes, 2011). McNulty and Fincham (2012) document
the same kind of contextual limits on other so-called positive traits such
as optimism, benevolence, or kindness. In each case these traits correlate
with well-being and good relationships overall, but in some contexts they
predict problems. Optimists tend to keep gambling after financial loses
(Gibson & Sanbonmatsu, 2004); benevolent people with severe relation-
ship problems experience declining satisfaction because their problems
did not improve as much as less benevolent people (McNulty, O’Mara, &
Karney, 2008); wives’ unkind behaviors during problem-solving discus-
sions (e.g., rejection, criticism) predicted more stable relationship satis-
faction over four years among both spouses (Karney & Bradbury, 1997).
It is hard to avoid a conclusion: virtually any “positive” trait one can
name can function negatively in some contexts and the vast majority of
306
so-called negative traits can function positively in some contexts (Biswas-

Diener, Kashdan, & Minhas, 2011). Malouf, Youman, Harty, Schaefer,
and Tangney (Chapter 10 of this volume) provide an excellent example,
and one with profound lessons for the field: negative emotions such as
guilt have a positive social role to play. The acceptance and mindfulness
wing has helped show that experimentally (e.g., Luoma, Kohlenberg,
Hayes, & Fletcher, 2012).
The literature of this kind is now becoming voluminous, and it is
simply no longer tenable to support the view that psychological experi-
ences and traits can be meaningfully sorted into “positive” and “nega-
tive” piles based on their form. If it was ever held firmly as an intellectual
belief, science has shown it to be false. If we are interested in the function
of experiences, traits, or actions, we have to be concerned with their
impact in given contexts. In other words, it is not merely a matter of posi-
tive versus negative forms; it is a matter of contextually bound positive
versus negative functions.
In this area, the acceptance and mindfulness traditions can add
something useful to positive psychology as it transitions into “Positive
Psychology 2.0” (Wong, 2011). Contextual behavioral scientists and
practitioners are well suited to this task because their focus on context
affords a more dynamic and less judgmental approach to human experi-
ence. ACT and CBS more generally help show that in many contexts
there are functionally positive ways to relate to so-called negative events.
The psychological flexibility model that undergirds ACT suggests
that felt emotions— “positive” and “negative”— are generally worth
noticing and experiencing as they are. In some context that process of
experiencing with open curiosity may be extensive. For example, when a
difficult emotion has long been avoided or denied, it may be helpful to
dive into it consciously, to watch it rise and fall, or to watch what one’s
body does when it occurs. It may be worth noting what memories rise up
in association with the emotion or what urges co-occur with it. At other
times that process of noticing and experiencing may be very brief. For
example, when noticing the re-occurrence of a frequently felt and well-
explored emotion (e.g., the rise of anxiety before giving a talk), noticing
may entail little more than tipping one’s hat to this “old friend” and then
directing attention to the purpose of the task at hand (e.g., the values
and actions involved in giving a talk). It is even possible that there are
some contexts in which noticing itself is not helpful. For example, it
307
appears that emergency care workers or children with life-threatening

illnesses may do better (at least over moderate time frames) if they are
focused on the task challenges at hand rather than attending much to
emotion at all (Mitmansgruber, Beck, & Schüßler, 2008; Phipps, 2007).
It is not clear how long such a coping approach can be used without
harm, but it is another demonstration of the contextual nature of all
psychological adjustments.
It is not possible to be conditional in how difficult emotions are dealt
with unless other aspects of the psychological flexibility model are
present. For this process to be conscious and chosen, there has to be a
degree of defusion from the automatic thoughts that emerge in connec-
tion with emotion. Fused thoughts mean that emotions seemingly
demand attention; they literally dictate it. Mindfulness skills help the
person hear the dictator’s voice as merely one of many ideas or perspec-
tives rather than viewing a world structured by that dictation without
being aware of the process of the mind creating that structure.
Similarly, learning flexible attention to the present moment fosters
attention as a choice. Acceptance does not mean wallowing. It is a bit of
a misunderstanding to say, as Parks and Biswas-Diener do in Chapter 7
of this volume, that “an acceptance-based approach makes no attempt to
change a client’s experience.” Acceptance-based approaches change cli-
ent’s experience in two fundamental ways. First, an emotion struggled
with is no longer functionally the same when it is openly embraced in the
moment. It may still be called by the same name, but it is not the same
experience. Ironically, that functional change quickly alters even the
form of the emotion. Second, being present with what is present in an
open and curious way allows other responses to emerge. The repertoire
narrowing impact of avoidance and fusion eases, and attention can more
easily flow toward chosen purposes as afforded by the external and inter-
nal situation. That is a huge change in the client’s experience as well,
and it allows what positive psychology is learning to be applied in a
healthy way. Chosen purpose is the exact domain in which “positive”
experiences reside (Steger et al., Chapter 11). A deep connection with
meaning and purpose is inherently positive and has been the focus of
positive psychology from the beginning.
Said in another way, one thing ACT and the psychological flexibility
model has to offer positive psychology is a more certain way to be positive
in a functional sense. When a negative emotion is noted as it is, with
308
openness and curiosity, without judgment, the function of the emotion

