I have to thank Peter Morrall in his article ‘The trouble with therapy’ (Therapy Today, March 2009) for reminding me what is important about the work that I do as a counsellor. He seems to be saying that no effective or realistic change is possible in the individual if we cannot change society.

Herein, it seems to me, lies a catch 22. He acknowledges towards the end of his article that society as such only exists as the sum of the people who constitute it. It would seem, therefore, that we are caught in a conundrum. Society can only change if individuals change, and individuals can only change if society changes. I appreciate that I am interpreting his message a little simplistically, but I think this catches the essence of what he is saying. If this were true, then I would suggest that there is nothing left to do other than put our heads in a brown paper bag and wait for the inevitable.

I have to own that I am in any case suspicious when words like therapy, or government, or society, or corporations are used as the subject of sentences. Of themselves, these are abstracts. They only have the power that we ascribe to them. They are things for frightened individuals to hide behind, whether these are politicians or chief executives or local pillars of society. The power of government is that of individuals making decisions on our behalf. It is important, I think, to remember this. The claim that ‘governments’ do things enables the individuals who exercise power through government to disown responsibility, as also we, as individuals, disown our responsibility in condoning their actions. We may moan about oppression and governmental incompetence; and it suits us to be governed in this way – if only as a means to feel superior to those who claim authority over us.

From this perspective, it seems essential that, both as a counsellor and as an individual, I understand my own responsibilities and encourage my clients to understand theirs. This is not the same thing as blaming them for having lousy housing, poor diet or children running out of control. Of course much of what they experience is beyond their power to change. They still have a part to play, however, as integral to the system in which they are enmeshed, just as I have a part to play in believing in Green politics, and yet still wanting to upgrade my computer and drive to my favourite holiday places.

I am certainly not convinced that ‘revolutionary fervour’ is the answer. I agree that there is a lack of radicalism; revolutionary fervour, however, provokes fear and reaction – I do not know of any revolutions that ended very well. I am not convinced that Cromwell, Napoleon or Stalin were any better than what they replaced. Maybe the issue has nothing to do with change, but with engaging with a force which transcends individuals, governments and social systems. That force is love.

Love is a word we tend to avoid in debate – and certainly not one that is used very much by sociologists. Love has so any apparently different meanings, and is so impossible to define. And yet, when we experience it, it is unambiguous, and irresistible.

The capitalist system survives on self-loathing. If I hate myself, then I am more likely to buy things that I do not need in order to make myself feel better. If I love myself, then my overall wants diminish. If I love myself, then I can better transmit that love to others, and encourage them to love themselves, which then enables them to love others, in a never-ending beneficial spiral. Does this turn people into submissive lackeys of capitalist imperialism? I don’t think so. Love is the ultimate subversion.

Love means my client exposing their darkest secrets – things that may well horrify me – and I continue to accept them as people. I love them, not despite their faults and crimes, but precisely because of them. It is people’s flaws and weaknesses which allow me to connect with them – which is what, I think, love ultimately means. Love has nothing to do with perfection – no one can connect with perfection; love arises from the reality of one human being sharing their vulnerability with another. The paradox of love is how that very vulnerability translates into the strength to transcend our circumstances.

We all know that politicians are at their weakest when they try to maintain a façade of perfection. We know it’s not true – it can’t be true. To find true power, they would have to become vulnerable – and the power of that vulnerability would undermine everything they cling to. The trouble is that, rather like the politicians, I lose faith in what I do. I can’t prove that ‘love conquers all’, and so I abandon it, and revert to a tick-box mentality. At least no one will accuse me of being eccentric or wishy-washy, or silly.

 And so I again thank Peter Morrall for reminding me that I need to be silly enough to believe in the power – the therapeutic power, even – of love.