Breaking the silence on spiritual abuse 9781137282873, 1137282878

Table of contents :
What is Spiritual Abuse? --
What Does Spiritual Abuse Look Like? --
Spiritual Abuse is Abuse --
The Process of Spiritual Abuse --
Working With Individuals Who Have Been Spiritually Abused --
Working With Spiritual Abuse --
Looking Forward.

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Breaking the Silence on Spiritual Abuse

Also by Lisa Oakley COGNITIVE DEVELOPMENT

Breaking the Silence on Spiritual Abuse Lisa Oakley Manchester Metropolitan University, UK

Kathryn Kinmond Manchester Metropolitan University, UK

© Lisa Oakley and Kathryn Kinmond 2013 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6–10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2013 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN 978–1–137–28286–6 This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

To the memory of: Chris Jenkins, who inspired us to look closely into this area and reminded us that we can be both academic and spiritual Jeremy del Strother, a man of real integrity who was a source of great support in academic work in this area

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Contents

List of Tables and Figures

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Acknowledgements

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Introduction Lisa Oakley & Kathryn Kinmond

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1 What Is Spiritual Abuse? Lisa Oakley

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2 What Does Spiritual Abuse Look Like? Lisa Oakley

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3 Spiritual Abuse Is Abuse Lisa Oakley

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4 The Process of Spiritual Abuse Lisa Oakley

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5 Working With Individuals Who Have Been Spiritually Abused Kathryn Kinmond 6 Working With Spiritual Abuse: Professional and Personal Issues Kathryn Kinmond

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7 Looking Forward Lisa Oakley & Kathryn Kinmond

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References

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Index

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Tables and Figures Tables 2.1 An alphabetical summary of the sub-themes identified as dimensions of the theme of power 3.1 An alphabetical summary of the sub-themes identified as dimensions of the theme ‘spiritual abuse is abuse’ 3.2 A summary of personal emotions identified as aspects of spiritual abuse which have parallels in other forms of abuse

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Figures 2.1 A schematic representation of themes identified 4.1 Process map of spiritual abuse

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Acknowledgements We would like to thank the following people who have helped to make this project a reality: the people who have shared their stories with us, Bev and Margaret for their technical and proof-reading patience and our families, particularly Tim and Robert, for always being there.

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Introduction Lisa Oakley & Kathryn Kinmond

Why this book and why now? At the start of this text it is useful to understand where this book has come from and why it is being written now. To a large extent it has come out of our personal experiences, both of spiritual abuse (SA) and of counselling individuals who have experienced this. SA was a term that we had never encountered until February 2001 when Lisa first experienced it. At no point had the notion of this form of abuse entered our consciousness, despite going to church from childhood. It was never spoken about and we were unaware of its existence. This lack of awareness placed me (Lisa) in a very difficult position when I personally experienced SA and me (Kathy) in a very difficult position when counselling people who had experienced SA. Following my (Lisa’s) abusive experience I left the abusive church context and began to search for an understanding of what had happened to me. As an academic my first response was to seek answers in published work. I located a number of books which described experiences like mine, involving manipulation and control, and realised that the authors were labelling this experience as ‘Spiritual Abuse’ (Johnson & VanVonderen, 1991; Blue, 1993; Enroth, 1994). The literature in this area was almost exclusively in book format, published in America and written by ministers or those in positions of power (Parish-West, 2009). As initial sources of information and understanding these books proved useful, because they provided a label for my experience. However, it became clear that they were essentially descriptive books and had no basis in academic 1

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research. Additionally, they were written predominantly from an American perspective. Whilst there were similarities and parallels to draw between the American experience and my own there were also clear differences, not least in the language used to describe the experience. Further searching resulted in the discovery of some British articles on this topic (Appleton, 2003; Hall, 2003) but generally there was a paucity of work focusing specifically on the experience of SA in the UK. Ward (2011:899) suggests ‘spiritual abuse is still under researched as a specific phenomenon’. Through reading I (Lisa) became increasingly aware of the positioning of the authors and the absence of stories told from survivors’ perspectives. I (Lisa) experienced a growing realisation that the voice of survivors and the British story were noticeably missing from the published literature. Further, the lack of research and awareness about SA arguably created a void of knowledge resulting in many individuals struggling to label and understand their own personal experiences. More recently, a few church safeguarding policies have begun to mention SA; for example, ‘Safeguarding Children & Young People’ was published by the Methodist Church in 2010. This explicitly makes mention of SA but acknowledges that it is ‘not covered by the statutory definitions’ (Methodist Church, 2010b:16). As such, suggestions to ‘report harmful behaviour to statutory agencies’ can only be seen as recommendations. In the Methodist Church policy for vulnerable adults (Methodist Church, 2010a:13) there is recognition that ‘there is a growing realisation that spiritual abuse is another form of harm’. Similarly, the Church of England’s ‘Promoting a Safe Church’ document (Church House Publishing, 2006) discusses ‘Spiritual aspects of abuse’. It does not use the term ‘SA’. There is recognition that ministers and church workers can abuse their positions, although much of the discussion is on unintentional abuse in pastoral settings, for example, when a church worker may believe strongly in a course of action and clearly suggest the church member follows the same path. Although there is now some official recognition of SA, understanding and coverage of this issue is still very limited. Often if SA is raised, this is in association with other forms of abuse such as child sexual abuse (CSA) and spiritual possession (Methodist Church, 2010b) and SA is, therefore, not highlighted as a form of abuse in its own right.

Introduction

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Consequently, responses often focus on other forms of abuse rather than SA per se. The lack of knowledge and awareness in this area has resulted in few conferences and seminars on the topic of SA. This means at a human level the limited research and understanding currently results in a personal struggle to understand the experience for survivors. I (Lisa) began to have an increasing awareness of the importance of accessing others’ personal stories of SA as a foundation on which to build a detailed theoretical and personal understanding. Further, we (Lisa and Kathy) realised that in order to address the lack of knowledge in this area it was time to break the silence and misunderstanding that surrounds SA. This was my (Lisa’s) personal rationale for embarking on my doctoral thesis; a need to talk to the people who knew the story of SA through their own experiences. Therefore, the doctoral work was based upon narratives of SA given by survivors in the UK. This was a qualitative investigation and the analysis explored the main messages and themes that emerged from survivors’ accounts. Obviously this research informs the area but as the sample size was small generalisations are inappropriate. Similarly, a second piece of qualitative research into therapy with people who have experienced SA (researched by Kathy) revealed that there was a clear lack of knowledge and a distinct lack of published research to support and guide practice. Again, however, this research aimed to look at the issue of therapy for SA in depth and it did not aim to generalise. Therefore, we developed a survey called the ‘Church Experience Survey’ (CES) (Oakley & Kinmond, 2013) . This was a predominantly quantitative piece of research which asked questions about aspects of church attendance, SA and relevant intervention and support. This research drew upon a wider sample of over 500 people of different age groups and from different Christian denominations and was completed in 2012. The survey showed that 65 per cent of respondents did not know where or how to access support for SA. This book will draw upon all these pieces of research to explore SA in the UK. It has been written to address the void in knowledge and understanding about the UK experience of SA. It gives voice to survivors’ stories and raises awareness of possible patterns of behaviour which may be useful to those working with people who have experienced SA.

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At the beginning of this text it is noted that SA does not solely occur within the context of the Christian faith. There is evidence of practices which could be deemed spiritually abusive in other faiths. However, as there is no formal academic text in this area this initial text will focus on SA within the Christian faith. Subsequent texts may expand this work into understandings of SA in other faiths or in other cultural contexts.

Who is this book written for? This book is written for anyone who wishes to know more about SA. It will be useful for practitioners, who wish to understand more about working with clients who have experienced SA. The text will also be useful for social work trainees and students taking psychology, sociology and health studies courses, who are interested in abuse. Further, those studying and lecturing in theological colleges should find the text informative and fundamental to training for ministry. We also anticipate it will be widely used by individuals who have a Christian faith especially those who have personal experience of SA.

Chapter summaries Chapter 1 – What is spiritual abuse? The main focus of this chapter is defining SA. The impact of limited research in the area together with poor understanding of the experience of SA has led to the current position where defining the term is problematic and where different definitions have emerged. This chapter examines several factors relevant to developing a working definition of SA and details a definition derived from the doctoral research conducted. The term SA is contemporary. However, characteristics of the experience have existed throughout history. Chapter 1 explores the historical context of SA. The experience of SA also occurs within a cultural context. The importance of this and how it frames people’s experience is also considered in this chapter. Chapter 2 – What does spiritual abuse look like? This chapter provides a detailed discussion of the main characteristics of the experience of SA. It focuses on the use of power and

Introduction

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provides an exploration of issues of coercion and control within the church context. This includes issues such as accountability, censorship, conformity, manipulation and exploitation. There is also discussion of the use of Biblical discourses to guide and control behaviour within an abusive church context. An understanding of Biblical discourses is fundamental to unlocking the story of SA in the UK. Chapter 3 – Spiritual abuse is abuse This chapter argues for the acceptance of SA as a form of abuse by drawing clear parallels between the experience of SA and that of other forms of abuse. It also describes those features of participants’ experiences which are distinct and different from other forms of abuse. Thus, the chapter argues for an acceptance of SA as a specific form of abuse. Chapter 4 – The process of spiritual abuse This chapter presents a process map of the experience of SA. This map outlines the different stages of the individual’s experience and is the first UK map of this form of abuse to be published. Chapter 5 – Working with individuals who have been spiritually abused Discussions in various counselling forums have suggested that there is a fundamental lack of awareness of the specific issues of SA. Thus, arguably, support – either academic or experiential – is limited both for those experiencing SA and for counsellors working with people who have been spiritually abused. Certainly, there are commonalities between all forms of abuse which are useful to explore, but there are also fundamental differences. This chapter explores some of the similarities of working with SA and other forms of abuse, but it focuses on the impact of the specific challenges of working with SA. For example, in today’s secular society many people, including many counsellors, do not have a faith. For many people who have been spiritually abused their faith is still fundamental to their sense of who they are and they feel the need to share that with a counsellor. Yet, the church has been the focus of abuse, so it is not a simple matter to re-enter a relationship with anyone sharing that faith. This then becomes a real dilemma and feeds further into the sense of desperation and trauma

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they experience. This chapter discusses the tensions and complexities of working with SA and offers strategies for practice. Chapter 6 – Working with spiritual abuse: professional and personal issues This chapter outlines some key issues of self care for therapists working with people who have been spiritually abused. It also suggests some strategies for effective working. It is relevant to therapists but also to other practitioners who are interested in the area or find themselves working with someone who has been spiritually abused. Chapter 7 – Looking forward This chapter reflects upon the content of the book, examines some final critical issues and considers where research and work in this area might usefully go next.

1 What Is Spiritual Abuse? Lisa Oakley

Definitions and difficulties of definitions A fundamental issue in any text on a form of abuse is definition. Yet, obtaining a clear definition is often fraught with difficulty (Yancey & Hanson, 2010). Nonetheless, it is important to identify a definition of the abuse under consideration. The impact of limited research into, and understanding of, the experience of SA has led to the current position where defining the term SA is highly problematic. Indeed Ward (2011) notes that ‘there is no consensual definition of “spiritual abuse” ’. The lack of familiarity with the term SA has been illustrated during seminars and presentations on this topic at both academic and non-academic conferences (Oakley & Oakley, 2005a, 2006; Kinmond & Oakley, 2006; Oakley, 2006a, 2006b; Oakley & Kinmond, 2009). The most common question posed at the start of presentations is ‘what is spiritual abuse?’. Ward (2007:13) suggests that defining SA is problematic because ‘it is somewhat new in general literature and to date is sparingly used’; indeed ‘the phrase “spiritual abuse” was rarely seen in literature at all until around the last ten to fifteen years’. This lack of understanding about SA was reflected in the Church Experience Survey(CES) (Oakley & Kinmond, 2013) we conducted where 37 per cent of respondents stated they had not heard of SA.

The history of spiritual abuse One of the important issues in reaching an understanding of SA comes through an awareness of its historical context. That is, 7

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where SA has come from and how it has developed and changed over time. The term is a contemporary term. However, the practices it is used to describe are documented as having existed in the church context throughout history (Johnson & VanVonderen, 1991). Indeed in Baxter’s The Reformed Pastor, first published in 1656, the issues which current literature describes as elements of SA are documented. These included pride in ministers, inability to manage challenge and contradictions, maligning of others and inability to recognise self-failings. This suggests that although the term SA may be contemporary the issues it describes have been problematic for Christianity throughout history (Blue, 1993). It is interesting to note that whilst the ‘church’ has been, and is, willing to proffer opinions on a wide range of social issues external to the church context it has remained noticeably quiet on the issue of SA until relatively recently (Blue, 1993). This silence has resulted in the limited amount of literature in this area to date, the majority of which is written from the 1990s onwards. It is evident that the practices being described as SA have a clear historical context building upon foundations from an earlier movement known as the ‘shepherding’ or ‘discipling’ movement which originated in America. This movement began in the late 1960s and became the subject of publication and concern due to its problematic use of authority and expectations of obedience (Plowman, 1975). This movement developed against a backdrop of a society that was increasingly liberal and secular. It was in this context that a movement that preached moral integrity and conservative values became attractive to some. The use of ‘house churches’ (small groups acting as communities) was also an added attraction of the movement to many. These small communities provided a surrogate ‘family’ or social support network which was now absent for many individuals as the extended family continued to break down, with many individuals reporting the attraction of the community and relational emphasis within the movement that they now struggled to locate within wider society (Moore, 2004). One of the fundamental principles of this movement was the role of ‘shepherds’. These were leaders within the groups. Each shepherd was responsible for ‘discipling’ a small group of individuals. This involved being responsible for and engaging in mentoring and building relations with these individuals. Usually, those assigned to the

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shepherd for discipling would be part of his ‘house church’ (Moore, 2004). The shepherding movement grew rapidly. Digitale (1998 cited in Moore, 2004) suggests that at its height there were approximately 50,000 individuals involved in the movement and this included members of 500 churches in America alone. However, the relational principle on which the movement was built began to cause concern within church organisations and society. In 1975, Plowman discussed the growing problem of ‘heavy shepherding’ within the charismatic movement. The term charismatic comes from charismata, spiritual ‘gifts’ described in the Bible as being given by the Holy Spirit to the disciples at Pentecost. These gifts are listed as words of wisdom; words of knowledge (information given directly from God to an individual); faith; healing; miracle-working; prophecy; distinguishing of spirits; tongues; and interpretation of tongues (1 Corinthians 12 v 8–11). Charismatic churches hold the view that these ‘gifts of the spirit’ are still in evidence and part of the Christian faith today and these gifts can be an integral part of services in the charismatic and evangelical context. Services may include a time where individuals are able to share words or pictures they believe God has given to them with the rest of the church body. Conversely, many mainstream denominations do not share this belief in the gifts of the spirit being evident today and church services would not include these times of sharing. Therefore, the inclusion of such gifts is seen to characterise the charismatic church (Greig & Springer, 1993; Hyatt, 1998). Plowman’s (1975) comments about heavy shepherding in the charismatic movement include a reflection on the role of shepherds, suggesting that this role evolved and extended to become a controlling role defined by identifying faults in others. The role of the ‘disciple’ changed to submitting to and consulting the shepherd about all personal decisions, even including marriage partners. Shepherds were used to implement the movement’s principles of authority and submission. Heavy shepherding was seen to tie people into a relationship involving blind and unquestioning obedience. The system was found to be extremely hierarchical, utilising a pyramid leadership structure with the shepherd at the top holding the power and the disciple at the bottom with no power (Okeyan, 2000). Criticism of this movement continued to develop and in response some of the shepherding movement was disbanded.

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Nonetheless, the principles of shepherding, including an emphasis upon obedience and submission, remained in the religious consciousness. These were to be redeveloped through the growing charismatic movement of the 1990s (Vintzant, 2003). Thus, some of the principles of the heavy shepherding movement were seen to persist. However, the literature discussing such practices began to describe them as elements of SA. The first book on the topic of SA was published in 1991 (Johnson & VanVonderen, 1991). Therefore, the experience of SA has a clear historical context. It is not a new phenomenon but the key elements of this experience have moved away from heavy shepherding churches to be found more within mainstream church organisations.

Where does spiritual abuse happen? The literature on the topic of SA in the 1990s primarily located this abuse within charismatic and evangelical churches, suggesting a possible denominational bias (Enroth, 1992). Interestingly, there has been growth in the Pentecostal and evangelical streams of Christianity over the last century (Hyatt, 1998; Peck, 2004; Brieley, 2006). The rise of heavy shepherding was a response to the changing cultural contexts that individuals encountered, possibly as a result of their search for ‘safety’ and security. Similarly, Giddens (1991, cited in Kinnvall, 2004) suggests that cultural changes have resulted in a society where there is a great deal of ontological insecurity. That is, where people have no certainty or firm trust in what the future will hold for them. The continued loss of the extended family, relationship breakdowns, redundancy and the current credit crisis are suggested to result in a sense of existential anxiety where individuals are unsure of who they are and where they belong. The search for ontological security has led some individuals to explore spirituality to provide meaning in their lives and there has been an explosion in spiritual events, literature and organisations over the last decade (Croft et al., 2005). An increasing number of individuals have turned to organised religion, which offers a clear sense of identity and the benefits of group membership (Paloutzian et al., 1999). However, the turn to organised religion has not resulted in an increase in members of traditional church structures (Peck, 2004).

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Church attendance in the UK continues to decline each year (Peck, 2004; Brierley, 2006). Conversely, membership of churches based upon charismatic and evangelical principles has continued to increase over the last 30 years (Peck, 2004). Individuals choosing to join the Christian faith appear to be attracted to the charismatic, evangelical and fresh expressions of churches which seem to offer greater freedom in worship style but also a direct relationship with God and a clear sense of community (Peck, 2004; Thinking Anglicans, 2012). Arguably, these branches of Christianity offer a personal relationship with God in a society where individuals feel increasingly isolated and lonely. Indeed Killeen (1998:762) described loneliness as ‘an epidemic of modern society’. Further, these denominations have clear beliefs and membership appears to provide the individual with clear guidance and a sense of identity (Peck, 2004). The existential anxiety individuals are reported to experience can be addressed by membership of an organisation which provides a strong sense of identity and belonging (Kinnvall, 2004). Although it is possible to propose a clear rationale for the increase in church attendance in these denominations, it does not provide an explanation as to why SA may be more prevalent within these churches. One explanation for this could be the emphasis on the Holy Spirit, gifts of the spirit and the informality in service and leadership structures; these allow for the manifestation and maintenance of SA within charismatic and evangelical churches more readily than in other streams of Christianity, where the accountability of leaders is much more clearly structured (Enroth, 1992). It seems the very factors that attract individuals to these churches and the kind of individuals these churches attract could be causal factors in the creation and maintenance of SA. The free nature of charismatic churches, the emphasis on power, idealisation of ministers, lack of leadership structures and accountability, and lack of transparency in decision making have all been suggested as causal factors in the development of SA within these denominations (Parsons, 2000; Appleton, 2003). The emphasis within these denominations upon a ‘high’ view of leadership, resulting in a system where leaders cannot be challenged, has added to the possibly problematic nature of these denominations (Hall, 2003). Enroth (1992) also suggests that some churches

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with charismatic principles have been more subject to issues of authoritarian leadership, manipulation, excessive church discipline and spiritual intimidation than their more mainstream counterparts. Appleton (2003) comments that the charismatic culture has the most clearly identifiable issues of accountability and transparency. However, it should be noted that even within mainstream church contexts abusive leaders can hold office for considerable time periods without any form of monitoring. This claim is supported by Beasley-Murray’s (1998) self-report survey of church ministers, which found that 77 per cent had no formal job description and that only 36 per cent of ministers underwent any formal job appraisal and that these could be between six months and five years apart. BeasleyMurray (1998) concluded that the survey supports the notion of a lack of accountability within the mainstream church context and indicates that abuses of power can also be identified in this context. Interestingly, there has been no update on Beasley-Murray’s original research. There is a growing realisation that SA cannot be readily confined to charismatic and evangelical churches (Fehlauer, 2001) and there is a very real danger that we leave other church denominations without scrutiny or suspicion if we assume such confinement. Enroth (1994) suggests that many Christians would seek to endorse the notion that SA happens only in churches at the fringe of society, thus leaving other mainstream churches in the UK safe. However, he calls for caution about this view point and comments that ‘Spiritual abuse can probably be found almost any place in the world where there are large numbers of Christians’ (Enroth, 1994:35) and that ‘Spiritual abuse is far more prevalent and much closer to the . . . mainstream than many are willing to admit’ (Enroth, 1994:139). In the empirical work for my doctoral thesis and the CES (2013), the issue of the denominational prevalence of SA was explored. This partly informed the choice of participants in the doctoral work. Initially, I felt that the work would refute the claim that SA occurred more readily in charismatic churches. Personal experience and discussions with survivors seemed to challenge the notion that SA sat neatly within denominational boundaries. The inclusion of narratives from Church of England and Baptist denominations illustrated that SA was experienced within mainstream denominations and not solely confined to charismatic or Pentecostal denominations.

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It would be very pleasant if this were a firm conclusion but it is not. Even though SA has been identified across denominations, reviewing the participants’ church background (for the doctoral research) does show some clustering of SA in Pentecostal charismatic churches and this was the case when reviewing all the participants who offered their story. This may be accounted for by a variety of factors including the snowball sampling effect (Robson, 1982). That is, those who initially came forward were from a Pentecostal background and, therefore, this led to others from a similar background offering their stories. A further explanation can be found in a simple reflection on church attendance. The Charismatic Evangelical Church is the church stream that is experiencing growth in the UK (Peck, 2004). There is significant decline in church attendance generally and especially within traditional denominations (Peck, 2004). Therefore one suggestion is that as there are growing numbers entering charismatic churches there are more possibilities for abuse. Nonetheless, the recent CES was completed by participants from a range of denominations and 68 per cent of participants suggested they had felt manipulated in church and 74 per cent had felt damaged by a church experience. Again this illustrates that an understanding of SA must include an acceptance that it can occur in any denomination whether or not it is more prevalent in some. A discussion of why it may be more prevalent in some denominations does not equate to suggesting that it only happens in these denominations. However, to assume SA is solely denominationally specific is a mistake and not supported by the narrative evidence.

Why is culture important in understanding spiritual abuse? In addition to understanding that SA has a basis in history and can occur across denominations, it is important at the start of this text to understand how people’s experiences of SA have been framed by the culture they are in. The definition of SA that has been developed in this text is a reflection of the culture in which the experience was lived. There is an understanding in other forms of abuse that definitions cannot be separated from the culture in which behaviour occurs. For example, Sternberg (1993:818) comments that any definition of child

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abuse is ‘inextricably linked to culture’. One of the reasons for this is that there are cultural variations in child rearing and therefore in what does and does not constitute acceptable treatment of children. A consequence of different cultural understandings of the treatment of children is the inability to produce a universal definition of child abuse (Yancey & Hanson, 2010). Similarly, I am arguing that what constitutes SA will be influenced by the individualistic culture we exist in within the UK. In such cultures individuals live as separate and autonomous beings. They live and experience life from a position of ‘self as centre’ (Smail, 2005:22). Smail’s (2005) argument is that our life is experienced with a focus upon self. Within western culture self is central to individual experience; indeed, self is the starting point from which we make sense of the world (Pratt, 1991). There is a clear focus on self as the creator and explainer of our experiences. That is, life is experienced as it impacts individuals and from their perspective. The narratives collected clearly presented SA as a deeply emotional and intensely individualised experience. The depth of personal pain was evident throughout. For many individuals the story of ‘what it did to me’ was central to their accounts of SA. Further, it was frequently their rationale for participation in the research. This personal focus resonated with encounters in conferences and discussions with other survivors and my own experience of SA, which was deeply emotive and personal. Equally, the focus on self within western culture leads to a focus on individual blame. Within the experience of SA the focus is often placed upon the personality of the abuser or the abused rather than the spiritual context in which it occurs. Zimbardo (2007) suggests that we have a dispositional bias, often asking the question ‘who is to blame?’, rather than examining the context in which behaviour occurs. He uses the analogy of a ‘bad apple’ and suggests we always focus on the apple and what is wrong with it, rather than looking at the barrel in which it is kept. Similarly, in SA the focus to date has often been on those who abuse or experience abuse rather than the spiritual context in which the abuse occurs. This can be explained by the individualistic culture in which the experience of SA takes place and the focus on self within this culture. The argument then can be made that any definition of SA must be informed by the culture in which the abuse occurs. Therefore,

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a definition of SA in the UK must include a focus on the personal impact of this abuse as this is how the abuse is experienced within this culture but it must also include mention of the context in which this abuse takes place.

Who abuses who? A further issue of focus in current writing is the position of the abuser. The published literature to date contains only minimal discussion of anyone except the minister as the abuser and anyone except church members as the target. The writing in this area is almost exclusively focused upon SA of church members by their minister (Johnson & VanVonderen, 1991; Blue, 1993, Enroth, 1994; Ward, 2011). I am suggesting that this can be thought of as a top-down model of abuse. That is, SA is directly related to power positions within the church. Abusers are in a position of greater institutional power than those they abuse. The direction of the abuse is shown as top-down, from the leadership at the top of the model down to the target who holds a lower position of institutional power. This model was reinforced in the CES (2012) where many individuals commented on the notion that SA was perpetrated by those in leadership in church. The leadership structure commonly identified in abusive churches is pyramidal: the minister is at the pinnacle of the pyramid, in control of decision making, and the leaders and other members are beneath him. This model is noted by Arterburn and Felton (2001) as characteristic of spiritually abusive systems. They note the flow of communication from the top-down and suggest information is only considered valid if it is from the minister at the top. Blue (1993) comments upon the establishment of a hierarchical structure of leadership as fundamental in an abusive system. The consequence of this is the ability to impose unanimity and uniformity on the church members. The structure frequently becomes a ‘lever’ by which the minister is able to manipulate the congregation for his own purposes (Okeyan, 2000). If we explore the structure further we see that immediately below the minister at the pinnacle is a leadership team. The expectation within churches would be that decision making was shared between the leadership team and the minister. However, Appleton (2003)

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reflects that the notion of a leadership team is often an illusion. The congregation assume that the minister is accountable to the leadership team and that decisions are made democratically. In reality, generally the minister holds the power but is able to mask the dictatorship under a cloak of democracy by maintaining a leadership team that is effectively powerless (Arterburn & Felton, 2001). Thus interactions between the leadership team and the congregation are carefully managed by the minister. The model, however, is open to question and my doctoral research found that although SA tended to be perpetrated by individuals who were in higher power positions, the top-down model of SA currently being used masks other models of SA in existence. The whole story of SA is that, like other forms of abuse, rather than being about institutional power it is about personal power and the positioning of this in the relationship. Assuming personal power correlates directly to a position of power within the church hierarchy seems mistaken. It is true that it may be easier for the minister or leadership team to occupy a position of personal as well as institutional power and that the narratives show the story of SA is commonly about those in institutional positions of power. However, my research also found that it is possible to occupy a position of personal power independent of an institutional power position (Oakley, 2009) . Narratives were taken from individuals abused by others in parallel and lower positions. Therefore, the top-down model is only part of the story of SA. A more appropriate understanding is that, as with other forms of abuse, anyone can abuse anyone. Abuse occurs when one person holds more personal power in the relationship. Interestingly, the top-down model of abuse by ministers may actually serve to protect individuals who spiritually abuse others but occupy different church positions. The broader understanding, discussed above, suggests that a definition of SA should incorporate the different relationships in which SA occurs. Within the literature in this area there is also the suggestion that there are fundamental personality characteristics of perpetrators and targets of SA. There are suggestions that the perpetrators instigate the abuse because of their own insecurities, as a compensation and distraction (Appleton, 2003). It is suggested that they gain significance by dominating others (Blue, 1993).

