The Search for the Self: Volume 4: Selected Writings of Heinz Kohut 1978-1981

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THE SEARCH FOR THE SELF SELECTED WRITINGS OF HEINZ KOHUT: 1978-1981

VOLUME 4 Edited by

PAUL HORNSTEIN

KARNAC

THE SEARCH FOR THE SELF volume

4

by the same author

The Analysis of the Self: A Systematic Approach to the Treatment of Narcissistic Personality Disorders The Restoration of the Self

THE SEARCH FOR THE SELF Selected Writings of Heinz Kohut: 1978-1981 volume

4

Edited by

Paul H. Ornstein With an Index to all Published Works of Heinz Kohut by Douglas W. Detrick, PhD

KARNAC

First published by International Universities Press in 1991 This edition published in 2011 by Karnac Books Ltd 118 Finchley Road London NW3 5HT Copyright © 2011 The Estate of Heinz Kohut The rights of Heinz Kohut to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted in accordance with §§ 77 and 78 of the Copyright Design and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A C.I.P. for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-85575-884-1 www.karnacbooks.com

Contents VOLUME 4 11. T h e T w o Analyses of M r . Z. (1979)

395

12. Four Basic Concepts in Self Psychology (1979)

447

13. Remarks on Receiving the William A . Schonleld Distinguished Service A w a r d (1979 [ 1980])

471

14. Remarks on the Panel on " T h e Bipolar S e l f (1979 [1981])

475

15. Greetings (1980 [1983])

483

16. Selected Problems in Self Psychological T h e o r y (1980 [1983])

489

17. O n Empathy (1981)

525

18. Introspection, Empathy, and the Semicircle of" Mental Health (1981 [1982])

537

19. Letters 1978

569

20. Letters 1979

621

21. Letters 1980

645

22. Letters 1981

681

References

731

I n d e x to the C o m p l e t e Works o f Heinz Kohut prepared by Douglas W . Detrick, Ph.D.

741

VOLUME 3 Preface

vii

Introduction: T h e U n f o l d i n g and Completion of Heinz Kohut's Paradigm o f Psychoanalysis

ν

1

vi

CONTENTS

1. Introspection and Empathy: Further Thoughts About T h e i r Role in Psychoanalysis (1968)

83

2. O n Leadership (1969-70)

103

3. O n C o u r a g e (early 1970s)

129

4. From the Analysis o f Mr. R. (early 1970s)

183

5. Originality and Repetition in Science (1975)

223

6. Reflections on the Occasion of Jean Piaget's Eightieth Birthday (1976)

231

7. Self Psychology and the Sciences o f Man (1978) 8. Reflections on Advances [1980]) 9.

235

in Self Psychology (1978 261

The Disorders of the Self and Their Treatment: A n Outline ( K o h u t and Wolf, 1978)

359

10. Introductory Remarks to the Panel on "Self Psychology and the Sciences o f Man" (1978)

387

Preface

V o l u m e s 1 and 2 o f The Search for the Self encompass Heinz Kohut's selected writings and letters from 1950 to 1978. V o l u m e s 3 and 4 continue with the further collection o f his selected writings and letters (published as well as previously from

unpublished)

1978 until his untimely death in 1981. T w o previously

written essays (1968, 1975) were withheld from publication at the time o f the earlier collection, and it required the passage o f time to persuade Heinz Kohut to release them for these additional volumes. T h r e e other essays (1969-70; early 1970s; 1978), at that time still unfinished and originally meant for a larger m o n o g r a p h , are also included here. ( T h e s e have since then been edited with an introduction by Charles B . Strozier under the title: Self Psychology and the Humanities: Reflections on a New Psychoanalytic Approach, published by W . W . Norton & Company, N e w Y o r k , L o n d o n , and lifted out o f that collection with permission.) O n e other, brief reflection on Piaget was omitted from the previous collection and is included here (Kohut, 1976). V o l u m e 4 contains an Index to all o f Heinz Kohut's published works, prepared with great skill and devotion by Douglas D e trick, Ph.D. T h i s new collection could and should have been in print for some time. It was originally conceived while Heinz Kohut was still alive and at work with undiminished vigor and creativity. T h i s was to be another interim collection, with the expectation

vii

viii

PREFACE

that a great deal m o r e was to come. In part, this undue delay in publication was occasioned by my at first irresistible desire after H e i n z Kohut's death to introduce this new collection with a comprehensive retrospective survey and appraisal of the entire corpus o£ his writings and not simply with a continuation o f the "guided tour" offered as an introduction to the first two volumes. T h e completion o f such a task—I soon realized—would have further delayed publication. A n d now, nearly a decade after his death, such a task demands a separate and monograph-length treatment. In fact, gauged by the responses to the earlier volumes, a guided tour through these additional writings still appears to be an appropriate way to introduce them. For me it is also a p r o p e r prelude to a subsequent survey and critical assessment of self psychology, the scientific legacy o f Heinz Kohut, from a current perspective. I am deeply indebted to Mrs. Elizabeth Kohut for her inexhaustible patience and the invaluable help she offered in many different ways in the selection and preparation o f papers for these new volumes.

11 The Two Analyses of Mr. Z. (1979)

A l t h o u g h hardly m o r e than a dozen years old, the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self has now reached a point in its d e v e l o p m e n t when, for the benefit both o f those w h o understand it thoroughly and are used to applying the new concepts in their clinical work and in their research, and for the benefit o f those w h o are seriously trying to learn m o r e about this new step and want to form a judicious j u d g m e n t about it, we need to summarize our theoretical conclusions and to demonstrate their usefulness in our clinical work. T h e First—a summary o f the present state o f our theoretical insights—was attempted

in the

summarizing

statement which appeared recently in this Journal ( K o h u t & Wolf, 1978); the second—the demonstration o f the clinical usefulness o f the new viewpoint—was undertaken with the publication o f The Psychology of the Self: A Casebook (Goldberg, 1978). T h e present case report belongs, o f course, in the second realm: it aims at showing the relevance o f the new psychoanalytic insights in the clinical field. T w o considerations determined my choice o f this particular case within the context outlined above. First, the structure o f Mr. Z.'s personality illustrates with great clarity the explanatory p o w e r o f the psychology o f the self. Second, this purpose is also Reprinted from the International

Journal

395

oj Psychoanalysis. 60:3-27, 1979.

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

served, and perhaps even m o r e unambiguously, by the fact that M r . Z.'s analysis took place in two installments, each conducted five times a week and lasting about four years, which w e r e separated by an interval o f about five and a half years. During the first installment I was viewing analytic material entirely from the point o f view o f classical analysis. But the second installment started when I was writing "Forms and Transformations of N a r cissism" (1966) and e n d e d when I was deeply immersed in the writing o f The Analysis of the Self (1971). T h e second installment, then, coincided with the time when I was beginning to test a new frame o f references—a new viewpoint, which, to state it briefly, allowed m e to perceive meanings, or the significance of meanings, I had formerly not consciously perceived. T h i s case thus allows m e to demonstrate that the change in my theoretical outlook that had taken place during this time influenced decisively the focus on my perception o f M r . Z.'s psychopathology and enabled m e , to the great benefit o f the patient, to give him access to certain sectors o f his personality that had not been reached in the first part o f his treatment.

Clinical Data W h e n M r . Z. consulted m e for analysis he was a graduate student in his mid-twenties. H e was a handsome, well-built, muscular man. His pale and sensitive face, the face of a d r e a m e r and thinker, stood in noticeable contrast to his athletic appearance. H e was soft-spoken, his speech often halting. T h e patient lived with his widowed mother in very comfortable financial circumstances because the father, w h o had died about four years earlier, had not only been a highly successful business executive but had himself inherited a considerable fortune. M r . Z. was an only child. T h e disturbances for which he sought relief seemed at first quite vague. H e complained o f a number of mild somatic symp-

397

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

toms—extrasystoles, sweaty palms, feelings o f fullness in the stomach, and periods o f either constipation o r diarrhea. A n d he also mentioned that he felt socially isolated because he was unable to form any relationships with girls. A l t h o u g h his academic work, as measured by his grades and the reaction o f his teachers, was g o o d , he expressed the opinion that he was functioning below his capacities. H e tried to relieve his loneliness by reading and by g o i n g to movies, the theater, and concerts—either alone, o r with an unmarried friend with w h o m he had been close since high school and w h o also seemed to have had some trouble in his relations with w o m e n . N o t infrequently, the two friends w e r e accompanied by the patient's mother, a woman with a variety o f artistic interests (she painted and she wrote poetry). It was my impression that h o w e v e r pathological and unsatisfactory

this

m o d e o f life might have been for an intelligent and handsome y o u n g man in his mid-twenties, the balance he had achieved in his relationship to mother and friend had spared him the full impact o f a confrontation with his inhibitions, and I w o n d e r e d what specific event might have p r o m p t e d him to seek therapy at this time. A s I found out later, there was indeed an event that had upset the balance which the defensively established threesome had p r o v i d e d : a few months before the patient consulted me, his friend had become attached to a much older woman. H e not only excluded the patient from the relationship to this w o m a n — M r . Z. never met her, nor d i d he even know her name—he also became much less interested in seeing M r . Z. H e no longer participated in the social and cultural activities that had included M r . Z.'s mother, although he did retain some contact with both o f them by telephone. T h e revelation o f the details o f M r . Z.'s problems proceeded at first very slowly and against resistance motivated by shame—it was particularly difficult for the patient to reveal not only that he masturbated frequently, but that the masturbatory

fantasies

were masochistic. I n his fantasies—he had never tried to enact

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

them—he p e r f o r m e d menial tasks submissively in the service o f a d o m i n e e r i n g woman. H e always reached sexual climax after spinning out a story o f being forced into p e r f o r m i n g the sexual act by a w o m a n w h o m he imagined as being strong, demanding, and insatiable. A t the m o m e n t o f ejaculation he typically e x p e rienced the feeling o f desperately straining to p e r f o r m in accordance with the woman's commands, similar, as he explained, to a horse that is made to pull a load that is too heavy for its powers and that is driven on by the coachman's whip to give its last ounce o f strength, or similar to R o m a n galley slaves w h i p p e d on by their overseer during a sea battle. T h e genetic data obtained during the first phase o f the analysis can be divided into two groups: material from M r . Z.'s childhood; and material from his preadolescence and early adolescence. T h e r e was every indication, both from external evidence and from the overall flavor o f M r . Z.'s personality, that the unrem e m b e r e d earliest part o f his life, perhaps the first year or year and a half, had been a happy o n e . H o w e v e r severely distorted the personality o f his mother basically might have been, as will be discussed later on, she was quite young when the patient was born, and the intense relationship with her male baby might, as long as he was still small and the interweaving o f her with him still phase-appropriate, have brought out her healthiest attitudes. A t any rate, to all appearances, he was the apple o f her eye, and the father, too, seems to have been pleased with him—at least as far as could be j u d g e d from entries in a baby book and snapshots and h o m e movies that had been taken by the y o u n g couple. W h e t h e r his picture was taken as he was held by his mother o r occasionally, by the father, his facial expression and general demeanor seemed that o f a happy, healthy baby. A n d , to anticipate, although in the second analysis we came to see the significance o f many o f the data from childhood in a quite different light, our impression concerning the earliest part o f his life remained unchanged: there was a core o f vitality, playful vigor, and en-

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

399

terprisingness in M r . Z.'s personality that had survived from earliest times, despite the distortions it underwent later. W h e n the patient was about three and a half years old certain events o f far-reaching significance took place. M r . Z.'s father became seriously ill and was hospitalized for several months. T h e father's illness by itself would undoubtedly have been upsetting. W h a t was o f even greater importance, however, was that during the hospitalization the father fell in love with a nurse w h o took care o f him, and after his recovery he decided not to return h o m e but to live with the nurse. During the time o f this relationship, which lasted about a year and a half, the father seems only rarely to have visited his family. Still, there was no divorce and, when the patient was five years o l d , the father, according to the mother's accounts, broke o f f with the nurse and returned h o m e . A l t h o u g h the family was thus externally reestablished, there can be no doubt that the parents' marriage was an unhappy o n e thereafter. ( A modicum o f affection seems to have b e c o m e rekindled between the parents during the last year o f the father's life when, during his final illness, M r . Z.'s mother took care o f him.) T h e theme that was most conspicuous during the first year o f the analysis was that o f a regressive mother transference, particularly as it was associated with the patient's narcissism; i.e., as w e then saw it, with his unrealistic, deluded grandiosity and his demands that the psychoanalytic situation should reinstate the position o f exclusive control, o f being admired and catered to by a d o t i n g mother who—a reconstruction with which I confronted the patient many times—had, in the absence o f siblings w h o would have constituted preoedipal rivals and, during a crucial p e r i o d o f his childhood, in the absence o f a father who would have been the oedipal rival, devoted her total attention to the patient. For a long time the patient opposed these interpretations with intense resistances, he blew up in rages against me, time after time—indeed the picture he presented during the first year

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

and a half o f the analysis was dominated by his rage. T h e s e attacks arose either in response to my interpretations concerning his narcissistic demands and his arrogant feelings o f "entitlement" o r because o f such unavoidable frustrations as weekend interruptions, occasional irregularities in the schedule, or, especially, my vacations. In the last-mentioned instances, it might be added, the patient also reacted with depression accompanied by hypochondriacal preoccupations and fleeting suicidal thoughts. A f t e r about a year and a half, he rather abruptly became much calmer and his insistent assertion that his anger was justified because I did not understand him lessened conspicuously. W h e n I remarked approvingly on the change and said that the working through o f his o w n narcissistic delusions was now bearing fruit, the patient rejected this explanation, but in a friendly and calm manner. H e said that the change had taken place not primarily because o f a change in him but because o f something / had d o n e . I had, he said, introduced one o f my interpretations concerning his insatiable narcissistic demands with the phrase " O f course, it hurts when o n e is not given what ones assumes to be one's due." I did not understand the significance of my remark at that time—at least not consciously—and continued to believe that the patient was now giving up his narcissistic demands and that his rages and depressions had diminished because of the cumulative effect o f the working-through processes concerning his narcissism. A n d I told myself that it was in o r d e r to save face that the patient had attributed the change to the, as it seemed to me, innocuous and insignificant phrase with which I had recently introduced an interpretation. I r e m e m b e r that I even considered pointing out to the patient that by denying the effectiveness of my interpretation

he was putting up a last-ditch

resistance

against the full acceptance o f the delusional nature of his narcissistic demands. But luckily—as I see in retrospect—I decided not to g o through with this m o v e , since I did not want to disturb the progress o f the analysis, which seemed now to be making

401

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

headway in new directions and was moving, as I then thought, toward the central area o f his psychopathology. T h e center o f the analytic stage was from then on occupied, on the o n e hand, by transference phenomena and memories concerning his, as I then saw it, pathogenic conflicts in the area o f infantile sexuality and aggression—his Oedipus complex, his castration anxiety, his childhood masturbation, his fantasy o f the phallic woman, and, especially, his preoccupation with the primal scene—and, on the other hand, by his revelation that, beginning at the age o f eleven, he had been involved in a homosexual relationship, lasting about two years, with a thirty-year-old high school teacher, a senior counselor and assistant director of the summer camp to which he had been sent by his parents. My perceptions with regard to the

first-mentioned

themes

need little further explanation here, since they were fully in tune with the classical outlook o f psychoanalysis. A s the patient's main resistances, I saw his defensive narcissism and the mechanism o f denial. I attempted to demonstrate to him that he had, from way back, denied the fact that the father had indeed returned h o m e when the patient was still only four and a half or five years old and that his insistence—as enacted in the transference—that did not have an oedipal rival, that his preoedipal possession o f his mother had remained total after the father's return, was a delusion. In other words, I interpreted the persistence of defensive narcissism as it protected him against the painful awareness o f the powerful rival w h o possessed his mother sexually and against the castration anxiety to which an awareness o f his own competitive and hostile impulses toward the rival would have exposed him. T w o sets o f memories e m e r g e d in response to these interpretations: o n e cluster—first announced in dreams—concerned his observation o f parental intercourse; the other revealed his childhood masturbation and the elaborate set of fantasies which accompanied it. I might add at this point a fact which became

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

intelligible only years later, during M r . Z.'s second analysis, that the childhood masturbation

did not subside during latency,

stopped only temporarily during his relationship with the counselor, and continued from then on. T h e fantasies that accompanied the masturbation remained in essence—though not in their specific content—unchanged from childhood to adulthood. T h e y disappeared during the second half o f the first analysis. M r . Z. undoubtedly had witnessed his parents' sexual intercourse from the time he was about five until about the age o f eight, when he was assigned a separate b e d r o o m . U p to the time o f the father's return he had slept next to his mother in the father's bed. A f t e r that, a couch was m o v e d into the parental b e d r o o m , placed crosswise at the foot end o f the parents' beds in such a way that the apparently fairly high footboards prevented him from seeing the parents if he did not raise himself up, yet so closely placed that the vibrations o f the parental bed were transmitted to the couch. W e talked a great deal about the impact which these e x p e riences must have had o n him: the frightening noise, the anxious sexual stimulation. A n d we concentrated, in particular, on the fact that m e m o r i e s concerning the frequent serious quarrels between his parents which the child witnessed and memories o f the primal scene e m e r g e d in many o f his associations in temporal sequence, allowing the reconstruction that he had experienced the intercourse not as lovemaking but as a fight. His o w n sexual activity, the masturbation in childhood, began, as far as he could r e m e m b e r , at about the time o f the father's return and continued, with increased intensity, after he was assigned his own b e d r o o m . T h e content o f his masturbation fantasies in childhood, as far back as he could remember, was masochistic. W e could not recover any hints o f a masculine-assertive competitive content from which these fantasies might have been said to constitute a defensive retreat, motivated by castration anxiety. Defined in terms o f a complementary series

403

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF M R . Z.

o f regression and fixation (Freud, 1933a, p. 126), the masturbatory activity seemed to be due to preoedipal and pregenital fixations (with a mixture o f oral and anal drive elements and a preponderance o f passivity), but not to regression. For although according to his memories the masturbatory

activity began

around the time o f the father's return, its content was from the beginning rooted in the preoedipal, pregenital period when he had been the sole possessor o f his mother. Specifically, so far as he could recapture, the masturbatory fantasies were always m o r e or less extensive elaborations o f themes taken from Uncle Tom's Cabin, a book which M r . Z.'s mother had read aloud to him on numerous occasions during his early childhood years, either at bedtime or when he was ill. In the fantasies which occurred invariably from age five to eleven he imagined himself a slave, being bought and sold by w o m e n and for the use o f w o m e n , like cattle, like an object that had no initiative, no will o f its o w n . H e was o r d e r e d about, treated with great strictness, had to take care o f his mistress' excrements and urine—indeed, in one specific, often repeated fantasy, the woman urinated into his mouth, i.e., she forced him to serve her as an inanimate vessel such as a toilet bowl. I n my interpretative-reconstructive attempts I m o v e d in two directions: I tried, m o r e o r less successfully, to address myself to the elements o f pregenital fixation as they related to the infantile sexual ties to his preoedipal mother; and, increasingly, but with scant success, I tried to discern and to interpret to him the motivations for his clinging to pregenital drive aims—or even regressing to them—namely, that the fear o f taking a competitive stance vis-ä-vis the father had forced him to return to the earlier developmental level, or, at any rate, that castration anxiety prevented him from making the decisive forward m o v e . A l l in all, my approach to M r . Z.'s psychopathology as it was mobilized in the analysis can be said to have been fully in tune with the classical theories o f psychoanalysis. His masochism, in

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

particular, I explained as sexualization o f his guilt about the preoedipal possession o f his mother and about his unconscious oedipal rivalry. A n d I said that by creating the imagery concerning a d o m i n e e r i n g phallic w o m a n , he fought his castration anxiety in two ways: via the denial in fantasy o f the existence o f human beings w h o have no penis, i.e., had lost their penis; and by the assertion that his mother was m o r e powerful than the father, i.e., that the father need not be feared as a castrator, that his mother could effectively protect him against the father because she possessed a m o r e powerful penis than he, was stronger than he. W e also investigated, o f course, M r . Z.'s homosexual relationship during his preadolescent years. A l t h o u g h the patient had talked about it o f f and on from the beginning o f therapy, the memories about this theme w e r e especially prominent rather late in the analysis. H e described these years as extremely happy ones—they might well have been the happiest years o f his life, except perhaps for his early years when he possessed his mother seemingly without conflict. T h e relationship to the counselor appeared indeed to have been a very fulfilling one. A l t h o u g h overt sexual contact between them occurred occasionally—at first mainly kissing and hugging, later also naked closeness with a d e g r e e o f tenderly undertaken

manual and labial mutual ca-

ressing o f the genitalia—he insisted that sexuality had not been prominent: it was an affectionate relationship. T h e boy idealized his friend. During the summer, in camp, he admired him not only in his function as an e x p e r t outdoorsman w h o taught his charges various skills but also as a spiritual leader w h o infused the boys with his own d e e p , almost religious, love for nature. Later on, when the two continued their contact in the city, the boy's admiration continued but now shifted to the friend's moral and social philosophy and his k n o w l e d g e and love for literature, art, and music. A l l in all it was my impression, at that time, that the relationship in its deepest layers was a reactivation o f the

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

405

bliss o f the preoedipal, pregenital relation to the idealized mother, especially in view o f the fact that, during this period, the boy was for the first time in his life to all outward appearances emotionally completely detached from his mother. T h e friendship with the counselor e n d e d when M r . Z. approached puberty, i.e., when his voice changed, when he began to d e v e l o p a beard and body hair, and when his genitals began to mature. T h e last months o f their relationship w e r e clearly the worst. T h e rapidly progressing pubertal changes apparently r e m o v e d the psychological basis o f their friendship—at least w e could never discover any other reason for its c o m i n g to an end. T h e affectionate bond between them seemed to dissolve, while simultaneously—and for the first time—gross sexuality entered into the picture. O n one occasion the counselor tried to penetrate the boy anally (the attempt failed), and on another occasion—it was the first and only time in the two years o f their friendship)—he had an ejaculation when the boy caressed his penis. Soon after these events they ceased to meet. M r . Z. felt no resentment against his friend and spoke warmly about him w h e n e v e r he mentioned him during the analysis. H e felt that their affection had been genuine and that their friendship had been mutually enriching. A l t h o u g h they hardly saw one another after the breakup, they never lost contact altogether, even to the present. ( T h e man, it might be added, is now married in what appears to be a happy marriage. H e has several children and is successful in his career.) A f t e r this two-year enclave o f comparative happiness, M r . Z.'s existence became troubled and unsatisfactory. Puberty did not bring about any genuine interest in girls. Instead, he experienced an increasing sense o f social isolation, and he gradually became m o r e and m o r e tied to his mother. T h e father, so far as we learned in the first analysis, remained a distant

figure

for him. His mother seems to have e n g a g e d in a social life o f her o w n and, for a while—preceding the time when M r . Z. at-