can be determined more voluntarily by the greater flexibility this posture
affords, which becomes behaviorally important in the ability then to
make an attentional turn toward values-based action without it being an
unhealthy act of suppression or avoidance. That one-two punch seems
important over the long run because so-called negative emotions contain
the seeds of positive values. Sadness over a betrayal contains the seeds of
love and loyalty as a value—without access to pain in a deep sense love
is impossible (see Walser, Chapter 3 in this volume). Anxiety over a
social failure contains the seeds of social contribution as a value—
without knowing where you hurt and fear, it is harder to know where
your caring resides. Like bread crumbs, pain can help us find the way:
even trauma can encourage our growth (Park & Helgeson, 2006). The
psychological flexibility model helps show how it is possible for negative
emotions to lose their negativity in a functional sense, even when they
are present. We can experience them, learn from them, and yet not be
dominated by them. Instead, they can become an ally in the creation of
a values-based life.
This matters for positive psychology because that exact process is the
process that is needed for positive emotions to be held in a healthy way.
There is a growing body of evidence that experiential avoidance and
psychological inflexibility not only increase the harmful impact of nega-
tive emotions, they undermine the ability to experience positive emo-
tions (Kashdan & Breen, 2008; Kashdan & Steger, 2006). Such findings
present a flashing yellow warning sign to the commonsense idea that “a
positive intervention aims to replace negative experiences with positive
ones” (Parks & Biswas-Diener, Chapter 7 in this volume, emphasis in
original). It matters how negative events become positive. The desire to
replace negative events is understandable, but it is only a small step from
that posture to avoidance and suppression—precisely the posture that
tends to build negativity and ironically undermines positive emotional
experience. From an ACT perspective, positivity linked to a replacement
agenda is needlessly dangerous. Positivity linked to open choice is far
safer, but that agenda cannot be mounted without knowing how to move
into a psychological space in which open choice is possible when difficult
experiences have occurred.
One way to think about this that makes the general message easy to
remember is to think of positive and negative as also meaning additive
309
and subtractive. Just as psychology has been too focused on the negative,
it has been too focused on the subtractive approach to experience. Efforts
in experiential subtraction are rarely functionally positive regardless of
their putative purpose. Acceptance and mindfulness methods teach
people how to live more additively, and in that sense “positively,” in
which present events are present, regardless of form, and the key ques-
tion is what to add next. Ironically, negative emotions can be a great
arena in which to learn these “additive” psychological skills such as
mindfulness, curiosity, and noticing without judgment, but these same
skills apply equally to positive emotions. In some contexts it is helpful to
appreciate and savor positive emotions; in others it is more a matter of
tipping one’s hat to them and moving on to the next challenge or oppor-
tunity. As Jack Kornfield said in the title of his book, “After the ecstasy,
the laundry” (2001).
What Positive Psychology Has to

Teach ACT: Building Positive Change
As McCracken rightly points out in Chapter 6, committed action is the
least well worked out part of the psychological flexibility model. There
was a reason for that. ACT was built within behavior analysis 30 years
ago. The technologies of behavior change were relatively well developed
for that time, and they were taken as a given. The goal was to bring emo-
tional and cognitive openness, conscious present moment awareness,
and chosen values to the process of behavior change. The concept of
“commitment” was added (namely that behavior change was deliberately
linked to a self-amplifying process of building values-based action), but
the hard work was elsewhere.
Now the times are different. The entire field of psychology has
created hard-won gains in the areas that were almost untouched 30 years
ago: acceptance, mindfulness, attentional flexibility, and so on. These
processes are not a panacea, but they are worthwhile and their eviden-
tiary basis is now so strong that it seems highly unlikely that 30 years
from now students of applied psychology will not deal reasonably exten-
sively with such matters. What is less well developed is how to bring
values work into behavior change.
310
In its very name, ACT is committed to that area and has made good
progress in understanding values, but positive psychology has provided
many useful leads about how to build out a positive agenda of change.
Let me give some concrete examples.
The broaden-and-build approach of Fredrickson and colleagues (e.g.,
Fredrickson, 2004) described by Garland and Fredrickson in Chapter 2
in this volume, rightly guides the attention of practitioners toward oppor-
tunities for growth that can fill a kind of content vacuum in an ACT
approach.
An example of that vacuum that ACT clinicians know how to fill
will help explain what I mean by a vacuum. In ACT exposure work with
anxiety disorders (say, a person with panic disorder and agoraphobia),
the goal of exposure is not the reduction of anxiety per se but response
flexibility. During exposure (say, being in a shopping mall) the clinician
works first on present moment awareness, acceptance, and defusion, but
when there is a sense of openness the clinician inserts new response
functions (e.g., What would you most like to buy here? Who is wearing
the most interesting clothes?). What is inserted is not well specified—it
is left up to the creativity of the therapist and the spontaneous comments
of the client.
In this case it is generally not difficult to do so, but my point is to
note the content vacuum that can occur. If you expand out the issue
from this specific example, you will see how broadly applicable this point
is and how positive psychology might support and enhance the psycho-
logical flexibility model by providing useful content leads. Suppose an
ACT practitioner helps a depressed client be more skilled in coming into
the present moment and doing so with increased emotional and cogni-
tive flexibility through acceptance, defusion, and mindfulness work.
What might be inserted into the next moment of work? The usual answer
is that values will be a guide, which is an excellent idea, but inside that
functional structure it can help to consider proximal steps. Actions
focused on positive emotions such as gratitude, compassion, love, or
appreciation of beauty could be extremely helpful—not because the
emotions replace other emotions but because they mark actions of impor-
tance. The exercises and methods of positive psychology fit comfortably
into many such moments in the acceptance and mindfulness work. In
the right moment a gratitude journal, or exercises in forgiveness, or a
focus on the appreciation of beauty, or consciously practicing compassion
311
can take advantage of the more psychologically flexible moments that

acceptance and mindfulness work often produces.
Even cognitive reappraisal has a role here, once it is stripped of any
subtractive agenda that can undermine its functional positivity. If
handled deftly, Garland and Fredrickson’s concepts of “mindful reap-
praisal” and “positive reappraisal” can fit within the functional contex-
tual perspective. ACT clinicians have always believed in reappraisal in
the sense of cognitive flexibility (e.g., the “pick an identity” exercise,
Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 1999, pp. 196; the rewrite your story exercise,
Hayes, Strosahl, & Wilson, 2011, pp. 227-228; among many others); their
concern has been to avoid the natural pull toward suppression by imply-
ing that there is a “correct” or “true” way to think and that doing so can
subtract or eliminate more difficult thoughts. This issue can best be
understood as a matter of variation and selection. Cognitive reappraisal,
meaning healthy variation, can be linked to values-based selection based
on workability. That kind of “mindful reappraisal” can indeed be encour-
aged inside an ACT approach.
There is another way that this same idea enhances an ACT approach:
prevention. The impact of ACT for those in distress is quite consistent
across the literature, but the same cannot be said for prevention. You
cannot use creative hopelessness and other classic ACT methods to
reach those who are doing well. What can you use?
Positive interventions can fit very well here, and if put toward a psy-
chological flexibility agenda there is no reason ACT practitioners should
resist doing so. This is essentially what has already been happening if you
look at successful ACT prevention trials. For example, Fledderus,
Bohlmeijer, Pieterse, and Schreurs (2011) created an ACT prevention
intervention and cast it in terms of “positive mental health.” Successful
ACT programs that are not based on the hook of personal psychological
pain often include group processes that create what Biswas-Diener calls
a “microculture” that is supportive of growth (Chapter 9 in this volume).
312
Building Out Contextual