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There are further suggestions that some leaders have narcissistic personality disorders or display ‘narcissistic elements in leadership’ (Ward, 2011). That is they seek out and need the approval and admiration of their church members in order to negate their own personal feelings of inadequacy. Part of their personality is their ability to manipulate others and to appear attractive having clearly developed interpersonal skills (Benyei, 1998). Indeed their ability to gain followers is seen as an indication of their attractiveness (Blue, 1993). Other leaders with narcissistic personalities are reported to feel that they have achieved something for God and this is reflected in the need to maintain a positive self-image at all times. This is achieved through the devaluing of others to maintain the minister’s own selfimportance (Blue, 1993). The need to promote their own significance through the church is seen to explain the minister’s inability to effectively process personal criticism and criticism of the church and respond positively to any individual who chooses to leave (Fehlauer, 2001). Explanations for narcissistic personality disorder are reported to include psychodynamic causes related to unresponsive parenting and early deprivation. Oakes (1997) describes the creation of a narcissist personality as beginning in a dysfunctional childhood. These early experiences are seen to result in individuals continually striving to prove their worth and gain admiration from others to counter feelings of rejection and being unworthy (Bornstein, 2006). The focus on past experiences is clear within the SA literature. There is a common assumption that ministers are often abusive because of past experiences and thus they are ‘hurt people who hurt people’ (Blue, 1993:109). Insecurity is promoted as a rationale for abusive leaders but also for abused followers. There is a suggestion that some insecure people require the acceptance of individuals in authority to provide personal security and that these individuals may be attracted to the abusive system (Appleton, 2003). Additionally, there are individuals who have been parented in a controlled environment and are described as ‘adult children’ who find security in a church where they are given clear instructions about what to think and how to behave (Appleton, 2003). The background and parenting of individuals is suggested as fundamental to whether they become a victim of abuse, and whether

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they are predisposed to submit to the processes of manipulation and control characteristic of the abusive system (Blue, 1993). Victims of SA have been described as religious addicts needing the structure and control of an abusive church in exactly the same way as alcoholics require the alcohol to which they are addicted (Arterburn & Felton, 2001). Others suggest that such ideas are unfounded and that individuals who join churches are vulnerable, but no individual would knowingly choose to be part of an abusive church (Enroth, 1994). My research (Oakley, 2009) did not support claims of a specific personality type of either the abused individual or the abuser. Neither did the stories relate the background of the abuser in the SA. I think that the major explanation for this omission is that it was not the personality of the abuser that was central to the stories told but the impact of SA on the person abused. Their story was not ‘what the abuser was like’ but rather ‘what SA did to me’. However, this area is one worthy of further research but caution must be used here. If it is argued that SA is related to personality type or background this could have dangerous consequences. It may seem that only certain kinds of people can abuse others or be abused and this could lead to individuals feeling safe when they are not. It could also result in individuals being blamed for the abuse they experience.

Intentionality A further issue which is relevant to the discussion of a definition of SA is intentionality. That is, the notion that individuals who abuse are purposeful in their actions and the abuse is deliberate. Intentionality as a defining feature of abuse was detailed by Nandlal and Wood (1997) in their work on elder abuse. Significantly, Nandlal and Wood (1997) make a distinction between the intention to perform behaviour and the intention that that behaviour will have negative consequences. They suggest that individuals may intend to behave in a particular manner but are often unaware of the abusive nature and consequences of their behaviour. Similarly Glaser (2002) reflects this distinction in the experience of child abuse, suggesting that behaviour can be abusive but may not be intended to be so by the perpetrator.

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However, in other forms of abuse intentionality is clear, for example, McAlinden (2006) clearly details the grooming process engaged in by child sex abusers. The grooming process involves both the child who is to be abused and the family and in some circumstances the friends of the family. Warner (2000) reflects that this process can take a considerable amount of time. The process is suggested to be deliberate and necessary to create a climate in which abuse is possible. The notion of intentionality as a defining feature of abuse requires critical consideration. There is an important distinction between the intention to perform behaviour and the intention that the behaviour will be harmful. It seems questionable that research supports the notion of intentional harm as a defining feature of abuse. Whilst it may be argued that some individuals deliberately determine to abuse (Warner, 2000) others refute the suggestion that abuse is intentional (Evans, 1994; Glaser, 2002; Evans, 2010). Perhaps intentionality is a defining feature of certain forms of abuse only. Certainly, intentionality has been questioned in the experience of SA. Within the SA literature it is often assumed that ministers do not intend to be abusive and are either naïve about the effects of their abusive behaviour upon others (Blue, 1993) or do not intend at the beginning of their ministry to adopt an abusive style (Arterburn & Felton, 2001). Indeed they may be unaware of the extent of their abuse and its impact. They may be convinced that they are only obeying God and their behaviour is acceptable and required by God (Enroth, 1994). Thus, the notion of intentionality as a defining characteristic of SA is also questionable and therefore is not part of the definition of SA offered in this text.

Threshold I also grappled with the notion of the threshold of abuse. That is, developing a definition which allowed the identification of SA and gave some indication of when SA could be said to have occurred. One factor in the consideration of a threshold was whether SA can be said to occur after one incident, as in CSA, or whether, as in other forms of abuse, ‘significant harm is a compilation of significant events’ (Working Together to Safeguard Children, 2006:38). The stories from survivors suggest that SA is a compilation of abusive episodes that build together to form a picture of control and

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coercion and attack the individual’s sense of self. The definition presented in this text seeks to provide guidance for intervention and recognition of SA. However, it would be naïve to suggest that this definition is unproblematic and makes the threshold of abuse absolutely clear.

What are the current definitions of Spiritual Abuse? One of the first published, and most widely read, books on SA is The Subtle Power of Spiritual Abuse, which was first published in 1991 (Johnson & VanVonderen, 1991, 2005). In this text SA is defined as follows: ‘Spiritual abuse is the mistreatment of a person who is in need of help and support or increased spiritual empowerment with the result of weakening, undermining or decreasing that person’s spiritual empowerment’ (Johnson & VanVonderen, 1991:20). The focus of the definition is clearly the target of the abuse who is negatively constructed as being vulnerable and needy prior to the abusive experience. Arguably, this may lead to a suggestion that certain types of individuals or personality types are more susceptible to the experience of SA than others. Blue (1993:12) challenges this negative focus on the target commenting ‘Spiritual abuse happens when a leader with spiritual authority uses that authority to coerce, control or exploit a follower, thus causing spiritual wounds.’ This definition clearly repositions the blame from the target to the abuser. However, the focus of this definition is upon church leaders as abusers. Blue (1993) appears to postulate that the spiritual power position the leader holds is integral to the occurrence of SA and indeed provides the foundation for the abuse to occur. This conceptualisation is countered by some British definitions of SA. The earliest is from Hall (2003:33) who defines SA as ‘someone using their power within a framework of spiritual belief to practise and satisfy their needs at the expense of others’. It is interesting to note that Hall (2003) makes reference to the spiritual context in which the abuse occurs, suggesting that this context is foundational to the experience. Hall’s (2003) work contrasts with other literature in that it does not specify the abuser as minister or leader. Further, the definition reflects some impact on the target of the abuse ‘at the expense of others’ but the impact is not specified in any detail.

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The focus on spiritual context is also found in Wehr’s (2000:20) definition: ‘spiritual abuse is misuse of power in a spiritual context’. In later writing, Ward (2011:901) defines SA as ‘A misuse of power in a spiritual context whereby spiritual authority is distorted to the detriment of those under its leadership’. Here again there is recognition of the context in which SA occurs. However, there is a return to leaders as abusers in this definition. Church safeguarding policies that define SA suggest that it can ‘include the misuse of the authority of leadership or penitential discipline, oppressive teaching, obtrusive or enforced healing and deliverance ministries or rituals, any of which may result in people experiencing physical, emotional or sexual harm’ (Methodist Church, 2010a:16). This definition recognises the personal impact of the abuse but focuses predominantly on those in position of leadership as abusers. Further, it includes sexual abuse. The current text is based upon experiences of SA which do not include sexual abuse. Whilst it can be argued that experiences of SA may include sexual abuse, such abuse would find redress in law as the focus would be on the sexual abuse. However, experiences of SA excluding sexual abuse have no such redress and as outlined earlier there is also limited understanding of this area. A further issue with current published definitions of SA are that none of them are grounded in survivors’ own stories. I am arguing that to expand understanding in this area a definition informed by the survivor perspective is required. The definition presented in this text is based on empirical research (Oakley, 2009) drawn from survivors’ stories.

A definition of spiritual abuse Taking account of the limitations of previous work discussed above and the findings of my empirical research the following definition has been developed. SA is coercion and control of one individual by another in a spiritual context. The target experiences SA as a deeply emotional personal attack. This abuse may include: manipulation and exploitation, enforced accountability, censorship of decision making, requirements for secrecy and silence, pressure to conform, misuse of scripture or the

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pulpit to control behaviour, requirement of obedience to the abuser, the suggestion that the abuser has a ‘divine’ position and isolation from others, especially those external to the abusive context.

Summary It is a difficult task to define any form of abuse. Definitions are necessarily framed by the historical and cultural contexts in which they occur. Developing working definitions is a complex process. It is important to recognise that, as with definitions of other abuses, it is likely that any definition of SA will not be a fixed entity that endures unchangeably. Rather, it is bound to alter depending on developing understandings and changing cultural and historical contexts.

2 What Does Spiritual Abuse Look Like? Lisa Oakley

The question often raised at conferences is ‘what is spiritual abuse?’. The questioner in this context is rarely asking for an answer in the shape of a neat definition. Rather, they are seeking information about the abuse’s key features and characteristics and how it is both similar and different from other forms of abuse. This chapter will explore these issues and present a discussion of the key aspects of SA. Quotes from participants’ narratives are shown in italics and used to support the discussion. In the doctoral research (Oakley, 2009) participants’ stories of SA were taken. They were analysed using Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA) (Smith, 2003). This method looks for the main messages emerging from the stories and searches for underlying meanings. Smaller sub-themes (messages) are grouped into bigger themes called ‘superordinate’ themes in order that the main messages can be explored. Figure 2.1 illustrates the two superordinate themes identified, which were: power and spiritual abuse is abuse. It also illustrates the sub-themes of which they were comprised.

Power – ‘It is about power and its misuse and it is done in the name of God’ This chapter will focus on the first superordinate theme identified, which is power and is found to be at the very core of the experience. This is echoed in the quote above taken from a narrative given for the doctoral work. One notable feature within the narratives was the tendency of individuals to express their experience of power in an individualised and personal manner. It is clear that individuals were 23

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Spiritual abuse

Power

Coercion and control

Accountability Censorship Conformity Finance Image Manipulation and exploitation Ownership Powerlessness Use of scripture and pulpit

Figure 2.1

Spiritual abuse is abuse

Divine position

Defining spiritual abuse

Spiritual abuse as abuse

Anger Blame Changing perceptions of reality Cycle of abuse Distrust Fear Initial positive feelings Isolation Long-term impact Powerlessness Secrecy and silence

Attack on self

Blame Distrust Fear Long-term impact Personal discredit Powerlessness Vulnerability

A schematic representation of themes identified

often unaware of structural, societal or cultural influences on their experience. Therefore, many of the sub-themes that form the major theme of power are expressed as personal or individual themes in the narratives. Additionally, many of the sub-themes identified through IPA were aspects or elements of power being exercised within the abusive context. (For a summary of the sub-themes identified as dimensions of power, see Table 2.1.) Power is seen to be operating at an institutional and personal level. The major theme of power is comprised of two main sub-themes. These are coercion/control and divine position. Coercion/control was found to be a foundational principle of SA; this theme ran across the narrative accounts provided by participants. Coercion has been previously identified as an element of power in relationships generally and specifically within religious organisations operating as a form of social control (French & Raven, 1959). Participants’ narratives contained many examples of coercion and control throughout their experience of SA.

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Table 2.1 An alphabetical summary of the sub-themes identified as dimensions of the theme of power Sub-theme Coercion and control

Divine position

Accountability Censorship Decisions Inability to raise issues Secrecy and silence Conformity Commitment Obedience to the abuser/s Role of women Rejection of non-conformity Disapproval of leaving Isolation Finance Image Superiority and elitism Ownership Powerlessness Use of scripture and pulpit

Manipulation and exploitation Personal discredit Positive explanations for control Changing perceptions of reality

Divine position was a feature of many narratives and was expressed so vehemently that it warrants exploration in its own right. A further feature of the experience of SA was the exercising of power through Biblical discourses. These discourses were used to enforce power – through these discourses power was exercised in the abusive context, and this allowed SA to continue. Some of the key discourses used to exercise power in the abusive context will be explored in this chapter. The power of scripture and the impact of Biblical discourses in the abuse of people in church is immense and fundamental to the experience of SA.

Coercion and control Power is exercised through coercion and control in many different ways in the abusive context. The most prevalent and personally damaging of these will now be explored.

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Accountability Accountability is an element of many survivors’ experiences of SA, which are characterised by the abused being accountable whilst the abuser is not. Individuals’ behaviour is controlled through the requirement for accountability, often needing to explain their whereabouts or including their abuser in decision making. ‘I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without explaining myself & justifying where I had been.’ In some ways this requirement for accountability echoes the principles of the heavy shepherding movement, discussed in Chapter 1. Accountability was reported in the narratives as a source of control but also of coercion. Individuals noted feeling pressurised by the need for accountability into behaving in an accepted manner. ‘In my experience, my “accountability” involved a hard hand. I was told I was to be “discipled”. I was to come under the authority of my house group leaders, and work through my issues with them. Yet even in those early days, I remember feeling pressurised, and pushed into action.’ Currently, within the literature in the area accountability is noted primarily in terms of lack of accountability of the minister or leader (Ward, 2011). For example, Beasley-Murray’s (1998) survey reflected a lack of accountability of ministers, suggesting that only a third had any form of regular review. Indeed, it was noted in the narrative accounts that many ministers or leaders appeared to lack any identifiable accountability, with this lack of accountability providing the opportunity to be controlling in the abusive context. Without monitoring or appraisal ministers were able to behave in an abusive manner without fear of redress. Lack of monitoring of individuals is suggested as a causal factor in the continuation of the abusive cycle: ‘where there is little or no accountability, abusive situations can continue on for years’. The suggestion is that individuals who are not held accountable for their actions are free to continue abusing others. ‘Due to the fact that the leadership were subject to no accountability themselves, opportunities for bullying behaviour emerged’ (Ward, 2011:906). This is mirrored in sexual abuse of children in the Catholic Church where priests continued to abuse children for many years because they were not held accountable for their actions and were not monitored.

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The narratives challenged the notion of lack of accountability as an issue solely related to ministers or leaders. Rather, SA is identified across and between different leadership structures; therefore a clearer understanding of the issue of accountability can be ascertained by the discussion of these issues in terms of the lack of accountability of the abuser and the requirement of accountability from the target. This wider definition allows the inclusion of other models of SA. Another aspect of the experience of SA is that the abuser may claim to hold a ‘divine position’. That is, they may suggest they are appointed by God’s will or that they are a divine choice. Therefore, they hold an exemption from the requirement of accountability, that is, they are accountable to God and not to be questioned by mere mortals. Alternatively, as accountability is an expected Biblical standard, some abusive individuals may suggest they are accountable but their actual behaviour illustrates a clear lack of accountability. This can be a very divisive element of the abusive experience. It could be argued that individuals may feel secure in building a relationship with someone who claims to be accountable to others and who is thought to be being monitored by or answerable to others. The illusion of accountability of the abuser may make individuals more vulnerable to abuse.

Censorship Control through restricted communication was clearly identified in the narrative analysis and through survivor stories. I suggest this can be summarised under the theme of censorship. It has parallels with the ‘no-talk’ rule conceptualised by Johnson and VanVonderen (1991) and described in different formats throughout the literature in this area (Fehlauer, 2001). Arguably the term censorship is a more accurate description of this aspect of SA than the no-talk rule. That is, censorship encapsulates both enforced silencing of individuals together with the restriction of information within the abusive context, rather than terminology that seems to reflect exclusively the silencing of individuals. Further, the use of the term ‘censorship’ allows the grouping of a number of issues raised separately in the literature but which share the common characteristic of restricted communication.

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Censorship of questioning or raising issues Restriction of questioning or raising issues is seen to be a common element of the experience of SA. Censorship of communication is a rule of the abusive system and individuals quickly learn it: ‘And don’t ask questions. Whatever you do don’t ask questions.’ If individuals break this rule their concerns or issues are often deemed unimportant and the individuals themselves are evaluated negatively. Individuals quickly learn to suppress their own concerns and to conform to the censorship rule. The literature in this area recognises the process of individuals being identified as the cause of any problem they raise. Individuals will be informed that ‘their objections and questions do not stem from reasoned and objective analysis but rather from their spiritual or emotional problems’ (Truthfinder, 2003). Any question will promote negative reflection on the questioner. The individual will commonly find that they have raised a problem and have now ‘become the problem’ (Parsons, 2000; Arterburn & Felton, 2001). Concern about the attribution of the label of ‘trouble maker’ may result in individuals denying the abuse in the system as a method of self-protection (Appleton, 2003). Individuals may fear the personal blame that will follow any question or disagreement. They therefore fail to speak out and, thus, enter into self-censorship. ‘I learnt to keep quiet, even when I was concerned because I didn’t want to be talked about badly & no one would take any notice anyway.’ The focus here is the portrayal of the problem residing ‘within’ the individual and punishment being exercised at an individual level. This is powerful as attributing blame to individual church members places the focus of attention on them and successfully negates any discussion of the problem they raised. Difficulties with raising issues or asking questions were identified within the church experience survey (Oakley & Kinmond, 2013). Participants were asked to answer questions in relation to their current church and any previous churches they had attended. In response to the question ‘How far do you feel able to raise questions and issues in your church?’ with regard to their current church 37 per cent said they only sometimes felt able, 16 per cent said they did not often feel

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able and 6 per cent said they never felt able to do so. In relation to previous churches 40 per cent said they only sometimes felt able to raise questions and ask issues, 23 per cent said they did not often feel able and 8 per cent said that they never felt able to do so. Curiously it should be noted that participants in the survey were not identifying their churches as abusive. The results suggest that there may be a bigger issue generally for churches with the inability to raise concerns and questions and this perhaps needs addressing at a wider level. However, a characteristic of the abusive experience is that people never feel able to raise issues. In this way individuals are controlled in the abusive context as they are unable to voice disagreement and effectively silenced, ‘keep your mouth shut’. The notion of censorship, once learned by individuals, is then enforced by other church members, not only the abuser. Individuals may stop others from sharing anything negative, even when the abuser is absent. Thus, censorship is a rule of the system and once learned (albeit implicitly and often not consciously) the abuser is not required to be present to enforce it as other church members act in this capacity. The inability to raise issues of concern, within the church context, is clearly documented in the literature in this area (Parsons, 2000; Arterburn & Felton, 2001; Appleton, 2003). The literature focuses on the inability of the minister to respond to criticism. An individual’s need to question or disagree is commonly interpreted and explained by the minister as a lack of faith or a rebellious attitude (Chrnalogar, 2000). Questioning and disagreement are often evaluated by the minister as a personal threat to his position (Parsons, 2000). ‘Questions are difficult for persecutors to handle. Each one is viewed as a personal affront and a threat’ (Arterburn & Felton, 2001:215). The threat is quashed by attacking the questioner (Arterburn & Felton, 2001). Leaders will discourage individuals from expressing concerns and can even be blatant about the no-talk rule (Fehlauer, 2001). ‘I was told I would be disciplined if I ever talked to anyone else about my questions’ (Enroth, 1994:34). The message provided is that if you discuss a problem you portray the church in a negative manner (Blue, 1993) and this is unacceptable. The underlying message to the individual is

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to only express feelings if they are positive and to remain silent about problematic issues (Arterburn & Felton, 2001). It is clear that the rule is often framed positively in the abusive context. Suggestions will be made to members that voicing concerns may disrupt the great work that God is doing (Oakes, 1997). Members may be reminded that if they are unhappy they risk sabotaging the group (Oakes, 1997). Alternatively, discouragement of disagreement can be positively framed within the abusive group as protecting the unity and welfare of the group. Zimbardo (2007) reflects that it is a common feature of group behaviour to provide positive explanations for control of individual actions. After a controlling behaviour has occurred a positive rationale for the behaviour will be provided to the group or individual making it acceptable. Therefore, what is created is a culture of silence and this ‘silence becomes the fortress wall of protection shielding the pastor’s position from scrutiny or challenge’ (Johnson & VanVonderen, 1991:67). This allows the abusive system to continue to operate unchallenged. ‘If no one can question the leader’s activities without thinking “I am guilty of sin” it sure makes it easy to control the flock with few objections’ (Chrnalogar, 2000:21). However, the narratives have demonstrated that abusers are not always ministers. Further, it is the inability to raise any issues which characterises the experience of SA and not merely the inability to be critical. This expanded knowledge develops current understandings of SA. Sometimes individuals reported fearing the consequences if they did speak out within the abusive environment. ‘Keep your head down, and your mouth shut and no-one is going to get hurt.’

Censorship of decision making Censorship is also exercised through controlled decision making, which results in decisions that lack any full discussion: ‘I was aware that decisions were not really discussed.’ Whilst some ministers are careful not to appear to be dominating the decision-making process others were blatant about their control. Controlled decision making is detailed as a feature of SA in the literature, Appleton (2003) notes the rubber-stamp approach to decision making in abusive churches, where there is little or no discussion.

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The issue of dominance of decision making was discussed as an aspect of leadership structures by Arterburn and Felton (2001) and Howard (1996), suggesting that a pyramid leadership style operates in many abusive churches (see Chapter 1). However, control of the decision-making process was also indicated in the narratives in relation to those in a lower position of institutional power but clearly a higher position of personal power. As stated in Chapter 1, it seems that individuals are able to abuse because of their personal relationships with others and the power dynamics which have been constructed in the relationship. These dynamics are not necessarily tied to church position or leadership structure. Thus, leadership teams can censor the decision making of their minister and powerful members of the congregation can censor the decision making of leadership teams. Whatever the manner in which SA occurs it is clear that those being abused are certainly not expected or allowed to make their own decisions (Ward, 2011). Control through censorship is clearly a central part of the experience of SA. Censorship is a ‘rule’ of the abusive system (although often not explicitly discussed or recognised). However, as with accountability, this rule is individualised and becomes each member’s responsibility to such an extent that the rule is often enforced in the absence of the abuser. The use of censorship can maintain a position of control for the abuser who has complete information and a position of dependency for the target who has little. Individuals are also controlled by censorship as they are unable to voice disagreement and are effectively silenced, thus allowing the continuation of the SA.

Censorship of external relationships A further form of control in the abusive context is the censorship of relationships through the enforcement of external isolation; that is, the separation of those within the abusive context from those external to the context: ‘they didn’t like you mixing with people that didn’t go to that church’. The implication to members is always that they must ‘remain in the system if they want to remain “safe” ’ (Johnson & VanVonderen, 1991:76). The separation between those within the abusive church and those without proves a powerful means of control. The study of cult groups

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can help explain the significance of this external isolation. Traditionally cult groups have existed in physical isolation from others (Paloutzian, 1999). That is, members lived separately and did not mix with others outside their group except to encourage new members to join. A consequence of this physical isolation is that the group reality is unchallenged by interaction with those outside of the group. Wright (cited in Paloutzian, 1999) found that out of 12 individuals who left cult groups only four returned. Once out of the restriction of the closed environment the cult members were introduced to alternative realities and able to voice concerns. (The division between cults and spiritually abusive systems is discussed further in Chapter 7). Although abusive churches do not physically isolate members as cult groups do, I suggest that, to some extent, they psychologically isolate their members. Restriction of contact isolates church members from others who may question the realities being portrayed within the abusive context. Interestingly the psychological isolation is often portrayed in a positive manner to the targets of abuse. ‘It’s put across in a way that they are trying to protect you from the outside world.’ Ensuring that individuals remain within the context is essential to avoid interacting with alternative realties and possible critiquing of the church culture. However, it is also clear that again this issue is individualised and there are reported personal ‘benefits’ in staying in the ‘safety’ of the church system and being ‘protected’. The strong pressure to mix with those in the church group may prevent individuals from wishing to mix outside of the church, and works to keep individuals in the abusive context seemingly for their own good and by their own choice. Further, the rationale of safety and protection prevents the individual from questioning the system as they internalise the requirement for external isolation as a personal choice with personal benefits. Again I am not arguing that this is always an intentional process. Those who abuse others may be unaware of the impact of their behaviour and may actually feel what they are doing is for the benefit of others. It may be that abusers do not keep people from mixing with others deliberately but that it is an inevitable consequence of increasing commitment that individuals are simply unable to mix with others. However, in some abusive contexts the pressure not to mix is extremely strong and coercive.

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Conformity A further way in which behaviour is controlled in the abusive setting is through the requirement for conformity; that is, expectations and rules for how individuals must behave and clear indications of behaviour that is not permitted. Individuals will be required to conform to the rules of the church group. Individuals will be asked to censor their personal behaviour and to conform to protect church unity and for the good of the group (Enroth, 1994). Conformity was identified in all narratives as a major element of SA. Individuals are required to conform to a range of behavioural expectations and rules both within the abusive context and extending to their personal lives beyond the church. To be valued within the group individuals need to conform (Ward, 2011). Inside the abusive context the requirement for conformity becomes extreme (Chrnalogar, 2000). It may be difficult for individuals to recognise requirements as being extreme because conformity is a natural behaviour. Some of the rules are explicit and some implicit and only recognised when they are broken.

Conformity through increasing commitment Expectations within the church include the requirement to conform to an increasing commitment to the church. ‘The church becomes God. Increasing demands on time push marriages, children and lifestyle choices to the sidelines.’ Fehlauer (2001) and Arterburn and Felton (2001) note the requirement for excessive commitment as a key characteristic of the spiritually abusive system. ‘Folks were expected to be at church every time the doors were opened’ (Arterburn & Felton, 2001:149). ‘Members are expected to provide increasing levels of commitment’ (Arterburn & Felton, 2001:149) and this level of service often translates as attendance at all meetings (Fehlauer, 2001). Level of commitment to the church is often equated to an individual’s personal commitment to the abuser and is frequently a factor in determining the subsequent position of individuals within the church. Individuals who conform to high standards of commitment are rewarded and in some cases portrayed as being favoured by God. ‘Particular people at different times were, it seemed, especially anointed and set apart. They were the people God was going to use.’ Fehlauer (2001)

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recognises the use of commitment as a measure of loyalty within the abusive system. Blue (1993) also identifies the practice of awarding status to individuals who are seen to be especially committed. It must be noted that within any church organisation or indeed any formal organisation it is common practice to award roles and status to those who are committed. However, the distinguishing features here are the level of commitment required and the refusal to acknowledge work or commitments external to the context as being relevant or worthy. It is only commitment to the church or the abuser that is a measure of someone’s worth. As with external isolation there is a consequence here, too, in keeping individuals within the abusive context. Increasing commitment to the church requires individuals to spend increasing periods of time within the church context. Again, this limits the time available for activities and contact with those external to the abusive context and, therefore, limits the possibilities for interaction which may lead to a questioning of the abusive culture. In effect increasing commitment results in external isolation. Other aspects of conformity include conforming to behavioural expectations within the church. For example, some participants were required to conform to a traditional representation of women and not allowed to engage in paid work.