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tached himself to the counselor—was intensely involved with another man, a married friend o f the family—a liaison, it might be a d d e d , to which the father apparently did not object. T h e patient's sexual life from the time o f the termination o f his homosexual friendship to the present was restricted to frequent, addictively pursued masturbation, always accompanied by fantasies o f masochistic relationships with w o m e n . T h e fantasies contained no homosexual elements. I n d e e d , although I was o f course alert to the possibility o f homosexual propensities, I could not, with the exception o f an anxiety dream toward the end o f analysis, discern any unusual homosexual tendencies in M r . Z., o r any unusual defensive attitudes concerning homosexual stimulation, either in the first or in the second analysis. T o put the symptomatic and behavioral results o f the first analysis in a nutshell: M r . Z.'s masochistic preoccupations disappeared gradually during the second half o f the analysis and were almost nonexistent at the end. H e made, furthermore, a decisive maturational step by moving from his mother's house to an apartment o f his o w n . A n d , finally, he not only began to date but had also several sexually active, brief relationships with girls o f approximately his own a g e and o f his own cultural backg r o u n d and educational level. D u r i n g the last year o f the analysis, while pursuing a research project, he became acquainted with a professional w o m a n , about a year older than he, with w h o m he consulted about certain aspects o f his investigations that lay outside his o w n field but were in the area o f her competence. H e pursued her actively, had satisfactory sexual relations with her, and entertained thoughts o f marrying her, although at the time o f the termination o f the analysis he had not yet come to any decision concerning this step. M o r e important to me in evaluating the effectiveness o f the treatment than these improvements, h o w e v e r extensive they obviously were, was the fact that I felt that they had c o m e about as the direct result o f the mobilization and the working through

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

407

o f M r . Z.'s nuclear conflicts. During the early part o f the analysis his grandiosity and narcissistic demands had been taken up and w e r e w o r k e d through, both insofar as they were the continuation o f his fixation on the preoedipal mother and insofar as they were clung to as a defense against oedipal competitiveness and castration

fear. T h e s e themes did not, o f course,

disappear

abruptly but their frequency and intensity abated. A n d what seemed to m e to be even m o r e significant as an indicator o f the genuineness o f the termination o f the analytic process was the fact that it was preceded by a shift in the dominant themes with which the patient was dealing. Pari passu with a gradual lessening o f associations concerning M r . Z.'s preoedipal mother attachment, there was a gradual increase o f allusions that a repressed oedipal conflict was being activated. A t any rate I consistently, and with increasing firmness, rejected the reactivation o f his narcissistic attitudes, expectations, and demands during the last years o f the analysis by telling the patient that they were resistances against the confrontation o f d e e p e r and m o r e intense fears connected with masculine assertiveness and competition with men. T h e patient seemed indeed to respond favorably to this consistent and forcefully pursued attitude on my part: the narcissistic features receded, the patient's demands and expectations became m o r e realistic, and he began to be increasingly m o r e assertive in his career-directed activities and vis-ä-vis women. In the transference, too, he reported aggressive thoughts toward m e and expressed some curiosity concerning my private life, including my sex life. T h e most significant sign o f his advance in facing what I then believed to be his deepest conflicts was a dream which occurred about half a year before the termination. In this dream—his associations pointed clearly to the time when the father rejoined the family—he was in a house, at the inner side of a door which was a crack open. Outside was the father, loaded with gift-wrapped packages, wanting to enter. The patient was intensely frightened and attempted to

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close the door in order to keep the father out. W e did a g o o d deal o f work on this dream, to which he had many associations referring to present experiences (including the transference) and to the past. O u r conclusion was that it referred to his ambivalent attitude toward the father. A n d , in view o f the overall image I had formed o f the construction o f his personality and of his psychopathology, I stressed in my interpretations and

reconstructions

especially his hostility toward the returning father, the castration fear, vis-ä-vis the strong, adult man; and, in addition, I pointed out his tendency to retreat from competitiveness and male assertiveness either to the old preoedipal attachment to his mother or to a defensively taken submissive and passive homosexual attitude toward the father. T h e logical cohesiveness o f these reconstructions seemed impeccable, and in view o f the fact that they were entirely in line with the precepts about the unfolding o f an analysand's conflicts and about the ultimate resolution of these conflicts brought about in a well-conducted analysis—precepts that were then firmly established in me as almost unquestioned inner guidelines in conducting my therapeutic work—I had no doubt that M r . Z.'s vast i m p r o v e m e n t was indeed based on the kind o f structural change that comes about as a result of bringing formerly unconscious conflicts into consciousness.

T o my analytic eye,

trained to perceive the configurations described by Freud, everything seemed to have fallen into place. W e had reached

the

oedipal conflict, the formerly unconscious ambivalence toward the oedipal father had come to the fore, there were the expected attempts at regressive evasion with temporary exacerbations of preoedipal conflicts, and there was ultimately a period of anticipatory mourning for the analyst and the relationship with him, abating toward the very end, as the dissolution of the bond o f trust and cooperation was in the immediate offing. It all seemed right, especially in view o f the fact that it was accompanied by what appeared to be the unquestionable evidence o f i m p r o v e ment in all the essential areas o f the patient's disturbance.

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

409

What was w r o n g at that time is much harder to describe than what seemed to be right. Y e t , I believe that, although both the patient and I must have known it preconsciously, we failed to acknowledge and confront a crucial feature o f the termination phase. W h a t was w r o n g was, to state it bluntly, that the whole terminal phase, in stark contrast to the striking contents that w e transacted, was, with the exception o f one area, emotionally shallow and unexciting—noteworthy because the patient was not an obsessional personality, was not inclined to split ideation and affectivity. O n the contrary, he had always been able to e x p e rience and to express strong emotions. H e had always experienced shame and rage with great intensity and often felt deeply upset about setbacks and wounds to his self-esteem; and he could also react with a warm glow o f triumphant satisfaction when accomplishment and success enhanced his self-esteem. T o draw specific comparisons: nothing in the terminal phase—neither his experiences in real life nor his experiences in the analytic sessions—came anywhere near equaling the emotional depth with which in earlier phases o f the analysis he had talked about his idealization o f the preoedipal mother and his admiration for the counselor. Only the feelings concerning the parting from the analyst appeared to have real depth; and his ultimate acceptance o f the fact o f having to give up the analytic relationship seemed hard-earned and genuine. A f t e r the analysis had ended with a warm handshake and the expression o f gratitude on his part and of g o o d wishes for his future life on mine, I had hardly any contact with M r . Z . for about five years. A b o u t three weeks after our last session, a brief letter came with his last payment. In this letter he again expressed his gratitude and stated that, while the termination of our relationship was still emotionally difficult for him, he was handling it all right. H e also mentioned that he had decided not to marry the woman he had dated during the last year, but that he would look elsewhere. I also accidentally met the patient on

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two occasions: once in the theater and once at a concert. In each case he was in the company o f a young woman—a different o n e each time—whom he introduced to m e , and each time we had a brief but friendly social chat. From what I could glean from these conversations he was d o i n g well enough in his profession and, while not overly vivacious, he did not appear to be depressed. I was surprised when, about four and a half years after the termination o f his analysis, M r . Z. let m e know that he was again experiencing difficulties. His message was contained in a Christmas card, which, he wrote, he was sending m e in o r d e r to congratulate me concerning a professional office I was currently holding. ( I later discovered that he had learned about this from a newspaper notice m o r e than half a year earlier, without then writing to m e . ) H e closed by wishing m e a happy holiday. It was only seemingly as an afterthought

that he added the crucial

information that he had been d o i n g less well recently and that he would probably contact m e in the near future. I n acknowle d g m e n t , I told him he should get in touch with m e i f he continued to feel the need to d o so. Shortly thereafter he set up an appointment. M y very first impression when he came to see m e was that he was under some strain. But he talked freely and openly as he filled m e in on the events o f the intervening years and explained the reasons for contacting m e at this point. T h e r e was little overt change in his life. H e still lived alone, in an apartment o f his o w n . H e was at the present time not attached to any particular girl, but until recently he had a succession o f affairs. H e was always sexually potent—a mild tendency to ejaculatio praecox that had d e v e l o p e d some time a g o did not appear to pose any serious difficulties—but he had progressively become aware o f the fact that the relationships in which he e n g a g e d w e r e emotionally shallow and, in particular, that his sex life gave him no real satisfaction. H e then mentioned, in quick succession—a

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

411

manifest non sequitur which, as I assumed, indicated a latent casual relationship)—that there had been n o recurrence o f the f o r m e r addictive masturbation with masochistic fantasies and that, although outwardly he was d o i n g reasonably well in his profession, he did not enjoy his work but experienced it as a necessary routine, a burden, a chore. I r e m e m b e r that 1 immediately suspected, on the basis o f the juxtaposition o f his statement concerning the nonrecurrence o f his sexual masochism and the complaint about the burdensomeness o f his work, that, contrary to my h o p e , the first analysis had not achieved a cure o f his masochistic propensities via structural change, but that they had only b e c o m e suppressed and had now shifted to his work and to his life in general. T h i s impression, I might add, was later amply corroborated by the information we obtained in the course o f the second analysis. H e then told m e that the masochistic fantasies had indeed never completely disappeared, but that he had often called them up actively during intercourse with his girl friends. H e d i d this, he said, as an antidote to premature ejaculation and in o r d e r to experience the sexual act m o r e keenly. Finally, during the last few months, after breaking up with his most recent girl, he had become alarmed about an increasing sense o f social isolation and especially—he reacted like a f o r m e r addict threatened by the d a n g e r o f succumbing again to his addiction—about the temptation, so far resisted, to buy pornographic books and to masturbate with masochistic fantasies. A l t h o u g h I misinterpreted its significance as a factor in M r . Z.'s return for treatment at that time, I dimly realized that the most important bit o f information he gave me during the first o f two interviews concerned the fact that M r . Z.'s mother, at that time in her m i d d l e fifties, had about a year and a half a g o underg o n e a serious personality change. A f t e r M r . Z. had m o v e d away from her (about five years a g o ) she had become increasingly isolated, leaving the house m o r e and m o r e rarely, and, as became

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T H E SEARCH FOR THE SELF

ultimately unmistakable about two years ago, she had d e v e l o p e d a set o f circumscribed paranoid delusions. I w o n d e r e d immediately whether the mother's serious emotional disturbance was not in some way causally related to the worsening o f M r . Z.'s condition and to his turning to me for help. Was he being confronted with the loss o f a still unrelinquished love object from childhood o r with guilt feelings about having abandoned

her

and having thus caused her illness? H e had himself considered these possibilities; and he was indeed aware o f some feelings o f loss and o f guilt. H e did not realize, however—we achieved this surprising insight in the course of the second analysis—that, paradoxically, the mother's serious emotional disturbance had not been a deleterious force d r a g g i n g him back into his f o r m e r illness but rather, as will be explained later, a wholesome o n e propelling him toward health. A l t h o u g h it became immediately apparent that M r . Z. required further analysis, it would have been very difficult for m e to start with him at that time. Since, as he said in the second interview, he felt much

better

after

the

first

contact with

me—indeed, the change in appearance and d e m e a n o r was striking: his face had been tense and pale; now it was relaxed and his color had returned; he held himself m o r e upright and was bouncier in all his movements; his speech was m o r e lively—he accepted without hesitation my suggestion that w e postpone the beginning o f further

analysis for about half a year. H e also

agreed with my suggestion that I would see him now and then, if he should feel the need for an appointment. A s a matter o f fact, M r . Z. did not make any further appointments after the initial visits, but wrote to me once, about halfway through the waiting period, confirming his expectation that we would start again at the date that w e had set and stating that, in the meantime, he was now d o i n g reasonably well. I might add at this point that I suspected that his increase in well-being after seeing me again was an aspect o f the transference he had established, and

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

413

w o n d e r e d whether his i m p r o v e m e n t was analogous to the wellbeing that he had experienced much earlier in his life, at the time when he had turned from the mother to the camp counselor. I began to assume, in other words—a hypothesis that I had not entertained during the first analysis—that he was establishing an idealizing transference. W h e n w e began the second analysis as planned, this hypothesis was confirmed by the patient's first dream (dreamed during the night that preceded the first session). T h e meaning of certain aspects o f the very simply manifest content were almost i m m e diately understandable; the full depth o f its meaning, however, became intelligible only much later. T h e dream contained no action or words. // was the image of a dark-liaired man in a rural landscape with hills, mountains, and lakes. Although the man was standing there in quiet relaxation, he seemed to be strong and confidenceinspiring. He was dressed in city clothes, in a complex but harmonious way—the patient saw that he was wearing a ring, that a handkerchief protruded from hü breast pocket, and that he was holding something in each hand—perhaps an umbrella in one hand, and possibly a pair of gloves in the other. The figure of the man zvas visually very plastic and prominent—as in some photographs in which the object is sharply in focus while the background is blurred. T h e associations showed that the figure was a condensation of (a) the camp counselor (certain features o f the landscape referred to the location o f the summer c a m p ) ; ( b ) his father (the hair); and (c) the analyst (umbrella, gloves, the handkerchief, the ring). T h e relationship to an idealized object, the establishment o f an idealizing transference, was portrayed by the impressive appearance and proud bearing of the man and by the tone o f admiration with which the patient described him. I did not, at the time, understand the meaning o f the multifaceted richness o f the figure, especially as portrayed in the way he was dressed. T h e fact, however, that in his associations the patient recalled briefly the dream o f his father, loaded with packages, trying to intrude into the house, estab-

414 lished

T H E SEARCH FOR THE SELF

a

link

with

the

terminal

phase

of

the

first

analysis—announcing as it w e r e that the second analysis was a continuation o f the first o n e ; that, as I came to see later, it took o f f from the very point where the first one had failed most significantly. As is characteristic for cases o f the type to which M r . Z. belongs, the initial phase o f idealization was o f short duration. In harmony with my then newly acquired insights about the analyst's correct attitude vis-ä-vis a narcissistic transference in statu nascendi (see Kohut, 1971, pp. 262-264), I did not interfere with the unfolding o f the patient's idealization o f me. Still, after about two weeks, it gradually began to subside, in accordance with the spontaneously unrolling sequence o f transferences that is determined by endopsychic factors—i.e., by the structure o f the patient's personality and psychopathology—to be replaced by a mirror transference o f the m e r g e r type (cf. Kohut, 1971, p p . 137-142). T h e glow o f well-being and inner security that he experienced in consequence o f feeling himself within the milieu p r o v i d e d by the idealized analyst faded away, and in its stead the patient became self-centered, demanding, insisting on perfect empathy, and inclined to react with rage at the slightest outof-tuneness with his psychological states, with the slightest misunderstanding o f his communications. T h i s phase in the second analysis was quite similar to the corresponding one in the first. W h a t was different, however, was my evaluation o f the psychological significance o f his behavior. W h i l e in the first analysis I had looked upon it in essence as defensive, and had at first tolerated it as unavoidable and later increasingly taken a stand against it, I now focused on it with the analyst's respectful seriousness vis-ä-vis important analytic material. I looked upon it as an analytically valuable replica o f a childhood condition that was being revived in the analysis. T h i s altered stance had two favorable consequences. It rid the analysis o f a burdensome iatrogenic artifact—his unproductive rage reactions against m e

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

415

and the ensuing clashes with me—that I had formerly held to be the unavoidable accompaniment o f the analysis o f his resistances. A n d — a reliable indication that w e were now m o v i n g in the right direction—the analysis began to penetrate into the depths o f a certain formerly unexplored sector o f the patient's personality and to illuminate it. Formulated in the traditional terms o f early object relations, we would say that this phase o f the analysis revived the conditions o f the period when, in early childhood, he had been alone with his mother, w h o was ready to p r o v i d e him with the bliss o f narcissistic fulfillment at all times. W e would, in other words, look upon this stage o f the transference as a revival o f an early situation when he was spoiled by his mother, when a condition o f overgratification had prevailed which, in turn, led to the fixation that h a m p e r e d further development. But this traditional pattern o f explanations fails to d o justice to two significant features o f M r . Z's personality that I could discern, even during this phase o f the analysis: an underlying chronic despair which could often be felt side by side with the arrogance o f his demandingness; and par excellence the sexual masochism that had reappeared and stood in stark contrast to his self-righteous claims for attention. It is not easy to describe the subtle but decisive differences between this phase in the second analysis in which the reactivation o f M r . Z.'s early relationship to the mother dominated the picture and the corresponding phase in the first analysis. Fundamental to all the other aspects o f the change is the fact that between M r . Z's first and second analysis my theoretical outlook had shifted so that I was now able to perceive meanings, or the significance o f meanings, that I had formerly not consciously perceived. M o r e important, however, than my broadened perception was the subtle effect which the change in my theoretical outlook exerted on my attitude vis-ä-vis M r . Z. H o w ever mitigated by considerations that in everyday parlance o n e

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

might refer to as patience or human kindness or tact, and that, to speak in theoretical terms, had been an outgrowth o f my respectful attention to the fact that structural changes c o m e about only as the result o f a great deal o f working through, I had in the first analysis looked upon the patient in essence as a center o f independent initiative and had therefore expected that he would, with the aid o f analytic insights that would enable him to see his path clearly, relinquish his narcissistic demands and g r o w up. In the second analysis, however, my emphasis had shifted. I had acquired a m o r e dispassionate attitude vis-ä-vis the goal o f maturation, and, assuming that growth would take care o f itself, I was now able, m o r e genuinely than before, to set aside any goal-directed therapeutic ambitions. Put differently, I relinquished the health and maturity morality that had formerly motivated me, and restricted myself to the task o f reconstructing the early stages o f his experiences, particularly as they concerned his enmeshment with the pathological personality of the mother. A n d when w e now contemplated the patient's self in the rudimentary state in which it came to view in the transference, w e no l o n g e r saw it as resisting change or as opposing maturation because it did not want to relinquish its childish gratifications, but on the contrary, as desperately—and often hopelessly—struggling to disentangle itself from the noxious self object, to delimit itself, to grow, to become independent. It was in the context o f our focus on the struggles o f his feeble self to define itself that we came to understand the significance and effect o f M r . Z.'s mother's recent psychosis. In the first analysis I had seen the patient's persistent attachment to the mother as a libidinal tie that he was unwilling to break. His idealization o f the mother, which was still much in evidence during the first analysis, I had understood as the conscious manifestation and accompaniment o f his unconscious incestuous love for her. But now we saw the personality o f M r . Z.'s mother and the nature o f his relation to her in quite a different light. T h e

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

417

picture o f the mother that M r . Z. had painted for m e in the First analysis was that o f the image she portrayed successfully to people outside the family. T h o s e intimately involved with her, however, especially, o f course, the patient and the patient's father, knew, better, even though they w e r e not able to raise this knowle d g e to a level o f awareness which would have allowed them to share it with each other. T h e y knew that the mother held intense, unshakable convictions that were translated into attitudes and actions which emotionally enslaved those around her and stifled their independent existence. T r u e , when M r . Z. reported in the First analysis that the mother had responded to him with gratifying enjoyment, he had not misrepresented her. W h a t had been missing from his reports was the crucial fact that the mother's emotional gifts w e r e bestowed on him under the unalterable and uncompromising condition that he submit to total domination by her, that he must not allow himself any independence, particularly as concerned signiFicant relationships with others. M r . Z.'s mother was intensely and pathologically jealous; and, it may be added, not only father and son but the servants, too, were under her strict domination. His father's attachment to the nurse and his decision to live away from h o m e constituted, as M r . Z. came ultimately to realize, a flight from the mother. It was also an abandonment o f his son, as the patient must have preconsciously experienced the behavior o f his father in childhood—the conscious acknowledgment o f this feeling was reached only during his second analysis. A s the patient saw it: the father had tried to save himself, and in d o i n g so he had sacrificed the son. T h e description o f Mr. Z.'s relation to the mother filled many hours o f his second analysis. T h e e m e r g e n c e o f his memories, however, and, especially his acquisition o f gradually d e e p e n i n g insights into the essence o f his relation with the mother, above all his recognition o f the serious distortion o f the mother's personality which determined the nature o f their relationship, was

418

T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

accompanied by great anxiety, often leading to serious resistances. T h e flow o f his revelations would then be interrupted and he retreated from the pursuit o f the analytic task, voicing instead serious doubts whether his memories w e r e correct, whether he was not slanting his presentation to me. A s we discovered—a dynamically extremely important insight without which progress would surely have ultimately been halted—his fears concerned the loss o f the mother as an archaic selfobject, a loss that, during this phase o f r e m e m b e r i n g and working through the archaic m e r g e r with the mother, threatened him with dissolution, with the loss o f a self that at these moments—and they w e r e m o r e than moments—he considered to be his only one. His doubts, his tendency to take back what he had already recognized and revealed, were due to a temporary repression o f his memories, o r rather, in most instances, to the fact that his intense disintegration anxiety reestablished the dominance o f the disavowal that had already in childhood prevented him from fully acknowledging what he in fact experienced and knew. I would like here to draw attention to a feature o f this phase o f M r . Z.'s analysis that I have found in all similar cases: the remobilization o f childhood experiences in the analytic situation did not lead to sustained transference distortions o f the image of

the analyst.