Behavioral Approaches
ACT is a positive research program, but RFT (relational frame theory) is
more important than ACT, and CBS (contextual behavioral science) is
more important than RFT. There are three dominant features that a
contextual behavioral approach brings to the table that hold our hope for
progress as part of this genuine conversation between positive psychology
and the acceptance and mindfulness traditions: a contextual approach,
the pragmatic embrace of middle-level terms and analytic-abstractive
theory, and an interest in a bottom-up account.
Positive psychology has sometimes been based on elemental realist
assumptions (see Ciarrochi et al., Chapter 1 of this volume), which have
made it more difficult to understand the kind of studies that show the
contextual limits of positive psychological traits (McNulty & Fincham,
2012; Sheldon, Kashdan, & Steger, 2011). While assumptions can only
be owned, not truly evaluated, it is worthwhile noting how easy it is to
understand contextual limits when all concepts are viewed as being con-
textually embedded and to be evaluated relative to purpose (Hayes,
Hayes, Reese, & Sarbin, 1993). There is no guarantee that a particular
set of assumptions will work equally well in all contexts. It does seem that
in the world of applied psychology there is ample evidence that elemental
realist assumptions have notable limits (Biglan & Hayes, 1996), in part
because these assumptions contain ontological assurances that do not
demand that concepts be vetted against their utility in creating system-
atic change (Hayes et al., 2011). It is relatively easier in that case to be
right but not useful—which such a comfortably unhelpful end point is
impossible if “right” means “useful in this context.”
Practitioners need models that simplify the world, but it is hard to
create such models in extremely high precision/high scope language
alone. Contextualistic assumptions allow theories to be useful as a given
level because truth is a matter of contextually situated workability. A
baseball coach describing hitting to a player does not necessarily need to
know the mathematical formula that describes the parabolic path of a
struck baseball, just as scientists interested in characterizing the path of
a ball in flight do not necessarily need to know how relativity applies to
313
gravity. But in a scientific system there should be consilience across all of

these difference levels.
A bottom-up approach that seeks such consilience seems to be par-
ticularly useful when linked to contextualism. Almost everyone agrees
that applied psychology needs to be concerned with basic principles, but
when linked to a functional contextual perspective, basic principles can
become high precision/high scope verbal guides to successful interven-
tion efforts in basic and component research (Levin, Hildebrandt, Lillis,
& Hayes, in press), without demanding that practitioners understand the
details of basic accounts. This volume contains good examples of that
very process, such as in Roche, Cassidy, and Stewart’s program for “nur-
turing genius” (Chapter 12 in this volume) or Stewart and McHugh’s
approach to perspective taking (Chapter 5 in this volume). Instead of
hypothetico-deductive theories, these researchers are building up theo-
ries that abstract the pragmatically key features such as perspective
taking or intellectual behavior.
It is also possible to use such principles to understand other
approaches. Foody, Barnes-Holmes, and Barnes-Holmes (Chapter 8 in
this volume) do that with a set of issues in positive interventions. In the
brief time I have remaining I would like to give such a broad overview to
the issue of compassion and self-compassion (see Neff and Tirch in
Chapter 4 of this volume). I am drawing here on the work of Yadavaia,
and his dissertation, which was a randomized controlled trial examining
the impact of ACT on self-compassion (Yadavaia, 2012).
Neff (2003b) defines self-compassion in terms of three components
that emerge primarily from a Buddhist perspective: self- kindness,
common humanity, and mindfulness:
Self-compassion … involves being touched by and open to

one’s own suffering, not avoiding or disconnecting from it,
generating the desire to alleviate one’s suffering and to heal
oneself with kindness. Self-compassion also involves offering
nonjudgmental understanding to one’s pain, inadequacies and
failures, so that one’s experience is seen as part of the larger
human experience. (p. 87)
Each of these are thought to be dimensional and to describe rela-

tively healthy ways of relating to the self. Most work on self-compassion
defined in this way has been done using the “self-compassion scale”
314
(SCS—Neff, 2003a) and as Neff and Tirch document, the benefits are
considerable.
From the point of view of the psychological flexibility model that
underlies ACT, self-acceptance and self-kindness overlap rather clearly.
Being touched by, open to, not avoiding, and not disconnecting from
experience as part of a kind effort to heal or be whole (the etymology of
“heal” is “make whole”) would be a fairly good definition of acceptance
in ACT. Self-kindness represents an attitude of benevolence and is char-
acterized by the absence of self-criticism and harsh self-judgment. These
latter features harken to an ACT posture of defusion and the choice to
embrace one’s own experience.
The same could be said of mindfulness. Neff’s approach to mindful-
ness (e.g., being nonjudgmental and in the moment) is shared not just
with ACT but with most of the mindfulness-based approaches. In that
context is it not surprising that Neff and Tirch report that the SCS cor-
relates .65 with the Acceptance and Action Questionnaire (Hayes et al.,
2004; Bond et al., 2011), which is the most popular measure of ACT
processes—and in our laboratory we have found a similar relationship
between these two measures.
My point is not that self-compassion offers nothing new. Such a
claim would be inconsistent with a contextual approach to language.
Different ways of speaking offer new opportunities. For example, I have
found that speaking of “self-kindness” with clients is a very useful way to
communicate the kind of posture of acceptance ACT is trying to foster.
The reason I am making the connection in this context is that the
work on RFT analyses of acceptance or mindfulness (as an example)
should thus be directly relevant to the work on self-compassion. So far as
I am aware, self-compassion theory is not based on an experimental labo-
ratory science, and CBS brings something broadly useful to the table as
a result.
This can be seen most directly in the last attribute: the sense of
common humanity. Neff discusses this attribute as involving a sense of
connectedness with humanity at large and the sense that one’s experi-
ences, including those that are painful, are shared as part of the human
condition.
Here the work on deictic relational frames, as described by Stewart
and McHugh (Chapter 5 in this volume), provides a way forward. A
concept like “common humanity” began as a middle-level theoretical
315
term, but if it can be linked to basic analyses, it is possible to have both