Conformity through obedience A final aspect of conformity is the requirement to conform and be obedient to the abuser. The expectation and requirement for obedience and submission to those with personal power within the abusive context provide a powerful manner in which to control individual behaviour and to coerce individuals into particular courses of action. ‘Don’t be a trouble maker, don’t betray your leaders. Honour and obey them. Especially obey them.’ As with other areas of SA the issue of obedience is usually discussed in the literature solely in relation to ministers. The expectation of obedience to the minister is often associated with his ‘divine’ position (Johnson & VanVonderen, 1991; Arterburn & Felton, 2001). Individuals are expected to be obedient to the ministers as they are seen to have been appointed by God. The restricted nature of this discussion of obedience again negates the issue of the different relationships

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in which SA occurs. Obedience is not exclusive to ministers. Narrative accounts illustrated examples of obedience to abusers occupying lower positions of church hierarchies. This suggests that, rather than focus on obedience to authority, a more accurate description of this theme is obedience to the abuser.

Rejection of non-conformity As conformity is a rule of the system any non-conformity is rejected within the abusive context. This rejection is a further means by which behaviour is controlled. Non-conformity to behavioural expectations leads to personal and social rejection which is expressed in a number of different ways. This rejection is a powerful means of controlling the behaviour of the individual experiencing it, as it leads to modification of future behaviour to avoid further rejection, but it also acts as a further form of vicarious modelling to other church members: ‘you watched others being left out when they had not done what was expected. I remember thinking “I don’t want that to happen to me” ’.

Isolation as a consequence of non-conformity Personal isolation is a common response to non-conformity. That is, the consequence of non-conformity is that the individual is subjected to a time of isolation. Individuals may not be allowed to take part in the church life fully and are often not included in relationships. ‘They had betrayed their leaders. Their decision to do so would take them into a time of isolation and loneliness. They would be dropped from favour, possibly withdrawn from their ministry. Certainly dropped from friendship.’ Benyei (1998) comments upon how powerful isolation following dissent is as a form of control. Dissent from an individual can result in isolation within the community of believers (Benyei, 1998). Benyei (1998:110) refers to this process as ‘targeting isolated members within the walls of the community much as a solitary confinement cell’. This process of isolation is often mixed with times of intense social support and encouragement. That is, if members adhere to the rules they will be rewarded with positive social interaction. If they choose to disobey the rules, including the rule not to disagree with the minister, they will experience social isolation and shunning (Hall, 2003). This method of attack is not only powerful for the individual

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that experiences the isolation. The process of watching others suffering internal church isolation and the threat of this experience is often a means to suppress such behaviour in other individuals (Benyei, 1998). Zimbardo (2007) reflects that public punishment for rule breaking is used as a technique to deter others from similar behaviour.

Leaving the abusive context A further rejection of non-conformity is the disapproval of individuals who choose to leave the abusive context. ‘When we finally made the decision to leave we were really scared. We knew we had to go but the minister often spoke about people leaving in a very bad way, everyone knew you were not really allowed to leave.’ Appleton (2003) notes the perception of those who leave the abusive context as individuals who are openly challenging the leadership; clearly they have not fulfilled the requirement of obedience. Enroth (1992, 1994), Chrnalogar (2000) and Fehlauer (2001) note the strong fear associated with leaving and that this reaction is precipitated by the observation of the reaction to other individuals who leave. Individuals are often aware that they will become social outcasts on leaving the church. Members who leave will be faced with social isolation almost immediately as those within the church context respond to pressure (explicit or implicit) to refrain from contact. ‘Members are strongly discouraged from having any contact with former members’ (Fehlauer, 2001:45). The loss of friendship is particularly devastating as a consequence of the increased commitment individuals make to the church is that they spend most of their time within the church context. Therefore, the majority of their relationships are within this context and these are frequently severed by those remaining in the church at the behest of the minister. Appleton (2003) suggests that many individuals experience a feeling of bereavement after leaving a spiritually abusive group, working through issues of anger, guilt and loss.

Spiritual consequences of leaving the abusive context In addition to social isolation there are often assertions made about individuals’ spiritual lives and future church memberships as a

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consequence of any decision to leave: ‘he told people there was no other church like this and if you left you would never be spiritually fulfilled’. This again is a powerful form of control, instilling fear into individuals about the spiritual implications of this decision which builds on the initial fears about the social implications. It is often implied that individuals who leave without the minister’s permission (which is impossible to obtain) are not only disobeying the minister but also God and thus God will no longer bless them in any way (Chrnalogar, 2000; Fehlauer, 2001). This factor may be deeply harmful to an individual who holds strong religious beliefs. A fear of the spiritual consequences of leaving can become a psychological trap for the individual, rendering them incapable of leaving (Chrnalogar, 2000). Fear of the implications and consequences of leaving is paramount throughout the spiritually abusive system (Enroth, 1992, 1994; Chrnalogar, 2000; Fehlauer, 2001). This fear is often instilled into members by observation of the personal slander and discredit of individuals who leave (Fehlauer, 2001). Chrnalogar (2000) and Fehlauer (2001) identify the portrayed negative spiritual implications of leaving the abusive church. Bloomer (1995) and Chrnalogar (2000) suggest individuals’ fear of these negative spiritual consequences can provide a strong rationale for remaining in the abusive context, effectively trapping individuals. ‘We knew people would be told bad things about us, half-truths at best, people would know not to contact us, so we would never be able to defend ourselves.’ Fehlauer (2001) suggests the slander and discredit of those leaving the abusive context is common. This can be seen to be a tool utilised to correct the potentially deviant behaviour of other church members. It is interesting that conformity is a rule of the system but non-conformity is responded to at an individual level. The depth of emotion associated with leaving is clear throughout stories of SA.

Manipulation and exploitation In addition to the factors described above coercion is also exercised through manipulation and exploitation. Individuals experience exploitation at both a personal and social level. Individuals are

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manipulated in a variety of ways during the abusive experience. Participants commented upon many different methods of manipulation. Arterburn and Felton (2001) and Enroth (1994) observe the use of manipulation and exploitation as a form of control in the abusive context. Manipulation was an issue investigated in the CES (2012). In response to the question ‘How far do you feel manipulated at church?’ 26 per cent said they sometimes felt manipulated, 6 per cent said they often felt manipulated and 3 per cent said they always felt manipulated. In response to the question ‘Have you ever felt manipulated at church?’ 41 per cent said they had sometimes felt manipulated, 15 per cent said they had often felt manipulated and 3 per cent said they had always felt manipulated. Again this illustrates a general issue with feeling manipulated in church and again is an issue for broader church settings to address. However, it was the frequency and depth of manipulation experienced by individuals within the abusive contexts which characterised this as an element of SA.

Manipulation through controlling perceptions of reality One method of manipulation is in challenging an individual’s perception of reality. A common experience is the distortion of personal experience by the abusive individual attempting to alter the perception of a negative experience or encounter. This results in the ‘retelling’ of the incident to portray the abusive individual in a positive manner and the target of abuse as negative, weak or inaccurate, thus placing the abuser in a position of control. ‘After a very late and difficult meeting I was ready to leave the Church. The next day the pastor’s wife invited me out for coffee & explained how the meeting hadn’t been that bad and I was just tired. They had only said things to me because they loved me. I found myself doubting my own experience and wondering if I was at fault.’ The denial of individuals’ perceptions of reality can be so powerful that the person eventually decides that their version of reality was incorrect (Benyei, 1998). It is suggested that individuals’ own reality testing becomes damaged in the abusive context and this damage is seen to result in an inability to be objective, critical and analytical (Truthfinder, 2003).

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Thus, individuals report their perception of an abusive event and this perception is denied and an alternative, often altruistic, version is provided by the abuser. This results in confusion for the individual and self-doubt which often results in acceptance of the alternative reality. Benyei (1998) suggests that the distortion of reality is a fundamental part of the abusive system rendering individuals unable to define reality and therefore unable to challenge the abusive process. Often individuals are initially shocked when their abuser changes from a caring person into an abusive one. They fear no one else will believe them if they speak out and this is often a well-founded fear. ‘I kept saying that something was wrong with her and I kept telling my husband but he just said it was all fine and it was me. I thought I must be going mad. When she was with me and my husband together she would be lovely and we would go for a meal and my husband would say “what was wrong with that” and I would have to say nothing because it had been fine but then when we were alone it would start again.’ Here again, it is necessary to note the importance of a cultural understanding. As discussed in Chapter 1, the western understanding of self is central to how we experience life. This understanding includes the idea that self and identity are relatively stable and unchanging (Burr, 1995). Thus, from a western perspective of self, individuals can expect another individual’s behaviour and character to remain constant. We would be unable to cope psychologically in a world where behaviour was unpredictable. Burr (1995) suggests we create an illusion of a stable self. We think our own behaviour and character is relatively stable and we expect others to behave in relatively similar ways each time we encounter them. This enables us to use phrases such as ‘they are not themselves today’. This is why it is so difficult for members to accept that a minister or abuser can change behaviour and apparent character. I suggest this is one reason why SA seems to be so difficult for individuals to accept and recognise when they experience it. Their western understanding does not allow for changing realities and characters. Enroth (1994) suggests that an abusive minister will seek to control the thoughts of the church members. As previously stated SA is not solely perpetrated by ministers, so it is more appropriate to

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suggest spiritual abusers seek to control the thoughts of those they abuse (whether consciously or not) than to focus this issue on ministers. Oakes (1997) reflects that the inability to trust personal perceptions of reality creates an enforced dependency upon the minister, who has presented alternative realities. The individuals become dependent upon the minister and the system, unable to question and unable to rely on their own versions of reality. It is possible to argue that dependency is another fundamental feature of SA. An abusive system expects dependency and promotes it (Enroth, 1994) because it allows an individual’s reality to be controlled by their abuser and places them in a position of subordination, and as Enroth (1992:109) notes ‘in a totalitarian environment dependency is necessary for subjugation’. Therefore, controlling reality creates dependency and those who are dependent are open to manipulation and the expectation of obedience. Thus control of reality can be suggested to be fundamental to the maintenance of SA.

Manipulation through positive explanations for controlling behaviour A further form of manipulation is the presentation of positive explanations for controlling behaviour. Earlier, I discussed the presentation of positive explanations for external isolation. One participant described feeling controlled and monitored within the abusive context but it being explained as ‘looking after one another’s needs “you know” helping you to stay on the right path’. Dupont (2004) remarks on the use of altruistic rationales for controlling behaviour within the spiritually abusive context.

Manipulation through personal discredit The final form of manipulation identified was the use of personal discredit to undermine the credibility of any individual who did not conform. ‘Basically the people who left were publicly discredited.’ The personal discrediting of the individual who leaves allows the transferral of blame from the abusive individual and the system to the survivor. Fehlauer (2001) notes the use of personal

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slander following a decision to leave an abusive church. Individuals are often labelled as ‘rebellious’. Fictitious but discrediting accounts of their actions may be presented to the church with those remaining in the abusive context being presented with the discrediting information as a rationale for the individual’s decision to leave. This acts as a method of control in two ways. Firstly, those within the church have their perceptions of the individual tainted by the information and this leads to a lack of desire for personal contact after the individual leaves. This reinforces the external isolation of church members discussed earlier. The lack of contact also ensures a lack of opportunity to discuss the reasons that led to the individual leaving and thus is important in the facilitation of the continuation of SA. ‘He told the church that as my spiritual advisor he was very concerned about my moral welfare and would be concerned about anyone who mixed with me, I found this out through a friend who left later than me. Of course, I didn’t know it was being said so I couldn’t tell my version of the story. Once you’re out, you’re out and you have no voice.’ In addition to the use of personal discredit as a response to leaving it was seen as a method to control individual behaviour within the church and a method of censorship of non-conformity: ‘I was a trouble maker and was not following the rules – a lot of stuff was said about me “in confidence” to others.’ Clearly, personal discredit is individualised and is experienced as a personal attack. However, although personal discredit is experienced personally it is part of the abusive system in that it is a rule of interaction. If an individual does not conform, and especially if they leave, the rule is to discredit them thereby discrediting any information they may share and therefore successfully protecting the abuser and the system from scrutiny. A consequence of the control involved in SA is powerlessness of the participants. The personal experience of powerlessness is discussed in the next chapter. However, some participants noted institutional powerlessness about the issues of SA. As noted in the introduction, SA is currently ‘not covered by the statutory definitions’ (Safeguarding Children & Young People, 2010:16). There is a sense in which institutional powerlessness exists around SA.

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Recommendations to ‘report harmful behaviour to statutory agencies’ (Safeguarding Children & Young People, 2010:13) are difficult to enforce and it is therefore questionable how much action will result. Further there is a recommendation that behaviour is reported to superiors in the organisation (Safeguarding Children & Young People, 2010); obviously if the abuser is the superior this is not an appropriate suggestion. Even if they are not the individual responsible for the abuse the organisation may fail to respond to or action any complaint raised. ‘The minister of our church did not want to deal with this. He told me not to say anything. No one seemed to be supporting us.’ Here again the current powerlessness of the church as an institution to respond to SA is shown. The lack of acceptance of SA within church authorities and institutions where ministers are trained accentuates the issue of the lack of understanding and acceptance of SA within the mainstream church in the UK.

Section summary This section has described many different ways in which behaviour can be controlled and coerced in the abusive context. Through an exploration of participants’ different experiences it is clear that the church context and the rules of this context are foundational to the creation and maintenance of SA. Therefore, SA must be understood as both an institutional and a personal experience. Thus far this chapter has reviewed different elements of power in the abusive context. Additional support to the idea that these experiences are aspects of power comes from a comparison of SA with other work concerning power. It should be noted that traditionally there has been relatively little work on power in psychology although some has emerged more recently and continues to do so (e.g. Smail, 2005). Therefore, I have drawn upon what there is and that which is most relevant to this text. Russel’s (1938) work, though dated, maps directly onto the experience of SA. He suggests that there are three criterions for classifying power. He identifies power exercised through coercion and persuasion. The use of coercion has been clearly explored and illustrated

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previously in this chapter and was detailed by participants throughout their narratives of SA. The second criterion is the type of organisation through which power is exercised. Russel identifies the church as an institution whose aim is to influence others and through which power can be exercised. Obviously SA occurs within the church context. The final criterion described by Russel is the use of psychological sources of power within the experience of SA. It is not physical power but psychological and spiritual power that is exercised. Therefore, the experience of SA meets all three criteria identified by Russel for classifying power.

The role of the spiritual context Power has been demonstrated by a consideration of coercion and control and an exploration of divine position. The notion of divine position suggests the importance of considering the context in which SA occurs and the cultural understandings of self. The spiritual context of the church is crucial to the creation and maintenance of SA. The context of the abuse is fundamental to the misuse of power described within the narratives; it is not possible to separate the context of the abuse from the power at work in SA. Similarly, Smail argues for the necessity of recognising the context in which power is exercised, ‘The isolated individual uprooted from the social context . . . has no significant powers’ (Smail, 2005:44). Smail’s suggestion is that power only exists within a social context and that understanding that context is of paramount importance. The power that has been identified, as part of the experience of SA, is exercised within a spiritual context. Consideration of the context in which SA occurs leads to an exploration of the dominant discourses within this context. Discourses can be simply explained as the way in which we think about and understand the world around us and how these understandings are framed. For example, if someone says the word ‘mother’ there is a discourse around this, in western culture, that is about nurturing and caring. However, our understandings are not the same across the world or indeed within cultures. For example, understandings of what it means to be female are not shared across the world.

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A woman’s existence and the expectations of her will be entirely different depending on when and where she is born. A discourse is therefore ‘a set of meanings, metaphors, representations, images, stories . . . that in someway together produce a particular version of events’ (Foucault, 1972 cited in Burr, 2003:64). Foucault suggests that it is ‘through discourse that we build a representation of the world’ (1972 cited in Burr, 2003:64), and that societies or institutions are required for discourses to be seen to be appropriate. The institution of the church allows certain discourses and understandings of the world which believers will know and subscribe to but are unlikely to be recognised external to the church context. Through these discourses power is exercised and this power is foundational for the experience of SA.

Biblical discourses The institution of the church is obviously the context within which SA is experienced. The research evidence shows that power is exercised through Biblical discourses in the abusive church context. My argument is that an understanding of Biblical discourses is fundamental to unlocking the story that is SA in the UK. This realisation came about following detailed and thorough reflection of the narratives for my doctoral work. It became clear that the power being discussed could only be exercised if there was a complete uncritical acceptance of the discourses being presented: that is for the words to have any impact on the participants it was necessary that they adhere to and obey without question the instructions given by their abuser. These instructions were founded in discourses emerging out of scripture. As such, the impact of non-adherence and/or criticism could be akin to spiritual suicide in that it would reject the very essence of faith. I am arguing that Biblical discourses are reconstructed in the abusive context into abusive discourses. The use of these discourses allows the abusive behaviour reported in the narratives. This chapter will now explore these biblical discourses and extrapolate the manner in which power is exercised and misused through them. There is an absence of any discussion of discourse in the published literature outside the authors’ work.

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Discourse one – the Bible as ultimate authority The most powerful discourse I identified is ‘the Bible as the word of God’. This view of the Bible is clearly espoused within scripture and as divine teaching has authority for Christians to guide their lives and behaviours. This discourse is derived directly from the Bible. ‘All scripture is God breathed’ (2 Timothy Chapter 3 v 16). I have identified this as the most powerful Biblical discourse as all other Biblical discourses are based on an acceptance of it and are founded on it. The Bible can be seen as the inspired word of God and as such Rivers suggests that the Bible consists of divine commands providing rules for living: ‘To accept the moral authority of scripture is to accept both that it informs us reliably about morally significant truth and that it commands us what we ought to do’ (Rivers, 2004:3). At this point it is important to clearly state that the manner in which the Bible is used differs in different churches and denominations. All Christians would use the Bible to guide their thinking and behaviour but the extent to which the Bible is taken literally and used as an absolute guide book does differ. Therefore, some of the narratives contain strong reference to scripture and sermons and others have less. This may be reflective of the perception of the Bible within the individual church culture. Thus, for some individuals scripture is seen as more powerful and absolute than for others: ‘they do take the Bible very, very literally to the letter, you have to’. However, all Christians will use the scriptures to guide their behaviour and so all will be familiar with and impacted by Biblical discourses. As Christians use the Bible as a source of information and teaching, expecting individuals to conform to Biblical standards would not in itself be seen as abusive. Indeed many individuals may wish to adhere to these standards believing them to be of personal and corporate benefit. Rivers (2004) suggests that the use of scripture becomes abusive when individuals use it to enforce their own desires and suggest that God’s power is behind them. There is evidence in SA of scripture being used out of Biblical context and of individuals focusing heavily on certain scriptures that support abusers’ personal agendas. Scripture can be utilised to control and coerce members, both individually and collectively through sermons and messages spoken from the pulpit. ‘When he told me off,

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he often used scriptures to support himself. Of course this made me very worried at the time.’ The pulpit can be employed as a place that the abuser can use to confirm, confront or challenge behaviour. ‘I was concerned at the obvious messages given in the sermons that fitted exactly with the pastor’s current agenda’. The pulpit can also be used to challenge behaviour and to reinforce the negative implications of leaving, pressurising individuals who are contemplating it: ‘I had heard this sermon and seen this done before when people were very unhappy and thinking of leaving.’ Fehlauer (2001) recognises the use of the pulpit as a forum to enforce loyalty and to prevent individuals leaving. As the discourse of the Bible as the word of God is so strong in abusive churches it is difficult to refuse to conform to scripturally based requests as this could be construed as arguing against God. ‘What do you do when someone uses scripture? Do you refuse? Not really, how can you, it would be like refusing God’. The tendency of ministers to use passages out of their Biblical context and to distort their original meaning with the sole purpose of controlling the behaviour and thinking of church members has been noted in literature in this area (Chrnalogar, 2000). I found it interesting that although scripture was used by abusers to coerce individuals to behave a certain way it was not often acceptable for targets of abuse to use it to support their behaviour: ‘I was told not to use scripture against them!!’ In the church context the spiritual discourse of the Bible as the word of God means the use of scripture and the pulpit is especially powerful in this. Unpacking this discourse allows an understanding of the powerful role of scripture in the church and in the experience of SA. The importance of Biblical discourses and the use of scripture and the pulpit are distinguishing characteristics of this form of abuse that differentiate it from other forms of abuse and call for recognition of SA as a form of abuse in its own right.

Divine position A further element of SA which differentiates this from other forms of abuse is that of ‘divine position’. That is, the notion of divine position is only found in SA and thus is a defining characteristic. As stated, the term divine position incorporates both the status of the individual

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and their assumed and implied knowledge. The notion of divine position is clearly embedded in a discussion of power because it equates to a position of power in the abusive context and individuals holding such a position therefore hold power. French and Raven (1959) noted the use of expert power and knowledge in bringing influence on individuals and impacting interpersonal interaction. They suggested that those who are seen to have superior knowledge and experience can exert power on other individuals. An abuser who is seen to be appointed by God and to hear from him directly can be said to be in the ultimate position of expert knowledge and therefore can be deemed to be in a position to exert expert power in the abusive context. This power will enable them to influence members of the church who are perceived as being in a lesser position of expertise and knowledge. In the case of SA the notion of expert power places the abuser in a dominant position in interactions with other members of the church. In many ways divine position derives from the notion of the Bible as the ultimate authority, as individuals who are seen to hold such a position are thought to be chosen by God. Views about leadership and divine appointments have their foundations in scripture. There are many Biblical references to those in leadership. For example, in Psalm 105 v 15 leaders are referred to as God’s ‘anointed ones’. The notion that some individuals occupy a divine position is founded in scripture and is therefore appropriate to discuss in relation to Biblical discourse. Ward suggests that individuals in abusive contexts believe that leaders have been ‘placed in their position by God’ (2011:903). Again, there may be differences according to church culture about the acceptance of divine position. The discourse of divine position incorporates the notion of divine insight. That is, abusive individuals are directly connected to God and therefore have some divine knowledge: ‘She would often claim to have words of knowledge about people “The Lord has told me this about . . . ”.’ Within some church denominations there is a strong belief that God still speaks directly to individuals (Hyatt, 1998). This part of the discourse is important because individuals may not question words from God and in the experience of SA such information could be created with the purpose of manipulating or controlling others. Again, the level of intentionality on behalf of the abuser is open to question here.

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The discussion of divine position in the literature suggests that abusive ministers may claim to hear exclusively from God for their congregation (Chrnalogar, 2000). However, it is clear that, as with other aspects of SA, it is abusers and not solely ministers that may make this claim. In some ways individuals could become dependent on the person with divine insight for information about their lives and what God was saying. ‘People got to the point where they turned up because they believed she could tell them what God was saying and they couldn’t hear it for themselves.’ Chrnalogar (2000) suggests that ministers operating under this belief system can progress from informing individuals of their ability to hear from God to instructing individuals about what God is saying to them and, therefore, what decisions they should make. In effect the message that ministers are portraying is ‘I have been appointed by God as your leader and therefore all decisions are funnelled from God through me to you’ (Parsons, 2000:150). Enroth (1994:82) states that at its extreme the notion of divine appointment can result in ministers equating submission to their leadership with submission to God ‘if you want to follow Jesus, follow me’. This extreme position sometimes results in the role of the minister being seen as an individual who is like God and therefore to be worshipped (Benyei, 1998). The narratives illustrate participants’ difficulties in questioning information provided in this way. Indeed Ward (2011:903) suggests to ‘disagree is to be in opposition to God’. As stated, if your faith is a central element of your identity to question God in this way would be to question or put in danger your identity. Additionally, the narratives detailed the use of divine knowledge to manipulate situations for the benefit of the abusive individual: ‘they told him that God had told them they were to become full-time paid youth workers for the church’. This again suggests that although Biblical discourses around divine position usually refer to leaders within the abusive context other individuals can also be suggested to hold this position. This is further evidence for the requirement to develop an understanding of SA to include a broader definition of individuals who may abuse. A further aspect of divine position was that a form of it could be conferred on other individuals who were obedient and conforming.

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Ward (2011:906) suggests that value in the group is equated to productivity and meeting the expectations of the leadership; he notes the notion of ‘love based on performance’. Favour from God can be equated with commitment to the abuser and their priorities. Thus individuals could be seen to be favoured or chosen by God but this status was in reality a reflection of their behaviour within the abusive context and commitment to the abuser. ‘Particular people at different times were, it seemed, especially anointed and set apart. They were the people God was going to use. They were a special people. Sadly, they were also people of “the inner circle”. People on whom the leaders seemed to place a level of favour.’ The apportioning of status is supported by Dupont (2004) who noted that it was awarded to individuals who were committed to the system and were valuable in financial terms or gifted in abilities. ‘He always looked after certain people saying they were “special” but when they weren’t there he had no qualms about saying they were the “biggest givers” in the church’. However, the conferring of this ‘special’ status is a direct form of control. That is, the abusive individual can exercise their power by removing the status as effortlessly as it is bestowed. In order to maintain the special status continued obedience and increasing commitment was required. ‘Those in the inner circle are constantly driven by a spiral of unrealistic demands. Their loyalty to their leaders would be tested. Would they go the extra mile? If so, they likely would face greater demands. (Fantastically disguised under the heading of “being given greater responsibility”.)’ Furthermore the bestowing of divine status can operate as a form of vicarious control and manipulation for other individuals. That is, other individuals may adapt their behaviour to gain the status that others have achieved. ‘Those outside the inner circle can become burnt out in their efforts to get inside.’ Thus, the power imposed at an individual level has repercussions for the whole group and is therefore another example of the exercising of power affecting all individuals within the abusive context. The powerful nature of the divine position discourse is clearly demonstrated within the narratives and can be one of the most personally controlling aspects of the experience of SA. It therefore becomes part of the personal story of abuse for the survivors. A further aspect of this story can be identified by placing the notion of divine position into a western cultural context with self as centre.

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The notion is that the individual holds, within themselves, divine abilities. Again the role of culture is important in an understanding of SA. The cultural understanding of individuals as separate and unique and ‘carry[ing] their uniqueness deep inside themselves’ (Burkitt, 1991:1) is argued to pervade the western consciousness. This notion combined with the Biblical discourse of divine position is then played out within the abusive experience. The notion of carrying uniqueness deep within resonates with individuals who are presented with the principle of the divine qualities of their abuser. Individuals can easily accept this notion as it fits within their cultural understandings. Thus divine position ‘makes sense’ to the individual in the wider culture and the church culture and is very powerful in the experience of SA. The Bible as the word of God gives rise to other discourses that are especially pertinent in the experience of SA. The use of scripture and the pulpit and the notion of divine position have their foundations in this discourse. This discourse gives rise to discourses of obedience and unity and these are also foundational to the experience of SA.