T r a n s f e r e n c e distortions

did, o f course,

occur—almost always as the elaboration o f a nucleus o f a real perception concerning the analyst, i.e., concerning some attitude or action o f the analyst which he correctly but oversensitively perceived as being similar to those o f the pathological mother. But they usually disappeared quickly, to be replaced by childh o o d memories concerning the mother. It is my impression that the comparative underemphasis o f transference distortions in such cases is not a defensive maneuver, but that it is in the service o f progress. I n o r d e r to be able to proceed with the task o f perceiving the serious pathology o f the selfobject o f childhood, the patient has to be certain that the current selfobject, the an-

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

419

alyst, is not again exposing him to the pathological milieu o f early life. L e t me now turn to certain concrete details o f the mother's behavior, to provide the data that will allow us to understand the pathological nature o f their relationship. M r . Z.'s memories here did not e m e r g e directly. T h e y were recalled only after he had first reexamined certain features o f their relationship such as the mother's reading to him, playing with him, talking with him, and spinning out fantasies with him about what his future would be like, that he had already described during the

first

analysis. A t that time these aspects o f the mother's attitude toward him w e r e seen by us in the light o f his then prevailing idealization o f the mother, and we had both taken them as manifestations o f the mother's love for him. N o w , however, feeling supported by the analyst, he began to question the formerly unquestionable. A n d as he gradually became able to rid himself o f the sense o f the sacrosanctity o f the outlook o n their relationship with which the mother had indoctrinated him, he began to recognize a certain bizarreness o f even these seemingly so normal and wholesome activities o f the mother. H e began to recognize, f o r example, that she had by no means been in empathic contact with the needs o f his self for anticipatory resonance to its future p o w e r and independent initiative when, in her imagery about him as a g r o w n man, she had always taken totally for granted that, however great his successes in life, their relationship would never be altered, he would never leave her. A f t e r the slow and painful process o f freeing himself from the idealized outlook on his relation with the mother had g o n e on for some time, enabling him for the first time to recognize that the sector o f his self that had remained m e r g e d with her since childhood was neither all o f his self nor even its central part, he began haltingly, and against surges o f severe resistance motivated by disintegration anxiety, to talk about some o f the mother's m o r e overtly abnormal activities when he was a child

420

THE SEARCH FOR THE SELF

and adolescent. T h r e e examples of M r . Z.'s mother's behavior during the patient's early life, namely, her interest in his feces, her involvement with his possessions, and her preoccupation with small blemishes in his skin, constitute representative aspects o f her attitude toward him—an attitude which, as we came to see m o r e and m o r e clearly, manifested her uneradicable and unmodifiable need to retain her son as a permanent selfobject. N o direct memories e m e r g e d during M r . Z.'s analysis that referred to his toilet training. It seemed to have taken place fairly early during the second year o f his life, apparently created no serious problems, and resulted in reliable sphincter control. T h e r e was no encopresis and only a single unusual incident o f enuresis, shortly after he was moved from the parental b e d r o o m to another r o o m . Despite the fact that his d e v e l o p m e n t in this area appeared to have been in itself uneventful, M r . Z.'s associations and memories led us, in the context of his overall struggle to reassess the mother's personality, to a specific abnormal feature o f her behavior. H e recalled now (this topic was especially active during the early part o f his second analysis) the mother's intense interest in his feces. She insisted on inspecting them after each o f his bowel movements until he was about six. A t that point she abruptly ceased the inspections and almost simultaneously began to be preoccupied with his skin, particularly the skin on his face. It is remarkable that this striking feature o f the patient's childhood had never become a prominent topic during the first analysis. It had e m e r g e d briefly on a number of occasions, but was never recognized by us as the important indicator of the mother's serious personality disorder that in fact it was. W e had looked at it only in the context o f what we had then considered to be the patient's defensively clung-to narcissism. T h e mother's behavior, in other words, had served us as an explanation o f his tendency to overvalue his "productions"—his statements in social conversations and to the analyst, his written work in school,

421

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

etc.—and I can still r e m e m b e r the slightly ironical tone of my voice, meant to assist him in o v e r c o m i n g his childish grandiosity, when I pointed out to him how his mother's interest in every detail o f his physical and mental "excretions" had brought about a fixation on an infantile pride in them, leading to his current oversensitivity to shortcomings in himself and in what he produced, and ultimately to his propensity to react to criticism, and even the m e r e absence o f praise, with depression o r rage. I n contrast to the first analysis, the second one focused on the depression

and

hopelessness

that the mother's

attitude

evoked in him. She was not interested in him. Only his feces and her inspection o f them, only his bowel functions and her control o v e r them fascinated her—with an intensity, a self-righteous certainty, and adamant commitment that allowed no protest and created almost total submission. A s I mentioned earlier, her preoccupation with his feces stopped, apparently abruptly, when he was about six years old; she then became obsessed with his skin as she had been with his bowels before. Every Saturday afternoon—the procedure became an unalterable ritual, just as the feces inspections had—she examined his face in minutest detail and increasingly as he m o v e d toward adolescence with regard to any d e v e l o p i n g blackheads she could detect. M r . Z. began to talk about the skin-inspection ritual after telling m e about the feces inspections; but, even though he was now dealing with events o f later childhood and adolescence, it was harder for him to give me a clear picture o f what had happened during one period o f his life and what during another. T h e events had become telescoped and the chronology blurred. A s I would j u d g e now in retrospect, this blurring of time relationships was to some extent defensive. It might well have been that it was especially hard for him to acknowledge how strong a hold his mother's pathological influence had on him, even as comparatively recently as his late teens.

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

Be that as it may, the complete ritual consisted of two phases. During the first phase—the emotionally most trying o n e for M r . Z.—she described disapprovingly in great detail what she saw. T h e second phase closed with the, often quite painful, removal o f the ripest o f the blackheads. T h e mother, w h o frequently expressed her pride in her long and hard fingernails, described to her son its extrusion and showed him the extracted plug of sebum—a fecal mass in miniature—with satisfaction, after which she seemed gratified, and M r . Z., too, experienced some temporary relief. T h e worst occasions w e r e those when either no ripe blackhead was found or when an attempted removal failed. A n o t h e r cluster o f M r . Z.'s associations and memories that e m e r g e d during the early part o f the second analysis concerned the mother's intense involvement with her furniture and the art objects and bric-a-brac that she collected and displayed in their home. O n e would be inclined to call her concern with these possessions an obsessional character trait, to be explained as due to anal fixations, just as one would, o f course, be inclined to explain the ritual o f the blackhead-removal sessions under the same diagnostic heading as a displacement o f anal-sadistic drive aims. I have little doubt, however—and not only because she had d e v e l o p e d a paranoid psychosis after the patient m o v e d away from her—that a diagnosis o f obsessional neurosis, i.e., a diagnosis based on drive criteria, would, even if not w r o n g , be irrelevant. She was, in essence, a "borderline case." (See Kohut, 1977, p . 192, for the definition o f this diagnostic category.) T h e psychotic core, the central prepsychological chaos o f her personality, the central hollowness o f her self was c o v e r e d o v e r by a rigidly maintained hold on a control over her selfobjects w h o m she needed in o r d e r to shore up her self. A l t h o u g h to superficial acquaintances she presented a picture o f normal emotionality, even outsiders soon felt the lifelessness that lay underneath the appearances o f normality. T h u s none o f M r . Z.'s classmates and acquaintances, either from primary school o r later, liked to visit

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

423

his house, which contributed to his social isolation. Even though a r o o m was finally assigned to the boy, he enjoyed no privacy. T h e m o t h e r insisted that his d o o r be kept open at all times and often entered suddenly and unexpectedly, disturbing whatever conversation o r other activity might have d e v e l o p e d between the patient and a visiting friend by a chilling look o f disapproval (cf. the description o f the similar behavior o f M r . B.'s mother in Kohut, 1971, p p . 81-82). W e are again confronted by the puzzling question why this crucial material had not appeared during M r . Z.'s first analysis. T o be sure, it had indeed appeared, but—what is even m o r e incomprehensible—it had failed to claim o u r attention. I believe that w e c o m e closest to the solution o f this puzzle when w e say that a crucial aspect o f the transference had remained unrecognized in the first analysis. Put most concisely: my theoretical convictions, the convictions o f a classical analyst w h o saw the material that the patient presented in terms o f infantile drives and o f conflicts about them, and o f agencies o f a mental apparatus either clashing or cooperating with each other, had become for the patient a replica o f the mother's hidden psychosis, o f a distorted outlook on the world to which he had adjusted in childhood, which he had accepted as reality—an attitude o f compliance and acceptance that he had now reinstated with regard to m e and to the seemingly unshakable convictions that I held. T h e i m p r o v e m e n t which resulted from the first analysis must therefore be considered in essence as a transference success. Within the analytic setting, the patient complied with my convictions by presenting me with oedipal issues. Outside the analytic setting, he acceded to my expectations by suppressing his symptoms (the masochistic fantasies) and by changing his behavior, which now took on the appearance o f normality as defined by the maturity morality to which I then subscribed (he m o v e d from narcissism to object love, i.e., he began to date girls). Was the success o f the second analysis based on a similar

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

mechanism, it may be asked. Did he, in other words, simply shift to a new compliance with the new convictions to which I now adhered?

I d o not think so. N o t only was his n e e d

to

comply—particularly the fears that stood in the way o f noncompliance—extensively investigated and worked through; the intense emotions which accompanied his struggles with the issues that were activated now and the zest with which he ultimately turned toward life had a depth and genuineness that had been absent during the first treatment. But let me be specific. M r . Z.'s increasing awareness o f the mother's psychopathology and his understanding of its pathogenic influence on him could not be maintained without a great deal o f emotional toil. T h e e m e r g e n c e and analytic illumination o f this material were interrupted time and again by serious resistances in the form o f doubts motivated by the nameless fear, to which ( K o h u t , 1977, p. 104) I have referred as "disintegration anxiety." Which reality was real? His mother's reality? T h e reality for which the first analysis had stood? O r the present one? O v e r and over, he struggled with these questions. A n d many times, particularly in the beginning of this phase o f the analysis, he turned in his search f o r certainty to the fact that the mother had now d e v e l o p e d a set o f delusions which demonstrated without question that her outlook was distorted. A n d o v e r and over, he r e m e m b e r e d his reaction when he had first fully realized that the mother was mentally ill, that she harbored a set of delusions. His immediate reaction—deeply puzzling to him at that time but now becoming intelligible—had been one o f a quietly experienced, intense inner j o y . It was the expression o f his sense o f utter relief about the fact that he now, potentially at least, had witnesses;'that

he was not alone in knowing that the way the

mother saw the world, particularly, o f course, the way she had

Ί am here focusing only on the all-important inner experiences of M r . Z . It is of lesser importance in the present context that he also had actual witnesses: a relative w h o w o r k e d in the mental health Held whose help he enlisted w h e n the mother, at o n e time, on the basis o f her delusional convictions, wanted to take a step that could have had very troublesome practical consequences.

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

425

behaved toward him during his childhood, was pathological. It was after o v e r c o m i n g surges o f resistances o f this type that the most significant progress was always made, i.e., that he was able to take another step toward freedom, away from the enmeshment with the mother. A l t h o u g h this process came to full fruition only much later in the analysis, the lessening hold o f the m e r g e r enmeshment with the mother allowed us to take a fresh look at two important sets o f childhood experiences which, during the first analysis, I had interpreted as manifestations o f a fixation on and/or regression to infantile modes o f pleasure gain through the gratification o f pregenital drives. W e now saw the significance o f his childhood masturbation, with the fantasies o f being the slave o f a woman w h o unconditionally imposed her will o n him and treated him like an inanimate object that had no will o f its own, and the significance o f his involvement with the primal scene—of material, in other words, around which the working-through processes o f the first analysis had taken place (which w e thought had led to a cure)—in a totally different light. W h e r e w e had formerly seen pleasure gain, the sequence o f drive d e m a n d and drive gratification, we now recognized the depression o f a self that, wanting to delimit and assert itself, found itself hopelessly caught within the psychic organization o f the selfobject. W e realized not only that neither his masturbation nor his involvement in the primal scene had ever been enjoyable, but that a depressive black m o o d had pervaded most o f his childhood. Since he could not joyfully experience, even in fantasy, the exhilarating bliss o f g r o w i n g self-delimitation and independence, he tried to obtain a minimum o f pleasure—the joyless pleasure o f a defeated self—via self-stimulation.

The

masturbation, in other words, was not drive-motivated; was not the vigorous action o f the pleasure-seeking firm self o f a healthy child. It was his attempt, through the stimulation o f the most sensitive zones o f his body, to obtain temporarily the reassurance o f being alive, o f existing.'I t should b e mentioned here that M r . Z.'s secondary conflicts about his masturbatory activity w e r e never very great. T h i s relative absence o f conflict is 2

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I r e m e m b e r in particular the time during this phase o f the analysis when M r . Z. recovered the following two interconnected memories. In the first, he recalled how during childhood and latency he would often drag himself through a joyless day by telling himself that night would come and he would be in bed and could masturbate. I shall not attempt to describe the e m o tionality that surrounded this m e m o r y , poignantly

presenting

the utter dreariness o f a child's existence whose only solace in the face o f the almost total lack o f the joyful sense o f g r o w t h and independence o p e n to healthy children, is the thought that he could stimulate his lonesome body in endlessly p r o l o n g e d masturbatory activities—yet even then unable to rid himself o f the awareness o f his lack o f self-delimitation, as the accompanying masochistic fantasies demonstrate. In the second m e m ory—it b e l o n g e d to the deepest layer o f the

unconscious

uncovered during this period—he recalled not only that, before the construction o f his masochistic fantasy system, he had for a brief time e n g a g e d in anal masturbation but also—this aspect o f his recall was initially accompanied by the most intense shame—that he had smelled and even tasted his feces. A s I said, the recall o f these memories was first extremely painful and the reactivation o f his childhood sadness o r shame seemed at times o f overwhelming intensity. Still, in the context in which the recall took place, M r . Z.'s experiences w e r e well within tolerable limits be-

commonly found in individuals with personality structures similar to that of M r . Ζ. I used to think that the comparative absence of guilt was m o r e a p p a r e n t than real, that analysis should remove resistances in o r d e r to allow the analysand to confront his conflicts a n d to deal with them. But after many unsuccessful attempts to penetrate to conflicts a n d guilt, I have changed my view. T h e absence o f guilt, I believe, is in tune with the fact that the pathogenic parent, the father or the mother w h o enslaves the child because o f his o r her o w n need for a selfobject, completely disregards the child's sexual activity as long as it is part o f the child's depression about the unbreakable m e r g e r . It is only w h e n the child's sexual activities become associated with the assertion o f independence that the parent begins to exert guilt pressure on him.

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

427

cause he had come to understand for the first time, in empathic consonance with another human being, that these childhood activities w e r e neither wicked nor disgusting, but that they had been feeble attempts to p r o v i d e for himself a feeling o f aliveness, manifestations o f that surviving remnant o f the vitality o f a rudimentary self which was now finally in the process o f

firm

delimitation. H e understood, in other words, that to be separate from the mother was neither evil nor dangerous but the a p p r o priate assertion o f health. W e also reevaluated the primal scene experiences and ultimately grasped their essential significance only when w e saw them as belonging to the depression that had pervaded his childh o o d . His involvement with the primal scene, in other words, was not a manifestation o f the healthy sexual curiosity o f a firmly consolidated, investigative self—a healthy curiosity that may c o m e to g r i e f if the prohibitions from and fears o f the lovedhated incestuous objects create conflicts that the child is unable to solve and therefore represses. For M r . Z., the primal scene was ab initio an unempathically overstimulating experience, understood by him as a d e m a n d to be absorbed by the activities o f the mother. A n d he submitted to this d e m a n d via the masochistically sexualized relinquishment o f his independence. T h e second phase o f the second analysis cannot, o f course, be neatly separated from the first, but, taken as a whole, it differed from the first in its feeling tone. T h e depressive elements receded, and active yearnings, intensely felt and vigorously expressed demands, an increasingly prominent vitality, buoyancy, and hopefulness were now in evidence. A n d simultaneously, the content o f his communications shifted; he turned from the previous almost exclusive preoccupation with the mother to thoughts concerning his father. H e still talked about his parents' sexual relations, for example. But whereas in the preceding phase he had hardly considered his father's participation—and my attempts to emphasize

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T H E SEARCH FOR THE SELF

that mother and father had been e n g a g e d in intercourse

had

evoked no significant response from him—his associations (direct memories and, occasionally, transference fantasies about the analyst's sex life) now began to turn spontaneously m o r e and m o r e to his father's role. A t first the affect that accompanied the analytic work in this area was, again, one o f depression

and

hopelessness—the m o o d , in other words, that had been prevalent d u r i n g the first phase was still the same. But his hopelessness was now not as diffuse as it had been before—it related increasingly to a distinct preoccupation: that his father was weak, that the mother dominated and subdued him. A t this time he also reminisced briefly about the old schoolfriend who, by turning from him and his mother (see p. 397), seemed to have brought about the psychic imbalance that had p r o m p t e d him to seek analytic help in the first place. Despite the importance which the support he had obtained from the relationship with this friend had had for him, and despite the fact that we could understand its nature without much difficulty—it was in essence a mutually supportive twinship—this theme did not remain active for long and the significance o f its e m e r g e n c e at this point remained unclear.' It was replaced by a period of strong

transference

involvement, in the specific form o f the need to know m o r e about me. Side by side, in other words, with continuing references to the primal scene and complaints about the weakness of his father and o f his father's lack of interest in him, he began to express intense curiosity about me. H e wanted to learn about my past, in particular about my early life, my interests, my e d ucation; he wanted to know about my family, the nature o f my relationship to my wife and whether I had children. W h e n e v e r I treated his inquiries as a revival o f infantile curiosity and pointed out the associative connections with the sex life of his

'My k n o w l e d g e o f the further course of the analysis tells nie now that this theme e m e r g e d as an allusion to the forthcoming central complex of memories about M r . Z.'s father. His associations here say in essence: I am thinking about a man w h o a b a n d o n e d me by turning from my mother to another w o m a n .

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T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

parents, he became depressed and told me I misunderstood him. N o serious analytic impasse d e v e l o p e d , however. A l t h o u g h I did not accede to his demands for specific information about me, but told him that his wish to get to know me was surely rooted in an old wish or need, I did concede that, after listening to him further and watching his reactions, I had to agree with him that the term

"curiosity" that I had

been using had

not

been

right—that what he was experiencing now was not a revival o f sexual voyeurism o f childhood but some different need. A n d I finally ventured the guess that it was his need for a strong father that lay behind his questions, that he wanted to know whether I, too, was weak—subdued in intercourse by my wife, unable to be the idealizable emotional support o f a son. T h e result o f this shift in my interpretative approach was a dramatic lessening o f his depression and hopelessness. H e d r o p p e d his demands that I supply him with information about me—as a matter o f fact he ultimately saw the friendly firmness with which I had refused to accede to his demands as an asset o f my personality, a sign o f my strength—and he made m e d o with certain bits o f information which he had obtained either accidentally or via inference—my interest in art and literature, for example—and talked about his impression that, in my case at least, the love o f the world o f the mind was not a retreat motivated by inability to compete in the real world, but compatible with masculinity, with courage. A n d when he talked again about the camp counselor, he spoke as in the first analysis, o f his friend with affection and respect, expressed no regrets about the homosexual activities in which they had e n g a g e d , but saw his relationship to him as an enriching friendship with a strong and admired man. O n the whole, I tended to concur with M r . Z.'s assessment. Different, in other words, from the understanding o f the friendship that I communicated to the patient during the first analysis—namely, that it had represented a regression to the phallic mother—I

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

now agreed that his friend had been the yearned-for figure o f a strong fatherly man, perhaps the admired o l d e r brother he had never had. I disagreed with him, h o w e v e r ( I did not expand on this view, mentioned it only once, briefly) about the innocuousness o f the sexual aspect o f the relationship. I thought, in other words—and I continue to incline toward this view^—that M r . Z. would have obtained m o r e lasting benefits from the friendship with this man who, as far as I can j u d g e , was indeed a remarkable person, i f their closeness had remained free o f sexual contacts. ( T h e fact, it may be added, that no homosexual conflict became activated during the transference revival o f the relationship could well be taken as evidence that I am w r o n g and that the patient was right.) B e that as it may, the analysis took a new turn at this point: it fastened for the first time directly on M r . Z.'s father, w h o had remained a shadowy figure up to now, despite my interpretative efforts during the first analysis to penetrate resistances which, as I then believed, shielded his narcissistic delusions from the awareness o f a p o w e r f u l o e d i p a l rival. F o r the

first

time

now—and with a glow o f happiness, o f satisfaction—Mr. Z. began to talk about positive features in his father's personality. T h i s was, as can be j u d g e d in retrospect, the crucial m o m e n t in the treatment—the point at which he may be said to have taken the road toward emotional health. But the road was not an easy one. A s the analysis m o v e d toward the next waystation, the unfolding o f the principal theme—the recovery o f the strong father—was interrupted by recurrent attacks o f severe anxiety, including a number o f frightening, quasi-psychotic experiences

Ί a m by n o means certain whether this view is correct o r whether I am still unduly influenced by the classical theory o f drive sublimation. The question w e a r e confronting here, in other words, whether sexual activities between self a n d selfobject preclude structure formation, should be considered still in need o f empirical investigation. T h e most important structure building occurs, alter all, in childhood, and it is not only not prevented by vigorous and sensually stimulating contact with the selfobjects, contacts that might well c o r r e s p o n d to the lovemaking o f adults, but seems rather to be enhanced by it.

