Many people fondly recall their college years as a time when their self-identity was revealed… Many people fondly recall their college years as a time when their self-identity was revealed to them in odd and innocent moments. Maybe our most meaningful spiritual growth goes unrecognized, but the closest I came to self-awareness as an undergrad was waiting for my reflection in water to be dispersed by the contents of my stomach and wondering, “What does it all mean, man?”

It’s not that I didn’t try to challenge myself intellectually or choose the road less traveled, but I think I was ruined by the very psychological tidbits I was trying to empower myself with. I had a nasty habit of swallowing ideas without chewing them and then assuming that understanding would come from subjecting myself and the world to an unending bout of verbal diarrhea.

After reading an article in the New York Times Magazine Sunday, I realized that it was the second part of my “nasty habit” that had been the most problematic. The question is this: Human, can thou heal thyself? Maybe not. In one of the most lucid but depressing exposes of psychoanalysis to date, Lauren Slater explored whether we’re better off opening up the wallet for therapy or hoping to collect on the royalties for our memoirs. Her punchline sums it up better than I could hope to: ” … you know the saying ‘It’s never too late to have a happy childhood’? Well, guess what? It is.”

This might not be what we want to hear. A shifty relativist could extend this argument and say we should just grow up and tuck our hopes for happiness into the same memory bin where Santa Claus is. But I don’t think the issue is quite that. Even if self-help turns out to be the scam of the century – and it may – the hope for happiness is in part what makes us human. The illusion of better things to come makes us tragic, but our persistence in how we try to pummel our past into place despite repeated failure makes life worth living.

Sounds pessimistic, but it depends on how you lay your cards on the table. Do you deal them as a staunch reductionist, dismissing therapy totally and hoping to achieve inner peace through a neurological compote of blockers, boosters, zippers and zingers? Or do you play your own devil’s advocate and maintain a therapeutic dialogue? Of course, most people opt for some combination of both, but I think it’s important to explore, as Slater did, what exactly is going on when we comb through our minds and unloose their contents at a paid professional.

To a certain extent, when you seek out therapy, you’ve already diagnosed yourself. You’ve made some pact with yourself, however subconscious, that things have a chance of working out – that by some process of guided self-reflection, you will right the wrongs of your inner world. I champion this optimism, but detest the way it’s often carried out. The self-help community entices you with a Hollywood movie trailer, but then leaves you feeling like you paid $3.25 per minute for your new personality.

As boring as this argument is going to sound, it boils down to the money. The self-help industry – both the psychoanalytic school, and the pharmaceutical giants – are going in for the kill. Perhaps they’ve generated more interesting ways of approaching our problems, but the only thing they’ve diagnosed for certain is human frailty. The only way they can be self-sustaining is to broaden the scope of their market. And the only way they can do this is by turning trauma into industry. In the case of pharmaceuticals, we’re seduced by commercials with people prancing through the Elysian fields of self-medication. With certain types of therapy, the scam is more sinister. I’d be willing to bet that more than half of the therapists in posh, climate-controlled offices know exactly what their game is: By appropriating the rights to a basic human activity – dialogue – they can make a comfortable living with minimal investment.

I respect many therapists, and think they’re necessary for people who have difficulty cultivating the kind of closeness with others that’s needed for self-help. But the one little nugget that eats away at me is that a lot of studies are coming to the agreement that the key factor in psychological healing may not be time spent in therapy, but just time itself. Looks like we turned out to be just human anyway. So as long as we’re guaranteed to be nothing more as long as we’re alive, why should we pay to be more?

Here’s how I see the self-help game: Life is a dance, and some of us tend to suck more than others. Most of us are sitting on the side, a little shy to go through with the basic movements, afraid to be looked at. Then we rationalize it to ourselves and call the dance exactly what it is – meaningless, stupid cavorting. But secretly, we’re waiting to be pulled out onto the floor. Wouldn’t you rather just head out there yourself, instead of being asked by someone who might have been put up to it?

Jason Castro can be reached at [email protected].