Discourse two – obedience Throughout the Bible the discourse of obedience is clear. The example of Jesus and his obedience to death on a cross is held as a model to believers that their lives should be ones of submission and obedience: ‘he humbled himself and became obedient to death – even death on a cross!’ (Philippians 2:8). Further there are frequent calls in the Bible for obedience to God and to leaders: ‘Obey your leaders and submit to their authority’ (Hebrews 13 v 17), ‘Submit yourselves for the Lord’s sake to every authority instituted among man’ (1 Peter 2 v 13). From a Christian perspective those in positions of power are called not to abuse this power but to serve those for whom they are responsible (Galatians 5 v 13) and should not abuse the power they have (Matthew 23). Rather, they are expected to use their power for the good of those whom they lead. There are scriptural warnings against the abuse of power (Ezekiel 34; Matthew 23). Those with power in spiritual contexts are not permitted to abuse this power for personal gain. Further, Christians are not being asked for blind obedience which produces negative consequences for them and positive rewards for the abuser. Thus, the discourse of obedience reflects submission to

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loving authority. The aim of the authority being to care for and serve those they lead. In many ways it is a necessary part of the functioning of any healthy group that people do follow instructions from those in a position of authority and who are higher in the hierarchy of command, otherwise anarchy could reign and groups would never achieve anything and be completely dysfunctional. However, within the experience of SA the discourse of obedience becomes constructed over time as complete unquestioning obedience for the benefit of the abuser. ‘Where leaders demand blind allegiance for a sense of belonging.’ This discourse is often reinforced in abusive settings by frequent preaching on the topic of obedience. Conversely, teaching on abusive leadership is rarely, if ever, provided in church (Blue, 1993). There are many examples in the narratives of the expectation and enforcement of obedience in different areas, which have been detailed earlier in this chapter. Participants note the expectation of obedience and submission to their abusers as a pervasive element of SA. This is a difficult area of the abusive experience as many individuals abide by the Biblical concept of ‘obey your leaders and submit to them’ (Hebrews 13:17). However, this concept changes in the abusive context from submitting to loving authority and becomes unquestioning obedience to abusive authority.

Conformity The discourse of obedience gives rise to the discourse of conformity in the church context. Foucault (1975) suggests that one aspect of modern power is discipline by the imposition of precise norms, that is expectations of behaviour (normalisation). Normalisation is clear in the narratives as individuals are often very aware of the norms of behaviour that are expected. The requirement of individuals to conform and be obedient to the norms set within the context is clear; these would also be social rules of group behaviour that individuals are conversant with. Conformity to the norms of the abusive church is a clear part of stories of SA. There are a number of common norms and behavioural expectations to which individuals are expected to conform. These include commitment and accountability. I have illustrated how conformity to expected norms can be seen as a sign of commitment to both

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the church and to God by those in authority and this relationship between obedience/submission and their own spiritual lives becomes internalised by the participants themselves, ‘I thought that if I were a “better Christian” and if I did what I was asked things might get better for me. I thought it must be me.’ Here again it is clear this ‘social rule’ is individualised and it becomes a personal responsibility. In many ways the church context acts as a panopticon (Foucualt, 1975). A panopticon is a prison made of glass. In the prison the guards can observe any individual at any point in time. The prisoners are never aware of whether they are being observed or not. Therefore, they need to keep to the rules all the time. As with Foucault’s prison, individuals experiencing SA were aware that their behaviour could be monitored at any time and therefore entered into self-surveillance and personal conformity. This is reflected in the narratives. ‘Every move I took seemed to be watched and judged. Even when I wasn’t with them I kept behaving in the right way. I was worried in case someone else told them if I didn’t.’

Accountability The discourse of obedience also produces a discourse of accountability, which again all members are expected to conform to. Within the Christian doctrine it is Biblical to make yourself accountable to other individuals (Ephesians 5 v 21). The main aim of this discourse is for individuals to provide themselves with others whom they trust who can act as a critical friend to provide guidance. Leadership is expected to be loving and serving, accountability to this genre of leader can be seen to be of positive benefit to the individual: ‘True accountability is a good thing.’ However, as with other examples, the discourse of accountability changes within the abusive context from accountability to a caring, critical friend who makes comments on the issues you choose to share, to accountability to an individual who is entitled to know and pass judgement on every area of your life, ‘I felt scrutinised, checked out. Every move I took seemed to be watched and judged upon.’ As stated, although abusers were seen to lack accountability, church members were required to be accountable to abusers for their use of time and the decisions made.

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Therefore, the discourse of obedience births a discourse of conformity leading to the requirement of accountability. A further discourse borne out of the conformity discourse is that of a rejection of non-conformity.

Rejection of non-conformity I have illustrated examples of the rejection of non-conformity and attempts to correct deviant behaviour. My argument is that the discourse of obedience births other discourses which allow for the creation and maintenance of SA. These discourses being Biblically based are extremely powerful. Abusers individualise the discourse to control individual behaviour and to coerce individuals into particular courses of action. This chapter has illustrated the importance of the discourse of obedience in the creation and maintenance of SA. Much abusive behaviour is derived from this discourse and therefore is difficult to challenge as this is a Biblical discourse and is therefore powerful to believers. A further Biblical discourse seen to be important in the experience of SA is that of unity.

Discourse three – unity The discourse around unity is centred upon the idea that although people exist as separate individuals they are actually part of one body of believers and belong to each other. (The ‘body’ is often conceptualised as a family, with the use of terms ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters in Christ’.) ‘The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body’ (1 Corinthians 12 v 12). ‘Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it’ (1 Corinthians 12 v 27). The message is clear: Christians are seen to belong to each other and further are responsible to and for each other. Indeed they are seen to share the ultimate empathy with each other: ‘If one part suffers, every part suffers with it’ (1 Corinthians 12 v 26). Throughout scripture there are frequent calls for unity with the purpose of protecting relationships and protecting the individuals who are part of the body of Christ. ‘Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace’ (Ephesians 4 v 3).

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‘Then make my joy complete by being like-minded’ (1 Philippians 2), ‘so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith’ (Ephesians 4 v 12–13). Thus the discourse of unity is a strong discourse: ‘we do belong . . . each of us is a valid part of the body of Christ’. In many churches this discourse is used to promote supportive and caring behaviour amongst believers. However, within the experience of SA the discourse can be used to control and manipulate behaviour. Abusers can exploit the discourse of preserving unity to control the behaviour of others and thus perpetuate the abuse. As with the discourse of obedience, the discourse of unity births other discourses in the abusive context.

Censorship One of the major methods used to control behaviour within the discourse of unity is censorship. The rationale for censorship presented to individuals is that any questioning or discussion of problems threatens church unity. ‘Keep your head down, and your mouth shut, and no-one is going to get hurt. Look on it as a case for “keeping unity”. ’ There are clear warnings in the Bible against gossip and these are often used to further support censorship within the abusive contexts. ‘Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen’ (Ephesians 4 v 29). The discourse of unity produces discourses which censor and limit individuals’ ability to question and critically evaluate. I suggest that this is a key tool in the maintenance of the abuse as there is limited ability to critically consider behaviours or to share concerns in a manner which might lead to the exposure of abusive practices. Therefore, the use of this discourse is extremely powerful and the exposure of this is important. Again individuals are made personally responsible for maintaining unity.

Summary This chapter has explored the major theme of power, which emerged from the narrative analysis, and included information from the CES (2012). This exploration has demonstrated how a developed

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understanding of SA must include a consideration of both the personal experience of SA and the cultural and spiritual context in which it occurs. These different aspects of SA are clearly interwoven like the threads of a tapestry, if one attempted to separate the threads and remove them the picture changes and is incomplete. This is the case for an understanding of SA. The role of Biblical discourses is fundamental to the experience of SA. Power is exercised through these discourses (Foucault, 1975). An exploration of the three dominant discourses discussed above allows for a deeper understanding of the story. The importance of unpacking SA by the investigation and application of discourses should not be underestimated and was a revelation to me personally. I realised that this is the answer to the question so many spiritually abused people ask: ‘why didn’t I see what was going on?’. The answer is that the discourses used are widely recognised and Biblically based. These discourses become constructed subtly differently in an abusive context such that there is an invisibility of power (Foucault, 1975). You believe you are behaving Biblically and so is your abuser. ‘At the time, however they treated me would have been alright for me.’ The discussion of discourses is absent from the literature in this area. Biblical discourses are used and abused and the difficulty in exposing the problem of SA rests in the inability for most individuals to differentiate between true Biblical discourse and constructed abusive discourses, ‘it is done in the name of God. That is why it is difficult to question and to do anything earlier’. SA is about the misuse of power in its spiritual context and in order to break the silence around SA there must be recognition of the abusive discourses. This would enable people to carefully examine discourses they are presented with and provide them with awareness of how these discourses may be changed in abusive contexts. A further issue this chapter has highlighted is the dominance of western understandings of self. Thus a focus on the individual as experiencing, and in some ways being responsible for, their abuse is predominant. This will be discussed further in the next chapter. An aim of the research undertaken was to allow an acknowledgment of SA as a form of abuse. The second theme identified within the narratives was ‘spiritual abuse is abuse’. This theme is to be explored in the following chapter.

3 Spiritual Abuse Is Abuse Lisa Oakley

This is abuse and people need to know it A clear message in stories of SA is that this experience is one of real abuse. Participants described their experiences as abuse, both explicitly and implicitly. It is becoming increasingly clear that the characteristics of SA as detailed by survivors bear striking similarity to documented characteristics of other forms of abuse. This chapter will explore the parallels between SA and other forms of abuse. However, it is also clear that the experience of SA cannot simply be incorporated into pre-existing models and understandings of abuse, as there are features of participants’ experiences which are distinct and different from other forms of abuse. Thus, there is a clear argument for the recognition of SA as a form of abuse, but also as a distinct form of abuse. Ward (2011:912) states that ‘spiritual abuse is a phenomenon in its own right’. Thus, this chapter will also explore the differences between SA and other forms of abuse. (See Table 3.1 for a summary of the sub-themes identified as dimensions of the theme of ‘spiritual abuse is abuse’.) A further and extremely important aspect of the experience of SA is the personal impact. Survivors describe SA as perpetrating an attack on their self and the core of who they see themselves to be. This subtheme is explored in the final section of this chapter. (See Table 3.2 for a summary of personal emotions identified as aspects of SA which have parallels in other forms of abuse.) The current literature shows minimal consideration of parallels between SA and other forms of abuse. Dupont (2004) makes mention 56

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Table 3.1 An alphabetical summary of the sub-themes identified as dimensions of the theme ‘spiritual abuse is abuse’ Sub-themes Spiritual abuse as abuse

Attack on self

Anger Blame Changing perceptions of reality Cycle of abuse Defining SA Distrust Fear Initial positive feelings Isolation Long-term impact Powerlessness Secrecy and Silence

Blame Distrust Fear Long-term impact Personal discredit Powerlessness Vulnerability

Table 3.2 A summary of personal emotions identified as aspects of spiritual abuse which have parallels in other forms of abuse Sub-themes Initial positive feelings Changing perceptions of reality Anger Blame Becoming the problem Betrayal Fear Distrust Isolation Secrecy and Silence Long-term impact Powerlessness

of parallels by suggesting the emotional reactions he witnessed to SA mirrored those he encountered working with individuals who had experienced CSA. Interestingly some participants made their own comparisons between SA and other forms of abuse. ‘Because that misuse of authority, power, captaincy, leadership caused me to experience the

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same emotions that I have felt as I have come to terms with sexual and physical abuse in my life . . . It attacks right at the heart and spirit of the person, in a similar way to other forms of abuse.’ The emotional reactions induced by SA mirrored those experienced as a consequence of physical and sexual abuse for this participant. ‘The shame, betrayal, anger, hopelessness, dirtiness and loneliness are just the same.’ Others identify their experience as abuse, though not relating it specifically to any designated category, ‘it is abuse just of a different kind . . . this is abuse and people need to know that’. However, it is also clear that understandings of SA are still in their infancy and thus many survivors are not even aware of the term currently and therefore do not have the vocabulary to describe their experience as SA. Perhaps the lack of understanding and accepted definition prevent them from even identifying their own experience as SA: ‘back then no one had heard of Spiritual abuse’.

A rose by any other name – the parallels between spiritual abuse and other forms of abuse This section will explore the parallels between themes identified from the narrative analysis and key characteristics of other forms of abuse to provide evidence for an acceptance of SA as a form of abuse.

Initial positive feelings Often the emotions associated with the initial part of an individual’s story of SA are positive. It is interesting that within a broadly individualistic culture, as Baumeister and Leary (1995) suggest, a fundamental need of individuals is to belong, to be part of a collective. Deaux et al. (1999) suggest that one of the functions of group membership is that it increases belongingness. That is, individuals join groups because they fulfil a deep-seated need to belong. The importance of a positive welcome to the individual and the interpersonal contact received on entering the abusive system should not be underestimated. Chrnalogar (2000:10) describes the ‘great display of personal attention, love and caring that is what people find so attractive about such groups’. This welcome is personal and found to have a positive impact upon self-esteem. Ministers are often skilled communicators who recall

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individuals by name and imply that they are able to meet their needs (Oakes, 1997). The initial period of time in an abusive relationship is often very positive, with individuals feeling a sense of belonging and acceptance and receiving positive interpersonal rewards (Parsons, 2000). Members receive commitment and the offer of the church acting as a substitute family, which in a society where extended family support is diminishing (Moore, 2004), is attractive to many and remains so for sometime (Parsons, 2000). Thus, the church meets the individuals’ need to belong and has a positive impact upon their self-esteem. The first period of time spent with the abuser and in the church context is often extremely positive. This has clear parallels with other forms of abuse. A common tactic in experiences of CSA is the initial establishment of a positive relationship between the abuser and the individual whom they will abuse. The ‘grooming’ process is clearly documented both in individual CSA (Sullivan & Beech, 2002; McAlinden, 2006) and more recently in work focused on street grooming (CEOP, 2011). Warner (2000) suggests that the development of a positive identity for the abuser and the validation of the individual to be abused is a tactic within CSA. Further the grooming process often involves the whole family, which is necessary to allow the abuse to occur and subsequently to be denied (Foote, 1999; CPSU Briefing, 2010). Survivors of SA describe initial feelings and evaluations about the abusive church and its members and leaders as being extremely positive. Early experiences include warm welcomes and extremely friendly initial interactions with individuals who seem personally interested. Some churches are equivalent to a family unit and these factors meet ideal expectations for a church, ‘a great place, welcoming and like a real family’. In addition to positive experiences with other church members’ the establishment of a personal relationship with the abuser is often initially very positive and rewarding. ‘Everything was great at the start; we had meals together, met to plan together and were very close friends.’ These initial positive feelings are often of a long duration for individuals even being characteristic of their first few years at the church. ‘Everything was good for the first couple of years.’ This positive early experience is important because it often leads individuals to seek to become more involved in the church. It is also often a reason why individuals accept some of the more controlling

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and coercive aspects of the experience when they first encounter them, ‘being nice, kind and generous and then you’re stuck, you’re obliged, they’ve bought you. You just feel that you’ve got to, you know, repay the generosity, you feel like you’re indebted’. Such social indebtedness perhaps distinguishes SA from CSA wherein grooming is a deliberate tactic from an abuser who establishes the relationship with the child with the intent of subsequent abuse. There is no evidence that this is the same process within SA. This raises a question again about intentionality as a defining feature of abuse, which was explored in Chapter 1. As stated, Dupont (2004) suggests that no one intentionally sets out to spiritually abuse another. That is, the establishment of the positive relationship is not an intentional policy to provide the opportunity for subsequent abuse. It can be considered to be a normal part of church protocol to be welcoming to all newcomers in church contexts. Whether or not the establishment of a positive relationship is a deliberate method of grooming for SA or a normal part of church protocol, there are clear parallels with other forms of abuse. The establishment of this positive relationship, as in other forms of abuse, appears to be an important part of the abusive process, making subsequent abuse possible and more difficult to challenge.

Changing perceptions of reality Once the positive relationship has been established further steps in the process of abuse are the constantly changing nature of the relationship between the abuser and the abused, and challenging the reality of the experiences that the abused individual encounters. This has been discussed in Chapter 2. Here it is important to note the confusion and distress such challenges to perceptions of reality provoke in individuals. ‘It is a powerful force that can leave those in its wake confused.’ This confusion arises due to the changing nature of the relationship between abuser and survivor and the subsequent denial of abusive episodes, ‘they rang and invited us round to sort it out. We went and it was like nothing had ever happened or been said. Two days later it was my birthday and I was in the shop and X came in and totally ignored me . . . At 9.30 that night I heard something in the hall . . . When

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we went to bed we realised that it was another letter from X. I opened it and it was a birthday card saying “I thank God for you, you are so wonderful”.’ Often after such an episode individuals find themselves confused and can question where they were to blame ‘ “it must have been me”, I must have ignored her’. Ward (2011) notes the confusion associated with experiences of SA. There are also clear parallels with the confusion and changing relationships noted in SA and other experiences of CSA and verbal abuse (VA). According to Furniss (1991) there is an entrance and an exit ritual that the abuser employs during an abusive episode of CSA. For example, the abuser may enter as father and then change during the abusive episode to an ‘other person’ whilst abusing, then change back to the father who can be trusted after the abuse. This process is mirrored in SA where positive interactions are followed by abusive interactions, which are then followed by positive interactions. Warner (2000) notes that the changing nature of the relationship within CSA promotes confusion in the child. This confusion is replicated in SA, ‘I was the only one that could see it and I must be going mad.’ Evans (2010) details similar parallels in VA; she notes the continually changing nature of the relationship with the abuser, which clearly results in confusion in those who have been verbally abused. She suggests that controlling and shaping the reality of those they are abusing is a tactic of the abuser in VA. An element of this shaping is the portrayal of the abuser as right and the abused as wrong (Evans, 1994:35).

Anger There are a number of emotions raised by the experience of SA which have clear parallels to other forms of abuse. Anger is one of the emotions which is often a response to the experience. ‘I felt angry and tired when I left.’ Additionally, some individuals feel angry when reflecting on their abusive experience, ‘then I felt, and still feel, deep anger’. One participant’s discussion of anger as a result of her experience of SA enabled her to draw comparisons between emotions she experienced in other forms of abuse and those experienced in SA. She

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equated her experience of SA to other experiences of abuse and suggested that the feelings elicited by both forms of abuse include the emotion of anger: ‘The shame, betrayal, anger, hopelessness, dirtiness and loneliness are just the same.’ Anger is a common response to other forms of abuse, for example, anger is a frequent reaction to the experience of CSA (Hall & Lloyd, 1993; Schneider et al., 2005; Edwards et al., 2012). Equally, survivors of emotional abuse in childhood and domestic abuse (DA) in adulthood report anger as a consequence of their experiences (Dutton, 1999; Sebre et al., 2004; Schultz et al., 2007; Stein, 2012). The parallel between SA and other forms of abuse is further supported by a discussion of anger, which seems to be a common emotion associated with abuse of any form.

Blame Often individuals feel blamed for the abuse they are experiencing and feel that they are the problem. Sometimes blame is explicitly assigned to an individual. ‘He said it was completely my fault.’ In addition, there are often feelings and allegations of betrayal. This is also an element of blame as individuals are identified as the source of any problems they raise within the abusive church and additionally are accused of betraying abusers and churches, ‘They said we had betrayed them.’ The attribution of blame is a common tactic utilised in CSA (Warner, 2000; Zinzow et al., 2010). Children who revealed abuse to their parents were often blamed for it (Hershkowitz et al., 2007). Similarly, survivors of VA report being blamed for their own suffering (Evans, 1994, 2010; Loh et al., 2011). Individuals may struggle with the inability to have their experience of abuse believed and may find themselves blamed by others, not just the abuser. ‘I kept telling my husband but he just said it was all fine and it was me. I thought I was going mad.’ Hall and Lloyd (1993) note that due to the stigma of CSA children were often blamed by others for their abuse or disbelieved, perhaps because acceptance of the reality was too difficult. My suggestion is that SA is similarly stigmatised or misunderstood in the church (Enroth, 1994) and, therefore, there is comparable reluctance to acknowledge and accept the abuse as reality. This can lead to the attribution of blame to the abused.

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In addition to blame from others self-blame is also a feature of the experience of SA, ‘I thought it was my fault.’ Individuals feel that they must be at least in part to blame for the abuse. This may be reflective of their acceptance of parts of the experience or their lack of challenge to the abuse. Self-blame is also noted as a common reaction to an experience of other forms of abuse (Hall & Lloyd, 1993; Hazzard et al., 1995; Barker-Collo, 2001; Zinzow et al., 2010). For example, Barker-Collo (2001) suggests that individuals often internally attribute blame for their experiences of CSA. Further self-blame is shown to be associated with CSA as a contributory factor in the long-term impact of this abuse (Coffey et al., 1996; Filipas & Ullman, 2006).

Fear Fear is a pervasive part of the experience of SA, ‘it is all based on fear’. Participants’ experiences of fear have a direct impact on their actions within the abusive context and are found to sanction and limit behaviour: ‘a leadership team of yes people too scared or too loyal to say anything’. Fear is associated with spiritual penalties for lack of obedience and conformity. Individuals are often made fearful of the possible spiritual repercussions of their actions. ‘He said that as my spiritual advisor he was very concerned about my moral welfare.’ This is a further element of SA which differentiates it from other forms of abuse. The threat of spiritual repercussions may be extremely damaging to an individual whose faith is central to their sense of self. Any threat to their spiritual future can represent a real threat to the individual. Therefore, describing spiritual consequences for behaviour is a powerful means of control for individuals who hold spiritual beliefs, and these spiritual consequences are individualised: ‘you’ll never be blessed again’. Loh et al. (2011) discuss the notion of negative prediction in the context of VA; they suggest part of the experience is forecasting negative outcomes for those who are being abused and speaking these out to them. Although, forecasting negative spiritual outcomes seems to be a distinct element of SA; the discussion of negative predictions illustrates further parallels between SA and other forms of abuse.

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In the last chapter the issue of leaving the abusive context was explored. Participants noted fear associated with their decision to leave. In addition to the personal fear of leaving and the spiritual and social consequences of this decision, some individuals fear the view of the church that might be portrayed as a result of their decision to leave. This is another rationale for participants leaving quietly and without discussing the abusive experience. ‘Generally people leave churches quietly. They don’t want to rock the boat. They don’t want to cause trouble. They don’t want the world to think that the church that preaches love can’t live it out.’ Fear as a reaction is reported as a universal response to abuse (Hathaway, 2000; Pickering, 2000; Quinn, 2002; Jensen et al., 2005). For example, Sanderson (2006) notes the fear associated with CSA. As in SA this fear is often associated with not sharing the abuse with others because of possible rejection or disbelief (Jensen et al., 2005). Fear is therefore a further parallel between SA and other forms of abuse. It is experienced as a deeply personal emotion and is a strong element of the story of SA. That is, interactions between individuals and their abusers, and threats of consequences internal and external to the church context, produce personal fear. This fear then impacts future interactions and behaviour of the individual, preventing them from sharing their abuse either inside or beyond the church context and sometimes preventing them from exiting. This then isolates individuals from interacting with others who may challenge the abusive behaviour and therefore facilitates the continuation of SA. Therefore, interaction plays a foundational role in the development of fear and this fear then impacts upon future interaction and behaviour and the maintenance of SA.

Distrust One of the strongest responses to SA is distrust. The depth of distrust is difficult to adequately describe in a text. The distrust is deep and often very long lasting and damaging. It encompasses a distrust of others as a consequence of the experience of SA. Individuals experience SA at the hands of those they feel they should be able to trust. This leaves them reluctant to trust again, ‘I’m very cynical. I see a different side to people. I don’t trust people, I just don’t trust anyone,’ and with

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a distrust of themselves, ‘I felt isolated and I couldn’t trust myself, my intellect, my instincts.’ The distrust of others leaves individuals dubious about engaging in future relationships. The lack of other relationships may compound the isolation felt after an experience of SA. Not only do individuals feel isolated from others due to a breakdown in relationships inside the context, they also feel unable to form new relationships external to the context. ‘The long-term damage is that we are reluctant to get involved in anything or with anyone, we keep ourselves to ourselves.’ Distrust of others is a frequent consequence of an abusive experience per se (Luster & Small, 1997; Gartner, 2004; Messman-Moore & Coates, 2007) and, as with SA, this leads to issues with subsequent relationship formation (Baker & Duncan, 1985; Hall & Lloyd, 1993; Hague & Wilson, 2000; Messman-Moore & Coates, 2007). For example, Hague and Wilson (2000:168) refer to the ‘everlasting loss of trust’ associated with the experience of DA. Similarly, problems have been identified with the establishment of other relationships after an experience of CSA (Hall & Lloyd, 1993). One explanation for this is that the isolation the child feels due to their abusive experiences inhibits the formation of subsequent relationships (O’Riordan & Arensman, 2007). Their ensuing relationships are often impacted by distrust and insecurity. These emotions are a consequence of their experience of the misuse of power and betrayal of trust within the abusive relationship (Baker & Duncan, 1985). Similarly, after experiences of physical abuse children will often withdraw (Martin & Beezley, 1977). Again, the parallels between SA and other forms of abuse are demonstrated through consideration of distrust and its long-term impact on survivors. Those who have been abused feel personally damaged and the protective response is the distrust of others. Individuals assume that the cause of SA is within the individual who abused them. Therefore, a rational consequence is to distrust other individuals as a way to avoid subsequent abuse.

Impact on faith and church attendance The distrust left by the experience of SA sometimes has a direct impact on faith. Some individuals may be unable to separate their beliefs in God from their abusive experience. Ward (2011:905) notes that individuals may feel that their abuser represents God in some

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way; this has ‘repercussions for subsequent views of spirituality after they depart from the group’. Participants from Ward’s research in Australia describe the impact of SA on their subsequent faith and relationships with God: ‘I don’t have anything to do with the Bible,’ ‘angry with God and I would cry myself to sleep at night telling him how angry I was with him’ (Ward, 2011:905). Individuals who have experienced SA find they distrust God and some do not continue to have a personal faith, ‘Then you come up against this and you ask “is there anything behind it all?”, “I say you throw the whole lot out, Church, God everything”. ’ SA does not always have consequences for personal faith but may impact on subsequent church attendance. That is, individuals continue to hold a personal Christian faith and relationship with God but no longer attend church: ‘This has left me feeling dubious about church and about the authorities that monitor churches, or lack of them’, ‘I still believe but I don’t do Church anymore’, ‘Individuals either leave church behind altogether or become cynical about church.’

Isolation As stated a consequence of distrust is isolation. In the previous chapter I discussed the use of isolation to punish and control behaviour in the abusive context and to prevent contact with individuals after they had left the context. Isolation is also a product of the abusive experience. Isolation is especially powerful in abuses which are not currently recognised. Hague and Wilson (2000) reflect on the history of DA. They note that the lack of acceptance of this abuse led to women hiding their experiences of abuse and, therefore, being unaware of others who had been similarly abused. Evans also comments on the isolation caused by VA leaving victims assuming they are alone in their experience and being unable to define the cause of their suffering (Evans, 1994:27; 2010). Loh et al. (2011) suggests both children experiencing VA and those abusing them may not recognise their behaviour as abusive. The lack of acceptance of any form of abuse could be seen to contribute to the isolation of survivors. ‘The subtle nature of spiritual abuse often leaves those victims walking a lonely, misunderstood road.’ SA is still to be formally acknowledged as a form of abuse and therefore isolation for survivors of this form of abuse can be argued to be

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even more extreme. The lack of public recognition of SA can be seen to isolate individuals and, therefore, render them unable to share and network with others. Personal isolation is often part of the experience of abuse. ‘Looking back I wasn’t alone in my isolation. Many, many people in the church were each isolated in their own ways.’ Those who recognise abusive practices are often further isolated by the lack of acceptance of this reality in other church members. ‘I felt very isolated like I was the only one that could see it . . . .’ This lack of acceptance allows the abusive behaviour to be perpetuated and is a factor in the maintenance of SA.

