Books like The Principles of Psychology, Vol. 1 — picked by fans

Daniel Kahneman’s book is a must read for all who desire to understand their mind/brains and thereby maximize the use of the mind’s power over our lives.

In clear language, Daniel Kahneman illustrated the heuristic shortcuts that often limit our understanding and predispose our actions. We all hold onto outdated psychological mechanisms that create self-imposed limitations, and in doing so, we can find ourselves living out self-limiting lives.

Kahneman does an excellent job at showing us how we think we understand what we really don’t. His transparent and careful treatment of his subject has the potential to change how we think, not just about thinking, but about how we live our lives.

When I visited Asian countries of China, Japan, Korea, and Singapore, food was always a highlight. But what also stood out for me was the social nature of eating. I was also struck by the simple gestures of people that indicated politeness and respect. We might think of culture as influencing behavior, but this book argues that culture can penetrate our thinking.

Nisbett contrasts how eastern and western cultures think differently about context, the individual vs. the group, and our relationship to the environment, among other differences.

In our age of the Internet, cultural differences on the surface may be eroding globally but there may be deeper influences of culture on thought that are harder to erase.

This book starts in a similar historical location as Bod’s book but quickly moves through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries—settling into the “information theory” era established by Claude Shannon, Norbert Wiener, and others in the 1940s-1960s.

I love this book because it situates the intellectual climate leading to our current dystopia of information overload. Gleick’s teasing of chaos theory inevitably pushes the reader to explore his book on the subject from the 1980s: Chaos: Making a New Science (1987).

This is, in many ways, the book that introduced the concept of flow to the world. I’m in awe with Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. While I never got to meet him, I imagine he was a most wonderful person–wise, curious, thoughtful, kind, warm, approachable, creative, quiet, yet profound.

I agree with almost everything he wrote, and I think his ideas about happiness, flow, and the meaning of life were spot on.

In my view, this is the finest book on consciousness ever written. William James was one of the leading minds of late 19th and early 20th century America. His book, published in 1890, was written as a textbook for his psychology class at Harvard. At that time “psychology” was understood to be the study of consciousness. Here James introduces consciousness as a “stream of thought,” an idea that later influenced many 20th century thinkers, including American philosopher Alfred North Whitehead and early quantum physicist Niels Bohr. It is written with an elegance and clarity of style to match that of his brother, the writer Henry James.

James’ broad interests in consciousness, seen in this book, is consistent with the fact that he was an original co-founder of The American Society for Psychical Research, and was deeply interested in mediumship and questions regarding mind beyond the brain.

Alice James changed my life as a writer. It completely opened up the field of biography and pointed the way to the work I’ve been doing for almost four decades: writing women’s lives. Before Alice James, biographies had to be of famous people, usually men. Here was a book about the little sister of the great novelist Henry James and the eminent philosopher William James, a woman who had essentially done nothing with her own talent and brilliance except—luckily!—keep a diary. Jean Strouse read that diary and used it as the entry point for a whole book about the dynamics of an extraordinary family, about women’s choices in 19th century America, about invalidism and suppressed ambition. It’s a riveting psychological tale full of poignance and unexpected heroism.  

Psychology is easy to misunderstand. When I decided it was going to be my undergraduate major, it was because I wanted to understand how the mind worked, broadly, what makes people tick, and how they can be guided or helped when they get stuck or have problems. I assumed this knowledge existed and that majoring in psychology would reveal it to me. 

I was more than surprised when I attended my first psychology class. The professor sat cross-legged on top of a desk. He had long hair and a beard (unusual in 1963), and he spoke as if he had just taken a drug, which he likely had. He used profane language, the first time I had heard that word in a public place. He blathered for about 30 minutes, saying nothing of importance to the subject I was interested in. 

I stayed in the class and continued the major… show more.

Firstly, I absolutely love that this book is presented in the form of a podcast!

Maybe it’s just me, but epistolary novels always makes me feel the story is more “real”! I love how Wesolowski cleverly blurs the lines between madness, evil, and the paranormal, asking whether “monsters” really exist or are simply manifestations of our human selves.

This resonates so much with me as a clinical psychologist, because mental illness have been demonised and “monstered” throughout history, and I am always working to educate and defeat stereotypes and stigma.

Once you’ve opened yourself up, gotten a few instructions and are reminded that nothing is holding you back, you’re ready to connect with your own internal mechanisms. Hillman re-positions psychology in the context of soul-making, where it makes most sense and is most useful for us.

We get hung up on so many things, and Hillman fearlessly wades into every one of them with great intention. I think Hillman is one of the smartest, most perceptively radical writers not named Jung, and this book grapples with the uneasy humility that is creative work: your own soul-making.

I loved the television play based on this novel, and the novel itself is equally good as a sensitive but somewhat mordant commentary on marriage, widowerhood, wartime memories, and the English class system.

I found it amusing in parts but also quite sad, and empathized with both main characters—two men who had served in WW2 as squadron leader and sergeant, respectively. They meet fifty years later in the Tonbridge Wells hospital when both their wives are dying, and develop an unlikely friendship.