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

431

in which he felt himself disintegrating and was beset by intense hypochondriacal concerns. A t such times he d r e a m e d o f desolate landscapes, burned-out cities, and, most deeply upsetting, o f heaps o f piled-up human bodies, like those in the pictures o f concentration camps he had seen on T V . T h e last image was especially horrible because, as he reported, he was not sure whether the bodies were those o f dead people or o f p e o p l e still barely alive. It should be added here that during this phase o f the analysis neither the patient nor the analyst was as concerned about a possible irreversible or protracted disintegration as o n e might perhaps expect in view o f the alarming content o f many o f the sessions. T h e r e is no question that our tolerance for the upsetting material was in essence connected with our always present and continuously d e e p e n i n g understanding o f its meaning and significance: that M r . Z. was now relinquishing the archaic self (connected with the selfobject m o t h e r ) that he had always considered his only one, in preparation for the reactivation o f a hitherto unknown independent nuclear self (crystallized around an up-to-now unrecognized relationship to his selfobject father). Only once did the mother appear in any o f these dreams. A l t h o u g h the visual content o f this dream was simple and in itself innocuous—a starkly outlined image o f the mother, standing with her back turned toward him—it was filled with the deepest anxiety he had ever experienced. O u r subsequent work, pursued for several sessions, illuminated the dream in considerable depth. O n the most accessible level there was this simple meaning: the mother was turning her back to him; she would now abandon him because he was m o v i n g closer to his father. Without g o i n g into the details o f his associations, I should add that, in connection with this interpretation o f the dream, which was suggested by the patient without any p r o m p t i n g from me, M r . Z. gave several examples—memories from childhood and later—of the mother's icy withdrawal from him when he at-

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

tempted to step toward independence, in particular toward ind e p e n d e n t maleness. In former times the patient had always responded to this signal by an emotional return to the mother. T h e d e e p e r meaning o f the dream was contained in its invisible part: it concerned the unseen, the unseeable frontal view of the mother. W h e n he tried to think about it, to imagine what would show, he experienced intense anxiety; and he was never able to find words for what he might see. W h e n I suggested the horror o f castration, o f the sight o f the missing external genital, of fantasies of blood and mutilation which children form by combining the sight o f the menstrual blood and o f the vulva, the patient brushed these suggestions aside. W h i l e he agreed that the imagery o f mutilation, castration, and blood was related to the unnamed horror, he was sure that this was not the essential source o f fear. A l t h o u g h he himself was never able to formulate his fear in a concrete way, when I suggested that the mother may not have lost her penis but her face, he did not object but responded with p r o l o n g e d silence from which he e m e r g e d in a noticeably m o r e relaxed m o o d . T h u s although I believe that the archaic fear to which he was exposed defies verbalization, I think that my attempt to define it came sufficiently close to the psychic reality o f his experience to allow him a d e g r e e o f mastery. A l l in all, expressed in m o r e objective terms, the conclusion which we ultimately reached was that the unseen side o f the mother in this dream stood for her distorted personality and her pathological outlook on the world and on h i m — o f features, in other words, that he was not only forbidden to see but whose recognition would in fact endanger the structure of his self as he knew it. T h e dream expressed his anxiety at the realization that his conviction o f the mother's strength and power—a conviction on which he had based a sector o f his o w n personality in intermeshment with her—was itself a delusion. For the sake o f clarity and in o r d e r to avoid

unnecessary

complexity I shall now describe the process o f the reinstatement

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

433

of M r . Z.'s childhood relationship to his father during the analysis as if it had had a clearly defined beginning at a point when the working through of the aforementioned anxiety and of the resistances that w e r e mobilized by it had c o m e to a clearly defined completion. In reality, o f course, M r . Z.'s m o v e toward his father and the recovery o f memories about him took place step by step, each step being preceded and followed by renewed and intensified fears and resistances. In view o f the fact that the relation between transference analysis and the recall o f genetic data is well known, there is also no need to describe the details o f the transference phenomena in the restricted meaning of this term that were in evidence during this period. Suffice it to say that the e m e r g e n c e of the decisive, positively toned childhood m e m ories about the patient's father was preceded and accompanied by his idealization of me—including, as o n e would expect, the idealization o f my professional proficiency. A n d , also unsurprising in this context, M r . Z. expressed at that time the wish to become an analyst—a wish, it may be added, that soon faded spontaneously. I n the memories which now e m e r g e d , he dwelt particularly on a two-week skiing vacation he had taken with his father in a C o l o r a d o resort at the age of nine (probably because, at the time, the mother was involved with her own mother's terminal illness). T h e s e memories are o f decisive significance because they concern two crucially important topics: his discovery that his seemingly weak and shadowy father possessed indeed certain rather impressive assets e m b e d d e d in a well-defined personality, and his increasing realization that he harbored an intense need from childhood to find out something about his father, to clear up a specific, mystifying secret. With regard to his father's positive features about which he spoke now with an increasing glow o f j o y , it must be said that, as far as I could j u d g e , M r . Z. did not describe any outstanding qualities and there was clearly some discrepancy between M r .

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Z.'s e m e r g i n g enthusiasm and objective fact. But M r . Z.'s father seems indeed to have been a g o o d skier and also something o f a man o f the world. H e had a way with the waiters and chambermaids, and was soon surrounded by a circle o f followers w h o were fascinated by his stories and appeared to look up to him. From listening to his telephone conversations and hearing his comments when he read the papers, the patient also g o t a glimpse o f his father's business activities; and he came to admire his resoluteness, perceptiveness, and skill in this area. T h e psychological essence, however, o f this phase o f the analysis lay not in the patient's discovery o f any surprising qualities o f his father, either at the time in his early life o f which he spoke, or in his retrospective evaluation, but in his recovery o f the intensely experienced awareness that his father was an independent man w h o had a life independent from the life o f the mother—that his father's personality, whatever its shortcomings, was by no means as distorted as that o f the much m o r e powerful mother. I will add here that my interpretations during this phase, both as they concerned the idealizing transference and the recovery o f his father's positive features, were focused on the meaning that these two sets o f experiences had for the patient. I did not confront him with the reality o f either my o w n o r o f his father's shortcomings, but restricted myself to giving expression to my understanding for his need—in childhood and as now revived in the transference—for an idealized man to w h o m he could look up, o f w h o m he could be proud. T h e content o f this phase o f the analysis ( M r . Z.'s detaching himself from the mother and turning toward his father) and, especially, the intensity o f anxiety and resistance that w e encountered, had been unexpected. I was, however, even m o r e surprised by what followed. A f t e r speaking again briefly, mainly in associations to dreams, about the primal scene experiences when he was five or six, he began to complain o f how little he knew about his father. Following a brief period o f transference

435

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

fantasies, he suddenly expressed the suspicion that his

father

had had a woman friend and that this woman had been present d u r i n g the C o l o r a d o vacation. A l t h o u g h we w e r e never able to ascertain beyond doubt whether this suspicion was justified, I believe, and M r . Z. agreed, that the evidence does indeed speak for it. T h e patient had, with a single expectation, no direct memory o f any particular woman to whom his father might have been attached. T h e exception concerned a small but

notable

event. T h e r e w e r e no manifest indications that the e m e r g e n c e o f this m e m o r y was opposed by resistances; it is, however, surely significant that it appeared only after all the other memories about the stay in C o l o r a d o had been communicated. A s the patient r e m e m b e r e d it, it was on the last day o f their stay at the hotel that his father, for the first and only time, took the boy along to the bar in the evening. A l t h o u g h his father was in general not a heavy drinker, he seemed to have become somewhat high on this occasion and—the son, despite some embarrassment, reacting to his father's capers with pride—at o n e point j o i n e d the small orchestra and took over for their regular male singer. T h e r e was applause from the other guests, and his father received many congratulations, especially from o n e particular woman w h o came to their table and had a brief chat with the boy. M r . Z. thought now this woman might well have had a special relationship

with his father; and he even

speculated

whether she could have been the nurse w h o had taken his father away from the family when the patient was a small child. Be that as it may, the patient never mentioned the episode to the mother when, after their return, he responded to her inquiries about the vacation. A l t h o u g h his father had never explicitly asked him to refrain from mentioning the episode, he felt that there was a silent understanding between them that he would be quiet about it. Most suggestive, and perhaps the only piece o f positive evidence with regard to M r . Z.'s suspicion that the significance which the woman at the bar had for him was

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

not simply due to endopsychic falsifications but that she was in fact the "other w o m a n " in his father's life, was that he now recalled a specific image which had appeared fleetingly in several dreams o f his first analysis, dreams that now took on a new significance and became understandable. T h e only thing these dreams had in c o m m o n was that they contained the image o f an unknown woman. W h e n M r . Z. reported these dreams during the first analysis, he had never been able to produce any illuminating associations to this figure, except that the woman was thin—similar in appearance to the woman in C o l o r a d o and, dissimilar to the woman in C o l o r a d o , being dressed like a workingclass girl—that she was not o f their o w n social g r o u p . M y own conclusion during the first analysis had been that the woman represented the debased image o f the patient's mother, that the patient, when he came closest to incestuous sexual fantasies, produced a d e g r a d e d image o f her—approximately corresponding to the splitting o f the man's love aspirations that Freud (1912) described. T h e r e is little m o r e that needs to be said about this period o f the analysis—a period whose end marked the beginning of the termination phase. It might not be amiss, however, to e m phasize my view that, in spite o f the fact that at the time of the episode at the resort M r . Z. was already nine years old—i.e., drive-psychologically classified in a period o f latency—this material represented, in terms of the structure o f M r . Z.'s personality, the deepest layer o f the repressed. I am basing my opinion on the fact that, as I mentioned before, this cluster of memories was the last one in the course o f the analysis to which M r . Z. gained access, that it was reached after o v e r c o m i n g the most formidable resistances w e encountered, and that the e n d o f the processes o f recall and working through concerning it signaled the beginning o f the termination phase o f the analysis. N o doubt it might be maintained by some that these memories were no m o r e than derivatives: a cover for even m o r e deeply unconscious material from the oedipal period—that the triangle at the age

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

437

o f nine was nothing but a relatively harmless replica o f the triangle experienced four years earlier. I considered this possibility, o f course. But I came to the conclusion, as I have indeed in several analogous instances in other, similar cases, that n o pathogenic oedipal conflicts still lay in hiding. A n d , unlike the feeling tone that we recover in the reactivation o f the oedipal experiences in structural neuroses, M r . Z.'s memories were not accompanied by a sense o f hopeless rivalry with his father, but by a feeling o f pride in him. Further, there was no depression and sense o f inferiority, outgrowths o f the child's feeling defeated by the adult male, but a glow o f j o y and the invigorating sense o f having finally found an image o f masculine

strength—to

m e r g e with temporarily as a means o f Firming the structure o f his self, o f becoming himself an independent center o f strength and initiative. A s is usual in such instances, no early oedipal material from M r . Z.'s childhood e m e r g e d in the analysis, and the competitive fantasies that arose related to the analyst, not to his father. A n d they were not accompanied by hopelessness and anxiety but by a sense o f optimism and vitality. T h e analystfather was experienced as strong and masculine, and so did the analysand-son now experience himself. T h e actual onset o f the terminal phase was marked by the patient's returning to the analogous moment o f his previous analysis, namely, to the dream that had set in motion the processes that ultimately led to the termination o f the First analysis, the dream o f his father's return, loaded with packages containing gifts for the patient, in which the patient had desperately struggled to shut the d o o r against the father's pressure. T o my great surprise the patient now presented associations that threw a totally different light on the meaning o f this dream. In the previous analysis, as will be recalled, it had seemed to us that we had here the unambiguous manifestations o f the ambivalence o f the child toward the oedipal rival w h o , he feared, would—Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes—end

his near-exclusive possession o f the mother,

and destroy him. N o w the m e m o r y o f this old dream e m e r g e d ,

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

not in o r d e r to start us o n a period o f w o r k i n g through, but as a result o f successfully carried out working-through processes. Its e m e r g e n c e constituted a bonus, so to speak: confirmatory evidence that the material with which he had been dealing in the preceding year had indeed been o f crucial significance. It is in harmony with this view that the unrolling o f the process by which the reanalysis o f this dream took place was hardly based o n associations o r slowed d o w n by resistances. T r u e , there were associations presented in the session in the second analysis in which he returned to this dream. A n d there were also, in subsequent sessions, interspersed with additional reflections about this dream, associations—including currently d r e a m e d fragmentary dreams—that dealt with fleeting transference fears with regard to me, i.e., to be exact, with regard to the image o f the analyst. But otherwise the e m e r g e n c e o f all this material was virtually unopposed. It was as if all the decisive work leading up to the present significant insights had already been d o n e , and that the associations were therefore not stepping stones on the way to the new insight but supportive evidence for an already preconsciously established new explanation. T h e new meaning o f the dream as elucidated by the patient via his associations, to put his message into my words, was not a portrayal o f a child's aggressive impulse against the adult male accompanied by castration fear, but o f the mental state o f a boy w h o had been all-too-long without a father; o f a boy d e p r i v e d o f the psychological substance from which, via innumerable o b servations o f the father's assets and defects, he would build up, little by little, the core o f an independent masculine self. W h e n the father suddenly returned to take his position in the family, the patient was indeed exposed to a frightening situation. T h e danger to which he was exposed was not, however, to his body but to his mind. A traumatic state arose o f which the dream constitutes only a tame replica—a traumatic state that had threatened not the boy's physical but his psychological survival. H a v i n g been without his father during the period when a male self is

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

phase-appropriately acquired and strengthened

439 via the male

selfobject, the boy's need for his father, for male psychological substance, was enormous. N o independent self had gradually f o r m e d ; what psychological existence he had managed to build was rooted in his attachment to the mother. In his enslavement he managed to gain some drive pleasure—but not the exhilarating j o y o f the experience o f an active independent sexual self. His father's return had exposed him suddenly to the potential satisfaction o f a central psychological need. Just as a correct but unempathically overburdening interpretation may expose the analysand to a traumatic state (see Kohut, 1971, pp. 232-235), so he had been exposed—but a thousandfold—to a traumatic state by being o f f e r e d , with o v e r w h e l m i n g suddenness, all the psychological gifts for which he had secretly yearned, gifts which indeed he needed to get. T h e father, loaded with packages, trying to enter, the son d e f e n d i n g himself desperately against his father's entry—despite the fact that some o f M r . Z.'s associations touched briefly on intermediate systems o f psychological material relating to homosexual themes, particularly with regard to his homosexual attachment in preadolescence, this dream deals in its essence with the psychoeconomic imbalance o f major proportions to which the boy's psyche was exposed by the deeply wished-for return o f his father, not with homosexuality, especially not with an oedipally based reactive passive homosexuality. Parenthetically, since I am familiar with the propensity o f the psyche to respond to traumatic states by various forms o f sexualization—by sexualizing the overburdening psychological task (see Kohut, 1971, p p . 69-73, esp. p. 72n. and p. 168)—I was alert to the possibility that M r . Z. might have d e v e l o p e d wishes o r fantasies o f anal penetration by his father, i.e., o f obtaining male psychological substance by passive means. I could obtain no evidence for the existence o f such fantasies, however, either in the transference o r via the recall o f memories from his childhood or adolescence. T h e manifest content o f his dream—the multiplicity and spatial distribution o f the gifts with which his

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T H E SEARCH FOR THE SELF

father was loaded, a feature which, as I said earlier, invites comparison with the richly elaborated description o f the appurtenances o f the father figure in the first dream of the second analysis (see p. 413)—and the actual m o d e o f bodily contact with the

counselor—holding

and

being

held,

kissing,

smelling—indicates that his need for the firming o f an independent self had become focused mainly on the absorption of the selfobject via the skin and, to a lesser extent, via the respiratory apparatus and the mouth. ( I might add here, in passing, that in the analysis o f homosexuals the nature o f the relationship to the selfobject and thus the type o f transference—mirror, twinship, o r idealizing—is usually easily deduced from the patient's description o f the homosexual practices he engages in or wishes for.) It is not difficult to see in retrospect what turn M r . Z.'s psychic d e v e l o p m e n t took at this point. Unwilling to resign himself to giving up an independent self for g o o d , yet finding himself confronted by the impossible task o f p e r f o r m i n g the work of years in a moment, he began to experience himself in two different, separate ways—his personality established a vertical split. Ostensibly he remained attached to the mother, presented a personality that remained enmeshed with hers, and—to express a host of fantasies with the aid o f a single representative specimen,

possibly

the

replica

of a

fantasy

held

by

the

mother—submitted to the role of being her phallus. A n d next to this sector o f his personality that was part o f the mother and o f her pathology—the sector which openly displayed a grandiosity that was bestowed upon him by the mother so long as he did not separate himself from her—was another one, separated by a wall o f disavowal. In this quiet but all-important sector he had preserved the idealizations that maintained a bond to his father, had hidden away the memories of his father's strength on which they were based. T h e s e idealizations, in other words, acquired in later childhood as the result of his not totally unsuccessful attempt to detach himself from the mother and to

THE T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

441

build, belatedly, an independent male sell, had, on the whole, g o n e into repression. It is o f theoretical importance to emphasize at this point that the relatively successful encounter with his father when M r . Z. was nine was, o f course, not the first relationship with a selfobject that led to the laying d o w n o f self structure in this sector o f his personality. W h i l e there are all indications that it was indeed the most important o n e o f his early life, that it was, in other words, not just a screen for or derivative o f a m o r e important earlier one, the outlines o f an independent self had been drawn much earlier in life. T h e vicissitudes o f the rudimentary self that was tentatively f o r m e d during the first years o f life played no significant role in M r . Z.'s analysis. Still, we can deduce from the information we obtained about his earlier childhood that not only his father and maternal grandfather but that even the mother, especially when he was quite young, had contributed to the formation o f the nuclear self that lay inactive in repression in this split-off sector o f his personality. T h e event when he was nine was important because his independent self obtained at that time sufficient strengthening to permit its psychoanalytic liberation and activation. It may be added here that in most instances o f telescoping (see Kohut, 1971, p . 53) the event that becomes the representative o f earlier and later events of analogous significance is the one through which a structure is almost successfully established, yet still not firm e n o u g h to assert itself through actions. T h e needs which were active in his horizontally split-off, i.e., repressed, layer o f the psyche, and the memories o f experiences that were associated with these needs, came to the fore only twice: during preadolescence in M r . Z.'s relationship to the counselor which—as I am inclined to believe, because of its sexualization—did not lead to truly structure-building, wholesome results; and during his second analysis when transmuting internalizations, gradually achieved via the extensive working through o f his idealizing transference, led to the, it is hoped, permanent

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and reliable completion o f a process that had remained unfinished in childhood. T h e terminal phase o f the analysis was comparatively brief and uneventful. W h i l e we had a year earlier tentatively a g r e e d that this might well be the last year o f the analysis, the definite decision to end our work with the beginning o f the summer vacation was m a d e only three months earlier. T h e substantial regressions that we have c o m e to expect at the end o f l o n g analyses did not c o m e about in M r . Z.'s case: neither did M r . Z.'s old symptoms (in particular his sexual masochism) return, nor did he experience serious anxiety concerning the loss o f my supportive presence. T h e r e was a brief period, perhaps three weeks, when he felt some sadness about losing me, side by side with the regret, never before fully expressed, concerning the fact that his father was dead and that the chance for d e v e l o p i n g a friendly relationship with him, to make him proud o f him and his achievements, was g o n e . A n d for a few sessions he also expressed considerable anger toward m e for having originally failed him, like his father in childhood; that his analysis had therefore taken longer than it should, that he was now older than he should be at the stage o f d e v e l o p m e n t he had

finally

reached. T h e last months o f the analysis were, however, not entirely filled by retrospective themes; there w e r e also thoughts about the future—plans about his work and about the possibility o f getting married and o f having children. I m a g e r y about a relationship to a son dominated in this context—he d i d not talk much about the kind o f wife that he hoped to find and about the life that he might lead with her. During the last few weeks o f his analysis 1 was very impressed by his e x p a n d e d empathy with and tolerant attitude toward the shortcomings o f his parents. Even with regard to the distortions o f the personality o f his mother, which had exerted such a deleterious influence on his development, he could n o w express a modicum o f understanding and even compassion. A n d he was also able to see, without a trace o f the idealizations with which he had begun his first analysis, the positive features o f her per-

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T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

sonality. Without any m e r g e r propensity, but on the firm basis o f his separateness and maleness, he could acknowledge that, despite her serious psychopathology, she had given him a great deal. N o t only did he conjecture that during his early infancy she might have been a g o o d mother whose m i r r o r i n g acceptance o f him had p r o v i d e d him with the core o f vitality that, much later, had allowed him to persist in the pursuit o f emotional health despite the serious obstacles that stood in his way; he also acknowledged that many o f his greatest assets, implanted into his personality much later in his childhood, including those that enabled him to be competent, indeed creative, in his work, had c o m e from her. W e both came to assume in this context that his m o t h e r had u n d e r g o n e a silent but malignant

personality

change—perhaps in response to a beginning deterioration in her relationship to M r . Z.'s father—but that, despite the serious distortions o f her personality w e discovered during M r . Z.'s second analysis, she had preserved throughout her life, even after she d e v e l o p e d an

encapsulated

paranoid

psychosis, not only a

healthy and lively mind with regard to areas outside o f her distorted interpersonal perceptions, but also a modicum o f

firm-

ness, truthfulness, and realism. O n the whole I believe that I now understood how the structure o f M r . Z.'s self as it became clearly outlined during the last weeks o f the analysis was genetically related to the personalities o f his parents. His most significant psychological achievement in analysis was breaking the d e e p m e r g e r ties with his mother. But despite this break he not only retained his most significant talents and skills, which now enabled him to be proficient in his profession, but also the specific content o f his ambitions and ideals which had determined the choice o f his work and m a d e it emotionally meaningful to him—even though these talents, skills, ambitions, and ideals had arisen in the matrix o f the now abandoned m e r g e r relationship with the mother. Neither his most important skills and talents nor the content o f his ambitions and ideals w e r e thus primarily influenced by his father's per-

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T H E SEARCH FOR THE SELF

sonality. Y e t all three constituents o f his self were decisively changed during the analysis. T h e working through o f his transference relationship to me enabled him to reestablish a link with his father's maleness and independence, and thus the emotional core o f his ambitions, ideals, and basic skills and talents was decisively altered, even though

their content remained

un-

changed. But now he experienced these assets o f his personality as his o w n , and he pursued his life goals not in masochistic compliance—as had been the case following his first analysis—but joyfully, as the activities o f an independent self. W h e n the analysis came to its end, the patient was in a calm and friendly m o o d . H e was not involved in any significant relationship at that time; indeed, throughout the second analysis there had been no strong or significant involvements with people, even though he had e n g a g e d in a number o f relationships with w o m e n and his sexual experiences w e r e satisfying. But he spoke little about that; the analytic work which led to the crystallization o f his autonomous self absorbed him fully. I learned, o f course, a g o o d deal about his everyday life during the years o f his analysis, but much m o r e about his professional work than about his contacts with people. During the last year o f his analysis he talked from time to time about his plans for a major work that he wanted to undertake, plans which, I learned later, came to fruition and established him as a promising contributor in his field. T h u s , even though I thought when the analysis was o v e r that the area o f interpersonal relationships would never play the dominant role in his life that it does for the majority of p e o p l e and that it would not provide him with his most fulfilling experiences, I felt that the narcissistic-creative sector o f his personality, with its rich endowment, was sufficiently freed and securely enough established to justify the confident hope that he would be able to lead a satisfying and joyful life. A number o f years have now passed since the end o f the analysis and, except for friendly Christmas cards (one, about a

T H E T W O ANALYSES OF MR. Z.

