He always dressed the same at conferences: dark suit, white shirt, bright red bow tie.
Courtesy of Beck Institute for Cognitive Behavior Therapy
Dr. Aaron T. Beck
For all his fame, he was very kind, warmly greeting those who wanted to see him and immediately turning attention toward their research rather than his own. Aaron Beck actually didn’t lecture much; he preferred to roleplay cognitive therapy with an audience member acting as the patient. He would engage in what he called Socratic questioning, or more formally, cognitive restructuring, with warmth and true curiosity:
- What might be another explanation or viewpoint?
- What are the effects of thinking this way?
- Can you think of any evidence that supports the opposite view?
The audience member/patient would benefit not only from thinking about things differently, but also from the captivating interaction with the man, Aaron Temkin Beck, MD, (who went by Tim), youngest child of Jewish immigrants from the Ukraine.
When written up in treatment manuals, cognitive restructuring can seem cold and overly logical, but in person, Dr. Beck made it come to life. This ability to nurture curiosity was a special talent; his friend and fellow cognitive psychologist Donald Meichenbaum, PhD, recalls that even over lunch, he never stopped asking questions, personal and professional, on a wide range of topics.
It is widely accepted that Dr. Beck, who died Nov. 1 at the age of 100 in suburban Philadelphia, was the most important figure in the field of cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT).
He didn’t invent the field. Behaviorism predated him by generations, founded by figures such as John Watson and B.F. Skinner. Those psychologists set up behaviorism as an alternative to the reigning power of Freudian psychoanalysis, but they ran a distant second.
It wasn’t until Dr. Beck added a new approach, cognitive therapy, to the behavioristic movement that the new mélange, CBT, began to gain traction with clinicians and researchers. Dr. Beck, who had trained in psychiatry, developed his ideas in the 1960s while observing what he believed were limitations in the classic Freudian methods. He recognized that patients had “automatic thoughts,” not just unconscious emotions, when they engaged in Freudian free association, saying whatever came to their minds.
These thoughts often distorted reality, he observed; they were “maladaptive beliefs,” and when they changed, patients’ emotional states improved.
Dr. Beck wasn’t alone. The psychologist Albert Ellis, PhD, in New York, had come to similar conclusions a decade earlier, though with a more coldly logical and challenging style. The prominent British psychologist Hans Eysenck, PhD, had argued strongly that Freudian psychoanalysis was ineffective and that behavioral approaches were better.
Dr. Beck turned the Freudian equation around: Instead of emotion as cause and thought as effect, it was thought which affected emotion, for better or worse. Once you connected behavior as the outcome, you had the essence of CBT: thought, emotion, and behavior – each affecting the other, with thought being the strongest axis of change.
The process wasn’t bloodless. Behaviorists defended their turf against cognitivists, just as much as Freudians rejected both. At one point the behaviorists in the Association for the Advancement of Behavior Therapy tried to expel the advocates of a cognitive approach. Dr. Beck responded by leading the cognitivists in creating a new journal; he emphasized the importance of research being the main mechanism to decide what treatments worked the best.
Putting these ideas out in the 1960s and 1970s, Dr. Beck garnered support from researchers when he manualized the approach. Freudian psychoanalysis was idiosyncratic; it was almost impossible to study empirically, because the therapist would be responding to the unpredictable dreams and memories of patients engaged in free association. Each case was unique.
But CBT was systematic: The same general approach was taken to all patients; the same negative cognitions were found in depression, for instance, like all-or-nothing thinking or overgeneralization. Once manualized, CBT became the standard method of psychotherapy studied with the newly developed method of randomized controlled trials (RCTs).
By the 1980s, RCTs had proven the efficacy of CBT in depression, and the approach took off.
Dr. Beck already had developed a series of rating scales: the Beck Depression Inventory, the Beck Scale for Suicidal Ideation, the Beck Anxiety Inventory, the Beck Hopelessness Scale. Widely used, these scales extended his influence enormously. Copyrighted, they created a new industry of psychological research.
Dr. Beck’s own work was mainly in depression, but his followers extended it everywhere else: anxiety disorders and phobias, eating disorders, substance abuse, bipolar illness, even schizophrenia. Meanwhile, Freudian psychoanalysis fell into a steep decline from which it never recovered.
Some argued that it was abetted by insurance restrictions on psychotherapy, which favored shorter-term CBT; others that its research was biased in its favor because psychotherapy treatments, unlike medications, cannot be blinded; others that its efficacy could not be shown to be specific to its theory, as opposed to the interpersonal relationship between therapist and client.
Still, CBT has transformed psychotherapy and continues to expand its influence. Computer-based CBT has been proven effective, and digital CBT has become a standard approach in many smartphone applications and is central to the claims of multiple new biotechnology companies advocating for digital psychotherapy.
Aaron Beck continued publishing scientific articles to age 98. His last papers reviewed his life’s work. He characteristically gave credit to others, calmly recollected how he traveled away from psychoanalysis, described how his work started and ended in schizophrenia, and noted that the “working relationship with the therapist” remained a key factor for the success of CBT.
That parting comment reminds us that behind all the technology and research stands the kindly man in the dark suit, white shirt, and bright red bow tie, looking at you warmly, asking about your thoughts, and curiously wondering what might be another explanation or viewpoint you hadn’t considered.
Nassir Ghaemi, MD, MPH, is a professor of psychiatry at Tufts Medical Center and a lecturer in psychiatry at Harvard Medical School. He is the author of several general-interest books on psychiatry. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.