the benefits of ready understanding and the possible progressivity of
experimental behavioral science. Being able to bring perspective-taking
skills to one’s own experience and that of others, embeds them in a sense
of shared experience in a more precise way that the term “common
humanity” alone can do. Thus, it could be that a genuine conversation
could help build out contextual behavioral approaches with new data,
intervention ideas, and connections for the betterment of all.
Genuine Engagement
In the beginning of their chapter, Parks and Biswas-Diener (Chapter 7)
tell the story of being asked in workshop what the difference is between
a positive intervention and ACT. They say “Obscured within this polite
statement are the questions they really want to ask: Is there anything new
about positive interventions?” Parks and Biswas-Diener go on to try to
show how positive interventions are distinctive and new.
I like to think that the questioners were not really asking “what is
the difference” in some “prove yourself” way. A more interesting way to
view the exchange is to suppose that the questioner is seeing or sensing
a deep relationship and asking whether these two fit together: Can they
be usefully integrated? Are they fellow travelers?
This book provides an answer to these three questions: “it depends”
and “probably so” and “we shall see.”
If positive interventions are really committed to replacing negative
emotions, and to a “more is better” philosophy applied to any content
that is topographically “positive,” then the two do not fit other than for
some useful borrowing. But if that is the agenda, then it appears to me
from the outside that the research literature within positive psychology
itself is rapidly trimming back this perspective. The pruning shears of
science can be harsh, but they are necessary. I think that pruning is
already happening, as several chapters show. That agenda, in my opinion,
does not comport well with what is known about human psychology, and
as positive psychology has matured there is a growing realization that
positive functions and positive forms (and negative functions and nega-
tive forms) are just not the same thing. That moment of realization pro-
vides an opening, and the acceptance and mindfulness traditions, and
316
especially ACT, RFT, and CBS, are stepping forward ready to engage
fully with “Positive Psychology 2.0.”
That leaves the questions of whether they can be usefully integrated,
gradually becoming mutually supportive fellow travelers. Is it possible for
this genuine conversation to blossom into a kind of genuine engagement:
an ongoing relationship that is based on common interests, shared per-
spectives, and mutual respect?
In my own view, I hope so. I think we have much to gain from each
other. As for what the future holds, I do not know; but let’s start with
where we are. Hope and optimism are here, now, in the present: they
have filled these pages. Readers reaching these last two sentences of the
volume will be the ones to decide whether they can be realized going
forward. We shall see, but it is worth taking the time to savor and appre-
ciate this moment: a genuine conversation is an excellent place to start.
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Todd B. Kashdan, PhD, is an associate professor of psychology and
senior scientist at the Center for Consciousness and Transformation at
George Mason University. Kashdan has published over one hundred
peer-reviewed articles on meaning and purpose in life, happiness, mind-
fulness, how to deal with stress and anxiety, and social relationships. He
is the author of several books, including Curious? Discover the Missing
Ingredient to a Fulfilling Life, and a TEDx speaker. His work has been
featured in the New York Times and the Washington Post, and on CNN,
National Public Radio, and other media outlets. Kashdan received the
2013 American Psychological Association (APA) Distinguished
Scientific Award for Early Career Contribution to Psychology.
Joseph Ciarrochi, PhD, is a professor at University of Western Sydney.

He has published over eighty scientific articles in the area of well-being,
and a number of books, including Get Out of Your Mind and Into Your Life
for Teens and Emotional Intelligence in Everyday Life. His work on
emotional intelligence is among the most highly cited in the area of
emotional intelligence. He is currently investigating mindfulness,
��
accep-
tance, values, and other core processes that promote well-being and
effectiveness.
Index
A 93–96, 99–101, 314–315; well-

acceptance: chronic pain and, being viewed in, 75
132; experiential, 3, 9, 13–14; acceptance-based approaches:
mindfulness and, 3 client experience and, 308;
Acceptance and Action positive interventions vs.,
Questionnaire (AAQ), 315 160–161; REVAMP program
Acceptance and Commitment based on, 221, 229
Therapy (ACT), 2–3; chessboard ACT. See Acceptance and
metaphor, 182–183, 230; Commitment Therapy
committed action in, 128–129, act-in-context, 17
133; emotions experienced in, action: positive emotions and, 311;
307–309; functional problems with pacing, 129–132,
contextualism and, 18; meaning 138; turning values into, 255–
in life and, 242, 243, 245–246, 256. See also committed action
249, 259–262; mindfulness and, ACTIVE program, 271
3, 11, 74, 260, 261; perspective active-constructive responding,
taking related to, 174; positive 153
interventions and, 160–161, 316; acts of kindness, 151–152
positive psychology and, 5–15, adaptive coping behaviors, 229
305–312; positive reappraisal additive psychological skills, 310
and, 57–58, 312; prevention allostatic load, 44
interventions in, 312; problem- altruism, 306
focused models vs., 69; anxiety: ACT exposure work
psychological flexibility in, 3, with, 311; self-compassion and,
177–178, 258, 307; research 82
literature on, 5; REVAMP Applied Behavioral Analysis
program derived from, 221; the (ABA), 18, 272, 273
self conceptualized in, 171–178; appraisal: attention and, 50;
self-compassion and, 78–79, savoring process and, 50–52;
stress-related, 42–44. See also
positive reappraisal
arbitrary contextual control, 109 case studies: on creating

attachment style, 90 microcultures, 208–210; on
attention: emotion and, 38–39; meaning in life work, 247–259
meaning and, 50; savoring Cassidy, Sarah, 267
process and, 50–52 Castaneda, Carlos, 54
autism studies, 113, 272–273 centering exercises, 230, 231, 232
automatic behavior, 229 change process: cognitive-
avoidance, experiential, 13 behavioral therapy and, 53;
awareness: love and, 75–76; motivational interviewing and,
mindfulness and, 8, 10–11; 233–236; self-compassion and,
present-moment, 3, 229, 308 90, 93
character strengths. See strengths
B chessboard metaphor, 182–183,
Barnes-Holmes, Dermot, 166 230
Barnes-Holmes, Yvonne, 166 Chinese finger trap metaphor, 228
barriers to values: breaking, chronic pain management:
226–230; identifying, 224–225 acceptance and, 132; committed
basic deictic training, 116, 117–119 action and, 133; pacing and,
behavioral control, 9, 14 129–132. See also psychological
behaviorist view of intelligence, pain
268–270 Ciarrochi, Joseph, 1
beliefs: emotions and, 40–41; clinical interventions. See
false, 112; functional, 7, 10 interventions
benefit finding, 44 coaching, 204, 205
best possible selves exercise, 181 cognitive fusion, 121
bidirectional relations, 275 cognitive reappraisal, 312
Biswas-Diener, Robert, 140, 194 cognitive restructuring, 21–22
body scan, 229 cognitive skill, 9, 14–15
broaden-and-build theory, 33–37, cognitive training, 270
84, 311 cognitive-behavioral therapy:
Buddhist traditions, 57 change processes and, 53;
bullying, 120 functional beliefs and, 10; moral
bus metaphor, 231 emotions and, 219
collectivistic cultures, 151, 196,
C 199
combinatorial entailment, 109–
capacity for love, 15, 76
110, 274
324
Index
commitment: ACT concept of, 14, control: behavioral, 9, 14;