445

year and a half after termination, saying he had recently married; another, several years later, announcing the birth of a daughter), I have heard nothing from M r . Z. directly. I did obtain some indirect information about him from a patient currently in analysis with me w h o works with M r . Z. in a subordinate position. T h i s y o u n g man, who, it should be added, does not know o f my having been M r . Z.'s analyst, admires M r . Z. greatly. But since his relationship to M r . Z. constitutes at times a collateral idealizing transference, his reports cannot be taken at face value. 1 d o know from this source, however, that M r . Z.'s work is recognized as outstanding in his field and that he is an inspiring teacher. Via another informant I have learned a g o o d deal about the personality of the woman whom M r . Z. married. She appears to be a well-balanced, warm-hearted, socially outgoing person, without a trace of the paranoid certainty and need to control that had characterized M r . Z.'s mother. Even though she works in M r . Z.'s field, she is more what one might call an out-of-doors type than an intellectual. I concluded that M r . Z. had chosen a partner w h o possessed his father's best features e m b e d d e d in a matrix o f femininity. A n d I concluded that he had made a g o o d choice. Summary As I stated initially, the preceding report was presented in o r d e r to buttress the claim that the new psychology of the self is helpful in the clinical area, that it allows us to perceive meanings, or the significance o f meanings, that were formerly not perceived by us, at least not consciously. T h i s is not a theoretical presentation o f the psychology o f the self—the theoretical knowledge needed will have to be obtained elsewhere (see, in particular, Kohut, 1971, 1972, 1977; and Kohut and Wolf, 1978). In o r d e r to assist the reader I append a diagrammatic summary of the psychopathology o f M r . Z. as it was perceived by me in his two analyses. For the rest I h o p e that this case report will speak for itself.

Τ

© © REPRESSION BARRIER L (Non defensive) idealization of his S father; rage against the mother; Ρ self-assertive male sexuality and L exhibitionism.

The analytic work done on the basis of the self-psychological concept is carried The analytic work done on the basis of the classical dynamic-structural out in two stages. The first stage is done at the line indicated by © © ©: Mr Ζ concept takes place throughout the confronts fears of losing the merger with the mother and thus losing his self as he analysis at the line indicated by © © knew it. The second stage is done at the line indicated by © © ©: Mr Ζ ©. confronts traumatic overstimulation and disintegration fear as he becomes conscious of the rage, assertiveness, sexuality, and exhibitionism of his independent self.

Castration anxiety and depression due to actual oedipal defeat.

© © © REPRESSION BARRIER

Low self-esteem, depression, masochism, (defensive) idealization of mother. Τ

As Seen in Terms of the Psychology of the Self in the Narrow Sense in the Second Analysis

Overt arrogance,' superior' ©V isolation on the basis of persisting Ε merger with the (nondefensively) © R idealized mother. Mother confirms patient's superiority over father © I provided patient remains an C _© appendage of her. A

Overt grandiosity and arrogance due to imaginary oedipal victory.

As Seen in Classical Dynamic-Structural Terms in the First Analysis

THE CASE OF MR Ζ—His PSYCHOPATHOLOOY AND THE COURSE OF HIS ANALYSIS

446 T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

12 Four Basic Concepts in Self Psychology (1979)

/. Preamble In the following I will cull certain passages from my writings which, to use the expression o f the examiners, "define and discuss" the terms "self," "selfobject," "fragmentation," and "selfobject transference." A l t h o u g h , for reasons that the

present

essay will attempt to clarify, I have never undertaken the task of defining my terms in a systematic fashion but have assumed that the actual use o f terms should be the defining factor, and although the passages which I will quote are therefore widely dispersed in my various books and essays, these definitions were not d e r i v e d in a random fashion. T h e y are united by the fact that I always remained within a specific conceptual framework which determined the form and content o f my definitions. The roots o f my present attitude toward definitions reach way back into my past; to be exact they reach into my adolescence when I first read Kant, Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche. It was especially the study o f Kant, in particular The Critique of Pure Reason, that established in me—or, as I should say, because I was from earliest This essay was written in response to an examination taken In the participants in the C h i c a g o W o r k s h o p on Selfpsychology, a study g r o u p which meets once a month throughout the academic year u n d e r the aegis o f the C h i c a g o Institute l o r Psychoanalysis.

447

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T H E SEARCH FOR THE SELF

childhood on emotionally prepared for this insight, confirmed in me—the conviction that the essence o f reality, o f external and internal reality as I would now put it, was unknowable and that we could d o no m o r e than rely on the results o f this or that instrument o f observation (with regard to external reality on our various sensory organs and their mechanical extensions; with regard to man's inner life on introspection and empathy) that responded to various processes in the outer and inner world in the m o d e and within the limits o f its o w n organization.

1

T h e r e is a certain similarity between this relativistic position that I took from early on toward the external and internal world and the scientific school called "operationalism" which was p o p ular a few decades a g o . It is clear, however, that my viewpoint concerns not only the way specific scientific operations determine the specific results that are obtained with the aid of these operations but that it is a much broader one that determines not only my perception o f all o f reality but also and par excellence the nature o f the generalizations and abstractions, the nature of the experience-distant concepts and theories, that I am willing and able to d e r i v e from the experience-near data of observation. In its specific application to the scientific world in which I had been living and working it was in the essay "Introspection, Empathy and Psychoanalysis" (1959) that I first spelled out how this basic attitude vis-ä-vis the world—in this case vis-ä-vis the "inner world," the "world o f c o m p l e x mental states"—determined

the

Ί believe that 1 spelled out this basic attittude o l ' m i n e most clcarlv in the essay " T h e Psychoanalyst in the Community o f Scholars" (1975b) where I said. "For the physicist, the essential nature o f the p h e n o m e n a perceived bv man's senses as heat and color is identical. H e conceives them in the analogizing imagery of waves and differentiates them only by the different frequency o f these waves along the time axis. The energic constellations experienced by man as the sensation of heat and as the perception o f redness thus form an unbroken continu u m for the physicist, notwithstanding the fact that o n e kind o f receptor in man's biological equipment . . . is attuned to heat, while another one . . . is attuned to the color red. F r o m the point o f view of the psychologist w h o deals with man's experiences, however, warmth a n d redness may have vastly different connotations—as evaluated by the psychologist, warmth a n d redness may he clearly disparate experiences that d o not form a continuum" ( p . 0981'.).

F O U R BASIC CONCEPTS

449

observational procedures o f psychoanalysis and thus the nature o f the data it obtained. T h e decisive significance o f the second half o f the title o f this essay seems to have been o v e r l o o k e d by a considerable number o f the readers o f this essay. Had this part o f the title ( " A n Examination o f the Relationship between M o d e o f Observation and T h e o r y " ) been understood as pointing out unambiguously what my essay was aiming at, a number o f the criticisms directed at this essay and at my many statements later on which followed in its footsteps, would not have been raised. T o summarize the position the 1959 essay advocates, a position that was again and even m o r e forcefully stated in The Restoration of the Self (see especially pp. 298-309), I will provide two quotations. (1) F r o m "Introspection" ( p . 227): "the psychoanalytic term 'drive' is derived from the introspective investigation o f inner experience. Experiences may have the quality o f drivenness ( o f wanting, wishing, o r striving) to varying degrees. A drive then is an abstraction from innumerable inner experiences; it connotes a psychological quality that cannot be further analyzed by introspection." ( 2 ) From Restoration (pp. 310-311): T h e self, whether conceived within the framework o f the psychology o f the self in the narrow sense o f the term, as a specific structure in the mental apparatus, or, within the framework o f psychology o f the self in the broad sense o f the term, as the center o f the individual's psychological universe, is, like all reality . . . not knowable in its essence. W e cannot, by introspection and empathy, penetrate to the self per se; only its introspectively o r empathically perceived psychological manifestations are open to us. . . . Demands for an exact definition of the nature o f the self disregard the fact that "the self" is not the concept of an abstract science, but a generalization derived from empirical data. Demands f o r a d i f f e r e n t i a t i o n between " s e l f and "selfrepresentation" (or, similarly, between "self" and a "sense o f s e l f ) are, therefore, based on a misunderstanding. W e can collect data concerning the way in which the set of intro-

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

spectively o r empathically perceived inner experiences to which we later refer as " I " is gradually established, and w e can observe certain characteristic vicissitudes o f this e x p e rience. W e can describe the various cohesive forms in which the self appears, can demonstrate the several constituents that make up the self . . . and explain their genesis and function. A n d we can, finally, distinguish between various self types and can explain their distinguishing features on the basis o f the predominance o f one o r the other o f their constituents. W e can d o all that, but we will still not know the essence o f the self as differentiated from its manifestations. My assertion that the concepts used by the specific empirical science called psychoanalysis are arrived at through generalizations and abstractions regarding repetitively encountered clusters o f data—the data collection being achieved via introspection and empathy—holds true not only for the examples given above (the "drive" ["Introspection and Empathy," p. 227]; "the s e l f [Restoration, p p . 310-311), but also for the other concepts that are the subject matter o f this examination. H a v i n g in the f o r e g o i n g outlined my general attitude toward the experience-distant abstractions (theories, concepts, definitions) e m p l o y e d by science, I will now proceed by presenting some o f the definitions o f the various specific concepts under scrutiny as I could cull them from my previous writings.

//. Specific Definitions

1. "Self [a] " T h e self [within the framework o f self psychology in the narrower sense, one must now a d d ] emerges in the psychoanalytic situation and is conceptualized, in the m o d e o f

F O U R BASIC CONCEPTS

451

a comparatively low-level, i.e., comparatively experiencenear, psychoanalytic abstraction, as a content of the mental apparatus . . . it is a structure within the mind . . . it has continuity in time, i.e., it is enduring . . . the self has, furt h e r m o r e , also a psychic location. . . . T h e self, then, quite analogous to the representations o f objects, is a content o f the mental apparatus but is not one o f its constituents, i.e., not o n e o f the agencies o f the m i n d " [1971, p. x v ] . b. Letter to Jürgen v o m Scheidt, N o v e m b e r 1975 (see Jürgen vom Scheldt, Der falsche Weg zum Selbst. Munich: Kindler, 1976, p. 166): I see the concepts oiself and identity as clearly different. T h e self is a depth-psychological concept and refers to the core o f the personality made up o f various constituents in the interplay with the child's earliest selfobjects. It contains (1) the basic layers o f the personality from which emanate the strivings for p o w e r and success; furthermore ( 2 ) its central idealized goals; and then, in addition ( 3 ) the basic talents and skills that mediate between ambitions and ideals—all attached to the sense o f being a unit in time and space, a recipient o f impressions, and an initiator o f actions. Identity, o n the other hand, is the point o f convergence between the d e v e l o p e d self (as it is constituted in late adolescence and early adulthood) and the sociocultural position o f the individual. T h i s differentiation is to my mind very fruitful. S o m e individuals are, for example, characterized by a strong, firm, well-defined self that was acquired early in life—but their identity is, due to later circumstances, quite diffuse. I believe that the personality o f certain types of psychoanalysts belongs to such a pattern. T h e diffuseness o f identity permits empathy with many different types o f people—yet the firm self protects against fragmentation. T h e r e are other people whose organization is the very opposite: a weak self but a strong, perhaps overly strong, rigid identity. T h e s e are individuals whose cohesion is maintained by an intensely ex-

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T H E SEARCH FOR THE SELF

perienced social role, an intensely experienced ethnic or religious sense of belonging, etc. A n d these are p e o p l e w h o , when their identity is taken from them (e.g., when the m o v e from o n e culture to another, such as from the village to the city) will psychologically disintegrate. A n d there are, finally, still others whose firm but rigid identity rests on a firmly established self. c. T h e following definition is extrapolated from a negative sentence which states that while the baby does not yet have a self, i.e., is not yet capable o f having a self experience, he is yet, from the beginning, fused with an environment that does experience him as already possessing a self. H e r e is the extrapolated definition: " T h e self is a unit, cohesive in space and enduring in time, which is a center of initiative and a recipient o f impressions"(1977, p. 99). d. T h i s definition is extrapolated from the definition of a successful analysis of a patient with a self disorder, i.e., a successful analysis can be said to have been achieved when a firm, cohesive self has been established. T h e definition given here is in part a genetic o n e , referring to the repetition o f a childhood process during the analytic process, i.e., specifically the transformation o f selfobjects (the parental selfobjects in childhood; the analyst in the selfobject transference during analysis) into a self. H e r e is the extrapolated definition: " A self (nuclear self) consists of a person's nuclear ambitions and ideals in cooperation with certain groups o f talents and skills. T h e s e inner attributes must be sufficiently strong and consolidated in o r d e r to be able to function as a m o r e or less self-propelling, self-directed, and self-sustaining unit which provides a central purpose to the personality and gives a sense o f meaning to a person's life. O r , in other words (genetically speaking): A self can be said to be established at that point (in an analysis) "when the selfobjects (and their functions) have been sufficiently transformed into psychological

s t r u c t u r e s so t h a t t h e y

function

to a

certain

F O U R BASIC CONCEPTS

453

extent . . . i n d e p e n d e n t l y , in c o n f o r m i t y with self-generated patterns o f initiative (ambitions) and inner guidance (ideals)" (1977, p. 139). I added that the idea o f a self being "established" must not be taken literally, i.e., that some need for selfobjects remains in all people throughout life, that indeed it is characteristic for a healthy self that it is not forced to g o it alone at all costs but that it can, in emergencies, turn toward the support o f selfobjects (see 1971, p. 278; 1977, p. 188). e. A g a i n definitions can be extrapolated from m o r e complex statements concerning the genesis, the structure, and the dynamics (i.e., the m o d e o f functioning) o f the self. For example, I refer to the experience o f the self via introspection by talking about "the sense of the continuity of the self [in terms of a 'definition' one had better say: the sense of our being continuous], the sense o f being the same person throughout life—despite changes in our body and mind, in our personality makeup, in the surroundings in which we live" (1977, pp. 178-182). A n d later I speak o f our perception of the self as "our sense o f abiding sameness within a framework o f reality that imposes on us the limits o f time, change, and ultimate transience." A n d I c o m e to the conclusion that even the constituents o f the self (ambitions, ideals, skills, and talents) may change without a loss o f "our sense o f abiding sameness," i.e., without a loss of our self, and I suggest that it is not the content o f the constituents o f the nuclear self that defines our self but the nature of the tension gradient between them, "the unchanging specificity of the self-expressive, creative tensions that point toward the future." O n p p . 180-181 I c o m p a r e the Freudian and Proustian approach toward the recall of the past: Freud's purpose is to recall the past so that conflicts can now be solved which the child could not solve. Proust's effort is closer to self psychology: he attempts to recapture the past in o r d e r to reestablish a sense of the continuity and oneness o f his self, at least along the time axis. "What is still remaining in m e from those earliest times?" the narrator of

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

Proust's novel seems to ask. A n d he poses the question under the impact o f a dreadful sense o f change (aging) and a dreadful sense o f discontinuity and imbalance that he attempts to cure. f. T h e self is a structure which crystallizes "in the interplay o f inherited and environmental factors. [ I t aims] toward the realization o f its own specific p r o g r a m o f action—a p r o g r a m that is determined by the specific intrinsic pattern o f its constituent ambitions, goals, skills, and talents, and by the tensions that arise between these constituents. [ I n other works]: the patterns o f ambitions, skills, and goals, the tensions between them, the program o f action that they create, and the activities that strive toward the realization o f this p r o g r a m are all experienced as continuous in space and time—they are the self, an independent center o f initiative, an independent recipient o f impressions" ( K o h u t and Wolf, this vol. p. 363). g. " T h e self [is] is the core o f our personality. [ I t ] has various constituents which we acquire in the interplay with those persons in our earliest childhood environment w h o m we experience as selfobjects. A firm self, resulting from optimal interactions between the child and his selfobjects is made up o f three major constituents: (1) one pole from which emanates the basic strivings for p o w e r and success; (2) another pole that harbors the basic idealized goals; and ( 3 ) an intermediate area o f basic talents and skills that are activated by the tension arc that establishes itself between ambitions and ideals" ( K o h u t and Wolf, this vol. p. 362).

2. "Selfobject" (the narcissislically invested object) a. " T h e antithesis to narcissism is not the object relation but object love. A n individual's profusion o f object relations, in the sense o f the observer o f the social field, may conceal his narcissistic experience o f the object world; and a person's seeming isolation and loneliness may be the setting for a wealth o f current object investments.

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455

" T h e concept o f primary narcissism is a g o o d case in point. A l t h o u g h it is extrapolated from empirical observations, it refers not to the social field but to the psychological state o f the infant. It comprehends the assertion that the baby originally experiences the mother and her ministrations not as a you and its actions but within a view o f the w o r l d in which I-you differentiation has not yet been established. T h u s the expected control over the mother and her ministrations is closer to the concept which a g r o w n - u p has o f himself and o f the control which he expects o v e r his own body and mind than to the grown-up's experience o f others and o f his control o v e r them" (1966, p. 429f.). b. Selfobjects are objects "which are either used in the service o f the s e l f . . . or which are themselves experienced as part o f the s e l f (1971, p. x i v ) . c. Narcissism . . . is defined not by the target o f the instinctual investment (. . . [i.e., whether] the subject himself o r other p e o ple) but by the nature or quality o f the instinctual charge. T h e small child . . . invests other people with narcissistic cathexes and then experiences them narcissistically, i.e., as selfobjects. T h e expected control o v e r such (selfobject) others is then closer to the concept o f the control which a grown-up expects to have over his own body and mind than to the concept o f the control which he expects to have o v e r others" (1971, p. 26). d. [ A selfobject] "is experienced narcissistically [and] the expected control o v e r the narcissistically cathected object and its function . . . is closer to the concept which a grown-up has o f himself and o f the control which he expects o v e r his own body and mind than to the grown-up's experience o f others and o f his control o v e r them [which generally leads to the result that the o b j e c t . . . feels oppressed and enslaved by the subject's expectations and d e m a n d s ] " (1971, p. 33). e. ". . . there is a crucial difference between (1) the narcissistically experienced archaic selfobject (an object only in the

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sense of the observer of manifest behavior); ( 2 ) the psychological structures (which are built up in consequence o f the gradual decathexis of the narcissistically experienced archaic objects) which continue to perform the . . . functions which had previously been p e r f o r m e d by the (external) object; and ( 3 ) true objects (in the psychoanalytic s e n s e ) . . . , i.e., objects loved and hated by a psyche that has . . . accepted the independent m o tivations and responses of others, and has grasped the notion o f mutuality" (1971, p. 5 ( ) f ) . f. ". . . endopsychic structures . . . are in their psychological significance, and in their m o d e o f functioning, less distant from the mature objects o f the psyche than the archaic objects which have not yet become transformed into internal psychological structures" (1971, p. 51). g. ". . . [we must] differentiate [those] objects that are experienced as p a r t of the self (selfobjects) from those . . . [experienced by us] as independent centers of initiative (true objects)" (1977, p. 84). h. From a letter, September 9, 1978, accompanying the return o f the galleys of Kohut and Wolf, to the International Journal of Psycho-Analysis: . . . w e are facing only one problem—the spelling o f the word "selfobject." Y o u hyphenated it, we d o not. W e are here dealing not, I must stress, with a question o f formal preference. W h e n I first introduced the term, I hyphenated it as you d o now. But about a year ago, after consulting with my friends and coworkers who all agreed with me, I decided that from now on we would dispense with the hyphen. In introducing this change we w e r e p r o m p t e d by two considerations. T h e first, a minor but not unimportant one, is indeed stylistic. Spelling "selfobject"without a hyphen allowed us to refer to the relationship between the self and its s e l f o b j e c t s by s p e a k i n g o f a " s e l f - s e l f o b j e c t relationship"—clearly preferable to "self-self-object relation-

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ship." Important though this point may be, our second reason for introducing the change was the decisive one. T h e concept o f the selfobject is, as you undoubtedly realize, o f central importance in the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self. By spelling the w o r d without a hyphen w e feel that w e give expression to a significant firming o f this concept—that we express m o r e unambiguously the fact that we are dealing not with an ad hoc construct but with a viable concept which we hope will find an enduring place in analytic thought, i. "Selfobjects are objects which w e experience as parts o f our self; the expected control o v e r them is, therefore, closer to the concept o f the control which a grown-up expects to have o v e r his o w n body and mind than to the concept o f the control which he experiences over others. T h e r e are two kinds o f selfobjects: those w h o respond to and confirm the child's innate sense o f vigor and perfection; and those to w h o m the child can look up and with w h o m he can m e r g e as an image o f calmness, infallibility, and omnipotence. T h e first type is referred to as the mirr o r i n g selfobject, the second as the idealized parent i m a g o " (chap. 9, this volume, pp. 361-362).

