Robert Jay Lifton (May 16, 1926 – September 4, 2025)

I just learned that Robert Jay Lifton crossed over on September 4, 2025 – a few months ago. His books and work were a tremendous inspiration to me when I was in medical school and psychiatry residency. I was able to see him speak once, at the International Society for Traumatic Stress Studies annual meeting in New York City. I also interviewed him by phone 8/13/21, which can be found on The POV interview website that I run with my friend, Usha Akella.

I was particularly interested in his concepts of malignant normality and the witnessing professional. Based on his work, as a social psychiatrist, interviewing Nazi doctors, atomic bomb survivors in Japan, and working with Vietnam veterans, Lifton went on to become a role model as a medical activist – speaking out about war, nuclear weapons, climate change, and late in his life, about the dangers of Donald J. Trump’s words and actions. Quotes below are from our interview.

“I came to the idea of the witnessing professional in connection with a companion term of malignant normality. Malignant normality being the imposition on a society of a set of expectations that are highly destructive but are rendered ordinary and legal. Of course, the most grievous and extreme example of malignant normality is in connection with my work on Nazi doctors. In that sense, the German physician at the ramp in Auschwitz and other camps, sending Jews and others to their deaths was functioning in a kind of malignant normality. That is what he was supposed to do. That was his job, so to speak.

Within malignant normality we professionals have the capacity for exposing it, identifying it, and combating it, and that is the development or evolution of the witnessing professional. He or she is witness to the malignance of the claimed normality and not diminishing one’s professional knowledge but actually calling it forth as a means of creating one’s particular witness.”

From his study of extreme socio-psychological situations, Lifton cautions us about the dangers of gradually growing to accept what is not normal – what he calls malignant normality. And he offers an antidote to malignant normality through the role of witnessing professionals whose ethics require us to speak up and speak out against social ills in the world – such as the climate crisis or American fascism and totalitarianism.

Lifton wrote the original foreword, “Our Witness to Malignant Normality,” for The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump: 37 Psychiatrists and Mental Health Experts Assess a President – Updated and Expanded with New Essays. Bandy X. Lee, psychiatrist and author of Violence: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Causes, Consequences, and Cures, brought together a group of civic-minded mental health professionals in 2017 for a conference at Yale, which was later published as The Dangerous Case, a first edition with 27 professionals, and later 37 professionals. Another trauma expert (another influence on my education in trauma and psychiatiry), Judith L. Herman, co-wrote the prologue with Bandy X. Lee, “Professions and Politics.”

Lifton’s concept of the witnessing professional provides a view of professionalism which moves beyond the narrow confines of the four walls of the consulting room to include the a responsibility to the larger ecological, social, and political world.

“I became interested in the history of what we now call professionalism and the professions and, as you may know, it begins with profession as a profession of faith, of religious faith or commitment to a religious order. Over time, especially as we developed and moved into more of modern society, the idea of a profession became more associated with skills and increasingly technical skills. So, the idea of the professional or the profession became, what I would call technized, and the moral element of it was, in a sense, neglected or denied. In its most extreme form, the technized professional is a kind of hired gun for anybody who will pay him or her for professional knowledge.

So, the witnessing professional, then, is a return to the inclusion of an ethical dimension in professional work. If you or I carry out some form of psychiatric or medical healing―that can be seen quite easily as a moral or ethical act. We shouldn’t lose the ethical dimension of being a professional. It is true that sometimes, as a professional, we have to  step back and not experience fully another’s pain, or even the pain that we cause others, such as with a surgeon making a delicate operation or even a psychiatrist taking care of a very disturbed patient. But, at the same time we need to maintain, within the concept of the professional, that ethical or moral dimension and our own openness to some of that pain.”

Lifton’s work has inspired my own writing on the idea of medical activism as a professional, ethical responsibility, as well as my series of essays entitled Words Create Worlds.

Now, more than ever, we need to heed Lifton’s warnings about the risks of accepting malignant normality and we all need to embrace the idea of the witnessing professional.