Secrecy and silence Elements of SA which can exaggerate the isolation experienced by abused individuals are secrecy and silence. I explored examples of enforced secrecy and silence in the previous chapter. I have illustrated the use of secrecy as an institutional tool to maintain control over information and to mask the reality of situations within the church. However, the issue of silence reported by participants was more of a personal method of control. That is, individuals felt effectively silenced within the abusive context. The inability to raise issues was part of this silencing. As with other forms of abuse individuals noted that remaining silent about their own personal situation was a requirement of the abusive system, ‘He told me not to say anything.’ The impact of silencing individuals upon the continuation of SA is also noted, ‘The power of silence is what has kept the problem of spiritual abuse so strong in the church . . . The silence stops us from realising just how big this problem really is in our churches. It really is time we woke up and smelt the coffee.’ Warner (2000) notes a tactic of CSA is the enforcement of secrecy and silence in the abused individual. Often the secrecy and silence is maintained through threats of disastrous consequences to the individual or to a member of their family if they inform anyone of the abuse (Furniss, 1991). Secrecy is also seen to be a central concept in experiences of incest, DA and VA (Hague & Wilson, 2000; Bass et al., 2006; Evans, 2010). With these forms of abuse individuals are silenced by the threatened consequences and this allows the abuse to continue. As with other forms of abuse the lack of acceptance of SA is perpetuated by the secrecy surrounding it. Those leaving churches

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rarely speak out. The topic of SA is not discussed within and between churches and the silencing of individuals within the abusive church is compounded by the silencing outside of this context. ‘They don’t want the world to think that the church that preaches love can’t live it out.’ Thus, the topic of SA is rarely discussed or understood and this has major implications for personal and public acknowledgement of this form of abuse. Additionally, the secrecy facilitates the continuation of SA without challenge. The topics of secrecy and silence again highlight the importance of acknowledging and accepting SA as a form of abuse to enable intervention and personal acceptance.

Long-term impact In common with other forms of abuse stories of SA often contain evidence of the long-term impact of this form of abuse: ‘The long-term effects are . . . ,’ ‘The long-term damage is . . . .’ Many individuals are living with the impact of SA years after the abuse has ended (Ward, 2011). ‘It has taken me 11 years to feel better.’ It has become clear whilst studying other forms of abuse that the impact of abuse is frequently long-term. The long-term impact of CSA has been well documented (Warner, 2000; Dube et al., 2005). Similarly, the impact of DA has been found to last for over 40 years (Hague & Wilson, 2000). Interestingly the long-term impact of sexual and physical abuse within religiously affiliated institutions has already been documented (Wolfe et al., 2006). The long-term effects of SA encompass a number of different areas of the individual’s life, all of which represent a personal impact on the individual. SA has already been shown to affect faith, church attendance and subsequent relationships, earlier in this chapter. ‘This has left me feeling dubious about church and the authorities that monitor churches or lack of them . . . I don’t do church regularly anymore’. ‘This has changed my view of church’. ‘Now I see a different side to people, I don’t trust people’. ‘It causes people to question everything, right up to the point of whether they believe anything anymore.’ Additionally long-term changes to self and relationships can be a result of the experience of SA. ‘I am not the same person and don’t think I will ever be.’ (These changes will be discussed more fully under the heading ‘Attack on self’, later in this chapter.)

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One of the reasons for the long-term impact of SA is the lack of acceptance and recognition by others of the experience of it, which has already been discussed. Individuals share common experiences of not being understood by Christians and non-Christians alike. Non-Christians often lack a basic commitment to and understanding of faith and belief, which from a Christian viewpoint may make discussion with them both inappropriate and ineffective. Additionally, many Christians greet discussions of SA with suspicion or scepticism (Enroth, 1994). Thus individuals find a lack of real understanding of SA amongst Christians because many individuals have never experienced SA and may not believe it to exist (Enroth, 1992). Christians may distance themselves from individuals who tell their stories of SA. This distancing may occur because people feel uncomfortable listening to stories of abuse and moreover the situation is arguably compounded as these stories are located within the church context. There may be implications for people’s views of church if they listen to an account of SA. Their perception of church as a ‘safe’ place may be challenged (Oakley & Oakley, 2005b) and the refusal to listen to other’s stories of abuse may be arguably a defence mechanism which protects the individual from having to reconsider their constructions of church. This mode of defence has been identified in other forms of abuse. For example Summit (1983) reflects on a conspiracy of silence that surrounds CSA allegations. He suggests that the parent who has not abused the child is unable to accept their child’s disclosure of abuse and often refuses to discuss the issue because of the implications this has. The rejection of disclosure of their stories of SA often leaves individuals feeling guilty, misunderstood and even rejected and they learn not to discuss their experience or to pretend it did not happen (Enroth, 1994). This misunderstanding and pressure to remain silent about the abuse can be a further manipulation for the individual and they are again confronted with the no-talk rule. In one sense individuals who leave the abusive context do not now fully ‘belong’ even to the Christians ‘in-group’. Therefore, it is difficult for them to establish which ‘in-group’, if any, they now belong to. One survivor describes the impact of this experience: ‘I felt like I was put out to pasture, like an orphan, unwanted and unloved. No one but me knew the deep scars that I had inside, even nine years later, I am still

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sensing great emotional scars’ (Enroth, 1994:15). This quote clearly demonstrates the deeply personal impact of SA. The long-term impact of SA is in the early stages of recognition and only just beginning to be understood. Individuals describe not being able to try to openly share their experience for some years (Enroth, 1994). Feelings of anger, hurt and confusion continue in individuals’ experience for a considerable time period after leaving (Blue, 1993). This may be compounded by the inability to discuss and work through the experience. A consequence of the lack of knowledge about SA leads to a lack of intervention strategies and a paucity of clear and detailed support for survivors (Kinmond & Oakley, 2006; Oakley & Kinmond, 2007). The long-term impact the experience has is clear and it is an important part of the understanding of SA and the call for acceptance of SA as abuse. One important factor to note is that some participants described the experience as increasing in reality and severity as time progressed and not diminishing. ‘This experience becomes more and more real.’ Again this may be reflective of the current lack of informed support/counselling for survivors of SA (Kinmond & Oakley, 2006). This is why the exploring of strategies for intervention has been included in Chapters 5 and 6 of this text. Clearly, the same long-term impact identified in other forms of abuse is found in SA and also the depth of emotion associated with this impact. The long-term impact of SA is a further parallel between it and other forms of abuse.

Powerlessness A further part of the story of SA is personal powerlessness. Individuals reflect on their own powerlessness in a number of different ways. They are powerless to obtain acceptance for the abuse they are experiencing: ‘no-one else could see what was going on’; together with being powerless to prevent abuse occurring to others: ‘What is worse is it will carry on.’ This is a further example of the link between the current experience of SA and the lack of acceptance and acknowledgment of it. The feeling of powerlessness is a documented consequence of other forms of abuse. For example, the feeling of being unable to control

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the situation is a classic response associated with CSA (Hall & Lloyd, 1993; Coffey et al., 1996; Warner, 2000). Interestingly the powerlessness associated with CSA impacts the child’s ability to adjust in the long term (Coffey et al., 1996). Evans (2010) identifies powerlessness as a consequence of being trapped in a verbally abusive relationship. Hague and Wilson (2000) suggest that women feel powerless as a consequence of DA and this emotion continues after the abuse ends. Clearly, powerlessness is an important part of the story and is experienced at a personal level and often linked to the long-term impact of abuse of all kinds. However, in the last chapter I reflected that powerlessness is also an institutional issue. It is part of the story of abuse because there is little acknowledgement of SA within the church system therefore the church is powerless to tackle the issue and this leads to powerlessness of individuals within the church system. This is further evidence for the need to accept and acknowledge SA and to develop effective support for individuals to help deal with the individual powerlessness experienced as a consequence of SA. It is also a distinction between this and other forms of abuse that have already been accepted in society, in that those who survive SA are perhaps even more powerless than survivors of other forms of abuse which are readily accepted and for which intervention and empathy are already developed.

The revolving door of spiritual abuse One consequence of the powerlessness of individuals and institutions within mainstream churches is the potential for a continuing cycle of SA. That is, individuals leave the church powerless to confront the abuse and therefore nothing changes, then other individuals join the church unaware of its abusive nature. Stories of SA show that leaving the abusive church is a common experience allowing abuse to perpetuate. However, individuals are often seen to leave churches without recognition or discussion of their experience. This then facilitates the continuation of SA, ‘Generally people leave quietly.’ SA can remain unchallenged in churches for a significant time period, again allowing the cycle of abuse to continue, ‘abusive situations continue on for years’, ‘After I left lots of others left too . . . The minister is still there 10 years later’.

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There is also evidence for the cyclical nature of SA, ‘I had seen this all before and I knew what was happening . . . Nothing has changed and people still leave periodically.’ Recognition and acceptance of SA would allow individuals to challenge abuse and may, therefore, help to prevent further abuse of other individuals. An additional rationale for acceptance is the impact of SA and the continuing cycle of abuse on the recovery of individuals. It can prevent individuals from being able to come to terms with their experience, which can lead to long-term effects. ‘Why is this allowed to continue? Why is nothing done? . . . what is worse is that it will carry on – how do you let go of that?’ An exploration of abuse literature suggests that other forms of abuse are also cyclical (Kravitz et al., 1996; Warner, 2000; Mapp, 2006; Huefner et al., 2007). Frequently, the cycle depicted in other forms of abuse is that abused individuals become abusers. This is a common pattern seen in child abuse (Warner, 2000; Valentino et al., 2012). Within the experience of SA there is also evidence of a cyclical nature. However, the cycle here is not the abused becoming the abuser, but that SA remains unrecognised and unchallenged and, thus, it continues within churches. This could be conceptualised as the revolving door of SA. That is, individuals who leave are hurt and afraid and they therefore leave quietly, with this quiet exit allowing the cycle of abuse to continue as new individuals join the church.

Section summary I have drawn clear parallels with other forms of abuse to provide support for the acceptance of SA as a form of abuse. The focus of this section has been twofold: firstly, to provide evidence from the narratives that illustrates the similarity of this form of abuse with others and to show the need to accept and acknowledge SA. The similarity of experience between SA and other forms of abuse has been demonstrated and forms an evidential basis from which to create a strong argument for the acceptance of SA as a form of abuse. The second focus of this section has been to illustrate the deeply personal impact of SA and the emotional responses of individuals to this experience.

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The distinct nature of spiritual abuse Having provided evidence for the parallels between SA and other forms of abuse it is pertinent to reflect upon the distinguishing features of this form of abuse to provide evidence for the acceptance of SA as a distinct form of abuse. These factors are drawn out of the narrative analysis in this chapter and Chapter 2. The factors which differentiate SA from other abuses are: • the notion of divine position; • the use of scripture and the pulpit to enforce agendas and challenge behaviour; • the spiritual context within which SA occurs which allows many of the behaviours seen in SA to occur and births discourses which I have argued are foundational for the experience to occur; • the threat of spiritual consequences for individuals who do not conform; • the impact upon core faith beliefs following the experience of SA. My argument is that SA cannot simply be grouped with other forms of abuse as there are clear distinctions which mean that a full understanding of SA must include an acknowledgment of the factors which differentiate it from other forms of abuse; that is, the church context in which the abuse occurs and the discourses that arise from the context, together with the issue of the position of the abuser and the spiritual impact of this form of abuse. If appropriate help and support for survivors of SA is to be developed the distinctive nature of SA must be understood.

The fight for recognition and acceptance The current search for recognition and acceptance and discussion of definition of SA has obvious parallels with the history of other forms of abuse. As noted earlier, denial and lack of acceptance litter the history of abuse. Draucker (1992) similarly reflects on the initial denial of CSA by both the public and researchers. This text is part of the process of breaking the silence surrounding SA and initiates a foundation for acceptance of this experience as a distinct form of abuse.

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A more recent example of such breaking of silence about abusive practice, and subsequent emergent recognition, is reflected in the lack of awareness and acceptance of elder abuse. Biggs et al. (1995) indicate that the lack of acceptance of elder abuse may in part reflect the poor status of elderly people and those caring for them. Similarly, individuals who attend church may be suggested to have relatively low status in society currently, as there is an increase in secularisation. This may be a factor in the lack of interest in SA and subsequently acceptance of it. Further, it may be suggested that the general consensus is that church attendance is optional and opting out is as easy as opting in. If individuals are not happy they can simply leave. Thus, there is no great need to explore SA and to accept it as a form of abuse, as individuals can easily choose to end their abusive experience. I would argue that this is a simplistic stance as I have already illustrated that, as with other forms of abuse, leaving is extremely difficult. Indeed, Chrnalogar (2000) likens leaving abusive churches to ‘spiritual suicide’. It can be seen that the struggle for recognition of forms of abuse has a long history and characterises the process of acceptance for newly identified forms of abuse. I suggest that SA in the UK is currently in this initial stage of invisibility and struggle echoing the experience of other forms of abuse struggling for recognition. ‘The silence stops us from realising just how big this problem really is in our churches. It really is time we all woke up and smelt the coffee.’ This tussle for acceptance of SA clearly reflects Evans’ (1994) description of the fight for recognition of survivors of VA and the voice of survivors of SA joins those who have survived VA. As Evans (1994:25) states, ‘The voices of the survivors seem to echo and merge in one voice seeking truth, understanding and validation.’

Attack on self In stories of SA individuals often spend a significant amount of time describing the impact of the experience upon them as an individual. The effects of SA are often experienced as a direct attack on who they see themselves to be. Initially, I considered ‘attack on self’ as a separate superordinate theme. However, whilst writing a first draft of the thesis I noted the repetition between my original themes of

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identification and definition of SA and attack on self. On reflection I realised this was because rather than these being two distinct aspects of SA they were actually both part of one major theme being ‘spiritual abuse is abuse’. The section on identification and definition of SA provided evidence for it to be accepted as a form of abuse and suggested a definition from the narrative information provided. However, I am aware of the need to maintain the personal story of the experience of SA because of the importance that participants placed on this within their narratives. Therefore, it does not seem appropriate to consider attack on self with other characteristics of abuse. I am therefore considering the impact on self as a separate sub-theme in the broader theme of ‘spiritual abuse is abuse’. The subtheme attack on self is distinctive because it illustrates the manner in which individuals noted their sense of self being attacked by the abusive experience. This is a strong part of their story and provides clear evidence for SA as a form of abuse. The impact of other forms of abuse upon self has been well documented. For example, current government definitions of emotional abuse in children illustrate a clear focus upon the personal impact of the abuse for the individual child and their emotional development (DCSF, 2010). Similarly, Evans’ (2010) comments upon the deeply damaging personal impact of VA upon the target of abuse and their sense of self. Evans (2010) further details the personal isolation of those who experience VA as individuals feel unable to share their experiences. The study of VA is especially pertinent as SA includes verbal threats and intimidation (Johnson & Vanvonderhen, 1991; Dupont, 2004), and thus it can be suggested that SA may incorporate features of VA. Nandlal and Wood (1997) suggest that VA is often evaluated, by professionals, as less serious than physical abuse; this is important because it contradicts the personal story told by survivors of VA and to some extent negates their personal experience. The narrative analysis illustrates how SA is reported as producing an attack on self and impacting the sense of value individuals placed on themselves, in much the same way as other forms of abuse. The participants maintained a clear personal focus as they recounted their stories. The impact of the experience of SA on their sense of self seemed to be profoundly important. The depth of emotion and trauma associated with the experience of SA should not be

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underestimated. ‘The impact of Spiritual abuse is like someone setting light to a stick of dynamite inside you.’ Recognition of the depth of the impact of SA is essential in gaining a clear and detailed understanding of this experience. Perhaps the greatest understanding of this can be gained from one individual who considered suicide following her experience of SA. ‘At my worst I was suicidal; I planned out how I was going to do it.’ The deeply personal story of SA has a clear story of culture interwoven with it. As stated earlier, the western culture that participants belong to suggests self as the centre and originator of experience (Smail, 2005). Therefore, it is unsurprising that the experience of SA is discussed in terms of how it impacted upon self. SA is seen to be experienced as an attack on self: ‘It attacks right at the heart and spirit of a person’; ‘When someone writes to you like that it is like someone is personally attacking you.’ The consequence of these attacks for some survivors can be changes to their self. ‘It has changed me as a person’. ‘I am not the same person I was and I don’t think I ever will be.’ Greenberg and Prior (2003) note that emotions are interwoven with our concept of self. Indeed they suggest that emotions can alter the self and the goals that we have. As reported earlier, in the narrative accounts there were many references to emotions experienced as part of the abusive experience. In the next section the manner in which these emotions either attack the individual’s sense of self or require them to alter their view of self will be explored. One of the primary ways in which self is attacked is through the use of blame. I have already illustrated that self-blame is part of the experience of SA. Individuals who are blamed for the abuse they have received find that their sense of self is undermined. They are held personally responsible for any problems/abusive behaviour they encounter. ‘If I mentioned it to anyone I was a troublemaker.’ I suggest that the attachment of blame devalues the self. The abuser is effectively stating that the abused individual is responsible for their own abuse. The fault is with the individual and therefore the implication is that there is something wrong with them as a person. This is experienced as an attack on self. In addition to being blamed for any problems they encountered individuals noted their sense of self being attacked through personal discredit. ‘He said he had grave doubts about my moral standards.’ Such

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personal discredit represents a direct attack on the individual’s self and clearly blames something within the individual for the problems they have encountered. Personal discredit and other aspects of the experience can leave individuals unable to trust others. As detailed earlier, one of the strongest emotions is that of distrust and this can extend to the inability to trust oneself, ‘I felt isolated and I couldn’t trust myself, my intellect, my instincts.’ Campbell (1990) suggests that low self-esteem is related to a lack of a ‘consistent understanding of self’. Campbell (1990) proposes that low self-esteem is not an evaluation that the self is worthless but from a lack of conviction that the self is worthy. Using Campbell’s (1990) definition of self-esteem I would argue that those participants who distrust themselves have no consistent self-understanding and therefore according to Campbell they cannot consider their self to be worthy. Again, self is seen to be devalued by the experience of SA and the result is personal distrust. A further aspect of the attack on self is the fear that dominates experiences of SA. ‘It just seems to be based on fear.’ I suggest that individuals’ fear can be related to their lack of control in the abusive context. They are afraid of what might happen to them as they do not have control of events. This lack of control undermines their view of themselves as independent individuals with autonomy and control; the fear elicited in the context further attacks the individual’s sense of self and becomes part of their personal story. Individuals noted the loss of relationships and the psychological impact of the experience of SA on future relationship formation. As discussed, if individuals did make the decision to leave they were often isolated post exit from the abusive church. Their social relationships were often halted and their experience was akin to bereavement. The impact of SA can affect individuals’ social selves; that is, their ability to form relationships and how they behave in them. Perhaps the clearest attack on self is perpetrated by rendering participants powerless within the abusive context and post exit. ‘It felt to me like he was watching me and if I managed to find music he would say “we are going to just say the psalm” and if I couldn’t find any he would say “we will sing the psalm”. It was very uncomfortable and I was powerless to do anything.’ For others powerlessness is encountered after the abusive experience, as a consequence of it ‘It leaves people crushed

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and feeling helpless.’ Powerlessness is part of the personal story of SA. It represents an element of attack on self, as the individual is undermined and rendered powerless and this will further impact notions they have of themselves as autonomous individuals. The final emotion which results from an attack on self is vulnerability. Survivors often note the intense feelings of vulnerability they experienced: ‘once you’re in you’re easy pickings, you’re a sitting duck waiting to be pushed in whatever direction they want you to go in’; ‘everybody in that situation is in a way vulnerable’; ‘I began to feel uncomfortable, she undermined my confidence’. Subsequent to the experience survivors often felt vulnerable about their ‘self’ and felt it had been judged as inadequate, thus compounding the sense of self under attack, ‘it made me question myself, am I who I think I am, competent and able?’. One of our foci in western society is the maintenance of our stable core and coherent sense of self (Flax, 1990; Gergen, 1991; Glass, 1993). Self can be seen as stable if each individual has a core set of roles, characteristics and behaviours that are seen as relatively enduring across situations. Our perception of the stability of self is derived from our understanding of who we are, the aspects that are central to our self-definition and an understanding that these aspects are in some way continuous. Interestingly the experience of SA attacks the stability of self by attacking an individual’s core self and the continuity of this self. Kelly (1955) suggests a cognitive view of self assembled from core constructs, that is, stable ways of thinking about the world and predicting behaviour. The experience of SA can be seen to threaten these core constructs and therefore threaten the stability of self. Kelly (1955) suggests such a threat creates anxiety and the resolution of this anxiety is found in the altering of these core constructs. However, any altering to core constructs then changes an individual’s views of their self and this change results in a discontinuous core self and therefore continuity is broken. Thus the experience of SA attacks at the stable self individuals perceive themselves as possessing. One example of such a threat to a core construct was the described changes or threats to participants’ personal belief systems as a result of SA. ‘Everything I once knew I doubt and I even question my faith now’. ‘It [SA] causes people to question everything, right up to the point of whether they believe anything anymore. Sometimes it causes people to switch off

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totally and throw out everything they have always believed.’ ‘Wounds are so deep and pain is so intense that large numbers have left the church altogether’ (Beasley-Murray, 1998:6). As detailed above individuals may feel that in addition to the minister failing them God has also failed them in some way (Appleton, 2003). Individuals may question why God did not protect them in the church context. Further, if abuse is perpetrated by a minister and they are seen to be chosen by God the individual may be led to question either God’s judgement or his care for them as individuals in appointing such a person. As noted previously, attending church can be so problematic after an experience of SA that many individuals may maintain their personal belief systems but will not participate in the organised church context again (Appleton, 2003). Many individuals remain convinced about their personal faith but not the institution of the church. However, other individuals find the experience of SA impacts their faith and beliefs as well as their attitudes to church. The threat to personal beliefs may be resolved by the maintenance of these beliefs or the changing of them. If the beliefs change individuals may describe this as a change to self. This change can be argued to represent a direct assault on the stable self. A further example of core aspects of self that were attacked in the abusive context was found in direct assassination of roles that individuals held and were core to who they saw themselves to be. This included professional roles, and personal roles and abilities: ‘she undermined me over little things like how I cooked and if I used fresh pasta’; ‘I remember when my first baby was 9 months old and X was praying for me she prayed I would take my eyes off my baby and focus on God there was implied criticism in that prayer’; ‘I remember feeling like my job was not well thought of in the church, I found that hard as outside of church people looked up to me’. It is interesting to note each attack described is somewhat different. The time invested in the initial positive relationships could be argued to inadvertently provide abusers with knowledge of each person and thus allow the most effective and personal assault on self, although there is no evidence that the early investment is intentionally paving the way for subsequent abuse. Interestingly, although there is evidence of a stable view of self and a desire to maintain it, there are is also clear evidence of changes to self as an experience of SA. ‘I am not the same person and I don’t think

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I will ever be’. ‘It’s like I have been taken apart, like a jigsaw. I am not sure if it is possible to put me back together cos so many of the pieces are missing.’ I found it interesting that some individuals did not appear to value the post-abuse self as highly as their pre-abuse self. Conversely, others report changes to their self as positive: ‘I think I am stronger now.’ Although changes can be positive this is not an argument that SA is a positive experience, rather it is testament to the resilience of some individuals. The individual’s experience of SA is of a personal attack, which leads to further ontological insecurity. This may explain the longterm impact of SA described in the narratives. The self, which is centre of the individual’s perception, is attacked and new or different selves are perceived to result. It is important to understand the role of the abusive church system in the individual’s experience of attack on self. Zimbardo (2007:196) suggests that within systems it is possible to lose our ‘personal identity’. The literature demonstrates that conformity and collectivity are rewarded within the abusive context and individualism is discouraged, ‘the leader doesn’t want individualism, he wants predictability and conformity’ (Arterburn & Felton, 2003:216). It is interesting that this requirement is contrary to wider cultural expectations of individuality. Rules and expectations within the spiritual context are different from those in the wider western culture to which individuals belong. It is only with an exploration of the church context and system that a detailed understanding of the experience of SA can be gained. As discussed in Chapter 2, abusers are often reported to be integral in enforcing conformity and unity. In order to remain as a member of the group individuals will need to conform and adopt the ‘shared identity’, and the consequence of this is an experience of diminishing personal identity, within the context. ‘As each person fits into the structure, identity and individuality are sacrificed to meet the needs of the system’ (Arteburn & Felton, 2003:165). Reference to social identity theory (Tajfel & Turner, 1979; Tajfel, 1981) provides a further explanation for the diminishing of personal identity as part of the experience of SA. This theory suggests that when individuals join a group they gain a social identity from their membership. Self-descriptions and categorisations change to

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incorporate the group identity as part of self-identity. Stets and Burke (2000) reflect that society is structured and our sense of self is derived from the social categories and groupings we belong to. The application of social identity theory to the issue of personal identity in the experience of SA is clear. Individuals identify with the church group and begin to derive their identity from the church, as would be expected from an application of social identity theory. As Parsons (2000) reports, individuals derive their identity from their church group. Thus, group identity increases as personal identity decreases. What develops can be conceptualised not as solely a personal identity but a ‘shared church identity’. Individuals are encouraged to leave behind old personal identities and embrace new church ones (Howard, 1996). This contextual story can be argued to be a further element of the attack on self which is experienced as part of SA. When individuals leave the context the implications for their identity can be immense. If the church identity becomes part of the individual’s personal identity it can be assumed that leaving the church could place personal identity into crisis. Enroth (1994) provides evidence for this argument in his reflection that leaving an abusive church creates a crisis of identity which is deeply damaging and can result in many years of re-establishment. Hall (2003) also describes challenges to identity faced by individuals who leave the church context.

Summary This chapter has detailed the deeply emotive experience that is SA. It has illustrated the many parallels there are between SA and other forms of abuse. The exploration of these parallels provides a clear evidence base from which to argue for the acceptance of SA as a form of abuse. However, it is also important to note that the chapter, whilst supporting the acceptance of SA as abuse, provides clear evidence for distinguishing features of this form of abuse. It cannot be merely amalgamated into existing understandings of abuse, rather there is a necessity for the creation of a new category of SA. Further, this chapter has detailed the personal impact of the experience of SA. The discussion of attack on self illustrates the depth of this experience and the consequences to the individuals own selfunderstandings as a result of living through an experience of SA. The

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importance of cultural understandings of self have been explored in this chapter and have illustrated how the experience of SA is framed contextually and culturally. A final issue in understanding SA is identifying the timeline of this abuse. That is, how the abuse starts and the process individuals work through in their experience. There is evidence of a common experience and the process model of SA will be explored within the next chapter.