3. "Fragmentation" (of the Self) a. It is difficult to supply limited quotations to demonstrate how my concept o f fragmentation was formulated at that time. Clinical examples abound, yet definitions can hardly be found since, at that time, I was still trying to fit my clinical findings into Freud's metapsychology. T h u s I equated

the

fragmentation

found in patients with narcissistic personality disorders in response to empathic failures from the side o f their selfobjectanalysts with a "stage o f autoerotism" (as contrasted with a "stage o f narcissism"), which on the basis o f a passing remark in " O n Narcissism," I imputed to Freud. Clinically I demonstrated

the

fragmentation o f the self especially in two forms: in space, i.e.,

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as a loss o f bodily cohesiveness experienced by the patient and then elaborated by him in the form o f hypochondriasis; and in time, i.e., as a loss o f feeling himself continuous along the time axis and then elaborated by him in the f o r m o f worries about being unreal and o f lacking a reliable future. I might add that a statement concerning "fragmentation" can already be found earlier when I said, "Severe regressions, whether occurring spontaneously o r during therapy, may lead to the activation o f unstable, prepsychological fragments o f the body-mind-self and its functions which belong to the stage o f autoerotism'^ 1968b, p. 478). b. In 1974, I clarified an issue which, as I put it then, "while o f the greatest clinical importance, is not o f o v e r r i d i n g theoretical significance," namely, "that an insecurely established self reacts to the selfobject's failure . . . in a variety o f ways and that temporary fragmentation is only one o f them." Still, I a d d e d that fragmentation "does frequently occur." Its most frequently observed manifestation, I said, was the patient's "hypochondria, i.e., the experience (preoccupation with and worry about) single body parts and single mental and physical functions which are beginning to replace the experience o f a total

mind-body

self'(1974, p. 737f.). c. I n Restoration of the Self I hardly referred to "fragmentation," except as a definition can be derived from the discussion o f its healthy counterpart, namely, "cohesion." T h u s ( p . 185) I speak o f "the establishment o f the child's cohesive grandioseexhibitionistic self (via his relations to the empathically responding m e r g i n g - m i r r o r i n g - a p p r o v i n g selfobject)" and o f "the child's cohesive idealized parent-imago (via his relation to the empathically responding selfobject parent w h o permits and indeed enjoys the child's idealization o f him and m e r g e r with h i m ) " (1977, p. 185). I n various places there is also material supporting the view that the presence o f an abiding tension arc between the poles o f the self, the push o f the ambitions, the pull o f the ideals,

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the sameness o f the skills and talents in the service o f the aforementioned tension ensure a person's sense o f his nuclear sameness, i.e., the cohesion o f his self along the time axis o f his life. d. Finally, in chapter 9 I take up the thoughts expressed in 1974; the following statement can be found in 1978: " T h e adult self may . . . exist in states o f varying degrees o f coherence, from cohesion to fragmentation; in states o f varying degrees o f vitality, from vigor to enfeeblement; in states o f varying degrees o f functional harmony, from o r d e r to chaos"(chap. 9, this volume, p. 362). A n d the "fragmenting s e l f is described as follows: " T h i s is a chronic o r recurrent condition o f the self, the propensity to which arises in consequence of the lack o f integrating responses to the nascent self in its totality from the side o f the selfobjects in c h i l d h o o d . " ' T h e experiential manifestations o f fragmentation are then described as "a d e e p loss of the sense o f the continuity o f [ t h e ] self in time and o f its cohesiveness in space. . . . " T h e feeling . . . that various body parts are beginning not to be held together . . . by a strong . . . awareness o f the totality o f the body-self leads to apprehensive brooding concerning the

Ά clinical e x a m p l e o f a faulty selfobject response resulting in fragmentation, as r e f e r r e d to above in chapter 9, h a d already been presented in 1971 ( p . 121) w h e r e I also discussed the fact that certain interpretations by the analyst may constitute a repetition o f the genetically important fragmenting trauma o f childh o o d . T h i s is what the passage said: Pt. B . " r e m e m b e r e d from his childhood the following destructive reaction o f his mother. W h e n he w o u l d tell her exuberantly about some achievement o r experience, she seemed not only to be cold a n d inattentive but, instead o f r e s p o n d i n g to him and the event that he was describing, w o u l d suddenly r e m a r k critically about a detail o f his a p p e a r a n c e o r current behavior ('Don't move your hands while you are talking!' etc.). This reaction must have been experienced by him not only as a rejection o f the particular display f o r which he n e e d e d a confirming response but also as an active destruction o f the cohesiveness o f his self experience (by shifting attention to a fxirt o f his b o d y ) just at the most vulnerable moment when he was o f f e r i n g his total self l o r approval. " T h e empathic analyst will—knowingly o r intuitively—heed this e x a m p l e a n d realize that there are indeed moments in an analysis w h e n even the most cogent a n d correct interpretation about a mechanism, a defense, o r any other detail o f the patient's personality is out o f place a n d , for instance, unacceptable to the patient w h o seeks a comprehensive response to a recent important event in his life, such as a n e w achievement o r the like" (1971, p. 121).

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fragments of the body, often . . . in the form of hypochondriacal worry concerning [one's] health"(chap. 9, pp. 371-372).

4. "Selfobject Transference" ("narcissistic transference") a. T h e discovery o f the selfobject transference forms the basis o f my whole work concerning narcissism and the self. But just because o f its central position it is not possible to summarize the extensive presentations of the major phenomena that could be discerned, namely, the "mirror transference" and the "idealizing transference," by culling specific passages from the various contributions o f earlier years. T h e first systematic presentation of these phenomena was given in 1966, at the Second P a n - A m e r ican Congress in Buenos Aires; an expanded version of the original outline was given originally as the 1968 Freud A n n i versary Lecture of the Psychoanalytic Association of N e w Y o r k ; and the final and extensively elaborated presentation of this topic was m a d e in 1971, under the headings " T h e Therapeutic Activation o f the Omnipotent Object" (i.e., the "idealizing transference") and " T h e Therapeutic Activation o f the Crandiose S e l f (i.e., the "mirror transference"). It makes hardly any sense to pick out any particular page sequences d e v o t e d especially to the selfobject transferences in 1971, since the whole book is in essence d e v o t e d to them. Still, I will quote a few characteristic passages. [Patients w h o suffer from narcissistic personality disturbances] have specific assets which differentiate them from the psychoses and borderline states . . . [they] attained a cohesive self and have constructed cohesive idealized archaic objects. . . . In consequence of the attainment of these cohesive and stable psychic configurations these patients are able to establish specific, stable narcissistic transferences . . . : they are thus analyzable [ p . 4 ] . [ O r on p. 29:] given the appropriate attentive, but tin-

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obtrusive and noninterfering behavior o f the analyst (i.e., the analyst's analytic attitude), ( I ) a m o v e m e n t toward a specific therapeutic regression is initiated in narcissistic personality d i s o r d e r s ; and . . . ( 2 ) a c o r r e s p o n d i n g specific transferencelike condition establishes itself which consists o f the amalgamation o f unconscious narcissistic structures (the idealized parent i m a g o and the grandiose self) with the psychic representation of the analyst.

b. In view o f the fact that the narcissistic transferences had already been extensively discussed earlier, I did not again systematically investigate them in 1977. It is here, however, that I replaced the term "narcissistic transference" with the term "selfobject transference," a change in terminology which, I said (p. xiv), " I d o not regard as lying in the forefront o f the contributions o f f e r e d by the present work; still, they are the expression o f a m o v e toward a clearly defined psychology o f the self." O n e of the difficulties o n e encounters when trying to define the term "selfobject transference" is given by the fact that the term "transference" itself does not refer to an unambiguously settled concept. Generally speaking, the term transference has, for most analysts, a clinical meaning: it consists o f (a) the misinterpretation o f the analyst by the patient (in terms of the patient's unconscious childhood imagos) and (b) the emotional, action-inviting consequences of these misinterpretations, namely, the analysand's resistances, including his tendency toward "acting out." T h e r e exists, however, a broadly based definition of transference, a structural definition, which defines transference as the amalgamation of unconscious repressed material with preconscious and conscious contents of the mind.

Thus the

symptoms o f the transference neuroses, slips of the tongue, and other intrusions of the unconscious into our conscious activities, including par excellence our dreams, are also "transferences" if transference is thus defined in structural-dynamic

terms—and

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the amalgamation o f unconscious contents with the preconscious and conscious image the patient forms o f the analyst is only a special instance o f a much broader set o f phenomena. I f we accept this broader definition o f transference ( F r e u d , 1900), then my delimitation o f self-state dreams (and their differentiation from dreams that express object-instinctual strivings) must be considered as a contribution to the subject matter o f transferences. T h e s e dreams would then have to be considered as specific narcissistic transferences, i.e., as amalgamations o f unconscious material concerning the e m e r g i n g archaic self with material concerning the present, i.e., certain aspects o f the self in its present state. It should be a d d e d here that, when observed in the psychoanalytic situation, the preconscious part o f this transference is almost always related to the selfobject-analyst, i.e., that the preconscious imagery concerning the present-day self that is involved—it furnishes important aspects o f the manifest content o f self-state dreams—depicts hardly ever the defects and weaknesses o f the analysand's self in isolation but a defective and weak self whose defects and weaknesses are due to failures o f a crucial self-selfobject relationship. Stated in still other words: the preconscious-conscious half o f self-state dreams, at least as they arise in the course o f the analysis o f patients with self disorders, does not refer to the state o f a self in isolation (whether it be weakened, chaotic, fragmented; strong, harmonious, whole) but to a self that is experienced against the background o f the analyst's unempathic o r empathic responses, i.e., to a self experienced as reacting to a selfobject. c. Finally I will present, without comment, two definitions o f the term "selfobject transference" that are contained in chapter 9 ( p p . 360-362). T h e analysis o f the psychic conflicts o f these patients [i.e., o f patients suffering from narcissistic personality o r behavior disturbances] did not result in either the expected amelioration o f suffering o r the hoped-for cessation o f undesirable

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behavior; the discovery, however, that these patients reactivate certain specific needs in the psychoanalytic situation, i.e., that they establish 'narcissistic transferences,' made effective psychoanalytic treatment possible. [ T h e s e narcissistic transferences w e r e subdivided into two types: ] (1) the mirror transference in which an insufficiently o r faultily respondedto childhood need for a source o f accepting-confirming "mirroring" is revived in the treatment situation, and ( 2 ) the idealizing transference in which a need for m e r g e r with a source o f idealized strength and calmness is similarly revived. [ A n d : ] Faulty interaction between the child and his selfobjects results in a damaged self. . . . I f a patient whose self had been d a m a g e d enters psychoanalytic treatment, he reactivates the specific needs that had remained unresponded to by the specific faulty interactions between the nascent self and the selfobjects o f early in life—a selfobject transference is established." A n d still later, after describing the various major forms o f self disorder (fragmentation, enfeeblement, disharmony), follows this statement: " T h e psychoanalytic situation creates conditions in which the damaged self begins to strive to achieve or to reestablish a state o f cohesion, vigor and inner harmony."

///.

Conclusion

In the preamble to the f o r e g o i n g collection o f passages from my writings which, in various ways, define o r help to define the concepts "self," "selfobject," "fragmentation," and "selfobject transference" I expressed the belief that even the concepts o f science—i.e., o f natural science which derives its concepts and theories predominantly via generalization and abstraction from data obtained by observation (as contrasted to philosophy which posits them predominantly as the result o f reflection)—are not determined by the empirical data alone but that the viewpoint o f the observer, in particular his overall conception o f the nature o f reality and his evaluation o f the extent to which we can know

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it, will influence decisively the form and content of the concepts that he will fashion and the form and content of the definitions that he will propose. Emphasizing thus, at the beginning, that the definitions that I would retrieve from my writings would be my definitions—that, similarly, each particular definition that would be submitted by the other participants in our "examination" would have been prepared by a particular individual w h o , of" necessity, had brought A M particular viewpoint to the attempt to define the four terms under scrutiny, I will now, after having presented in the main part o f the present work a collection of the relevant definitions, survey and scrutinize this collection in retrospect in o r d e r to discern what general lesson, if any, can be derived from the result o f my bibliographic effort. I n d e e d , I believe that we can arrive at such a general conclusion—even though it is one that itself cannot be neatly circumscribed and defined. W h a t the survey brought home to me—or, as I should rather say, reminded me of again—is that the contents o f science, o f g o o d science, d o not constitute a static and frozen system but form a living, changing, d e v e l o p i n g body o f thought whose fluid state is the result of living, varied interaction between the scientific mind of the researcher and the sector o f reality that he investigates. Concepts and definitions are formulated under specific circumstances, and they serve specific—and differing—purposes at different moments in the unrolling course o f our investigations. Sometimes a specific definition is elicited by a specific, suddenly understood observation. T h u s it happened many times 1

Ί a m using the term "observation" advisedly even though, as the subsequent specimen shows, the locus o f perception may a p p e a r lo be directed more u p o n a psychological process within the observer than u p o n a psychological event in the outer world (e.g.. an activity p e r f o r m e d by the analysand) that he observes. But I am convinced—and my insistence on using the term "observation" is an outgrowth of this conviction—that in depth psychology the dichotomy between the inner life o f the observer and the psychological Held that he observes must not be d r a w n too sharply, that it is indeed o u r recognition of the fact thai observer a n d observed form an unbreakable unit (which is held together by empathy)—a tenet which, if w e substitute extrospeclive observation for empathy, is quite similar to that affirmed by the twentieth-century physicist—that defines

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during my scientific life, mainly at the periphery o f my awareness and always outside the sphere o f intentionality—at any rate, hardly ever spelled out in my scientific communications ( f o r an exception see 1971, pp. 284-288)—that the stimulus for a new insight came to me from an emotional reaction to some psychological event (most often in the analytic situation) that I was observing. Fake, for example, the definition o f the concept "selfobject" that I culled from 1971, p. 32. It contains at the very end, in parentheses, the statement that those who serve others as archaic selfobjects often feel "oppressed and enslaved by the subject's expectations and demands." I realize that this part o f the "definition" o f the concept "selfobject" is unimportant, that it is even misleading and erroneous if it gives the impression of unchanging validity. Still, with all the shortcomings of this formulation, it was the recognition that certain needs of p e o p l e may be experienced by us as enslaving and oppressive—so long as we d o not understand the nature of these needs, I must now add in o r d e r to explain why I said before that this part o f the definition (1971, p. 32) did not have absolute validity—that gave m e originally the clue to the concept of the selfobject and o f its function and, in further elaboration, the clue to the understanding of the narcissistic rage that arises when a selfobject fails to live up to our expectations. O r , to m o v e from inner experience and its influence on our formulations to the social situation (e.g., a m o n g scientists) and its influence on what we think and say. I believe that one of the best definitions of the concept " s e l f that I ever achieved is contained in my letter to Jürgen v o m Scheidt of N o v e m b e r 1975 (see Kohut, 1968a). Still, here, too, the stimulus that led me to

the depth-psychological field a n d provides it with its essential theoretical basis. ( F o r completeness sake I will a d d , what, o f course, goes without saying, that on the experience-near level the observer w o u l d be depriving himself of his most important psychological insights if he insisted on discarding the b o n d o f empathy and tried to lake an objective, i.e., bchavioristic observational stance.)

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formulate this definition lay largely beyond intentionality. I must admit, in other words, that, in writing it, I was prompted not primarily by the wish to give a first-class definition but by the accidental circumstance that, when I read Jürgen v o m Scheldt's book to which I had declared myself willing to furnish a preface (see 1978a, V o l . 2, p p . 845-850), I was taken aback by the fact that v o m Scheidt appeared to me to use the terms " s e l f and "identity" as if they w e r e synonymous. It was the wish to correct this error concerning my outlook in a book that otherwise contained many well-employed references to my work, a book, m o r e o v e r , that I therefore intended to endorse via my preface, that decided m e to write the letter that, as I said before, contains what is to my mind o n e o f the best o f the definitions o f the term " s e l f that can be found in my writings—even though this definition had not been formulated sine ira el studio and shows, in content and f o r m , my wish to correct a misunderstanding. But let m e now be d o n e with examples and details and let m e , as tersely as possible, reply to the question o f what overall lesson w e can d e r i v e from the collection o f definitions culled from my writings that I presented in the main part o f this study. H e r e is the general lesson that the thoughtful scrutiny o f my various definitions should p r o v i d e for the reader. T h r o u g h their very variety and incompleteness these definitions demonstrate that a science—and the concepts it works with and the definitions that it may formulate—is not static and frozen but mobile and fluid: it is alive. A n d , being alive, even its most important and central concepts change. Some o f these concepts dominate the whole outlook o f a science during certain stages o f its d e v e l o p ment and, claiming absolute and permanent validity, seem destined, like the dogmas o f religion, to last forever and e v e r m o r e . But then, gradually and sometimes even suddenly, they lose significance, retaining only the interest o f the scholar w h o studies the history o f the science. T h e r e are other concepts which, different from those previously referred to, d o indeed neither dis-

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appear nor lose their significance. But, even though they persist in name, their fate is not essentially different from the fate o f those in the first g r o u p since they u n d e r g o a gradual shift o f meaning—to the point even that, in later stages o f the develo p m e n t o f the science, they may have hardly anything in comm o n a n y m o r e with the concepts from which they d e v e l o p e d and whose name, as I said, they still continue to bear. But how, if indeed even the most central concepts o f a science are unstable—changing, at first, under the impact o f the mass o f new data collected during the initial phases o f a science and, later, giving way because they must adapt themselves to the changing fabric o f the science o f which they are a part, o f a science, that is, which, if its vitality is undiminished, does not commit its energies to the defense o f some securely held thought possessions but deploys them at its new frontiers, always ready to f o r g e new concepts and theories, or to adapt its old ones, in the service o f its current goals—how, in the face o f the transformation o f even its basic tenets, can we then claim that the science with which w e are dealing is still the same? I could easily spare myself the work involved in replying to these questions since, in a way, I have replied to them not long ago (see the concluding chapter o f 1977, especially pp. 298-309). But I will not rely on previous statements here and will respond de novo to the challenge posed by the weighty questions regarding the continuity o f a science, i.e., to put it concretely, I will try to demonstrate the propriety o f our referring to a basic science by its original name despite the p r o f o u n d inner changes that it might have u n d e r g o n e during its development. L e t me say first—even though I should hardly be required to make such a statement—that, in o r d e r to deserve the name o f science in the first place, the investigation o f a specific sector o f reality must not only be systemic and persistent but must also be accompanied, indeed must at all times be intimately bound up with the formation o f concepts and theories which are defined

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and formulated as clearly and accurately as is possible at any given point in time. I believe not only that the preceding demand—that a science must define its concepts and formulate its theories as accurately as possible—is compatible with my earlier statement that the concepts and theories of a science are in continuous flux and that a certain ambiguity of the definitions and formulations is the hallmark of the definitions and theories of a living science, but that it is indeed the awareness o f both demands and the attempt to live up to both of them that characterizes the creative-investigative scientist and differentiates him from the custodian of already acquired knowledge w h o wants to preserve the science in its present state. T h e creative-investigative scientist, in other words, will not only try to define his concepts and to formulate his theories with the greatest accuracy and rigor that he can muster, but he will, at the same time, via the open-endedness of his concepts and theories and via their clearly circumscribed vagueness at their g r o w i n g points, ack n o w l e d g e the eventual transience o f his conceptual working tools. With regard to psychoanalysis and its history, it would certainly be easy to demonstrate the enormous changes it has already u n d e r g o n e in the past—from id psychology to structural psychology to e g o psychology—changes that did not create the upheavals—the disruption, discontinuity, disunity in the broad sense—brought about by changes of similar magnitude occurring now because it was the same person, Freud, the idealized master and pioneer, w h o had introduced and endorsed them. Still, as cannot be emphasized strongly enough, a basic science, such as physics, biology, or depth psychology, is not defined by specific theories, however crucial they might seem to us while they hold sway, but by the subject matter it investigates and by its basic observational outlook. T h e field that Breuer and A n n a O . o p e n e d to science, the field of which Freud was the first systematic and persistent investigator, is the enormous new field

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of the science of the inner life o f man, of the science o f c o m p l e x mental states, the field that—in harmony with Freud w h o said (1921) that empathy is the mechanism by means of which we are enabled to take up any attitude at all toward another

mental

life—is defined by the fact that the exclusive access to it is via direct and vicarious (i.e., empathic) introspection. It is an enormous field into which explorers have made only the first halting steps—lagging way behind the investigation of those aspects, for example, o f the inanimate physical world that have been investigated systematically via direct and vicarious extrospection by man, qua physicist, for thousands of years. But just as the enormous changes in theory that have occurred in physics have not led to a replacement of physics by a new science because m o d e r n physics is still dealing with the same subject matter that classical physics dealt with and because it continues to scan its field from the same basic observational vantage point—the essence o f its activity, in other words, the extrospective collection of data concerning the inanimate aspects o f the world and the formulation o f theories that explain these data, has remained in essence unchanged—so also with regard to depth psychology. Still, while the integral essence o f basic sciences remains thus the same, the content and form of their concepts and theories d o change. Like the generations of man whose products they are, they are born, they develop, they reach maturity, and they fade away, leaving only memories behind. Some of these concepts and theories have indeed impressed the minds of scientists in certain periods with such p o w e r that their memories appear to linger on forever, just as true for the memories that some great men and their deeds have left behind them. But it was their creative potential, pointing into the future, their ability to be, by their very shortcomings, a spur to further thought, that was their greatest asset, not their transient explanatory power, h o w e v e r great it might have been at the time when they held sway. W h e n e v e r w e define our concepts, therefore—and we

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should d o so, o f course, to the best o f our ability—we must try to frame our definitions in a way that does not tend to rigidity our science and to interfere with its development. It is, once m o r e I will express this central conviction at the very e n d o f my reflections, our willingness to tolerate ambiguity, our ability to acknowledge the relativity and transcience o f even our most prized concepts and theories, that will protect our great science from a premature death and will ensure its ability to e x p l o r e the psychological field with the always maintained readiness to discern new configurations so that it can continue to p e r f o r m its crucial task: to explain man to himself.