For excellent overviews of his life’s work, see books:

Losing Reality: On Cults, Cultism, and the Mindset of Political and Religious Zealotry

Surviving Our Catastrophes: Resilience and Renewal from Hiroshima to the COVID-19 Pandemic

Witness to an Extreme Century: A Memoir

My 8/13/21 interview with can be found on The POV interview website, the-pov.com.

Becoming a True Human podcast Episode 4: Hope

We hope you enjoy our fourth podcast episode, this one exploring hope.

Chris Smith and Dave Kopacz speak about Chris’ forthcoming book, Hope Opens Doors. As we open one door of hope after another, we discuss the words of Vaclav Havel, Thomas Merton, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Rebecca Solnit, and F. Scott Fizgerald.

We talk about hope as a door that opens into rooms of new experience as well as the risk of being “imprisoned” in a room without a door, or a room that refuse to leave and are stagnating in. Yet, there is also the risk of opening the door too much, or opening Pandora’s Box.

Chris tells the following story about hope:

Thomas Merton, the writer and Trappist monk, is sometimes credited with saying, “Peace is not something you must hope for in the future. Rather, it is a deepening of the present, and unless you look for it in the present you will never find it.” If this quote is accurate, it reflects an important insight about hope, too. That is, hope is a “deepening” in the present, if we can be and listen long enough. It’s there. When Pandora was presented with a box and told not to open it, she, of course, removed the lid, releasing suffering and misery throughout the world. When the lid was finally secured, all that remained was hope.

And Chris read a little bit from his book, Hope Opens Doors:

As I was reflecting on this, our grandson, Angelo, was at our home. In the afternoon, we decided to take a walk. Angelo saw a rabbit in a neighbor’s yard and chased it. We ran through shrubs, bushes, and parts of my neighbor’s yard I’d never seen. The rabbit remained out of reach. It was frustrating. As I reflected on this later in the day, a question emerged: why is it the things that matter most often seem out of reach—like a rabbit?  And, while it is true for rabbits, it seemed to apply to so many other things, too. For example, peace really matters and yet is out of reach.  Health really matters and I recently had my appendix removed.

Hope, then, is often out of reach.

However, this isn’t the final answer. It is partial. Can you guess what’s missing? Though Angelo and I weren’t successful at catching the rabbit, there was, at least, a rabbit. We saw it. This point is often missed. Though peace is often out of reach, there is peace. Though health is sometimes out of reach, health exists. Peace, health, and rabbits. They exist. Just because we can’t contain them when we want doesn’t mean they do not exist.

Hope, then, is often simultaneously out of reach and present. Further, pursuing hope, though we may never be able to hold it in our hands or completely realize it, can still lead to adventure and self-understanding. I would have never seen different parts of my neighbor’s yard if it weren’t for that rabbit and an energetic two-year-old. Angelo and I discovered we like the challenge of chasing something that captures our curiosity. We learned both of us love navigating obstacles like shrubs and bushes. We also learned the rabbit was far better equipped to outrun and escape our best efforts.

Chris spoke about how the inspiration and title for his book came from a dream where he heard the phrase “Hope opens doors.” We then explored how sudden inspirations (as Havel says that hope is “anchored somewhere beyond the horizons” and that it comes to us from “elsewhere,” [Havel, Disturbing the Peace, 181]). I share how this idea of inspiration in the creative process reminded me of Kermit the Frog! I’m working on a book chapter with the working title, “Greening Medicine: The Role of the Medical Humanities,” and I suddenly remembered the Kermit the Frog song, “Bein’ Green,” and its line, “It’s not easy being green.” This song then provided the template for the beginning and end of the book chapter.

We include a guided meditation inspired by Joseph Rael’s teaching that no matter what you do in life, or what is done to you, that Wah-Mah-Chi (the Tiwa word for God, which he translates as Breath-Matter-Movement) holds back a place of goodness in your heart – which is always there, even if you have lost touch with it.

Hope, Chris says, is an “orthogonal perspective,” that to understand hope, we need to look at it from multiple different perspectives. While I agree with Chris on this, I told him that I have always thought that hope was “ornithological!” As this excerpt from Emily Dickinson’s poem, “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers”

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers–
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops–at all–”

We hope that you enjoy this podcast on hope, it went longer than we hoped it would, but maybe we are in a time where we all need a little more hope.

73 minutes