4 The Process of Spiritual Abuse Lisa Oakley

The process of SA is an important part of the story but to date a process map of this form of abuse has not been published in the UK. I have developed a process map which details the process of SA as told in each of the accounts collected and is supported by other accounts of SA. The process map was constructed to depict the key events of the abusive experience from beginning to end. The process map has been presented in a separate chapter as it is a very important element of this text. It allows the reader to understand the process of the individual experience and the key stages of SA. As this is the first time such a map has been published in the UK, it was felt that it should be the focus of a chapter in this text and not merely added at the end of a chapter with a different focus. It should be noted that a conceptual map of SA has been published by Ward (2011:911). This map is based on Australian experiences of SA. It illustrates key stages in the process and is very useful in enhancing understanding. However, it is based on a model of SA perpetrated by those in positions of leadership. This text has already detailed SA as an experience which is not solely perpetrated by leaders. Further, the research by the authors of this text was conducted within the UK. Therefore, the map presented here represents current understandings of the process of SA in the UK. Initially a process map was constructed for each narrative story of SA by taking the key moments and mapping these out diagrammatically. It became clear that there were several events in each narrative 83

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which were particularly significant in that they led the individual to either question or eventually to leave the abusive context. Therefore, I have called these events catalysts. Squire (2005) refers to moments such as these as turning points within the narrative where the tone of the narrative changes. However, I think the term catalysts is more appropriate in the experience of SA as they are often events which change the situation and it cannot then be changed back, as in a chemical reaction. Based on the individual maps I developed a template process map of SA which summarises the process of SA for most of the participants (see Figure 4.1). I have called this a map because it is a general indication of the process of SA. It cannot be termed a model as there are some exceptions within the narratives collected that do not conform to this model. For example, one participant did not leave the abusive context. This is explained by the departure of the abuser from the context. Another did not actually describe leaving in her account but the inference that she left is found in her reflections of the impact of leaving. Further research is required to verify the use of this map more globally but this represents the first occasion on which a process map of SA has been developed in the UK. The map is shown diagrammatically in Figure 4.1 below and then explained subsequently.

The process of spiritual abuse Initial positive experience The process of SA begins with an initial period of positive experiences. It has been noted that for many individuals this positive experience lasts for a considerable time period (years for some). ‘We were happy for a long time, at least three years.’ This initial positive period has been described in Chapter 3 as very important in the subsequent abuse. The establishment of this positive relationship, as in other forms of abuse, appears to be an important part of the abusive process, making subsequent abuse possible and more difficult to challenge. ‘I couldn’t tell anyone when it got difficult, even very difficult – I mean I was happy to accept it when I was getting what I wanted.’

Background joining church

Initial positive feelings Warm welcoming lively church (This section of the process can last for a significant time period.)

Personal involvement may include increasing involvement/church positions obtained

Catalyst one Event that makes individual begin to question

Cycle of abuse and recommitment Further commitment

Final catalyst Final event that leads to culmination of abusive experience and decision to leave

Leave church

Process map of spiritual abuse

Further catalyst

Personal discredit

Recommitment

Long-term effects may include: Loss of faith Impact on self Changes in friendship groups Emotional responses mirroring Other abusive episodes 85

Figure 4.1

Personal responses and emotions – throughout the process

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Increased involvement – beginning of abuse The next stage in the process is that of increasing involvement. That is over time the individual becomes more and more involved in the church and more committed spending increasing amounts of time there. The beginning of the abuse usually comes after individuals have become extremely involved in church life. Often they may be given a position or role of responsibility within the church. Ward (2011:906) refers to this as ‘love based on performance. This stage of the process can be thought of as becoming part of the “inner circle” that exists within the abusive church structure’. This description is very helpful in understanding the process of SA. It seems that individuals can happily exist at the periphery. However, it is when they become more involved or closer to the centre of the circle that the abuse occurs. ‘The people that were bullied were those who were very involved.’ Increasing involvement can take place over quite a lengthy period of time, so this part of the process may last sometime. Personal impact Throughout the experience there are personal responses and emotions, which are elicited as a result of abusive encounters. These include feelings detailed in the last chapter such as distrust and selfblame. The inclusion of the responses and emotions is important in emphasising the personal impact of this experience on the individdenotes the elements of personal impact in the ual. (The shape experience.) It should be noted that although there is a specific shape denoting the personal impact of SA, the impact is a consistent and enduring part of the experience and is present at all stages of the process. Catalysts At some point during the process of SA individuals will encounter catalyst moments; that is, abusive events that make them ask questions about the abusive situation and eventually to decide to leave. Initial catalysts may be quite small but are events that make the participants feel uncomfortable and are the first time at which they are consciously aware of having concerns, ‘And that was the point

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where I thought, hold on a minute I can’t go anywhere or do anything without explaining myself and justifying where I’ve been and . . . I didn’t like it at all.’ After initial and subsequent catalysts (these vary in number) there is often a recommitment to the abuser or the abusive context. Therefore, the process of SA is often a lengthy cycle of abuse and recommitment. The cycle of catalyst (abusive event) and recommitment is common in other forms of abuse. In 1979, Walker reported a cycle of behaviour in DA which constituted of times of violence followed by times of remorse on behalf of the abuser, during which the abused individual recommits to the relationship. At some point there is a final catalyst which leads to the decision to leave. Sometimes these are big events and other times small events. It is almost as if the evidence builds up for the individual and a final event represents the last piece of the jigsaw, then they see the full picture of abuse and determine to leave. As the implications of leaving are so great it may take considerable time and courage to reach this on the diagram.) decision. (Catalysts are denoted by an

Exiting the church The next part of the process is leaving the church. As explained in the previous chapters, leaving the church is very difficult and often accompanied by personal slander and discrediting. Individuals find that they lose friendships and become isolated. After leaving the church individuals experience a range of emotions and reactions. ‘This whole experience really knocked my self-confidence.’

Long-term impact Once an individual has been through the experience of SA they may well suffer the impact of it for a long period of time. The long-term impact of SA is not well documented in the literature to date, but is a recurrent topic in people’s stories. Amongst long-term effects is distrust, issues with forming other relationships, impact on self and impact on faith and church attendance. It is essential that an understanding of SA includes recognition of the long-term impact of the experience. (Long-term impact is denoted by a .)

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Summary There is a clear process for the experience of SA, which, to a large extent, mirrors processes of other forms of abuse. Understanding this process is important for effective intervention and support. The next chapters will directly address issues for counsellors and others working with individuals who have experienced SA.

5 Working With Individuals Who Have Been Spiritually Abused Kathryn Kinmond

Introduction and chapter overview As noted in previous chapters SA changes people. It changes their experience of their ‘self’, their understanding of who they are as a person, their relationship with others – and often with God – their ability to trust and even their sense of ontological security. SA is abuse of a person’s spirituality, their core beliefs and values, the essence of what makes them the person they are and gives meaning to their life. All this makes it particularly pernicious. As Bent-Goodley and Fowler (2006) comment, SA affects a person’s fundamental values and alters their view not only of their self but, also, of the world. Further, Jenkins warns, ‘Precisely because spirituality is at the heart of how people understand themselves in the world, an attack on someone’s spirituality . . . is an attack on the heart of the person, on their integrity, their wholeness’ (2011:29). ‘It attacks right at the heart and spirit of a person.’ Thus, the consequences of SA are that people become ‘deeply scarred, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually’ (Parish-West, 2009). ‘The wounds the church gives you never wash away.’ This chapter looks at issues arising when working with SA in order to furnish practitioners with the relevant knowledge to best equip them to work with people who have experienced it. It considers the emotional, physical and existential responses of clients trying to make sense of an experience that concurrently involves physiological and cognitive difficulties along with emotional and spiritual confusion. It reviews the impact of an abuse that attacks a person’s values and destroys the meaning and direction in people’s lives (Jenkins, 2011). 89

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The chapter is based on my personal and clinical work with people who have experienced SA; some of whom have come forward for therapy for SA, some of whom have come forward for therapy for other issues and during the therapeutic process have brought their SA trauma and some of whom have experienced SA but do not bring it into therapy or even, sometimes, into consciousness. I write as a chartered psychologist trained to be an integrative counsellor within the transtheoretical model (Prochaska & Norcross, 2010). Accordingly, I believe that therapy is about supporting the client to change; to move from a position and situation that has brought them to therapy, into a place where they can begin to feel empowered and comfortable within their ‘self’. I work from a fundamental core of person centred principles as I believe that it is important to create a therapeutic space of warmth, genuineness, unconditional positive regard, empathy and congruence to support the client to develop trust and grow. I concur with the underpinning philosophy that humans strive for growth to reach their full potential. However, as Sanderson (2006) notes, some clients who have experienced trauma and abuse may need guidance initially, until their self-structures are restored and they can develop agency. Accordingly, when working with this client group I use cognitive behaviour interventions to support the client to reframe their abusive experiences; to challenge and re-evaluate the cognitive distortions and (mis)attributions of blame constructed by the abuser(s) and absorbed by the client during the abusive experience. As Beck (1976) argues, cognitive restructuring enables the client to change negative and distorted perceptions about themselves and the abuse. When working with people who have been spiritually abused I also use psychoeducation (Lukens & McFarlane, 2004) as, frequently, they will have been isolated and prevented from accessing legitimate information, resources and material so that the abuser(s) might retain complete control. In order to return control to the client so that they can begin to make informed choices they need access to clear and relevant material and resources. In all my client work, I also bring my religion and my spirituality into the therapeutic space; it is, as West (commented, ‘part of who [I am]; part of our being in the room’ (2012:14). However, I acknowledge that I do not advertise as a Christian therapist; and I recognise

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that many will follow the same path. I am open about my beliefs. However, I do not thrust my religion and spirituality upon a client. My concern primarily is to work with the client and what they bring and, as such, I am client led rather than model led. Wherever possible the material in this chapter is supported by references to academic texts on SA. However, as discussed at the start of this book, there is very little work on SA published in the UK. Thus, in the absence of specific references to SA, where relevant some of the points made and arguments advanced will be supported by research on other forms of abuse. There is justification for the use of this material, for example, in Sherry et al. (2010), and from the arguments advanced in Chapter 3 which demonstrate parallels between SA and other forms of abuse. Nevertheless, where work from research into abuse other than SA is used I have indicated as such and given the rationale for inclusion of the reference. This chapter reviews the impact and possible effects of the interpersonal trauma of SA on the individual and the intrapersonal trauma as the person (re)negotiates relationships with others. It considers the nature of the trauma caused by the complexity of the dynamics of SA; the dynamics of coercive control and the corrosive effect this has upon the individual together with the dynamics of alternating, intermittent reward and punishment and the resultant impact on the individual’s sense of ontological security and the very specific dynamics of religion and spirituality being both the site of the abuse and the vehicle for actioning it.

Spiritual abuse as a distinct form of abuse As outlined in Chapter 3, SA certainly has some factors in common with other forms of abuse and, indeed, some of the effects of SA are those also found following physical, emotional and sexual abuse (Sherry et al., 2010). Similarly, in common with other forms of abuse SA is complex (Ward, 2011). However, as illustrated above, the focus of the abuse is on a person’s spirituality and religion and this sets SA apart from other forms of abuse. Arguably, it also frames people’s responses to it and to people who have experienced it (Oakley & Kinmond, 2007) and this also makes SA distinct from other forms of abuse. That is because, unlike other forms of abuse such as CSA (Warner, 2000), animal abuse (Ascione et al., 2007) or

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even DA (Sanderson, 2011), in SA it may appear that a person chooses to enter the potentially abusive situation – certainly as an adult. They then, seemingly, have a similar choice whether or not to leave. Following on from this apparent choice, given the current status of the church in the UK (www.churchofengland.co.uk), together with the limited understanding of SA (Oakley & Kinmond, 2007; Gubi & Jacobs, 2009), many people would assert that anyone who chooses to belong to, or associate themselves with, a religious organisation is deserving of whatever comes to them. It is unsurprising then that many people who have experienced SA remain quiet. This adds to the damage and interpersonal trauma it evokes as the issues are not discussed openly and, thus, the abused person suffers in isolated silence. It also has major impacts for working with individuals. Many people who experience SA never tell of their experiences. As discussed earlier in the book, there is a culture of secrecy and silence surrounding SA (Oakley, 2009; Parish-West, 2009) and it is this silence that makes the spiritual abusers so powerful. ‘The power of this silence is what has kept the problem of spiritual abuse so strong in the Church. Where people stay silent, those who abuse are safe.’ Following an abusive experience in a supposedly ‘safe’ religious place it is unsurprising that many find it difficult to trust anyone with their story. Unlike many other forms of abuse, most people who have been spiritually abused never seek support and therapy (Oakley & Kinmond, 2007). The few who do encounter many challenges. First, as there is very limited awareness of SA, very few academic or popular press articles, and no identifiable support organisation or dedicated web presence, it is unlikely that people will find resources. Then, unlike other forms of abuse, there is no specific training for therapists or other professionals. Certainly, a review of the literature suggests there is an expanding awareness of spirituality within the therapeutic domain by a range of professions (Powers, 2005) and there is even some training around spiritual issues for some professionals (Gubi & Jacobs, 2009). Nonetheless, recognition of SA remains sketchy and thus specific training for professionals is currently lacking. Clients are unlikely to find a therapist who is cognizant of the facts of SA or experienced in working with the nature of trauma caused by the complexity of its dynamics (Oakley & Kinmond, 2007; ParishWest, 2009). Indeed, some therapists may not even be comfortable

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working with the issues evoked by the religious and spiritual context of the abuse. Lyall (1995) suggests that there is a uniqueness that lies within the context of this type of counselling. Wyatt (2002:177) further proposes that therapists in general are less religious than their clients, and possess a lack of information about religious beliefs and practice, further arguing that this causes a dilemma for the therapist, as clients are often reluctant to reveal their inner spirituality and religiousity as part of secular therapy. As Jenkins (2006) noted, many counsellors actually have antireligious feelings. Similarly, West reported being ‘shocked at times by the strength of the anti-religious views . . . expressed’ (2011:220) by counsellors. Given such responses, it may seem helpful for people who have experienced SA to seek therapy from Christian counsellors who openly profess their faith. Indeed, in the CES (Oakley & Kinmond, 2013) the majority of respondents indicated that they would seek support from a Christian following an experience of SA. However, the survey did not ask whether or not they had experienced SA. Nor did it ask if they had approached a Christian counsellor and if so how useful this had been. Other research (Kinmond & Oakley, 2006) showed that individuals who have experienced SA purposefully avoided Christian counselling. ‘Who do you go to? A Christian, who is part of the system who hurt you or someone who doesn’t understand your faith? You don’t go anywhere.’ Since the Christian faith was instrumental in their abuse, the question is how likely – or appropriate – is it that someone who has been spiritually abused will seek therapy and support from a Christian organisation, the site of their abuse? This has particular resonance as Henzel (1997) points out that despite there being documented cases of SA there are a number of clergy who dismiss the issue because it appears like a politically correct ‘fad’. Worryingly, Christian counsellors in particular are known to dismiss accounts of SA because they are regarded as being too subjective to be reliable (Henzel, 1997). Thus, having been abused by representatives of the Christian faith many people who have been spiritually abused do not feel safe in assuming that Christian counsellors will believe their story. So, how likely are they to bring it to their attention? Further, if Christian counsellors do not believe people who have been spiritually abused, how likely are they bring it to therapists – most of whom are secular? For, as McLeod (2003) asserts, historically, counselling and

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psychotherapy have been associated with a rational, scientific world view without space for spirituality and religious experience.

Responses to spiritual abuse Working with someone who has been spiritually abused presents many challenges, as people make sense of the experience as unique individuals, as a part of their own personality and history (Ward, 2011:905). It is possible to identify some common experiences and recognisable patterns of response to SA (Ward, 2011), which are presented below. However, whilst I hope that raising awareness of possible patterns of behaviour may be useful to those working with people who have experienced SA, I believe and state from the outset that it is very important to engage in therapy with the person and the issues they bring. In this context, the following identified patterns of response are appropriate to discuss. Looking first at people’s initial decision about seeking support and therapy, it may be assumed that people who actively seek therapy for their SA are generally prepared to discuss their experiences. Nonetheless, engaging the person in therapy may still not be straightforward as they may start out hoping and believing that they are ready to explore the hurt and trauma, but then find the experience too challenging and painful to continue. Or, they may become very afraid of possible consequences for themselves or others. All these reasons may then result in their withdrawal from therapy – sometimes without notice to the therapist. This finds resonance in work with people who have suffered DA (Sanderson, 2011), who initiate therapy but then fear the possible consequences either for themselves or others. Some people will seek therapy for other issues and then later discuss SA. They may recall the experience and realise the significance of the abuse, but choose not to share it initially because they are not ‘ready’ to disclose; or they may not trust the therapist at first – which is not unusual given that SA is concerned with coercion and betrayal of trust. ‘I don’t trust anyone now you see.’ Others will engage in therapy and never discuss the experience of SA. Lack of disclosure in therapy may be related to the extreme trauma of the abuse, which then leads to a process of ‘protective denial’ (Sgroi, 1989). This involves strategies of defence that

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the individual used at the time of the abuse but which since have become habitual patterns of behaviour and psychological functioning. For example, some individuals will repress some or all of the memories, which will be likely to emerge as flashbacks if the memory is triggered by events in the individual’s life. ‘There are triggers everywhere, what people say, how they act, you find yourself back there.’ Such triggers can appear inconsequential to the outsider and can be as innocuous as a word/phrase, smell or music. However, the impact of these triggers can be immense for the abused, sending them spiralling back into the experience of the trauma. ‘You find yourself back there, wondering – was it me? Was it really that bad?’ ‘Particular phrases would cause me to react strongly.’ Clearly, if such a trigger occurs when the abused person is in everyday life and society with others, their behaviour may appear unusual and they may appear psychologically very unwell. This may then further serve to isolate them from other people and reinforce to them that they are ‘odd’ and undeserving of ‘normal people’s’ company. If it happens when they are alone, they may also spiral downwards psychologically into previously implanted messages about their worthlessness such that they ruminate. Whilst there is no published research on the effects of rumination about experiences of SA, given its parallels with other forms of abuse (discussed earlier in the book) and based on research undertaken with those populations (e.g. Sarin & Nolen-Hoeksema, 2010), it can be argued that the effects of rumination following SA can be seriously deleterious. Another response to the trauma of the abuse for some people may be for them to deny the importance of the abuse and dissociate the emotion from the memory of the abuse. They may assert publically that it was not a major thing in their life and possibly chastise themselves for even considering getting involved in religion. The public face of this chastisement may be light-hearted banter. However, the private response may be far more dark and troubling. These people are unlikely to engage in therapy for SA. If they enter therapy at all, the SA experiences are likely to be at the root of other issues they bring. Indeed, the SA may be so deeply buried in the client’s memory that they honestly do not recognise that it is an issue. Or, they may be so traumatised by the experience that they actively attempt to dismiss its importance, as a way of coping. This finds resonance with research with people who have been sexually abused (Draucker,

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1992). Working both with people who have been sexually abused and those who have been spiritually abused will require sensitivity and skill on the part of the therapist to develop trust and encourage the client to discuss the abuse.

Relationship with religion and spirituality As noted earlier, SA uses the fundamentals of religion, such as Biblical discourse, to action the abuse and this takes place within an apparently ‘safe’ religious environment. Unsurprisingly, then, personal experience in the therapeutic setting, together with academic research (Oakley, 2009; Ward, 2011) show that following an experience of SA people’s relationship with religion and spirituality changes. Certainly, these changed relationships are not the same for everyone, nor are people’s responses to those changes identical. ‘It causes people to question everything, right up to the point of whether they believe anything any more. Sometimes, it causes people to switch off totally and throw out everything they have always believed. It is a powerful force that can leave those in its wake confused and unsure who, what or why they believe any more. It is brutal and single-minded in its approach.’ Thus, the most helpful guidance to working with a client following an experience of SA is, surely, to work with what s/he brings. Nonetheless, it is worth noting that within the myriad of changes to people’s relationships with religion and spirituality, and their responses to those changes, broad patterns are identifiable and these may be helpful to consider. Ward (2011:911) identified two separate states individuals may find themselves in following an experience of SA: ‘spiritual rebuilding’ – where the person actively re-engages with a religious organisation; and ‘spiritual separation’ – when they choose to dissociate themselves with any form of religious connection completely. Research carried out by the authors together with experience in clinical practice, both of which are used as the basis of this book, suggest that people’s responses to religion and spirituality fall broadly into three patterns. These are presented below. All have implications for effective therapeutic work and these are also discussed. Firstly, for many people who have been spiritually abused both spirituality and religion will remain core to their self and identity

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and they will relocate their religious affiliation to a new place and aim to re-engage with organised religion on some level. Their faith is still fundamental to their sense of who they are and they will probably feel the need to share that (Oakley & Kinmond, 2007). However, as the church has been the focus of abuse, it is not a simple matter to re-enter a relationship with a religious institution and they are likely to tread very warily. If they seek therapy, similar tentative steps may be taken by the client until they feel confident to trust the therapist, the therapeutic process and their self. It is likely to be important that the therapist is open to discussing issues of spirituality and possibly the issue of SA may arise if the client feels the therapist shares their faith. However, the therapist must understand that the client will feel vulnerable, ‘everybody in that situation is in a way vulnerable’. In addition to feeling they can trust the therapist and the therapeutic process, they may need to regain trust in God, religion and their self and they will need support to do this. SA is built upon betrayal and the impact of this cannot be underestimated (Oakley, 2009). The second identifiable response to an experience of SA for some people for whom faith is still fundamental is that they may remain deeply spiritual but completely dissociate themselves from any religious organisation, both physically and psychologically. For them faith and spirituality are possibly contained within personal experience (Elkins et al., 1988) or communion with others (Rowan, 2005), but are outside organised religion. I am very aware that religion and spirituality are not synonymous and, as West advises, the words (and the perceived differences between each) ‘really matter to many people’ with the ‘polarisation and controversies around religious beliefs in recent years . . . increas[ing] the amount that they matter’ (2012:13). Indeed, Swinton warns that assuming synonymy between religion and spirituality disenfranchises those individuals who have ‘very significant spiritual needs . . . with no formal religious interests’ (2001:12). Arguably, for a client who has been spiritually abused there may be an even keener perception of difference and meaning for both religion and spirituality. Work with these clients can often feel like a balancing act as their spirituality remains core to their personhood and sense of self, and they need to work with that in therapy, but

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any linkage made to religion or even Biblical discourse is likely to be very unwelcome and may provoke a traumatic response. Yet, personal work with such clients suggests that they still need to ‘know’ that their therapist understands the Biblical discourse and can discuss and debate it with them skilfully in therapy – if they choose to bring it into the room. The third pattern of response to SA is one in which the experience will leave the meaning of spirituality and religion so barbed that they reject vociferously any possible association with organised religion and also dismiss the notion of spirituality and/or a relationship with ‘God/goddesses/ultimate reality’ (West, 2012:14). ‘Sometimes, it causes people to switch off totally and throw out everything they have always believed.’ It is these clients who are possibly the most challenging to work with. The abusive experience has been so very destructive that it has ripped out the very essence of who these people once were and left a gaping hole that either seems unable to be filled, or is loaded with negativity and hatred. ‘There is within you a deep anger.’ The hatred is likely to be both self-focused and also directed at anything concerning spirituality or religion. This can then become a real dilemma and feed further into the sense of desperation and trauma they experience. Work with these clients must necessarily progress very carefully and with great sensitivity. Given this myriad of possible responses to an experience of SA it is vital that therapists attend reflexively and sensitively, and support clients in whatever decision they make, regardless of their own personal views. This may sound very obvious and indeed, some therapists may feel slightly insulted by the advice. Nonetheless, religion and spiritualty can matter so intensely to some (both therapists and clients) that they may be unaware that they are engaging in therapy in a blinkered manner. As Kilpatrick and Holland warned over two decades ago, respect for a client’s autonomy and dignity requires that therapists do not take advantage of their greater expertise to impose unwelcome spiritual or religious beliefs and practices. Rather, they should ‘support, not force, choices by clients that move them toward wholeness . . . and away from fragmentation’ (1991:137). More recently, Jenkins advised therapists ‘to be aware how easily their own stance with regard to religion and spirituality can be imposed on clients, especially those who are particularly vulnerable’ (2011:33).

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Post-traumatic growth This warning finds particular resonance when considering the recent evidence of the benefits of working towards post-traumatic growth with people who have experienced trauma. The work stems from the study of post-traumatic growth as part of a larger shift towards positive psychology and a recognition that life crisis can facilitate positive changes as well as negative changes. The evidence base for the concept of post-traumatic growth is sound (Shaw et al., 2005), with empirical research demonstrating that many people experience post-traumatic growth after extremely stressful events and situations. Interestingly, there are many suggestions within the literature that religion and spirituality may be important in ‘growing through’ trauma (e.g. Hood et al., 1996; Pargament et al., 1998; Shaw et al., 2005). The benefits provided by religion and spirituality include having an enhanced meaning of life, increased social support, a more accepting attitude towards difficulties and a structured belief system. For example, in Fallot’s (1997) work with abused women most women reported their spirituality to be a key aspect in their survival and recovery in a number of ways including seeing God as a trustworthy refuge. In contrast, Shaw et al. (2005) noted that people experiencing religious doubt were not significantly linked to post-traumatic growth. This could be because, for post-traumatic growth to occur, a strong faith in God is necessary, where little doubt about religious beliefs would be present. For people experiencing SA, there may be not only religious doubt, but also religious aversion as they openly reject anything linked to religion and spirituality (Ward, 2011). Despite the recognised benefits of work on enhancing spirituality as a route to post-traumatic growth for people who have experienced trauma, those who have been spiritually abused may reject any further focus on spirituality or religion. Similarly, they may not see any benefit in re-embracing spirituality as an aid to survival and recovery since, prior to the SA, their belief system arguably furnished them with all the benefits offered by a secure base (Holmes, 2010). However, once that secure base was eroded all the benefits of that security also disappeared, leaving them with a sense of ontological insecurity, ‘I don’t even know who I am anymore.’ This may then have further implications in a psychological context of loss and grief (Kubler-Ross, 1969;

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Parkes, 1996; Stroebe & Schut, 1999), as clients may feel not only the loss of their spiritual security and the trustworthiness of God together with the loss of their personal spirituality, but also the loss of being able to benefit from a recognised support intervention. Indeed, SA involves multiple losses, which resemble a significant bereavement. Not only will the client have lost a part of themselves through the abuse, which is extremely traumatic, and be unable to engage in a recognised form of therapy (post-traumatic growth) but on a practical level they are likely to have lost friends, links with an organisation and familiar patterns of behaviour such as attending a church. ‘It was like a bereavement.’ Supporting the client in mourning these losses is pivotal to aiding their recovery and long-term survival. However, this is not a straightforward process. The grieving process in SA can be complicated by the revival of previously unprocessed losses, so that the client journeys between past and current losses and also fears about possible future losses. They may find difficulty in coming to terms with the finality of the losses related to their SA and its consequences, ‘there is just no closure, how do you get over something like that?’. Also, in this context redefining life goals and plans is impeded. Such grieving has been called ‘complicated grief’ (Prigerson et al., 2009; Shear, 2010). There are further complications for people who have been spiritually abused as the grieving process is often delayed until they feel completely safe (both psychologically and physically) and ontologically secure, so that they can start to believe in an identifiable future path. Only then are they likely to grant themselves ‘permission’ to grieve. It is vital that therapists give clients time and space to navigate their own way through the different stages and forms of their grief, supporting them to work through the personal impact of the different losses in order that they might begin to rebuild their lives.