13 Remarks on Receiving the William A. Schonfeld Distinguished Service Award (1979)

T h e decision o f the A m e r i c a n Society for Adolescent Psychiatry to bestow the William A . Schonfeld Distinguished Service A w a r d on m e pleases m e for two reasons. T h e first and m o r e superficial reason is that any recognition is sustaining to me because, as you know, my w o r k on the self is considered to be highly "controversial," as the euphemism goes, by many o f my psychoanalytic colleagues, in particular by those o f my own generation. T h e award pleases me even more, however, for another reason. T h a t you, the members o f the A m e r i c a n Society for Adolescent Psychiatry, decided to honor my work, the work o f a psychoanalyst w h o has all his life treated only adult patients, lends special significance to your approval and constitutes, I believe, an especially important support to the validity o f my ideas. It is always difficult in the psychological field, especially when our findings and theories are culled from experience obtained in a therapeutic setting, to arrive at a reliable j u d g m e n t about Reprinted from the Annals of the American Society for Adolescent Psychiatry. V o l u m e V I I I , Developmental and Clinical Studies, edited by S. C Feinstem et al. Chicago: University o f Chicago Press, 1980, p p . 51-53.

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the validity of a new outlook and o f new findings. H o w e v e r conscientiously applied the wholesome skepticism that the researcher brings to bear on his work, h o w e v e r great in particular his caution as he evaluates the i m p r o v e m e n t on his patients, there remains always the possibility that the inner consistency and explanatory p o w e r o f the new system o f thought are no m o r e than a testimony to the cleverness o f a theoretical mind which had been able to arrange a variety of selected data into a cohesive whole. T h e n the therapeutic efficacy of the new approach is no m o r e than the nonspecific result o f the self-righteous conviction o f the therapist—however veiled by manifest modesty—who has become the omnipotent, all-healing parent o f childhood for the patient. T h a t equally g o o d results may also be achieved by others w h o are bound to the innovator by transferences and w h o identify with him will also be o p e n to attack by those who, for rational and irrational reasons of their o w n , reject the new ideas. A l l in all, then, it seems that w e have to resign ourselves to the fact that, at least in the short run, we will not be able to reach undoubted certainty concerning our new findings and theories and that we must remain vigilant, examine seriously all objections to our explanations, and over and o v e r consider alternatives and improvements. Still, the situation is not hopeless. With the passage o f time the clash between those who are utterly convinced o f the validity of the new outlook and those w h o reject it with equal certainty subsides, and new generations can apply the new viewpoint with dispassion and separate the wheat from the chaff. A n d , as you have undoubtedly already grasped from the tenor of my earlier remarks, we d o not even have to wait for the e m e r g e n c e of dispassionate witnesses in later generations, w e have also witnesses in the present time whose testimonial carries special conviction. What a new system o f thought in psychology needs in o r d e r to establish the relevance and accuracy of its explanatory ap-

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proach is not only the concreteness and realism o f the innovator and o f his close co-workers and friends, but the confirmatory response o f workers at a distance from the innovator, of individuals w h o are not exposed to frequent contact with the teacher figure, and whose views are not influenced by the feelings of loyalty and devotion toward the leader which inevitably arise under these circumstances. T h e situation that is most favorable in this regard is one in which, not only is there an absence o f direct contact, but where w e are dealing with individuals w h o are w o r k i n g in areas that had not been investigated by the primary research. T h e fact that explanations obtained in one field—the field originally investigated by the innovator—apply also in other areas I take as a significant confirmation of the essential correctness and relevance of new ideas. I have therefore enthusiastically responded to investigations which examine such other areas from the vantage point o f the psychology o f the self—for example, investigations concerning the historical process and the traditional applied areas o f art and literature—and

I have felt

reassured by the fact that much is indeed illuminated when seen in the light o f the psychology of the self. But here it may still be said that these are areas in which I and some of my friends and collaborators have been deeply interested for many years. N o t so, however, with regard to the period of adolescence. H e r e I must confess that something in m e has prevented me from ever dealing in depth with this fascinating period o f life. W h a t remarks about adolescence can be found dispersed in my writings were almost always the outgrowth o f reflection o n my part and not the result of p r o l o n g e d clinical observation o r o f empathic immersion into the inner life o f my patients, which otherwise have been the near-total empirical basis o f my work. Y o u can see, therefore, that it is not just traditional politeness but the expression o f sincere gratification when I thank you for the award which you are giving to me. W h e n I learned of your

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decision to honor me, I was surprised and delighted that you w h o work in a field other than my o w n have found my work to be applicable and helpful with regard to the clinical and theoretical problems that you are confronting in your work.

14 Remarks on the Panel on "The Bipolar Self (1979)

H e i n z Kohut's discussion was the Final contribution to the Panel on the Bipolar Self. H e welcomed the divergency o f opinions expressed by the preceding panelists. A l l science, including psychoanalysis, needs the airing o f disagreements, not only because they help us to separate e r r o r from truth, but also, and predominantly, because we need debate as a spur to further thinking. T u r n i n g to specifics, K o h u t focused first on those areas in which he agreed with the preceding panelists' expressed o r implied views. H e affirmed, in agreement with M . F. Bäsch, R. S. Wallerstein, and P. H . Ornstein, that as far as its basic therapeutic technique and its scientific approach to its field o f investigation, the inner life o f a man, w e r e concerned, self psychology was firmly rooted in traditional psychoanalysis. T h u s , while self psychology advocates a shift in emphasis concerning which areas should be considered the most important ones in psychoanalytic theory and practice, and while it offers additions to psychoanHeinz K o h u t concluded the Panel Discussion on the Bipolar Self, held at the Fall Meeting o f the A m e r i c a n Psychoanalytic Association. N e w Y o r k . D e c e m b e r 1979, with the above remarks, which w e r e audiotaped and transcribed by the Reporter o f the Panel, Sheldon J. Meyers, M . D . T h e transcript o f Kohut's extemporaneous remarks w e r e included in the published report on the panel, in the Journal of the Amnican Psychoanalytic Association, 29:143-159, 1981.

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alytic k n o w l e d g e , it does not replace the classical point o f view. Kohut stated, " I n the clinical situation, for example, as we listen to our patients' free associations, we will hold both viewpoints in suspension: the classical one that alerts us to the presence o f evidence for the transference reactivation o f structural conflict, the self-psychological one that alerts us to the presence o f evidence for the transference reactivation o f thwarted d e v e l o p mental needs in o r d e r to determine which o n e o f them will lead us to the m o r e psychologically valid understanding of the patient." Will both approaches p r o v e to be m o r e or less equally valuable throughout the analyses o f all or of most o f our patients, as Wallerstein suggested? A c c o r d i n g to Kohut, reason tells us to expect that this would indeed be the case. Clinical experience, however, teaches us otherwise. Specifically, in the patients he has been treating in recent years, admittedly a slanted sample, including not infrequently professional colleagues in reanalysis, the psychopathology was m o r e deeply understood and consequently more accurately interpreted and more effectively worked through when seen within the framework of the psychology of the self, in general, and as the reactivation o f thwarted developmental needs, in particular, than when seen within the framework o f drives and as the reactivation of unresolved structural conflict. But this is an issue, Kohut said, that must be further investigated empirically. Kohut then turned to the following consideration: " I f self psychology is firmly rooted in analysis, if its clinical technique and scientific methods are not basically different from those e m p l o y e d by classical analysis, how can it then claim for itself the status of a new step or of a new phase in the d e v e l o p m e n t of psychoanalysis? H o w can w e claim that the self-psychological concepts and theories are sufficiently distinct from those o f psychoanalytic id and e g o psychology to warrant our trying to advance on our path without yet attempting to integrate

our

findings and theories with other m o d e r n developments, includ-

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ing those which, in a terminological overlap, give the appearance of dealing with the same topic as does the self psychology because they, too, use the term 'self,' consider their analysands' 'narcissism,' or report about their therapeutic work with patients w h o d o not suffer from classical conflict neuroses?" Kohut stressed that he did not oppose the integration o f the findings and theories o f self psychology with those of other modern schools; on the contrary, synthesis on a higher level would be a most desirable d e v e l o p m e n t , but the time for such was not yet ripe. Such a m o v e now would hamper rather than further the progress of self psychology and thus the progress of psychoanalysis /;i lato. But what are the features o f self psychology that make it sufficiently distinct within the matrix o f psychoanalysis as a whole to justify its temporary resistance to integration and synthesis? T h e answer to this question, Kohut said, "was that self psychology embodies a significantly big shift in emphasis as c o m p a r e d with the traditional outlook, that it saw human problems, in general, and the psychopathology of the majority of patients, in particular, in a sufficiently different light to warrant its relatively independent pursuit of research for yet a number of years in o r d e r to utilize the potentialities of its new outlook to the full." Excusing himself for the roughness o f the analogy and hoping that it would not be taken as a claim to equal importance but only as illustrative of a specific complex relationship, Kohut said that the discoveries of self psychology were in the same position vis-ä-vis the totality o f psychoanalytic knowledge in which F. G. Banting's and C. H . Best's discovery, insulin, had been vis-ä-vis the total body o f the scientific knowledge o f metabolism. W h i l e it is true that the effects o f insulin were ultimately seen as working in concert with many other factors active in body metabolism, this new synthesis—comparable to the principle of multiple function—could only be achieved after many years of investigations concerning the effects o f the newly discovered insulin per se. But wherein lies that shift in emphasis brought about by self

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psychology that warrants its pursuing its own investigations for yet a while? Freud, Kohut said, w o r k e d with a specific concept o f man, and the system o f scientific explanations for man's behavior and experiences that he created was in tune with his conception o f man, i.e., for example, in tune with the specific moral outlook that was correlated to his conception of man. Putting it tersely, Kohut said, "Freud conceived o f man as born helpless—as a bundle o f drives that are only gradually and reluctantly tamed. I n d e e d , Freud explained such widely divergent undesirable developments as man's tendency toward destructiveness, including his propensity toward war, on the one hand, and toward psychoneurosis, on the other hand, as due to the failure o f civilization to achieve its drive-taming goal completely." T h e concept o f man which is evolving from the investigations o f self psychology is different from that which can be derived from the work o f Freud and the e g o psychologists; and

the

contrast is especially stark when the self-psychological outlook is compared with most o f the other m o d e r n developments in psychoanalysis. Only the m o o d that pervades some, though not all, aspects o f Winnicott's work will strike the self psychologist as congenial in this respect. "Self psychology sees man as born strong, not weak, because it takes account o f the fact that he is born into the psychological matrix o f responsive selfobjects, just as he is born into the psychological matrix o f an atmosphere that contains o x y g e n . T o examine the baby psychologically in isolation from the selfobjects (who indeed are a part o f him and o f w h o m he is a part, from the b e g i n n i n g ) would be just as absurd as it would be to examine it physiologically in a vacuum, i.e., without o x y g e n (which indeed is simultaneously 'inside' and 'outside' o f him physically, as are the selfobjects simultaneously 'inside' and Outside' o f him psychologically). Being reflected by the selfobjects ( m i r r o r i n g ) , being able to m e r g e with their calmness and p o w e r (idealization), sensing the silent presence o f their essential alikeness (twinship), the baby is strong, healthy, and vigorous."

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Kohut said that it is against this background o f the conception o f healthy, normal man that self psychology examines the various shortcomings and failures in the sequences o f self-selfobject units that establish themselves from birth to death. T h e discovery that a certain g r o u p o f patients, those suffering from narcissistic personality and behavior disorders, the d e v e l o p m e n t o f whose self had been thwarted in early life, was analyzable by the usual psychoanalytic approach—(a) understanding, leading to ( b ) interpreting and reconstructing, leading to (c) working through—was one o f the important rewards o f this changed emphasis in the psychological conception o f man. T h e s e patients, w h o often present severe defects in their self-esteem and self-cohesion, are analyzable because their developmental needs, while insufficiently responded to in childhood, had yet retained the capacity for reasserting their claims. T h e r e must have been just e n o u g h self-enhancing responses in childhood to allow the patient, when he finds himself in the analytic situation which promises to supply a reliable matrix o f empathic intensions, to rekindle the old demands—however tentative and opposed by resistances

his

moves might be, and h o w e v e r vulnerable the new self-structures might be when they are first laid d o w n in the process of w o r k i n g through. T h e r e is no question, Kohut summed up, that "even though the essential technique o f analysis has remained unaltered, self psychology considers as primary psychological contents that had formerly been considered as secondary

and

defensive. In consequence o f its changed conception o f man and of the needs o f his self, the analytic atmosphere has become different. T h e self psychologist's understanding o f the legitimacy o f the needs o f the self leads, via a subtle change in the m o d e o f his communications, perhaps in particular via a changed tone o f voice, to an atmosphere which is especially in tune with the requirements o f the narcissistically d a m a g e d patient, as he remobilizes the o l d childhood needs o f a self that strives to achieve vitality, harmony, and coherence."

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A f t e r discussing the shift in the conception o f man that distinguishes psychoanalytic self psychology from the preceding stages of psychoanalysis, Kohut turned to yet another distinguishing feature: its concept o f the time axis in human experience. "Analysis, of course, has always taken account of the passage o f time. It has investigated the past in o r d e r to allow the patient to solve conflicts which his immature psyche has been unable to solve. Self psychology, however, in addition to its acknowledgment o f the traditional psychoanalytic conception of the patient's past, stresses two other aspects of the significance of time in analysis. O n e of them, a different m o d e of the use of the past, is illustrated by the use to which Proust puts his turning to the past in Remembrance of Things Past not in o r d e r to solve childhood conflicts, but in o r d e r to reestablish the continuity of a self—his self—whose organization has recently been seriously disturbed." M o r e important still, Kohut continued, is, "according to self psychology, the significance o f the time axis as it points into the future. T h e r e is, early in life, a program laid down in the center of the personality, a p r o g r a m that points toward the future, that points toward fulfillment and, ultimately, toward fulfilled decline. T h i s central p r o g r a m of the bipolar self, as the p r o g r a m of the central ambitions and ideals and o f the correlated basic talents and skills, lies not only beyond the pleasure principle, but also beyond adaptation. If this p r o g r a m is fulfilled, we experience j o y ; if not, we experience depression. Joy is a technical term. It is to be distinguished from pleasure. Pleasure refers to the positively toned experiences o f parts o f the self, j o y to those o f the totality o f the self and its achievements. T h e opposite of pleasure is pain; the opposite of j o y is depression. Joy and depression are, however, not only experienced with regard to the past and the present, but also, and predominantly, with regard to the future. T a k i n g account of the fact that pain and unfulfillment tend to predominate over pleasure and fulfillment

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in all phases of human life, we might say aphoristically that classical analysis discovered the despair o f the child in depth o f the adult—it established the actuality o f the past. W h i l e self psychology discovered the despair o f the adult in the depth o f the child, it established the actuality o f the future. O r , expressing the self-psychological reconstruction in still different terms, we will say that the child whose self is stunted by the selfobject's failures is, in his depression, mourning a not to be lived, unfulfilled future." In closing, K o h u t expressed his regret that he could not address himself to several important issues that had been raised at this panel. H e h o p e d , however, that, by leaving details aside on this occasion, he had contributed to an understanding o f some o f the major tenets o f self psychology.

15 Greetings (1980)

Ladies and gentlemen, colleagues, friends! M y remarks, though serious in their ultimate intent, will be presented in a lighthearted vein, as befits this informal moment o f our conference. T o begin with I will tell you about two personal events, one occurring about seven o r eight years a g o , the other quite recently, about a month ago. Each has something in c o m m o n with the other, and yet they are also quite different. A s I said, the first event took place about seven o r eight years ago. T o put its significance for me into a nutshell, it was the first time that I got a taste o f how acerbic the reaction o f a number o f colleagues would be to some o f the ideas that I have expressed during the past fifteen years or so. By now I have become used T h e s e "Greetings" w e r e delivered be Heinz Kohut at the banquet, held at the T h i r d A n n u a l C o n f e r e n c e on the Psychology o f the Self, in Boston. Massachusetts, O c t o b e r 3 1 - N o v e m b e r 2, 1980 (sponsored by the Boston Psychoanalytic Institute) a n d first published in Reflections on Self Psychology, edited bv Joseph D . Lichtenberg a n d Samuel Kaplan, N e w York: Analytic Press, 1983. [Editors' notes in the first publication: Evelyn Schwaber w o r k e d closely with Kohut d u r i n g the last few months o f his life, offering h e r editorial suggestions in the preparation o f his writings for Reflections on Self Psychology. The final editing, completed posthumously, was further reviewed by her. The Editors (Joseph P. Lichtenberg a n d Samuel K a p l a n ) wish to express their appreciation for her invaluable assistance. Kohut's original address, which had been extemporaneous, was recorded a n d transcribed, a n d then edited by Joseph D . Lichtenberg. T h e version presented here was further edited by the author. |

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to the intensity with which certain critics have rejected my work. But I can still r e m e m b e r how much I was taken aback when somebody told me that, at a meeting in another city, an old friend o f mine had said that after reading The Analysis of the Self he had concluded that I d o not analyze transferences but that I accept them instead. I was puzzled. H o w could anyone so totally misunderstand a book in which I had extensively described a g r o u p o f analyzable transferences which, as I thought, had formerly not been recognized? A n d how could any analyst misunderstand my statement that, when the first tendrils o f these transferences begin to germinate, he should not interfere with their d e v e l o p m e n t by premature interpretations but must allow them to unfold? H a d I not said clearly that to interpret them at this earliest state o f d e v e l o p m e n t would be the same as if at the first sign o f an oedipal transference the analyst would stop the patient and tell him: " L o o k here, 1 am not your father!"? I felt that, for reasons that I could not figure out, my critic had e m phasized my use o f the word "accept" and underplayed the context into which it was e m b e d d e d . A n d , as I said, I felt badly misunderstood. By now I have become used to such unfriendliness (even though I continue to be puzzled by it)—but then it was still very upsetting to m e . N o w the story o f the experience o f a month ago. W e had just come back from our vacation. I went to my office for the first time, and it looked as an office usually does after o n e has been away for a while—it was a horror. A l l the glow o f the vacation disappeared when I saw the mountain o f mail that had accumulated during my absence. Piles o f junk mail that needed to be sorted and then thrown out; semiprofessional and professional journals that had to be scanned; and, last but not least, there w e r e the manuscripts that wanted to be read, coming largely from people w h o now d e m a n d e d narcissistic supplies from me because they had written about my work. T h e r e was a 108-page doctoral thesis, challenging every idea I had ever put

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485

into print. It accused me of exactly the opposite of what Professor Crews had accused me o f in his recent essay in Commentary. I could almost feel the rapid fading of the tan that I had acquired in the sun o f California. But then I spied a peculiar object under this mountain o f mail. It looked like a w o o d e n box. I pushed the mail aside and, my goodness, what did I see? A whole case o f Chateau Lafite of a g o o d vintage—and I d o like g o o d wines. T h e r e was a warmly w o r d e d letter in it, from a colleague in Europe, telling me that my writings had broadened and d e e p ened his understanding and that his patients had indirectly benefited from them. H e e n d e d with the friendly admonition that I should accept his grateful gift without misgivings. "Don't forget," he said, "that you have taught us one must be able to accept admiration." N o w on the face o f it, you might say that my benefactor was using the same words that my friendly critic had used some years back. But this time, of course, I was not upset about them but was deeply gratified. W h a t is the message that is implied in my account o f these two events? It is a very simple o n e : A lot depends on how one says what o n e says. Some of the criticisms, certainly, that are leveled against the work d o n e by my collaborators and m e inevitably touch on preoccupations o f our own. T h e y address yet unsolved problems and still remaining inconsistencies, such as will unavoidably be found in a set o f new ideas, still in flux, which, I h o p e , have vitality and forward-moving potential. " H e r e is an error!" " H e r e is something unsolved!" " H e r e you are inconsistent!" the critics say. Fine! But why are these statements made in a challenging and harshly accusatory tone? W h y is there not m o r e tolerance, friendliness, forbearance with a set o f new ideas? W h y not g o o d will as o n e goes about experimenting with a new point of view? A s I see it, w e should all be working shoulder to shoulder, trying to solve problems that are indeed difficult to solve. T h e world is hard to understand; people are hard to

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understand. Y e t , little by little, we d o make progress. What w e need to further the m o m e n t u m o f the search is the ability to work side by side. W e must get rid o f bitterness and ill will and adopt an attitude which, for the purpose o f this meeting, I suggest we call the "Chateau Lafite approach"—the generosity that o n e colleague w h o is working and striving and struggling can feel for another colleague w h o is d o i n g the same. M y first message, then, to the participants in this conference is this: Let us try during the forthcoming discussions to be m o r e on the Chateau Lafite and less on the acerbic side. L e t us be g u i d e d by friendliness and a feeling o f comradeship as we all try to inch closer toward the, in the last analysis, unreachable truths about the essence o f the depths o f man. T h e second point that I would like to make this evening is even simpler than the first. A l t h o u g h its message is directed to all of you, I like to think o f it as specifically aimed at the candidates. A s one grows older, it is the next generation—those w h o follow us and will continue our work—that becomes most important to us. T o state it bluntly: p e o p l e don't read. I know that they buy books. I believe even that they skim books, reading here and there, usually with a p r e f o r m e d idea of what they expect to find. But, in the way I understand this all-important activity, they d o not read. I have often emphasized that analysts must remain immersed in the transference o f their analysands, and for a long time, in o r d e r to get at its essence. T h e same is true when w e try to grasp the meaning o f a c o m p l e x set of new ideas through reading. It's not the mechanics o f reading that are here at stake, and Evelyn W o o d won't help. What is required is the ability for a temporary suspension o f disbelief. A reader must be able to abandon the security o f traditional ways o f seeing things in o r d e r to e x p e r i m e n t with a new point o f view. A n d , in our field at least, a critic must be able to try out a new set o f ideas o v e r an e x t e n d e d period b e f o r e he can allow himself to j u d g e its relevance, usefulness, and its explanatory power. H e

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487

must not base his j u d g m e n t on this or that detail in isolation but must try to apprehend newly e m e r g i n g configurations, however strange and unwieldy they might at first appear. Ultimately all these experimentations must be undertaken in the laboratory o f o u r clinical practice. But before this stage is reached, analysts must first read. W h y don't they read, why are they not used to reading—and with fascination and

enjoy-

ment—in the sense that I outlined to you, in the only sense that deserves to be called reading? I have a hunch that o n e o f the reasons why all o f us have to some extent lost o u r ability to read the current psychoanalytic literature is that it is terribly boring. W e open o u r journals, out o f conscientiousness, and w e force ourselves to read. But it is a real chore. I r e m e m b e r that, already as a student, I would read the current literature and then rush back to Freud—to refresh myself, to participate in the activities o f an original mind at work. H o w exciting this was! Even when I began to disagree with Freud's statements here and there, even when I recognized that his outlook was slanted at times and led to a distorted understanding o f psychic life, I knew that here was a mind at work that was exciting and uplifting to follow. But I see that I have drifted into too much seriousness, and that it behooves m e to relax a bit—in tune with the spirit o f this afterdinner occasion. Let m e tell you then, at the end o f my remarks, o f that pivotal moment in my life as a student o f psychoanalysis when I came to the conclusion that, in essence, my time as a reader o f current psychoanalytic literature was over. T h a t it was o v e r because I had reached a peak o f enjoyment that could never be reached again. T h i s ne plus ultra was p r o v i d e d to m e by a book review, written by Edward Glover, who was and has remained one o f my favorite authors in psychoanalysis. N e x t to Freud (and, to a much lesser extent, to H a r t m a n n ) I learned m o r e from G l o v e r than from anyone else in psychoanalysis, and strange as it may sound, I consider my work to be a continuation

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of his. Glover's book review was about an old textbook of psychoanalysis by N u n b e r g that had recently been translated into English. In his short essay G l o v e r reported Nunberg's statement that exhibitionism occurred only in men. A s I read Glover's remark—as I r e m e m b e r it; and I refuse to check!—a little pause seemed to follow, after which G l o v e r added: "which only admits o f one conclusion, namely that Dr. N u n b e r g has led a very cloistered life."