310; behavioral control and, 14 contextual, 276; experiential, 21
committed action, 128–139; ACT conversations, genuine, 303–304
definition of, 133; assessment coordination, frames of, 278–279,
items for, 134–135; chronic pain 294–295
management and, 133; example coping skills: mindful coping, 47,
exercise on, 136–138; goal 49, 54, 55, 57–59; self-
setting and, 135–138; neglected compassion and, 83–84
in ACT model, 132–133; pacing cortisol, 43, 82
distinguished from, 133; steps for criminal offenders: restorative
enhancing, 136; values related justice for, 216–220. See also jail/
to, 22. See also action prison inmates
common humanity, 80–81, Csikszentimihaly, Mihalyi, 157
315–316 cuento therapy, 202
comparison, frames of, 279–282, cultural impasses, 198–199
294–295 culture: considering the concept
compassion: definition of, 79; of, 195; forgiveness interventions
evolutionary basis of, 96–98; and, 151; gratitude interventions
inherent in ACT model, 95. See and, 149, 196. See also
also self-compassion microcultures
compassionate mind training culture-specific therapies, 202
(CMT), 91
compassion-focused therapy D
(CFT), 91, 99, 100 decentering, 47
comprehension, 244, 245, 248, deception, 117
252–254 defusion: mindfulness and, 3, 308;
conceptualized self, 121–122, 248 self-as-context and, 177
conscious awareness, 10–11, deictic relational framing: basic
75–76. See also mindfulness training in, 116, 117–119;
content: other as, 123; self as, 94, empathy training using, 116,
121–122, 172–175 119–121; empirical studies on,
context: act-in-, 17; other as, 124; 112–115; perspective taking
self as, 11, 95, 122–123, 176–178 based on, 110–125, 296; self-
contextual behavioral science other transcendence and, 116,
(CBS), 98, 303, 313–316 121–125; three-level guide to,
contextual control, 276 115–125; training exercise using,
contextual interventions, 196–197 296
contrasting techniques, 206–207 deictic relations, 94
325
deliteralization, 58 negative emotions; positive

depression: ACT interventions emotions
and, 263, 311; gratitude empathy: definition of, 119;
interventions and, 149, 197; reasons for failure of, 124–125;
meaning interventions and, RFT training in, 116, 119–121;
153–154 self-compassion and, 89
derived relational responding, epitaph exercise, 223
273–284 experiencer, 74–75
despair, 31, 76 experiential acceptance, 3, 9,
developmental studies: on 13–14
intellectual ability, 273–278; on experiential avoidance, 13, 245
perspective taking, 112–113 experiential control, 21
Dialectical Behavior Therapy experiential knowledge, 73
(DBT), 204 exposure work, 311
Diener, Ed, 157 expressive arts therapies, 202
dispositional gratitude, 185 expressive writing exercises:
dispositional mindfulness, 47, expressive disclosive writing,
48–49 179–180; therapeutic suggestions
distress tolerance skills, 229 for, 183–184
downward spirals, 32 external vs. internal obstacles,
224–225
E
educational interventions, 269 F
Eifert, Georg, 93 false beliefs, 112
elemental realism, 16–17, 313 family functioning, 89–90
emotional pain. See psychological fear, human experience of, 71–72
pain fight-or-flight response, 43
emotions: ACT relationship to, flexibility. See psychological
307–309; attention and, 38–39; flexibility
beliefs influenced by, 40–41; flourishing, 36, 167
empathy training and, 116, fluid intelligence, 271–272
119–121; experiential control of, Foody, Mairéad, 166
21; meaning and, 38–41; moral, forgiveness: assessing the
16, 215, 219; noticing/ usefulness of, 20; pathological
experiencing, 307; self- use of, 306; positive
compassion and, 82, 84; spirals interventions based on, 150–151;
of, 31–32; valence of, 19. See also self-compassion associated with,
89
326
Index
forgiveness interventions, 150–151 visit, 148, 149, 184–185;

Forsyth, John, 93 therapeutic suggestions for, 189
frames of comparison, 279–282, Greenberg, Leslie, 86
294–295 Group PPT intervention, 152
frames of coordination, 278–279, growth narrative, 254
294–295 guilt, 218, 219, 307
frames of opposition, 279, 295
Frankl, Victor, 52 H
Fredrickson, Barbara L., 30, 84 happiness: “packaged”
functional beliefs, 7, 10 interventions and, 156–157;
functional contextualism, 17–18 well-being related to, 6–7
fused thoughts, 308 haptics, 205
future self exercises, 153–154 Harris, Russ, 1
Harty, Laura, 215
G Hayes, Steven C., 95, 303
Garland, Eric, 30 HERE-THERE relations, 110, 170
genius, nurturing, 268, 273–278, hexaflex processes, 95–96, 98
297. See also intelligence hierarchical relations, 283–284,
genuine conversations, 303–304 296
Germer, Chris, 91 hope interventions, 167
Gilbert, Paul, 91 hopelessness, 263
givens exercise, 248–249 human condition: characteristics
goal setting: committed action of, 70; human nature and, 1; love
and, 135–138; purpose related and, 70–72, 76; self-compassion
to, 258; values clarification and, and, 80–81, 315–316; suffering
222–223 and, 68–69
GPS metaphor, 258
gratitude: definition of, 184; I
perspective taking and, 185–187; Impact of Crime (IOC) workshop,
RFT interpretation of, 184–189; 216–220
values related to, 187–189 implementation standards,
gratitude interventions, 147–150, 158–159
184–189; contextual Implicit Relational Assessment
considerations for, 196–197; Procedure (IRAP), 277
gratitude journal, 147–148; individualistic cultures, 151, 196
gratitude letter, 148–149; inmates, jail/prison. See jail/prison
gratitude list, 184, 187; gratitude inmates
327
intelligence: behaviorist view of, values in, 224–225; Impact of