Therapeutic bond In common with every issue clients bring to therapy, there is no single ‘one size fits all’ approach to working with SA. Nonetheless, there are some tenets that are relevant for effective therapy. The central and most fundamental aim of therapy with individuals who have been spiritually abused is to create a safe therapeutic space in which the client might begin to trust, construct meaning out of the chaos of the

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abuse and find inner peace as they begin to reconnect to themself and others. As Herman (2001) stressed, it is vital to establish safety before any effective therapy might begin. This safety must be physical, emotional and psychological, and an essential part of this is to construct a sound and effective therapeutic alliance (Bordin, 1979; Pearlman & Courtois, 2005). As Laing commented, a person’s ‘sense of identity requires the existence of another by whom one is known’ (1965:139). However, as Parish-West (2009:11) acknowledged, therapists face the dual challenge of establishing clients’ trust and persuading them to consider the counselling room as a safe environment. Arguably, this process begins with empathy, since an empathic understanding gives that ‘needed confirmation that one does exist as a . . . valued person’ (Rogers, 1980:147). In the context of the betrayal of trust and devaluation of self that occurs when someone is spiritually abused, it is vitally important to engender this authentic sense of personal value in the client. However, it will not be easy to convince the client of their genuine worth. They will be highly distrusting of care and consideration since it is likely to trigger memories of previous experiences with the abuser, ‘I wonder what is in it for them, what are they trying to get out of it.’ The abuser will have feigned genuine interest and caring (Oakley, 2009) in an attempt to establish a ‘special bond’ between themselves and the abused person, in order to facilitate dependency. This special bond will then have been used to manipulate, coerce and gradually destroy the abused person. In the context of such past experiences, it is unsurprising that the abused person finds it difficult to trust anyone else. Additionally, once this dependent relationship has been established the abuser begins to falsify the abused person’s reality and distort their perceptions (Oakley, 2009). Through the use of lies, deception and distortion of reality the abuser will then be able to create a state of confusion in the abused person. Thus, they become unable to trust themselves, their judgements, their emotions and even their perceptions of reality. The ‘reality’ of the abuse is distorted for the abused person into an illusion of nurture and caring. They may also have been convinced that the abuser is the only person who genuinely cares for them and that others are simply attempting to deceive them. In this way, the abused person is gradually isolated from others until the abuser has total control over them. The

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abused person becomes dependent upon the abuser, dares not disclose anything to anyone outside the abusive situation/relationship and learns absolutely not to trust others. Working to gain the trust of someone in this situation is clearly fraught with difficulties from the outset. However, developing a secure and trusting relationship (Bordin, 1979) is essential for effective therapy. Therapists also need to be aware of the impact that the process of entrapment has on the abused person in terms of the distortion of their perception of reality and how the betrayal of trust affects their relationships both intrapersonally and interpersonally. Necessarily, the client must feel safe to trust the therapist and the therapeutic process, but SA makes it very difficult to achieve. In addition to all the factors presented above many clients fear re-victimisation and further abuse, all of which may make them reluctant to connect to others in any meaningful way. Nevertheless, it is a truism but worth stating – successful therapy will only begin when the client feels secure and valued (Herman, 2001); when s/he ‘is known’ (Laing, 1965:139). Therefore, it is vital that developing the client/therapist relationship is given serious and considered attention from the outset. Once the sound and strong therapeutic relationship (Bordin, 1979) is established through sensitive and flexible work, just as when working with the effects of other forms of trauma, therapists also need to support clients to regain control, both of their own self and of their situation (Sanderson, 2006). When the client feels secure and empowered they might begin to work towards reclaiming the control and autonomy denied them throughout their abusive experiences. The psychobiological symptoms of trauma can be frightening, unsettling and confusing, and therapists need to ‘normalise’ the experiences to support the client in managing them more effectively. Therapists should remember that the consequences of the abuse exhibited by the client may make her/him appear very psychologically unwell. However, as Worell and Remer note in research with abused women, ‘the primary cause of a client’s “pathology” is not intrapsychic or personal but rather social and political’ (2003:68). Enabling the client to reach greater understanding of their symptoms should facilitate her/him to better control them, which may then allow her/him to begin to master the impact and effect of the abuse. Also, by supporting the client to set their own goals of therapy

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the therapist might begin to encourage the client’s empowerment, given that during the SA they had to subsume their needs to those of the abuser.

The power of Biblical discourse As discussed in Chapter 3, the person experiencing SA is gradually isolated and controlled until ultimately, s/he has little capacity for autonomous thought and no reference outside the abusive situation and relationship. Abusers of someone’s spirituality denigrate and derogate, using the authority of Biblical discourse (Oakley, 2009) gradually convincing them they are worthless, inadequate and even evil. In the context of the complete isolation in which the individual finds her/himself, there is no conflicting or contrary evidence. Thus, they gradually absorb the negative identity until eventually, they become subsumed with subjugation and dehumanisation. The abuser’s control and coercion have an immensely corrosive effect from which most find it very difficult to recover (Oakley & Kinmond, 2007). Following an experience of SA individuals may continue to employ the survival strategies they used during the abuse, in terms of subjugation and submission. That is, in other relationships they may become like a ‘doormat’ on which others metaphorically ‘wipe their feet’. They continue in their ‘comfortable uncomfortable place’; a place in which they have resided for so long that, despite its discomfort, it is so familiar it is strangely ‘comforting’. They will likely present to the world as compliant, amenable and friendly, whilst internally the trauma of the abuse rages. In therapy such individuals are likely to present as friendly and obliging, as they continue to practise the survival strategies of the abusive situation and try to make the therapist like them. All this is to the detriment of their need to explore the abuse and trust the therapist to work with them to address the issues that really vex them. Once again, this pattern of behaviour finds resonance in work with people who have experienced DA (Sanderson, 2011). However, unlike people who have been domestically abused, the power of the Biblical discourse governs the person’s behaviour, thoughts and reason, and this position demands that the therapist both understands and can work within that discourse.

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Another response to the trauma of SA, used as a survival strategy after the abuse, can be hostility and aggression. This is designed to push people away and prevent anyone from becoming close and potentially hurting them again. This can be challenging to work with as the client is likely to ‘test’ the therapist repeatedly. For example, personal experience with clients shows that they may lie, break appointments without notice or behave in a challenging manner in therapy. It is imperative that the therapist sets boundaries and maintains them consistently when working with someone who manages their abuse in this way. It is also important that the therapist acknowledges that the behaviour is likely to be the client’s way of managing the abusive experience, rather than assuming that it is a sign of dis-engagement or pathology (Worell & Remer, 2003). The client’s self-worth and self-esteem has been systematically annihilated by the abuser’s relentless battering of his/her core self and identity, and s/he has been stripped of personal control and agency; over time s/he begins to blame her/himself for the abuse. As in other forms of abuse, the individual incorporates self-blame and guilt as they feel shame at their subjugation (Mollon, 2002; Sanderson, 2006). This shame then leads to feelings of humiliation and self-loathing to which the individual often responds by withdrawing from others in an attempt both to conceal the turbulence of their internal being and also to survive. Once again, within the context of the Biblical discourse, such shame is devastating as the individual is convinced that they are evil in God’s sight. Given that religion and spirituality has been central to the lives and self of the individual such abuse is a nothing less than annihilation (Jenkins, 2006). It is the powers of Biblical discourse that have been used to induce shame (Oakley, 2009) and as Parish-West (2009) notes, it is the power of shame that is used to oppress. The abused person then remains submissive to the abuser’s demands, which then enables the abuse to continue over a long period of time (Skedgell, 2008). Shame is very powerful ordinarily (Gilbert, 2013). However, in a religious context, arguably, it has extra meaning and power. Thus, it is also one of the major outcomes of SA (Peppiatt, 2007) and one which the therapist needs to address when working with someone who has been spiritually abused. Peppiatt (2007) describes shame from a Christian point of view as a result of hurt during development that makes the person feel

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that, when compared to others, they are ‘lacking’ by the world’s (or church’s) standards. They somehow ‘fall short’ (Parish-West, 2009:28) of their own and God’s expectations such that they perceive themselves as a failure. As Peppiatt states, shame conveys an ‘unworthiness that is beyond the reach of repair’ (2007:9). Further, Gilbert reminds us of the power of shame as he writes, ‘The fear of shame and ridicule can be so strong that people will risk serious physical injury or even death to avoid it, because it shows damage to social acceptance and a breakdown of social relationships’ (2013:401). Again, this makes people who have been spiritually abused difficult to engage in meaningful therapy, but resistance should not be interpreted as hostility. Rather it needs to be seen in the context of the experience of, and response to, shame (Gilbert, 2013). Similarly, there is likely to be an oscillation between attempting to connect with therapy and complete withdrawal from it, which, once more, should be seen as part of the client’s processing of the trauma. All these responses make effective therapy a challenge.

The power of silence Therapists also need to be aware of the power of the abusive enforcement of silence and secrecy upon the abused person. The demand to remain silent and not talk to anyone about what is happening prevents the person experiencing the abuse from sharing their trauma with anyone else. This then means that they are unable to validate – or refute and contradict – the distorted perceptions they are being given (Oakley, 2009). The consequences of this are also that the abused person begins to withdraw from others who might offer alternative perspectives, which leads to the abused person becoming increasingly isolated and trusting no one. Silence is also frequently reinforced by threat: threat that the abused person will not be believed and maybe considered ‘mad’ and threat that the abuser will withdraw their support – potentially leaving the abused person alone. As a consequence of the trauma of the enforced silence the narrative of the abuse becomes gradually fragmented and increasingly vague. Thus, one of the important tasks of therapy is to support the abused person to piece together a coherent personal story of abuse. As Langer (1995) said, part of the therapeutic process is to give voice to the silence and make it audible.

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Summary This chapter has explored some of the challenges of working with people who have been spiritually abused. It has attempted to raise awareness of the specific nature of this form of abuse, but also looked at possible links with other forms of abuse as a way of gathering information for potential strategies for best practice. The next chapter will consider the practicalities of therapy for SA including self-care of therapists.

6 Working With Spiritual Abuse: Professional and Personal Issues Kathryn Kinmond

Introduction The previous chapter discussed issues therapists may encounter when working with someone who has been spiritually abused in order to raise awareness and best prepare them for effective practice. This chapter continues this theme, exploring professional and personal issues for therapists working with SA. It looks at the impact on therapists, acknowledging that whilst such work can be deeply rewarding, it can also be hugely challenging and emotionally exhausting. Effective therapy is an intense personal relationship as therapists engage empathically in the pain of the person they are working with. Further, as therapists walk alongside someone exploring experiences of trauma it can have a major impact upon them too. Thus, this chapter looks at issues of therapist self-care. I have worked and reworked this chapter several times but always the glaring reality of the necessity for effective supervision remains central to a discussion of therapists’ professional and personal issues and, specifically, their self-care. This chapter is built around the nucleus of this assertion. It emphasises the need for effective supervision; addressing the challenges of finding this not only for work involving religion and spirituality but specifically for work with clients who have been spiritually abused. It also considers the dangers of vicarious traumatisation, wherein the therapist may become deeply distressed by witnessing the trauma related by the client, and suggests strategies for best managing this. The chapter also looks at the value of professional collegiate support and where this might be found. Finally, 107

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there is a consideration of the importance of the therapist having the self-awareness to stay connected to their own self whilst engaging empathically with their client and the implications of this for the therapeutic process and the therapist. Once again, as in the previous chapter in which I acknowledge that all clients are individuals and advise that they should be treated as such, I recognise that all therapists are also individuals with their own personal history, skills and experience. Therefore, the issues raised here are presented in the hope that they furnish therapists with useful suggestions for practice, but with the proviso that some may be less helpful, or indeed unhelpful, to some practising therapists. The material in this chapter is based on my therapeutic work with clients who have been spiritually abused, my supervisory practice and my research with therapists working with SA. As there is very limited published work on therapists’ work with people who have been spiritually abused or their experiences of self-care some of the supporting research evidence is taken from literature on therapists working with other forms of abuse. Where this is the case I have documented it clearly and included a rationale for its use. First, it is relevant to note that, just as for clients seeking advice and support for SA, there is very limited awareness of SA amongst practising therapists or supervisors, which means that they also have very few academic or other resources upon which to draw (ParishWest, 2009). Recognition of SA remains patchy and specific training is currently lacking either as part of a recognised programme of study or even as continuous professional development. Accordingly, therapists are unlikely to find a supervisor who is cognizant of the facts of SA or experienced in working with the nature of trauma caused by the complexity of its dynamics (Gubi & Jacobs, 2009). Indeed, some supervisors may not even be comfortable working with the issues evoked by the religious and spiritual context of the abuse. Certainly, Gubi (2007) noted that therapists experienced difficulty in talking about any spiritual dimensions of their work with their non-Christian supervisors, for fear of not being understood, being judged or being criticised for not being good enough. As one of his participants reported, ‘Non-Christians really don’t understand that dimension, so it makes you a little bit sort of vulnerable in talking about it, I suppose’ (Gubi, 2007:117). Kilpatrick and Holland

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(1991) argued that acknowledgement of the spiritual dimensions of human interaction does not mean that either the therapist or the supervisor should attempt to impose his/her own religious beliefs on the other. However, how far such equality in supervision actually extends in practice is debatable and is surely dependent upon the individual supervisory relationship – despite the clear ethical guidelines around this (BACP, 2013). Thus, it may seem helpful for therapists working with people who have been spiritually abused to seek supervision from Christian supervisors who openly profess their faith. Certainly, they would be likely to have a sound knowledge of religious doctrine and process. Indeed, Gubi and Jacobs (2009) showed that therapists took their work with clients which related to religious or spiritual issues to a supervisor who identified as having a faith; this being separate and distinct from work with other clients which they took to a secular supervisor. However, just as clients who have been spiritually abused may find it inappropriate to seek support from a religiously affiliated service, so too therapists might find it unhelpful to seek supervision from a supervisor who professes their religious or spiritual affiliation; not least since this affiliatory body formed the site of the abuse for their client. Further, if Christian counsellors are known to dismiss accounts of SA because they are regarded as being too subjective to be reliable (Henzel, 1997), how far are Christian supervisors likely to understand the trauma of the experience, and will they even take the issues seriously? And to compound the problem, if Christian supervisors do not understand or engage seriously with the issues involved in working with clients who have been spiritually abused, how likely are therapists to bring it to an openly secular supervisor with a rational, scientific world view without space for spirituality and religious experience (McLeod, 2003)? Nonetheless, it is important to state at the outset that it is vital for therapists to find satisfactory answers to the questions around effective supervision and the challenges of finding it for work with clients who have been spiritually abused, since these are pivotal to professional and personal issues for therapists working with this form of abuse. Given the stated focus of this chapter it seems pertinent to commence with a discussion about supervision.

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Supervision The importance of supervision to effective and safe therapy is widely acknowledged by professional bodies such as the British Association for Counselling & Psychotherapy (BACP) and the British Psychological Society. Although as Carroll notes, there is still no agreed definition of the term ‘supervision’ nor is there consensus on the ‘development of the supervisory process’ (Carroll, 2008:7), what is agreed upon is that in order for therapists to work ethically (BACP, 2013) they need to take appropriate supervision. Point 33 of the revised ethical framework stipulates that ‘There is a general obligation for all counsellors, psychotherapists, supervisors and trainers to receive supervision/consultative support’ (BACP, 2013:7). Further, Reeves and Mollon (2009:3) argue that as long as psychotherapy and counselling remain self-regulated professions, supervision will remain vital for public, practitioner and client safety with supervision giving ‘extra vision’ (Inskipp & Proctor, 1993:4) to the process. In this context then, the importance of good, effective supervision cannot be underestimated. However, good supervision for issues of spirituality and religion has been noted as being problematic and difficult to find (Gubi, 2003). Most of the therapists Gubi interviewed had problems with supervision for this area of their work, or felt they had to work with more than one supervisor in order to cover this aspect of their practice. Gubi does not specify what the ‘problems’ were that therapists found in supervision, but work by West, (1995, 2011) suggests that perhaps the problems reside both with the therapist and also the supervisor. For example, concurring with Gubi (2003) cited earlier, West reports a reticence on the part of therapists to embrace this part of their work in supervision for fear of being misunderstood. Then, possibly as a defensive response to a potential (or perceived) fear of being misunderstood by their supervisor, Gubi and Jacobs’ study with BACP accredited counsellors reported that practitioners had concerns around the ‘adequacy of their supervisor’s support’ (2009:199). Or perhaps the therapists were picking up on the defensiveness of their supervisors as this was noted as specifically difficult when the issues ‘impacted on the supervisor’s own faith and belief systems’ (Gubi & Jacobs, 2009:199). In a broadly multi-cultural society therapists working within a profession that emphasises personal

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reflection on issues around power, control and respect for difference, this is surely of concern to practitioners and trainers alike. Indeed, in the revised ethical framework the first ‘Statement of Ethical Practice’ stipulates the BACP’s intention to be ‘dedicated to social diversity, equality and inclusivity of treatment without discrimination of any kind’ (BACP, 2013:i). Whilst this statement was largely focused on issues of different sexualities, the principle attests also to work with diversity, equality and inclusivity across all human issues. Thus, Gubi and Jacobs’ (2009) work is, arguably, of major concern not least since supervision is both a mandatory expectation of mainstream counselling in Britain (BACP, 2013), but also the place wherein support for practice should be central. As Bernard and Goodyear state, supervision is a ‘Teaching and learning process that gives particular emphasis to the relationships between and among patient, therapist, and supervisor and the processes that interplay among them’ (1998:17). Thus, the data outlined above raise questions about the ‘wholeness’ of the supervisory experience, and ethical accountability, if certain aspects of the counsellor and the work are withheld or taken elsewhere without the supervisor’s knowledge. Certainly, Gubi and Jacobs’ (2009) assertions were founded on a small self-selecting sample, so caution is urged when considering generalisation. Nevertheless, it is worrying that any therapist is ‘traumatised’ by supervision, a situation several of Gubi and Jacobs’ participants reported when attempting to raise issues of religion and spirituality. Corroborating this position, West recently commented that he has found ‘many examples of problems in supervision [around issues of religion and spirituality]’ (2011:221). Arguably, this situation serves to illustrate the importance of religion and spirituality to the core of the person as it was clearly important and sensitive enough for the therapists to feel such impact. Following on from the work already presented in this book, it also reinforces the fact that if simply discussing issues of religion and spirituality can be ‘traumatising’ for therapists, how great must be the impact of abusing a person’s core beliefs or – of specific focus for this chapter – of working with abuse of those core beliefs. For therapists this is surely an area that demands urgent consideration of the best way for this work to be included in therapist and supervisor training. West noted over a decade ago (2000) that although supervision for the spiritual dimension of counselling was problematic it was

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not included in many training courses. Sadly, the situation has not changed radically today with the effect that ‘practice in this area is not always benefitting from appropriate training, supervision and informed discussion’ (West, 2011:221). Certainly, progress is being made with the BACP’s division for spiritual and pastoral care (ASPCC) growing in membership (Harborne, 2012); though, as Sperry (2003:3) notes, there are no firm estimates of the number of professionals practising spiritually oriented counselling. Nonetheless, it can be evidenced from the growth of the ASPCC that there is an appetite for developing this dimension of practice. However, arguably, the current situation in which there are problems around raising issues of spirituality and religion in supervision, combined with a lack of training for supervisors, should be of major concern to all involved in the profession. Working within a safe, sound and effective supervisory relationship is essential to therapist self-care. As noted earlier, working with someone who has been through a major experience of trauma can be very challenging for the therapist as s/he is trained to work empathically ‘to sense the hurt or the pleasure of another . . . but without ever losing the recognition that it is as if I were hurt or pleased . . . [since] if this “as if” quality is lost, then the state is one of identification’ (Rogers, 1959:210–211 emphasis in this citation); nonetheless, empathic work does not necessarily insulate the therapist from the impact of intense emotional trauma related by the client. Further, although they are also trained to maintain their own safety (both physical and psychological) they can, nevertheless, be deeply affected in a very negative and destructive manner. Indeed, it can lead to what has been termed variously as ‘vicarious traumatisation’ (McCann & Pearlman, 1995; Dunkley & Whelan, 2006), ‘secondary trauma’, ‘secondary traumatic stress’ (Sanderson, 2010:195) or ‘compassion fatigue’ (Helm, 2010). The distinctions between all these responses are discussed below, but, briefly, they all involve the therapist becoming so overwhelmed by the client’s story and trauma that they become negatively affected personally.

Vicarious traumatisation Broadly, compassion fatigue, secondary trauma and vicarious trauma all refer to a therapist’s indirect exposure to trauma resulting from

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a client telling their story. Saakvitne and Perlman (1995) describe it as ‘a transformation of the helper’s inner experience resulting from empathic engagement with clients’ trauma material’ (p. 40); though a key feature of vicarious trauma is that it is the effect of cumulative trauma work with clients over a period of time (Helm, 2010). This then has a marked negative psychological effect on the therapists’ subjective experience of themselves. In contrast, secondary traumatic stress and compassion fatigue are defined by the emotions and behaviours shown by a therapist in response to a client’s traumatic story (Helm, 2010). In this way, they have parallels with symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder though they do not involve the therapist experiencing the trauma themselves. Generally, all four terms refer to a similar state for the counsellor wherein s/he can become overwhelmed by the enormity of the traumatic experiences being related (Bride, 2007) and, frequently, they are used synonymously and interchangeably (Stoesen, 2007); though as Helm (2010) notes there are clear distinctions, as discussed above. Nonetheless, what is of importance to this discussion is that all will present a risk to the safety of the therapist and sometimes the therapist will not be able to articulate the problem they are facing. As Pryce et al. described, one practitioner reported ‘I knew something was wrong . . . I was changed somehow, different . . . I just didn’t have a name for what was wrong’ (2007:4). Howard (1996:131) notes that if the therapist is a person of faith working with SA can have a traumatising impact and lead to much questioning of the therapist’s own beliefs and practices. This can further traumatise the therapist. Gubi and Jacobs’ (2009) participants spoke of sadness in response to encountering clients who had been spiritually abused. Additionally, four of them spoke of feelings of anger at the church. As Gubi and Jacobs reported, one participant told of ‘her “absolute outrage” that people are treated in this way in the Christian Church. She went onto say that she felt frustrated and “gob smacked” that people still do this’ (2009:197). Other feelings that were expressed included being hurt, powerless and helpless – which possibly mirror the emotions of the clients when they were in the abusive situation. Interestingly, and perhaps as a defensive response to their clients’ behaviour, some therapists talked of disassociating with their clients, which clearly is not a useful strategy for effective therapy, but was perhaps a necessary response to

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safeguard the therapist in this traumatic situation. A further response by some of the therapists was to try to vindicate or justify God and enable their clients to ‘separate their abusers from the person of God, to help them see that God had no part in the abuse they had suffered’ (Gubi & Jacobs, 2009:197). Again, it is interesting to consider how far the participants were seeking to justify God in order to retain their own beliefs; to be able to ‘lay the blame for their abuse at the feet of their abuser’ (Gubi & Jacobs, 2009:197) in order to keep their own core self and beliefs alive and well. For, as Jenkins reminds us, ‘an attack on someone’s spirituality . . . is an attack on the heart of the person, on their integrity, their wholeness’ (2011:29). All but one of Gubi and Jacobs’ (2009) participants commented that they had held onto or been traumatised by their work with clients who had been spiritually abused. This can then heap further trauma upon the scars of already engrained pain so that the therapist no longer feels safe, but actually may fear sinking into the ‘abyss of nothingness’ (Lacan, cited in Fink, 1995) from whence it is very difficult to recover. In such instances, it is vital that the therapist seeks support from their supervisor. So, once again, the importance of a supervisor that the therapist trusts cannot be overestimated.

Working with unpredictability and uncertainty As discussed in the previous chapter, SA shares some features with other forms of abuse and it is useful to consider here those relevant to therapist professional and personal issues. First, the unpredictability of behaviour and responses to therapy by many people who have been spiritually abused can be very challenging for therapists and it is important that therapists manage their responses to clients’ – and to their own potential – uncertainty, appropriately. In common with work with clients who have suffered other forms of trauma and abuse (Sanderson, 2010), there is no certainty when working with people who have been spiritually abused. Indeed, therapists will be challenged if they feel a need for certitude in their work. They must be ready to tolerate uncertainty and manage and contain anxiety. They must also be prepared to tolerate diversions and detours and, just as when working with other forms of interpersonal trauma, they must be open to working flexibly rather than

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sticking rigidly to a set therapeutic modality (Sanderson, 2011). Further, working with people who have been spiritually abused is not a linear process. Clients will need to work on both practical elements and tasks interspersed with emotional issues. This can be immensely challenging for the therapist as clients are likely to detour and deviate from topics and pre-arranged and pre-agreed tasks (where appropriate). Such detours and diversions must be appropriately managed so that the therapist does not perceive them as a challenge to their skills and/or the therapeutic relationship. In this way the likelihood of the therapist becoming frustrated and this impacting negatively on the therapeutic alliance (Bordin, 1979), or the client, may be minimised. Therapists will also need to be flexible regarding clients’ attendance at sessions. Some clients will attend regularly and commit to the work involved in therapy. Others will struggle for both practical and psychological reasons. As with clients engaging in therapy for other issues, they may have limited access to resources such as transport or childcare. They may also enter therapy with the best of intentions but then become very fearful of trusting another human being, or indeed, themselves, (Gilbert, 2013) so withdraw either temporarily or permanently. They may have genuine and founded (or unfounded) fears about the safety of either themselves or loved ones. Or they may be so very downtrodden and destroyed that they do not feel worthy of support and intervention (Turell & Thomas, 2002). Therapists need to understand all these issues and factors and be prepared to engage with what clients bring, rather than assuming they are indicative of resistance to therapy. Deeper therapy may need to be postponed until the client feels strong enough to engage with traumatic issues; therapists should respond to this sensitively, being aware that this is not necessarily reflective of their skills or client resistance to the therapeutic process. Rather, it is more likely to be symptomatic of the client’s uncertainty and fear of exploring the experiences they have probably managed and coped with through repression of the trauma. Linked to this, it is important that therapists decide how they will manage boundaries, not least out-of-session contact. As the oftenchaotic nature of the spiritually abused person’s psyche and corresponding behaviour may result in correspondingly chaotic attendance and even attention to therapy, the therapist must negotiate how best to manage this to the mutual benefit of both parties.

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If such attention is not given to managing boundaries therapists may find Russell and Dexter’s warning coming true. They stated: Once you become a counsellor, you have no right to any social life, any independent happiness or any human autonomy. Such luxuries are only fit for your client. Much like entering a holy order, you must make yourself available day and night, consider your client’s needs before your own and allow any intrusion. You have total responsibility for your clients’ lives; if anything goes wrong then not only is it your fault, but you should have foreseen it and helped them to avoid it. Now that you didn’t however, and they’re in this mess, you must immediately rescue them! (2008:144) Clearly such expectation is ridiculous . . . but personal experience of discussions with colleagues suggests that most of us have fallen foul of such self-soul-searching and therapist guilt at least once in our practice. This leads helpfully onto the final section of this chapter, which will offer some suggestions for practice.