268–270; life span variations in, Crime workshop for, 216–220;
270; nurturing genius and, 268, motivational interviewing for,
273–278, 297; overview of 234, 235–236; psychological
attempts to raise, 270–273; symptom reduction for, 220–232;
relational frame training and, restorative justice for, 216–220;
284–296; RFT approach to, REVAMP program for, 220–232;
273–284. See also IQ values clarification for, 222–223
internal vs. external obstacles, Jonides, John, 271
224–225 Journal of Positive Psychology, 198
International Positive Psychology
Association (IPPA), 208 K
interpersonal impasses, 200 Kabat-Zinn, Jon, 90, 154
interpersonal relationships: Kashdan, Todd B., 1, 240
responding in, 152–153; self- Kim, Rose Inza, 206
compassion and, 20, 88–89; kindness: engaging in acts of,
shared experiences and, 208; 151–152; self-kindness and,
social anhedonia and, 114 79–80, 315
interventions: argument for kinesics, 205
contextual, 196–197; knowing self, 122
determining the purpose of, knowledge: human capacity for,
18–19; positive reappraisal used 68; verbal vs. experiential, 73
in, 53–55; self-compassion Kornfield, Jack, 310
related to, 90–93. See also
positive interventions L
IQ (intelligence quotient), 268;
language: derived relations and,
attempts to raise, 270–273;
275; meaning in life and, 262;
lifetime variation of, 270;
psychological constructs of, 6
limitations and correlations, 269;
leadership, 15
relational frame training and,
Lego therapy, 202
287–292. See also intelligence
logical thinking, 45
I-YOU relations, 110, 169–170
logotherapy, 52
Lovaas, O. Ivar, 272
J love: capacity for, 15, 76;
Jäeggi, Susanne, 271, 272 conscious awareness and, 75–76;
jail/prison inmates, 215–238; human condition and, 70–72,
breaking barriers to values in, 76; types of knowledge of, 73
226–230; identifying barriers to
328
Index
loving-kindness meditation microcultures, 194–211; artificial

(LKM), 35 creation of, 198–199; case study
Lyubchik, Nadezhda, 194 on, 208–210; contrasting and,
206–207; cultural impasses and,
M 198–199; definitions of, 195,
maladaptive coping behaviors, 229 201–202; design elements of,
Malouf, Elizabeth, 215 202–208; future
McCracken, Lance M., 128 recommendations on, 210–211;
McHugh, Louise, 107 interpersonal impasses and, 200;
meaning: attention and, 50; interventional importance of,
emotion related to, 38–41; 198–201; rituals/traditions and,
interventions based on, 153–154; 203–205; role inductions and,
language related to, 262; process 205–206; shared experiences
of making, 41–42, 251–254; and, 207–208; temporary nature
values related to, 12–13, 249–251 of, 199–200. See also culture
meaning in life, 241–264; ACT mindful coping, 47, 49, 54, 55,
and, 242, 243, 245–246, 249, 57–59
259–262; case study about, mindful reappraisal, 53, 55, 56–57,
247–259; comprehension 312
dimension of, 244, 245, 248, mindful self-compassion (MSC),
252–254; givens exercise and, 91–92, 99, 100
248–249; mindfulness and, mindfulness, 3, 8, 10–11; ACT
259–262; overview of ideas and, 3, 11, 74, 260, 261; defusion
about, 241–244; positive and, 3, 308; intervention
psychology and, 242–243; purpose and, 18–19, 22; meaning
presence vs. search for, 246; in life and, 259–262;
purpose dimension of, 245, metacognitive state of, 46, 47;
254–259, 262–263; suicidality positive psychology and, 74;
and, 262–263; values work and, positive reappraisal and, 46–49,
249–251; well-being and, 56–57, 58–59; REVAMP
241–242 program utilizing, 221; self-
mechanistic views, 16 compassion and, 81–82, 91–92,
meditation: loving-kindness, 35; 98, 315; trait or dispositional, 47,
mindfulness and, 3; mountain, 48–49
230 Mindfulness-Based Cognitive
memory building, 155 Therapy (MBCT), 51, 90, 91, 92
Merriman, Leslie, 240 Mindfulness-Based Stress
Reduction (MBSR), 90–91, 92
329
mobilizing values intervention, obstacles to values: breaking,

255–256 226–230; identifying, 224–225
moral emotions, 16, 215, 219 ongoing awareness, 175
motivation and self-compassion, opposition, frames of, 279, 295
85–86 optimism interventions, 167
motivational interviewing (MI), optimistic illusions, 20
233–236; description and use of, other-as-content, 123
233; prerelease jail inmates and, other-as-context, 124
235–236; research on other-as-process, 123–124
effectiveness of, 234 outcome measures, 158
mountain meditation, 230
multiple exemplar training P
(MET), 280–282, 284–286 pacing: committed action vs., 133;
mutual entailment, 109, 274 problems with, 129–132, 138
“packaged” positive interventions,
N 156–157
n-back procedure, 271, 272 pain. See chronic pain
Neff, Kristin, 78, 91 management; psychological pain
negative emotions: ACT paracommunication, 205
relationship to, 308–309; Parks, Acacia C., 140
positive role of, 309, 310; self- perceived fit, 150
compassion and, 84; social role perseverative cognition, 43
played by, 307; undone by perspective taking, 8, 11–12,
positive emotions, 36–37; 107–126; ACT’s three selves
unpleasant emotions described related to, 174; basic deictic
as, 23 training in, 117–119; deictic
negativity bias, 36 relational framing and, 110–125;
neurogenesis, 270 empathy training and, 116,
noticing emotions, 307 119–121; gratitude related to,
NOW-THEN relations, 110, 118, 185–187; positive interventions
170–171 based on, 155–156; relational
nurturing genius, 268, 273–278, frame theory and, 108, 110–125,
297 168–171; self-compassion and,
83, 94; self-other transcendence
O and, 116, 121–125; sense of
observer perspective, 11, 230 common humanity and, 316;
observing self, 95 three-level guide to, 115–125
philosophical worldview, 17
330
Index
Photojournalist intervention, 253 198–201; mindfulness and, 74;

place, sense of, 170 perspective taking in, 107;
pleasant emotions, 23 positive traits in, 305–306;
pleasure: experience of, 38; problem-focused models vs., 69;
savoring of, 50–52 research literature on, 5, 316;
positive emotions: actions based RFT interpretations of, 180–181,
on, 311; broaden-and-build 183, 184–189; role of self in,
theory of, 33–37; intellectual 167–168; social change and, 198;
ability and, 269; loving-kindness well-being defined in, 74–75
meditation and, 35–36; negative positive psychotherapy (PPT), 141,
emotions undone by, 36–37; 143
pleasant emotions described as, positive reappraisal, 44–49; ACT
23; resilience related to, 37; and, 57–58, 312; characteristics
self-compassion and, 84 of, 44–46; clinical use of, 53–55;
positive interventions, 140–161; mindfulness and, 46–49, 56–57,
acceptance-based approaches vs., 58–59; savoring process and,
160–161; ACT and, 160–161, 50–52
312, 316; attribution positive traits, 305–306
interventions, 167; criteria for, positive writing exercises, 179–
143–144; definitions of, 141–143; 181; gratitude journal, 147–148;
forgiveness interventions, therapeutic suggestions for,
150–151; future directions for, 183–184; Three Good Things
157–160; gratitude interventions, journal, 147–148, 179
147–150, 184–189; meaning- positivism, 45
oriented interventions, 153–154; positivity offset, 36
“packaged” interventions, positivity ratio, 36
156–157; perspective-taking pragmatic verbal analysis, 282
interventions, 155–156; savoring present-moment awareness:
experiences/activities, 154–155; flexible attention and, 308;
social connection interventions, mindfulness and, 3; pain
151–153; strengths interventions, management and, 229
145–147; writing exercises, prevention interventions, 312
147–148, 179–181, 183–184 prison inmates. See jail/prison
positive psychology, 3–5; ACT inmates
and, 5–15, 305–312; contextual private experiences, 13
interventions and, 196–197; process: other as, 123–124; self as,
meaning in life work and, 122, 175–176
242–243; microcultures and, psychoeducation, 204
331
psychological flexibility: ACT goal relational frame training and,

of, 3, 177–178, 258, 307; 284–296; the self conceptualized
definition of, 96; self-compassion in, 168–171; self-compassion and,
and, 96, 98 93–94
psychological pain: human relational frame training, 284–
experience of, 70–71; 296; exercises used in, 292–296;
problematic avoidance of, 226; improving relational skills with,
self-as-context and, 123; skills for 284–292; software available for,
managing, 229–230; suffering 292n
related to, 226–228. See also relational framing, 40, 109;
chronic pain management common forms of, 278–284;
purpose: definition of, 258; teaching skills in, 284–296
intervention, 18–19; meaning in relational training exercises,
life and, 245, 254–259, 262–263; 292–296
values related to, 12–13 relationships. See interpersonal
relationships
Q religious orientation: gratitude
quicksand metaphor, 228 interventions and, 196; meaning
in life and, 252
R reminiscence, 155
reparative action, 217, 219
RaiseYourIQ.com, 267
reperceiving, 47
Raven’s Matrices test, 271
research designs, 158
Ray, Arundhati, 107
resilience: comprehension systems
REACH model, 150
and, 252; positive emotions and,
reappraisal, mindful, 53, 55,
37
56–57. See also positive
restorative justice: explanation of,
reappraisal
216–217; Impact of Crime
Re-Entry Values and Mindfulness
workshop for, 216–220;
Program. See REVAMP program
retributive justice vs., 216
relational evaluations, 294
retributive justice, 216
relational frame theory (RFT):
REVAMP program, 220–232;
descriptions of, 39–40, 109–110;
applicability of, 232; basis and
intelligence and, 273–284;
description of, 221–222; breaking
interpretation of gratitude in,
barriers to values in, 226–230;
184–189; perspective taking and,
identifying barriers to values in,
108, 110–115, 168–171; positive
224–225; participant acceptance
psychology exercises and,
of, 232; session structure used in,
180–181, 183, 184–189;
332
Index
230–232; values clarification techniques for practicing, 83, 86;

process in, 222–223 well-being and, 82–84. See also
Review of General Psychology, 4 compassion
RFT. See relational frame theory Self-Compassion Scale (SCS), 82,
rituals/traditions, 203–205 314–315
Roche, Bryan, 267 self-concept, 22, 248
role induction, 205–206 self-control, 15, 117–118
rote conversations, 303 self-criticism, 85
self-determination theory, 161
S self-discipline, 297
savoring: definition of, 74; self-esteem, 87–88
interventions based on, 154–155; self-kindness, 79–80, 315
positive reappraisal and, 50–52 self-other transcendence, 116,
Schaefer, Karen, 215 121–125
schizophrenia, 114 self-reflection, 41
scholastic success, 269, 272 self-transcendence, 261
self: ACT approach to, 171–178; set-shifting process, 47
positive psychology and, 167– seven foundations of well-being,
168; RFT approach to, 168–171 7–15; behavioral control, 9, 14;
self-as-content, 94, 121–122, cognitive skill, 9, 14–15;
172–175 experiential acceptance, 9,
self-as-context, 11, 95, 122–123, 13–14; functional beliefs, 7, 10;
176–178 linking to character strengths,
self-as-process, 122, 175–176 15–16; list of chapters discussing,
self-compassion, 15, 78–101; ACT 23–25; mindfulness and
and, 78–79, 93–96, 99–101, awareness, 8, 10–11; perspective
314–315; clinical interventions taking, 8, 11–12; values, 8, 12–13
and, 90–93; common humanity shame, 218–219, 237
and, 80–81, 315–316; elements shared experiences, 207–208
or components of, 79–82, 314; sharpening perceptions, 154
evolutionary basis of, 96–98; Sheline, Kelly, 240
family functioning and, 89–90; social anhedonia, 114
interpersonal relationships and, social change, 198
20, 88–89; interventions based social connections, 151–153
on, 167; mindfulness and, 81–82, social intelligence, 117
91–92, 98, 315; motivation and, Socratic questioning, 54
85–86; self-esteem vs., 87–88; solutions focus approach, 206
self-kindness and, 79–80, 315;
333
special needs populations, transformation of function, 110,