Suggestions for practice This chapter and the previous chapter do not set out to be prescriptive or a ‘cook book’ for therapists working with SA. They do, however, aim to raise awareness of issues and challenges around working with the issues. In this final section suggestions for practice will be offered. These are not aimed to be definitive and, again, they emanate from my personal work with clients who have been spiritually abused and supervision with therapists working with such clients. Accordingly, I am reminded of Russell and Dexter’s advice that therapy is best considered to be ‘an occupation that operates in a context’ (2008:133). I hope that some of the suggestions may be of use, but since they were initiated in personal experience I would not assert or assume that they are generalisable to every situation or client or therapist need. First, and of utmost importance when working with clients who have been spiritually abused, is the necessity to ensure that therapists work within their competence. Certainly, this tenet is central to all ethical therapy (BACP, 2013). However, arguably, working with

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SA brings its own specific challenges in this regard. In addition to the basic issues relevant to working with trauma of all kinds, such as the need to engage therapeutically with the challenges of client uncertainty and unpredictability (discussed earlier), there are further challenges to the core ‘self’ (Jenkins, 2006) of the therapist as the abuse being narrated may attack the therapist’s central belief structure (Gubi & Jacobs, 2009). In response to this the therapist may seek to defend God – as an unconscious means of defending self. Or, if the client chooses to advance a theological discussion they may feel challenged to articulate Biblical discourse as a means of supporting the client to see the ‘error of their reasoning’; that is, the error of the abusive messages they have been fed. In both cases, it is vital that the therapist reflects upon their work and does not seek to work beyond their competence. Rather they should seek support and advice from appropriate agencies and stay strictly within their proven professional competence. For example, they may need to seek advice about issues of theology. In this case they may perhaps consider involving a religious teacher in a client’s therapy or in their own supervision; something that probably happens very infrequently, if at all, in the UK but, as Richards and Bergin (2005) note, does occur in the United States. As West (2011) notes, other countries and cultures seem to have a much more comfortable relationship with religion and spirituality. It is evident that, whether identifying as ‘faith based’ or not, therapists need to be familiar with the key Judaeo-Christian teachings and areas of concern that may arise for people who have been spiritually abused. This awareness will also enable the therapist to be better able to work within the phenomenological framework of their clients.

Working with scripture When working therapeutically with people who have experienced SA there may be different modalities to use, depending on whether or not the client believes in the Bible as the ‘indisputable written word of God’. For those who believe the scriptures are irrefutable, actual scriptures become the therapeutic modality because no one can argue with the word of God. Therapists can use actual scripture as leverage to help dispel faulty beliefs – but only if they are

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secure in their Biblical knowledge and only if the client leads in this direction. For example, consider a case presented by Gubi and Jacobs (2009) where wives reported in therapy that they had been told by the church they had to stay in their marriage and be submissive to their husbands as this was advised in scripture. The wives who had complained were isolated by their churches as they were seen as not supporting their husbands, not being ‘good enough’ wives. Rather, if they trusted God, the wives were told, He would give them the grace they needed to be a good wife to their husband. Thus, in a counter to the Popperian notion of falsification (Popper, 1994), they were judged as having a lack of faith as they were not ‘good wives’ and, in consequence, the abuse was their own fault (Gubi & Jacobs, 2009:196–197). Faced with such apparent irrationality founded (apparently) in Biblical discourse that is asserted to be the word of God and irrefutable, unless the therapist is secure in their Biblical knowledge they should probably not attempt such discussion. Similarly, if the client does not initiate it then the therapist should not advance in this direction. In both circumstances the therapist is likely to emerge as ‘lacking’ in the client’s eyes. If clients do not believe the Bible is the true word of God, then the therapist cannot use the scriptures as a tool per se but, rather, they can use them to discuss traditions and Biblical stories. The stories can be used for their conceptual value to convey an idea rather than a scriptural mandate. Reframing Biblical interpretations can be important and helpful for people who have been spiritually abused to overcome the twisted messages they may have heard from the pulpit.

Mistakes in therapy We all make mistakes. As therapists we will all say the wrong things at times – but our clients will survive. As therapists we need to trust our clients enough to treat them at least as equals. We also then need to reflect upon our mistakes and take them honestly to supervision and/or seek collegiate (confidential) support. If we have such support we should not then be fearful of opening the can of worms since such fear can prevent the therapist from supporting their client to move forwards.

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As a final point in this section, some sage words of advice were offered by Russell and Dexter, which I have found useful in guiding my reflection on practice so I offer them here. They said, eat humble pills: help in the way you can, when you can, in a way which is appropriate to the circumstances and the context in which you are offering help. (2008:134) Useful advice indeed.

Summary This chapter has looked at issues of therapists’ self-care. Working with people who have experienced trauma is extremely challenging and it is vital that therapists protect themselves. This chapter has looked at the importance of effective supervision and has also suggested strategies for keeping safe when working.

7 Looking Forward Lisa Oakley & Kathryn Kinmond

This book has presented a detailed understanding of the experience of SA in the Christian faith in the UK. It has also offered strategies and reflections for counselling practice in this area. In this final chapter, we will consider where research and work in this area might usefully go next and examine some final critical issues.

Is there a difference between spiritually abusive churches and cults? One issue which has begun to arise is the question of the divide between spiritually abusive churches and cults. We have argued throughout this text that SA can and does happen in some mainstream Christian churches and that it is not denominationally bound. The features of SA we have outlined in this book may be argued to be closer to traditional understandings of cult groups than the mainstream church in the UK. Currently, there is a division in most literature and understanding between spiritually abusive churches and cults, not least in the amount of published material. There is a plethora of literature on the topic of cults (e.g. Lifton, 1961; Martin, 1985; Kilbourne & Rochardson, 1986; Galanter, 1989; Lalich, 1992) but little, currently, on SA. Martin (1985:11) defines a religious cult as ‘any religious group which differs significantly in some or more respects as to belief or practice from those religious groups which are regarded as the normative expressions of religion in our culture’. Martin’s definition reflects 120

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a general notion that there are ‘normal’ religious practices and groups acting outside these norms, which are cults. Howard challenged this divide with the publication of his book The Rise and Fall of the Nine O’Clock Service (1996). This book argued that the practices that operated within one mainstream church in Sheffield were essentially cultic in nature. However, it should be noted that his account of the experience within this church included issues of a sexual nature. In contrast, the position we have argued excludes sexual behaviour as this form of abuse is deserving of separate definition in the same way that CSA is separated from child abuse. The divide between cults and abusive churches is important because it can be argued that in the public consciousness cults are conceptualised as ‘unsafe’ (Martin, 1985). Whilst many may not understand the decision to attend a mainstream church it does not have the same deviant construction in the public consciousness as a cult. Individuals who attend church may be described as ‘misguided’ or ‘hypocrites’ ‘needing a crutch’ (Dionne, 1999). However, generally there is not the same deviant construction or fear as with cult membership. We seem to have successfully demonised cult organisations, whilst at the same time suggesting that church organisations are ‘safe’ if somewhat irrelevant (Croft et al., 2005). The dichotomy between safe and unsafe is clear in our consciousness. However, it is questionable that such a dichotomy exists. Other authors have also sought to challenge the accepted division between cultic and non-cultic behaviour. For example, Jenkins (2002) identified cultic behaviour in mainstream denominations and detailed the concept of Pentecostal ‘sects’; that is, churches whose practices are essentially cultic in nature. Interestingly he identifies such churches in Latin America but he clearly differentiates these from ‘Northern Christianity’, suggesting that cultic practices within mainstream churches are geographically bound. His work seems to reflect an ability to recognise cultic behaviour in mainstream churches abroad but an inability to label behaviour in UK mainstream churches as cultic. We would argue that the distinction between cults and spiritually abusive churches is in many ways a blurred and somewhat dangerous distinction, suggesting that mainstream churches cannot be abusive.

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This notion is supported by Buxant et al. (2007), who suggest that a ‘normality versus pathology’ divide is not helpful. Ward (2011:900) comments that ‘true religious cults are spiritually abusive but not all spiritual abuse is found in a cult’. Further, Namini and Murken (2009) suggest that not all ‘unorthodox’ groups are harmful to their members. The distinction in public consciousness between church and cult may, in part, explain why individuals who experience SA find it so difficult to label what happened to them as abuse within a mainstream church. Perhaps it is more helpful to consider a spectrum of abusive behaviour, with some churches and cult groups operating along this same spectrum. However, it is important to sound a note of caution in this discussion. Although we are suggesting the presence of cultic behaviour in some mainstream churches, we are not in any way suggesting that spiritually abusive practices happen in all churches. Therefore, the discussion of SA in this book has highlighted the behaviours and experiences occurring in some mainstream churches but this is in no way intended to suggest all churches are inherently abusive.

Where to now? It is clear that there is a need for professional and public acknowledgement that SA is a distinct form of abuse. If SA is recognised as a category of abuse then legislation and funding for effective support and intervention is more probable. This book has presented clear evidence for this recognition and as such should contribute to beginning this process. This acknowledgement is also important because it should lead to and inform a systematic review of church policy that incorporates an understanding of SA and builds mechanisms that allow for an acknowledgement of it. These mechanisms would provide ways for individuals to challenge abusive behaviour and may in some part halt the current perpetual cyclical process of SA. Although there is now mention of SA in some church safeguarding literature it is still not formally acknowledged and therefore limited action can result as a consequence of any allegations. Additionally, we suggest that current ministerial training needs to include discussion of SA. It seems that an understanding of SA is

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important to ensure that future and current ministers and church workers develop awareness and understanding of the abusive experiences individuals may have encountered in previous churches. This would work towards acceptance and validation of individuals who have been spiritually abused. It may also make it easier for individuals to reconnect with the church context as they will feel listened to and understood. Further an awareness of SA should inform training and preparation for ministry in order to act as a form of prevention. Raising awareness in trainee church workers should facilitate the building of safeguards into ministerial practices in order to avoid abusive behaviour. These safeguards may include accountability, supervision, team working and learning how to respond to questions and criticism, together with recognising when behaviour may be becoming controlling. It will also allow church workers to identify potentially abusive behaviour in others working in the church context. This book has also provided detailed reflections and suggestions for therapeutic practice with individuals who have experienced SA. Currently, there is very little awareness of SA amongst therapists and, unlike other specific areas of work such as counselling for sexual issues or DA, there are few services. Further, there is no specific training on SA available to therapists. Neither does it feature as part of supervisor training. Therefore, we are arguing for the need to continue to develop informed counselling and pastoral care to support survivors, built on a clear understanding of SA (Kinmond & Oakley, 2006). Finally, we would argue that research into SA needs to continue and develop more widely. The process map of SA needs to be tested further in order that it may be refined as appropriate and then used as a recognised model for survivors and practitioners. Further, there is a need to investigate the prevalence of SA in different denominations to begin to understand links between denominations, different faiths and spiritually abusive practices. Our work has focused on the UK context but it is clear that SA is not just a ‘British issue’. Ward (2011) writes about these experiences in Australia and others are writing in the United States (Johnson & VonVenderen, 1991). Therefore, work which draws together international experiences of SA would illustrate commonalities and differences of experience and add to current understandings. We also recognise that SA is not an

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exclusive experience within the Christian faith. At conferences individuals with different faiths have often shared common experiences to those we are describing as SA. Work in this area needs to expand into an investigation of these issues in other faiths. At the beginning of our work in this area we met a fellow survivor of SA and explained the work we were about to begin. Her response was that we should ‘tell it how it is’. Our hope is that through this text we have told the experience of SA exactly ‘how it is’ but also enabled a much greater understanding of it than is available from just telling the story. In exploring the characteristics, personal impact and strategies for working with SA this text has begun to unpack the experience of it. We hope that we might have enabled individuals to ‘wake up and smell the coffee’ and acknowledge that SA exists in the UK. Then we might be able to start properly to do something about it.

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Index abused, personality characteristics of, 16–18 dangers of claims, 18 insecurity, 17–18 religious addicts, 18 requirement of accountability, 26–7 abusers, 15 ‘divine position’, 27 intentionality, 18–19 lack of accountability, 26–7 ministers, 15 personality characteristics of, 16–17 accountability lack of, 26–7 see also ‘heavy shepherding’ movement ‘adult children’, 17 anger, 61–2 Appleton, J., 2, 11–12, 15–17, 28–30, 36, 79 Arensman, E., 65 Arterburn, S., 15–16, 18–19, 28–31, 33–4, 38, 80 Ascione, F., 91 ‘attack on self’, 74–81 distrust, 77 through personal discredit, 76–7 vulnerability, 78 BACP, see British Association for Counselling & Psychotherapy (BACP) Baker, A.W., 65 Barker-Collo, S.L., 63 Bass, L., 67 Baumeister, R.F., 58 Baxter, R., 8 Beasley-Murray, G.R., 12, 26, 79

Beck, A., 90 Beech, A., 59 Beezley, P., 65 Bent-Goodley, T.B., 89 Benyei, C.R., 17, 35–6, 38–9, 48 Bergin, A.E., 117 Bernard, J.M., 111 Biblical discourses, 44–54, 103–5 accountability, 52–3 Bible as ultimate authority, 45–6 censorship, 54 conformity, 51–2 obedience, 50–1 therapists working with, 117–18 unity, 53–4 Biggs, S., 74 blame, 62–3 Bloomer, G., 37 Blue, K., 1, 8, 15–20, 29, 34, 51, 70 Bordin, E.S., 101–2, 115 Bornstein, R.F., 17 Bride, B.E., 113 Brierley, P., 11 British Association for Counselling & Psychotherapy (BACP), 110 division for spiritual and pastoral care (ASPCC), 112 British Psychological Society, 110 Burke, P.J., 81 Burkitt, I., 50 Burr, V., 39, 44 Buxant, C., 122 Campbell, J.D., 77 Carroll, M., 110 catalysts, to leave church, 83–4, 86–7 censorship, 27–32, 54 of decision making, 30–1 of external relationships, 31–2 of questioning, 28–30 136

Index

changing perceptions of reality, 60–1, 101 charismata, 9 charismatic churches, 10 high prevalence of spiritual abuse, 11–12 increase in attendance, 11 Charismatic Evangelical Church, 13 charismatic movement, 9–10 child sexual abuse (CSA), 2 cycle of abuse, 72 distrust of others, 65 and enforcement of secrecy, 67 ‘grooming’ process, 59 influence of culture on, 13–14 intentionality, 18–19, 60 lack of accountability, 26–7 long-term impact, 68 manipulation, 38 parallels with spiritual abuse, 59, 61, 62–3, 65, 67, 68, 70–1 powerlessness, 70–1 self-blame, 62–3 threshold of, 19–20 see also sexual abuse Christian counselors, 93–4 Chrnalogar, M.A., 29–30, 33, 36–7, 46, 48, 58, 74 church silence on spiritual abuse, 8 as substitute family, 59 Church of England, 2 ‘Church Experience Survey’ (CES), 3 church policy, need for review of, 122–3 Coates, A.A., 65 Coffey, P., 63, 71 cognitive behavior interventions, 90 ‘compassion fatigue’, see vicarious traumatisation ‘complicated grief’, 100 conformity, 33–5, 51–2 through increasing commitment, 33–4 through obedience, 34–5

137

counselors, 90–3 anti-religious views, 93 Christian, 93–4 lack of, 92–3 Courtois, C.A., 101 Croft, S., 10, 121 CSA, see child sexual abuse (CSA) cult groups, religious, 31–2 defined, 120–1 compared to spiritually abusive churches, 120–2 culture impact on spiritual abuse, 13–15 individualistic, 14–15 cycle of abuse, 71–2, 86–7 Deaux, K., 58 denial, of spiritual abuse (SA), 95–6 denominational bias, of spiritual abuse, 10–13, 120 dependency, 31, 40, 101 Dexter, G., 116, 119 Dionne, E.J. Jr, 121 ‘discipling’ movement, 8–10 distrust, 64–5, 77, 86, 102 of therapist, 94, 100–1 ‘divine position’, 27, 46–50 manipulation and exploitation, 37–42 domestic abuse (DA) and anger, 62 cycle of abuse, 87 and distrust, 65 and enforcement of secrecy, 67 and isolation, 66 long-term impact, 68 powerlessness, 71 responses to therapy, 94 subjugation and submission, 103 Draucker, C.B., 73, 95 Dube, R.A., 68 Duncan, S.P., 65 Dunkley, J., 112 Dupont, M., 40, 49, 56, 60, 75 Dutton, D.G., 62 dysfunctional childhood, 17

138

Index

Edwards, V.J., 62 Elkins, D.N., 97 emotional abuse, in children, 75 ‘attack on self’, 75 Enroth, R.M., 1, 10–12, 15, 18–19, 29, 33, 36–8, 40, 48, 62, 69–70, 81 evangelical churches, 10 high prevalence of spiritual abuse, 11–12 increase in attendance, 11 Evans, P., 19, 61–2, 66–7, 71, 74–5 Fallot, R.D., 99 fear, 63–4 Fehlauer, M., 12, 17, 27, 29, 33, 36–7, 40, 46 Felton, J., 15–16, 18–19, 28–31, 33–4, 38, 80 Filipas, H.R., 63 Fink, B., 114 Flax, J., 78 Foote, W., 59 Foucault, M., 51, 55 Fowler, D.N., 89 French, J.R.P., 24, 47 Furniss, T., 61, 67 Galanter, M., 120 Gartner, R.B., 65 Gergen, K., 78 Gilbert, P., 104–5, 115 Glaser, D., 18–19 Glass, J., 78 Goodyear, R., 111 Greenberg, L.S., 76 Greig, G.S., 9 grieving process, 100 ‘grooming’ process, 59 Gubi, P.M., 92, 108–11, 113–14, 117–18 Hague, G., 65–8, 71 Hall, L., 62–3, 65, 71 Hall, S., 2, 11, 20, 35, 81

Hanson, D.J., 7, 14 Harborne, L., 112 Hathaway, J., 64 Hazzard, A., 63 ‘heavy shepherding’ movement, 9–10 see also accountability Helm, H., 112–13 Henzel, R., 93, 109 Herman, J.L., 101–2 Hershkowitz, I., 62 history, of spiritual abuse, 7–10 Holland, T., 98, 108 Holmes, J., 99 Hood, R., 99 ‘house churches’, 8 Howard, R., 31, 81, 113, 121 Huefner, J.C., 72 Hyatt, E.L., 9–10, 47 impact on faith, 65–6, 78–9 see also relationships with religion and spirituality, changes post-spiritual abuse initial positive feelings, 58–60, 79, 84 ‘inner circle’, 86 insecurity, 17 Inskipp, F., 110 institutional powerlessness, 41 intentionality, of abuser, 18–19, 60 censorship, 32 Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA), 23 IPA, see Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA) isolation, 66–7, 75, 77, 92, 101–2 after leaving abusive church, 36, 40–2 as consequence of dissent, 35–6 due to abuse, 66–7 due to distrust of others, 65

Index

psychological, 31–2 see also loneliness Jacobs, R., 92, 108–11, 113–14, 117–18 Jenkins, C., 89, 93, 98, 104, 114, 117, 121 Jensen, T.K., 64 Johnson, D., 1, 8, 10, 15, 20, 27, 30–1, 34, 75, 123 Kelly, G.A., 78 Kilbourne, B.K., 120 Killeen, C., 11 Kilpatrick, A., 98, 108 Kinmond, K., 3, 7, 28, 70, 91–3, 97, 103, 123 Kinnvall, C., 10–11 Kravitz, H.M, 72 Kubler-Ross, E., 99 lack of awareness and training, of spiritual abuse (SA), 92, 108, 112, 123 Laing, R., 101–2 Lalich, J., 120 Langer, L.L., 105 leadership team, 15 Leary, M.R., 58 leaving abusive church, 36–7, 40–2, 46, 64, 74, 87 catalysts, 83–4, 86–7 Lifton, R.J., 120 literature on spiritual abuse, 7–8 abuser, 15 lack of research, 2, 108 Lloyd, S., 62–3, 65, 71 Loh, J., 62–3, 66 loneliness, 10–11 see also isolation long-term impact, 68–70, 87 Lukens, E.P., 90 Luster, T., 65 Lyall, D., 93

139

mainstream churches, see traditional churches manipulation and exploitation, 37–42 through controlling perceptions of reality, 38–40, 60–1 through personal discredit, 40–2 through positive explanations for controlling behavior, 40 Mapp, S.C., 72 Martin, H.P., 65 Martin, W.M., 120–1 McAlinden, A., 19, 59 McCann, I.L., 112 McFarlane, W.R., 90 McLeod, J., 93, 109 Messman-Moore, T.L., 65 Methodist Church, 2 ministers, as abusers, 15 need for training, 122–3 skilled communicators, 58–9 mistakes in therapy, 118–19 Mollon, P., 104, 110 Moore, D.S., 8–9, 59, 65 Murken, S., 122 Namini, S., 122 Nandlal, J.M., 18, 75 narcissism, of abusers, 17 Nolen-Hoeksema, S., 95 non-conformity, 35–7 consequences of leaving abusive church, 36–7, 40–2, 46, 64 isolation as consequence of, 35–6 Norcross, J.C., 90 ‘no-talk’ rule, 27 Oakes, L., 17, 30, 40, 59 Oakley, L., 3, 7, 16, 18, 21, 23, 28, 69–70, 91–3, 96–7, 101, 103–5, 123 Oakley, T., 7, 69–70 Okeyan, P.Y., 9, 15 ontological insecurity, 10, 80, 99–100

140

Index

organised religion, 10 O’Riordan, M., 65 Paloutzian, R.F., 10, 32 Pargament, K.I., 99 Parish-West, P., 1, 89, 92, 101, 104–5, 108 Parkes, C.M., 100 Parsons, K., 11, 28–9, 48, 59, 81 Pearlman, L.A., 101, 112 Peck, A., 10–11, 13 Pentecostal Christianity, 10 Peppiatt, G.E., 104–5 personal impact, 86 personality characteristics, of perpetrators and targets of spiritual abuse (SA), 16–18 personal power, 16, 31 personal powerlessness, 41–2 Pickering, F., 64 Plowman, E.E., 8–9 Popper, K.R., 118 post-traumatic growth, 99–100 benefits provided by religion and spirituality, 99 grieving process, 100 religious aversion, 99 religious doubt, 99 powerlessness, 41–2, 70–1, 77–8 power, theme of, 23 coercion/control, 24–37; accountability, 26–7; censorship, 27–32; conformity, 33–5; non-conformity, 35–7 divine position, 25, 46–50; manipulation and exploitation, 37–42 institutional, 42–3 psychological, 43 role of spiritual context, 43–4 through Biblical discourses, 44–54, 103–5; accountability, 52–3; Bible as ultimate authority, 45–6; censorship, 54;

conformity, 51–2; obedience, 50–1; unity, 53–4 Powers, R., 92 Pratt, D.D., 14 prevention, of spiritual abuse, 122–4 Prigerson, H.G., 100 Prior, S.C., 76 process of spiritual abuse (SA) increased involvement and beginning of abuse, 86 initial positive feelings, 58–60, 79, 84 Prochaska, J.O., 90 Proctor, B., 110 ‘Promoting a Safe Church’, 2 ‘protective denial’, 94–5 Pryce, D., 113 Pryce, J., 113 psychoeducation, 90 psychologist, transtheoretical model, 90 pulpit, messages from the, 45–6 Quinn, M., 64 Raven, B.H., 24, 47 reality, distortions of, 38–40, 60–1 Reeves, R., 110 The Reformed Pastor, 8 relationships with religion and spirituality, changes post-spiritual abuse, 96–100 see also impact on faith religion, and spirituality, 96–8 benefits of, 99 Remer, P., 102, 104 responses, to spiritual abuse (SA), 94–6, 103–5 Richards, P.S., 117 The Rise and Fall of the Nine O’Clock Service, 121 Rivers, J., 45 Robson, C., 13 Rochardson, J.T., 120 Rogers, C.R., 101, 112 Rowan, J., 97

Index

rumination, effects of, 95 Russel, B., 42–3 Russell, J., 116, 119 Saakvitne, K.W., 113 ‘Safeguarding Children & Young People’, 2 Sanderson, C., 64, 90, 92, 94, 102–4, 112, 114–15 Sarin, S., 95 Schneider, M.W., 62 Schultz, P.N., 62 Schut, H., 100 Sebre, L.S., 62 ‘secondary trauma’, see vicarious traumatisation secrecy and silence, 67–8, 92, 105 self-blame, 62–3, 86 ‘self as centre’, 14, 39, 49–50 and ‘attack on self’, 76 and need to belong, 58 sexual abuse, 95–6 see also child sexual abuse (CSA) Sgroi, S.M., 94 shame, 104–5 ‘shared church identity’, 81 Shaw, A., 99 Shear, M.K., 100 ‘shepherd’, see ‘shepherding’ movement ‘shepherding’ movement, 8–10 Sherry, A., 91 Skedgell, K., 104 Smail, D., 14, 42–3, 76 Small, S.A., 65 Smith, J.A., 23 snowball sampling effect, 13 social identity theory, 80–1 Sperry, L., 112 spiritual abuse, definitions of, 7, 20–2 impact of culture on, 13–15 impact of intentionality, 18–19 spiritual abuse (SA), differences from other forms of abuse, 60, 73, 91–4

141

spiritual abuse (SA), parallels with other forms of abuse anger, 61–2 blame, 62–3 changing perceptions of reality, 60–1 cycle of abuse, 71–2 distrust, 64–5, 77, 86, 94 fear, 63–4 impact on faith, 65–6, 78–9 initial positive feelings, 58–60 isolation, 66–7, 75, 77, 92 long-term impact, 68–70, 87 powerlessness, 70–1, 77–8 secrecy and silence, 67–8, 92 self-blame, 62–3 spiritual possession, 2 ‘spiritual rebuilding’, 96 ‘spiritual separation’, 96 spirituality, and religion, 96–8 benefits of, 99 Springer, K.N., 9 Squire, C., 84 stability of self, attack of, 78–80 ‘Statement of Ethical Practice’, 111 Stein, A., 62 Sternberg, K.J., 13 Stets, J.E., 81 Stoesen, L., 113 Stroebe, M., 100 subjugation and submission, 103 The Subtle Power of Spiritual Abuse, 20 suggestions for practice, 116–17 Sullivan, J., 59 Summit, R.C., 69 supervisors, 107–12 Christian, 109 need for, 107–12, 114 non-Christian, 108–9 problems with, 110–12 Swinton, J., 97 Tajfel, H., 80 template process map, of spiritual abuse (SA), 84–7 as model for survivors, 124

142

Index

therapeutic bond, 100–3 engender sense of personal value in client, 101 safe therapeutic space, 100–1 therapeutic process, 90–3 therapist self-care, 107–19 mistakes in therapy, 118–19 need for effective supervision, 107–12, 114; Christian, 109; non-Christian, 108–9; problems with, 110–12 need for familiarity with Judaeo-Christian teachings, 117 suggestions for practice, 116–17 vicarious traumatisation, 107, 112–14 working with scripture, 117–18 working with unpredictability and uncertainty, 114–16; managing boundaries, 115–16 Thomas, C.R., 115 threshold, of abuse, 19–20 top-down model of spiritual abuse (SA), 15–16 traditional churches decline in attendance, 11, 13 prevalence of spiritual abuse, 12, 120 triggers to flashbacks, 94–5 Turell, S.C., 115 Turner, J.C., 80 Ullman, S.E., 63

VA, see verbal abuse (VA) Valentino, K., 72 VanVonderen, J., 1, 8, 10, 15, 20, 27, 30–1, 34 verbal abuse (VA) ‘attack on self’, 75 changing perceptions of reality, 61 and enforcement of secrecy, 67 and isolation, 66, 75 negative prediction, 63 vicarious traumatisation, 107, 112–14 Vintzant, 10 Walker, L.E., 87 Ward, D., 2, 7, 15, 17, 21, 26, 31, 33, 47–9, 56, 61, 65–6, 68, 83, 86, 91, 94, 96, 99, 122–3 Warner, S., 19, 59, 61–2, 67–8, 71–2, 91 Wehr, D.S., 21 West, W., 110–12, 117 Whelan, T., 112 Wilson, C., 65–8, 71 Wolfe, D.A., 68 Wood, L.A., 18, 75 Worell, J., 102, 104 Wyatt, J., 93 Yancey, C.T., 7, 14 Zimbardo, P.G., 14, 30, 36, 80 Zinzow, H., 62–3