272–273 274
species-preservative system, 97–98 two-chair dialog technique, 86
spirals, emotional, 31–32
spirituality, 15–16 U
Steger, Michael F., 240 unpleasant emotions, 23
Stewart, Ian, 107, 267 upward spirals, 32
stimulus equivalence, 274
strengths: evaluating the benefits V
of, 19–20; linking the seven
valence-change strategies, 19
foundations to, 15–16; positive
values, 8, 12–13; committed
interventions based on, 145–147;
action and, 22; goal setting based
self-compassion as fostering, 83
on, 222–223; gratitude related to,
strengths interventions, 145–147
187–189; identifying barriers to,
stress: appraisal of, 42–44; self-
224–225; meaning in life and,
compassion and, 82
249–251; motivational
stress hormones, 43, 82
interviewing based on, 236;
suffering: human condition and,
negative emotions and, 309;
68–69; pain avoidance and,
purpose related to, 12–13;
226–228
REVAMP program and, 221,
suicidality, 262–263
222–223; sense of self related to,
175, 177; strategy for mobilizing,
T 255–256
talk therapy, 203 verbal knowledge, 73, 74
Tangney, June P., 215
temporal relations, 170–171, W
282–283, 295
Walser, Robyn D., 68
theory of mind (ToM), 108
well-being: ACT view of, 75;
thoughts, awareness of, 229
broadly defined view of, 6–7;
three blessings exercise, 196
elemental realism and, 16–17;
Three Good Things journal,
intellectual ability and, 269;
147–148, 179
meaning related to, 241–242;
tipping point ratio, 36
positive psychology and, 74–75;
Tirch, Dennis, 78
self-compassion and, 82–84;
touch, soothing, 83
seven foundations of, 7–15
traditions/rituals, 203–205
Weschler Intelligence Scale for
trait mindfulness, 47, 48–49
Children (WISC), 272, 287
transcendent self, 95, 122–123
334
Index
What the World Needs Now

intervention, 256
wilderness therapy, 202
willingness, 13
worldviews, 17
writing exercises: gratitude
journal, 147–148; positive
psychology exercises, 179–181;
therapeutic suggestions for,
183–184; thought awareness,
229; Three Good Things
journal, 147–148, 179
XYZ
Youman, Kerstin, 215
335
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“The hallmark of our evolutionary flourishing is collaboration, and this brilliant

“This is a ‘greatest hits’ collection of essays in practical, positive psychology.

“Unifying two important fields—positive psychology and acceptance and com-

As mindfulness and acceptance-based therapies gain

Visit www.newharbinger.com for

Distributed in Canada by Raincoast Books

Copyright © 2013 by Todd B. Kashdan & Joseph V. Ciarrochi

Cover design by Amy Shoup; Text design by Tracy Marie Carlson;

All Rights Reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

To Ann Bailey, for her unwavering love and support

Alphabetical List of Contributors������������������������������������� ix

1 The Foundations of Flourishing ��������������������������������������� 1

2 Mindfulness Broadens Awareness and Builds

3 Love and the Human Condition ������������������������������������ 68

4 Self-­Compassion and ACT��������������������������������������������� 78

6 Committed Action ������������������������������������������������������� 128

7 Positive Interventions: Past, Present, and Future���������� 140

8 On Making People More Positive and

9 Microculture as a Contextual Positive Psychology

10 Accepting Guilt and Abandoning Shame:

11 Using the Science of Meaning to Invigorate

12 Nurturing Genius: Using Relational Frame Theory

13 The Genuine Conversation������������������������������������������� 303

Index ���������������������������������������������������������������������������� 323

Dermot Barnes-­Holmes, National University of Ireland, Maynooth

Yvonne Barnes-­Holmes, National University of Ireland, Maynooth

Robert Biswas-­Diener, Portland State University, Positive Acorn

Sarah Cassidy, Smithsfield Clinic, Co. Meath, Ireland

Joseph Ciarrochi, University of Wollongong, Australia

Mairéad Foody, National University of Ireland, Maynooth

Barbara L. Fredrickson, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

Eric L. Garland, Florida State University

Russ Harris, Private Practice, Melbourne, Australia

Laura Harty, George Mason University

Steven C. Hayes, University of Nevada

Todd B. Kashdan, George Mason University

Nadezhda Lyubchik, Portland State University

Elizabeth Malouf, George Mason University

Lance M. McCracken, PhD, Health Psychology Section, Psychology

Louise McHugh, University College Dublin

Leslie Merriman, Colorado State University

Kristin Neff, University of Texas at Austin

Acacia C. Parks, Hiram College

Bryan Roche, National University of Ireland, Maynooth

Karen Schaefer, George Mason University

Kelly Sheline, Colorado State University

Michael F. Steger, Colorado State University, North-­West University,

Ian Stewart, National University of Ireland, Galway

June P. Tangney, George Mason University

Dennis Tirch, Weill-­Cornell Medical College, American Institute

Robyn D. Walser, National Center for PTSD and TL Consultation

Kerstin Youman, George Mason University

The Foundations of Flourishing

A re humans innately good and compassionate (Rousseau,

Both perspectives focus on human strengths and aim to promote human

What Is Acceptance and

Mindfulness is a “hot topic” in Western psychology right now—

1. defusion: distancing from, and letting go of, unhelpful thoughts,

Copyright © 2013 by Todd B. Kashdan & Joseph V. Ciarrochi

Alphabetical List of Contributors�� ix

1 The Foundations of Flourishing �� 1

3 Love and the Human Condition �� 68

4 Self-Compassion and ACT�� 78

6 Committed Action �� 128

7 Positive Interventions: Past, Present, and Future�� 140

13 The Genuine Conversation�� 303

Index �� 323

Dermot Barnes-Holmes, National University of Ireland, Maynooth

Yvonne Barnes-Holmes, National University of Ireland, Maynooth

Robert Biswas-Diener, Portland State University, Positive Acorn

Michael F. Steger, Colorado State University, North-West University,

Dennis Tirch, Weill-Cornell Medical College, American Institute

matrix (Kashdan, Biswas-Diener, & King, 2008). Beyond happiness, we

Table 1: The Seven Foundations of Well-Being

5) Experiential In order to live • Creative

Purpose is self-organizing. It provides a framework for systematic

Well-being is a construct, and happiness is a thing.

By describing well-being in this way, Seligman implicitly takes a phil-

Do We Need to Improve Self-Concepts?

We refer to such dynamic, self-perpetuating, negative emotional

The Broaden-and-Build Theory

The broaden-and-build theory has been tested in a wide range of

Meaning and the Attention-

Furthermore, as one cultivates a self-reflexive awareness during the