1

A n d now g o o d wishes to all o f us for a successful conference. May it be conducted in the spirit of Chateau Lafite and may it, after the excitement o f the debate has subsided, lead us back to our books—to study, and think, and to d e e p e n our understanding.

' W h e n I edited my extemporaneous remarks lor publication in the sober surroundings of my study, the easy-going relaxation o f the afterdinner speaker became quickly replaced by the uncompromising professional conscientiousness o f the scholar. 1 searched for and f o u n d Glover's review o f N u n b e r g ' s textbook (it was published in the Psychoanalytic Quarterly, 25:586-589, 1956) and discovered that, although, after twenty years, my memory had indeed falsified details, it was, on the whole, not too far off the mark. T h i s is Glover's relevant sentence about N u n b e r g , n o w given verbatim: " A n d his view that in o u r culture w o m e n never exhibit their genitals is, to say the least, a somewhat cloistered one [ p . 588]."

16 Selected Problems in Self Psychological Theory (1980)

H a v i n g carefully read the contributions by A r n o l d G o l d b e r g , Robert Stolorow, and Robert Wallerstein, along with Paul O r n stein's thoughtful discussion o f these papers, I realize that I can hardly d o justice in these remarks to all the fascinating

ideas

that have been expressed. I have decided, therefore, to limit myself to only the most challenging ideas and, furthermore, to those ideas about which I can comment meaningfully in a relatively brief essay. Let m e start with the question that is foremost in the minds o f many analysts trying to understand the viewpoint o f self psychology: H o w does the psychoanalytic self psychologist view the Oedipus complex? In addressing this question I must first say that I deal with this issue at a length in a forthcoming v o l u m e on the concept o f the analytic cure and that the following reFirst published in Reflections on Self Psychology, edited by Joseph I ) . Lichtenberg a n d Samuel Kaplan. N e w Y o r k : Analytic Press, 1983, p p . 387-416. M y original extemporaneous discussion was recorded, transcribed, and then carefully preedicted by A r n o l d G o l d b e r g . T h e transcript edited by G o l d b e r g provided the basis for the following reflections. Paul Stepansky's editorial work in the early preparation o f this manuscript is gratefully acknowledged by the editors. See also acknowledgment to Evelyn Schwaber, in Reflections on Self Psychology, p. 13.

489

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marks can d o no m o r e than briefly preview some o f the principal conclusions I reach in that study. Let me say first o f all that I have found it useful to differentiate a m o n g : ( 1 ) an oedipal phase o r oedipal period (referring to the occurrence o f certain e x p e riences—whether normal, potentially pathogenic, or pathological—that typify a certain age; ( 2 ) an oedipal stage (referring to the normal set o f experiences at that a g e ) ; and finally ( 3 ) the Oedipus complex (the pathological distortion o f the normal stage). ( I should add at once that the latter two categories are posited independently o f considerations pertaining to the frequency o f occurrence.) In the context o f the issues raised by the contributors to this volume, the most significant differentiation is that between the oedipal "stage" and the Oedipus "complex." I can condense the problem we are facing by translating it into the following question: I f a normal, joyfully experienced stage o f self d e v e l o p m e n t exists that, in harmony with psychoanalytic tradition, may be called the oedipal stage, what is the essence o f this stage? A n d if the experiences o f this normal stage can become distorted and, in this distorted f o r m , p r o v i d e the seedbed for the drive-wishes, conflicts, guilt feelings, and anxieties o f the Oedipus complex, the nucleus o f the oedipal neuroses, what is the essence o f the "complex" in contrast to the essence o f the "stage"? Furthermore, what exactly causes the deleterious transformation o f a normal stage into a pathological and potentially pathogenic complex? Traditionally, analysts have held, with Freud, that the normal oedipal stage is identical with the Oedipus complex or, stated differently, that the Oedipus complex constitutes the experiential content o f a normal stage o f development. L e a v i n g aside the problems that arise when w e attempt to define the "normalcy," as opposed to the frequency o r even the ubiquity o f an occurrence (dental caries is "ubiquitous" but not "normal"), I first emphasize again that self psychology does not consider drives o r conflicts as pathological, nor does it consider even intense

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experiences o f anxiety or guilt as pathological or pathogenic per se. T h r e e cheers for drives! T h r e e cheers for conflicts! T h e y are the stuff o f life, part and parcel o f the experiential quintessence o f the healthy self. T h e same can be said o f anxiety and guilt. T h e healthy self may be beset by conflicts and, derivatively, experience intense guilt and anxiety. But such experiences are not tantamount to the drives, conflicts, guilts, and anxieties o f the Oedipus c o m p l e x which, under certain circumstances, may in adult life lead to the symptoms of the so-called oedipal neuroses. T h e y d o not, in other words, bring about the type o f conflict—half o f which is entirely unconscious (the drive-wishes) and half of which is largely unconscious (the defenses against the drivewishes), with only a bit o f this unconscious iceberg manifest in the form o f symptoms—that constitutes the nucleus o f the classical transference

neuroses of adult life according to Freud's

beautiful, internally consistent, early formulation. A n d why does self psychology believe that Freud's early theory, despite its ingenuity and intellectual coherence, is in error? T h e answer is clear: Once clinical observation is informed by the self-psychological assertion that the self and its matrix o f selfobjects are, in principle, an invisible unit (analogous to the inseparableness o f the human b o d y and the o x y g e n - c o n t a i n i n g atmosphere that surrounds it), the data concerning the child's experiences d o not support the old theory, but require a new one. T h e question at issue is this: What, in the analyses of the transferences o f our patients, is the deepest level to which w e can ultimately penetrate after we have thoroughly investigated and worked through the drive-wishes, conflicts, guilts, fears, and anxieties o f the Oedipus complex? H a v e w e reached biological bedrock once we have dealt with these oedipal issues, or is their analysis followed by the e m e r g e n c e o f a m o r e deeply buried selfobject transference that underlies the Oedipus complex? T o put it differently, d o we eventually gain access to a pathogenic

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selfobject transference which, replicating the pathogenic experiences o f childhood, reveals the object-instinctual drives (and the related conflicts, guilts, and anxieties) to be only intermediate pathogenic links leading—if the circumstances in adult life p r o mote this development—secondarily to the manifestations o f the oedipal neuroses? O u r affirmative answer to this question—our clinical discovery of the regularity with which pathogenic self-self object experiences in childhood account for an Oedipus complex—suggests a return, after m o r e than eighty years, to Freud's original seduction theory. Freud, w e recall, had formulated this theory on the basis o f his patients' communications only to discover, suddenly and to his intense dismay, that he had been misled and duped, had been too credulous, had had the wool pulled over his eyes. But though we affirm the correctness of the general etiological presuppositions that underlay Freud's original seduction theory, w e certainly d o not advocate a return to the specific content o f his early formation. (Actual seduction of children by parental figures is in essence the manifestation of a much m o r e serious kind o f selfobject failure than that which leads to the pathological and, potentially, pathogenic distortion of the o e dipal stage.) But we d o enjoin analysts to look for and discover that basic layer o f psychological truth about the past that Freud had first encountered in the stories of parental seduction told by his hysterical patients. It is well known that Freud at first totally accepted the accusations

that these hysterics leveled

against their parents and that he then, in an volte-face—unfortunately,

understandable

as I now add—totally rejected them.

But here I must stop. It is clearly beyond the scope of this discussion to outline, even briefly, the failures of the oedipal selfobjects that bring about the Oedipus complex. Such failures transform the normal upsurge of affectionateness and assertiveness—essential attributes o f the proud and joyful oedipal

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self—into the pathological and pathogenic drives, which we traditionally viewed as the manifestations o f the final stage of normal infantile sexuality. Suffice it to say that, as with "preoedipal" infantile sexuality and destructive aggression, w e consider the infantile sexuality and hostile-destructive aggression o f the oedipal phase (i.e., the Oedipus c o m p l e x ) to be disintegration products. A s such, they supervene only after the selfobjects have failed to respond to the primary affectionateness and assertiveness o f the oedipal-phase self with fondness and pride because they have, on the basis o f their o w n psychopathology, experienced (preconsciously) these emotions of their oedipal child as sexually stimulating and aggressively threatening.

// From the examination o f the oedipal period we proceed to another challenging topic that was considered by several contributors to this volume; I refer to an age-old puzzle that one might loosely characterize as the "inside-versus-outside" question. In brief, this asks whether certain phenomena (i.e., perceived data) should be assigned a position within the framework of the inner world, accessible via introspection and vicarious introspection (empathy), or whether they should be situated within the framework o f the outer world, accessible via extrospection and vicarious extrospection (eyewitness accounts). I g n o r i n g for the time being the fact that the phenomena o f the outer world are themselves "endopsychic" inasmuch as extrospection depends on our sensory organs (i.e., the fact that the independent essence o f any class o f phenomena, whether psychic or physical, is, in principle, unknowable), I wish to focus at once on o n e concrete aspect of this issue that is immediately relevant to self psychology and was therefore raised, directly and indirectly, by several of the contributors. In condensed form, the question posed was whether it makes sense to speak o f self-selfobject relationships as w e often,

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and perhaps increasingly, d o . O n the face o f it, the phrase is illogical. Selfobjects, as they arise in the transference, are inner experiences. Specifically, they are inner experiences o f certain functions o f others on which o u r analysands focus because o f certain thwarted developmental needs o f the self; m o r e objectively still, they are aspects o f our analysands' experiences o f certain functions o f p e o p l e w h o , extrospection informs us, are physically separate from them. I wish I could plead innocent here concerning the reproach o f terminological and conceptual inconsistency, but I admit that I cannot. But although a violation o f the rules o f logic cannot be denied, there are extenuating circumstances. I can adduce the fact, f o r example, that I am not anymore inconsistent in this respect than any o f my analytic predecessors; there is simply no g o o d way out o f this dilemma. Even though I have recently addressed myself to this issue in a different context, I take this opportunity to c o m m e n t fur1

ther on this important matter. Consider, in this respect, such a well-known and basic concept o f psychoanalysis as the transference. A s originally defined by Freud (1900), the transference was a purely metapsychological concept, unrelated to (extrospective) social psychology. It concerned a specific dynamic interplay within the mental apparatus by which something in the system Unconscious affected something in the system Preconscious, a kind o f compromise was formed within the latter mental area. T h i s "something," an e n e r g i z e d structure (a drive-wish and its ideational elaboration), was transferred o n t o something else, another e n e r g i z e d structure (an idea o r image in the preconscious m i n d ) . T h e two structures were thus amalgamated to each other, the second becoming the carrier o f the first. T h e manifest content o f dreams was thereby designated a transference (the result o f a transfer, o n e might say): a day residue in the preΊ am referring to a long, essay-type letter written to my friend Robert Stolorow a few months a g o , which is included in this volume [ p p . 669—674].

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conscious was amalgamated to an unconscious infantile wish. Manifestations o f the psychopathology of everyday life and symptoms o f the transference neuroses w e r e conceptualized in this same way; so also was the transference in the clinical situation. T h e conscious perception o f and preconscious imagery about the analyst were invaded by psychic contents from the unconscious, leading to an amalgam (the clinical transference) in the system Preconscious. What a great and internally consistent theory this originally was. A s all analysts realize, however, this conception of transference changed almost immediately, becoming less consistent yet, paradoxically, much m o r e relevant to the practical needs o f the psychoanalytic clinician. T h e r e are not many analysts, I dare say, w h o worry greatly about the inconsistencies, the flagrant inconsistencies, involved in their daily use o f the term "transference relationship." Y e t , the fact is that when traditional analysts speak o f transference in the clinical sense, they are invoking a term that is located in the same ambiguous never-never land between endopsychic reality and social reality as the self-psychological concept of a selfselfobject relationship. In its strict sense the term "selfobject" denotes an inner experience, especially, though by no means exclusively, an inner experience o f childhood that occurs when the child's self is firming. Y e t , at the same time as a self-psychologically i n f o r m e d investigator o f early development thereby gains access to the selfobject experiences o f children via empathy, he is simultaneously in touch with the social realities o f childhood and, qua social psychologist, he will also—and I would emphasize that he should—observe the interaction between children and parents. H e thus examines not only what goes on inside the minds o f children and their parents—their inner experiences—but, simultaneously, what goes o n between them (e.g., how parents dispense selfobject functions that either consolidate o r weaken the self o f the child, and how children, in turn, act to elicit the n e e d e d responses o f parents and how they differentially react when parents p r o v i d e or fail to provide what they need).

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W h a t kind o f reality, inner or outer, are we reconstructing during the analysis o f a transference, in particular during the analysis o f a selfobject transference? A whole host o f problems is raised when w e ask such a seemingly simple question. I focus here only on the general question that lies behind all the specific ones. T h i s is the question concerning the nature o f scientific objectivity or—reformulated in terms that are ultimately decisive for us—the m o r e focused question of what constitutes scientific objectivity in depth psychology. As w e know, m o d e r n physics, in particular quantum physics, has come to accept the fact that, in principle, no aspect of known reality can ever be independent of the observer. Observer and observed are an unbreakable unit, and what we see can never be understood without including the observer and his tools of observation as an intrinsic part o f the field that is being observed. H a v i n g articulated and accepted this crucial a x i o m , however, 2

we can immediately g o further and subdivide the kinds o f reality that we observe. O n the one hand, there are fields in which w e need not take into account the influence exerted by the observer on what is being observed, even though we must theoretically -Although I feel almost certain that my present remarks about objectivity in science will not be misunderstood by the scientific psychoanalyst a n d psychotherapist—or by the physicist for that matter—I stress, as a precautionary clarification, that w h e n 1 speak o f the influence o f observers on the field they observe, I d o not have in mind the well-known fact, emphasized by certain philosophers of science such as Wittengstein a n d P o p p e r , that the theories held bv observers determine what they are looking for a n d , therefore, what they find. 1 am in the present context referring to the direct results of the observer's physical o r psychological presence. It is the gravitational pull of the physical mass of the observer, for e x a m p l e , or the electromagnetic participation of his beam o f light that 1 have in mind when 1 say that the observer is in principle necessarily part o f the field that he observes. T h a t the different theories held by different o b servers will significantly influence the data they gather, the configurations they perceive, is quite another matter—notwithstanding the fact that two observers holding different theories a n d , therefore, "seeing" different constellations may .secondarily influence the field they observe in different ways. T h e latter type of difference, attributable to "influence" as I use the term, might derive from the different explorational approaches or psychological stances adopted by different observers on the basis o f the different configurations yielded by (heir respective theories.

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acknowledge the existence of this influence. O n the other hand, there are fields w h e r e the observer's influence on the field of observation is not only o f theoretical but, indeed, o f the greatest practical importance. W h e n I look at a mountain, my physical presence, the flash o f my camera, and so on alter neither the form o f the mountain, the position o f the mountain, nor the composition o f the minerals that constitute the mountain to an appreciable, important extent; in cases like this the observer's participation in the field can be disregarded. But when I look at a subparticle, my physical presence and my means o f observation cannot be disregarded; in this case the observed includes the observer, not only in principle but in a practical and appreciable way. Returning from physics to depth psychology, we can now, with the aid o f a metaphor, reformulate the question regarding the nature o f scientific objectivity in depth psychology in the following specific way: Is the analyst, as a clinician and as a scientist, a macropsychologist looking at psychological "mountains" or, to complete the analogy with m o d e r n physics, is the analyst a micropsychologist looking at psychological "subparticles"? T h e answer is that he may be d o i n g either. W h e n we observe id impulses clashing with prohibitions, we are observing an inner world that corresponds m o r e nearly to the world of Newtonian macrophysics; we are in that observational capacity adopting the role o f macropsychologists. W h e n , h o w e v e r , as in self-psychologically informed psychoanalysis, we investigate the psychological structures themselves and scrutinize the particles of psychological structure that are laid d o w n as the self forms in interaction with its selfobjects, then we are, so to say, m o r e nearly involved in micropsychology (i.e., in a psychology that corresponds m o r e closely to Planckian than to Newtonian physics). W e d o have the theoretical outlines o f normal self d e v e l o p ment, and our observations are thus made in relation to a schema

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of its maturation. Still, this framework serves only as an orienting background. T h e main focus o f our observation is directed at the minute interplay between self and selfobject. This interplay encompasses experiences of optimum selfobject responses guided by accurate empathic perceptions that enhance growth and firming o f the self, along with the experiences of traumatic selfobject responses guided by faulty empathic perceptions that interfere with the laying d o w n of the structure o f the self. Can the presence o f the observer here be disregarded, or is it significantly implicated in what he observes? T h e r e is no question that the observer's presence is so implicated. Seen within the framework o f the self-psychological observer (i.e., within the framework o f mircopsychology), the observer is not a neutral screen. T h e psychoanalytic situation, for example—to focus now on the, for the practicing psychoanalyst, most relevant illustration o f the firming o f a self in its interplay with the selfobject—is characterized, via implication and direct verbalization, by the fact that, for years, o n e individual is in the center o f another individual's attention. T o be in someone else's mind—to be listened to, watched, understood, thought about, remembered—is not "neutral"; rather it is one o f the most subjectively meaningful experiences that a human being can have. Such

experiences

e m b o d y dimensions o f a self-selfobject relationship that provide self confirmation and self sustenance. T h e s e experiences can never be disregarded by the analyst qua therapist; the activation o f such experiences during therapy must further be acknowle d g e d by the analyst qua theorist as being, in principle, an immanent and fundamental

element o f both the psychoanalytic

process and the psychoanalytic field. Stated in m o r e experiencedistant theoretical terms, as soon as the formation o f structure becomes a central therapeutic concern, as it does in self-psychological analysis, the analyst-observer must acknowledge that therapist and patient, observer and observed, form o f necessity an unfissionable unit.

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/// H a v i n g hopefully clarified, in the foregoing, the problems that arise when we speak o f "self-selfobject relationships," I now turn to a set o f questions that concern a new area o f growth for self psychology. A l t h o u g h these questions w e r e touched on by Stolorow, they were brought to the fore in Wallerstein's critique o f the theory o f the self in the broad sense (i.e., his critique o f the theory o f the bipolar self)- T h e issue raised, by Wallerstein as I understand it, is this: Even granting self psychologists the license to speak o f self-selfobject relationships, does it make sense to say, as w e d o , that these relationships exist—indeed, that they must exist—throughout life? I am in a peculiar situation here. D u e to the fact that the evolution o f my terminology lagged behind the evolution o f my theories, my critics can now play out the Kohut o f 1971 against the Kohut o f 1977. T h e claims made in The Analysis of the Self (1971), in other words, have by now become m o r e widely accepted—surely not by e v e r y o n e , but by a g o o d many colleagues, including those w h o count themselves a m o n g my critics. T h e s e critics now say that we can o n the whole agree with the hypothesis that archaic selfobject transferences can be analyzed and that, by resolving them via working-through process, formerly untapped productive potentialities o f the analysand may be actualized. T h e message embraced by these colleagues—correctly read, but not understood in its broader meaning—is that, according to the 1971 presentation o f my theory, analysis enables the analysand to get rid o f something archaic and unrealistic. For the critics, this verdict is in keeping with the traditional tenet that the effect o f analytic exposure o f the unconscious to the light o f consciousness is tantamount to the eradication o f the pathogenic nucleus o f the analysand's psychopathology. Correlated to this idiosyncratically constricting interpretation o f my 1971 theory—that is, correlated to the erroneous assumption that my theory o f the pathogenicity o f selfobject fail-

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ures (reactivated in the psychoanalytic situation in archaic selfobject transferences only) pertained only to early (preoedipal) childhood o r even only to infancy—was another assumption silently made by many critical colleagues. T h e y mistakenly took for granted that my theory o f the reactivation o f selfobject needs in analysis and o f the curative effect o f the working through o f these needs implied that, once the archaic selfobjects had been transmuted into self structure, object-instinctual

relationships

would take the place o f narcissistic ones. Colleagues making this assumption clearly failed to take into consideration that from 1966 on I postulated separate lines o f d e v e l o p m e n t for narcissism and object love (i.e., I maintained

from the outset that

narcissism did not mature by turning into object love). Instead, I expressly equated such maturation with: (1) the d e v e l o p m e n t toward such mature forms o f narcissistic expression as realistic self-esteem; the ability to be guided and sustained by realizable ideals; and the achievement o f such "wholesome transformations" as humor, creativity, empathy and wisdom (Kohut, 1966); (2) the selfs progressing toward a mature attitude in relation to its selfobjects, that is, toward the acquisition o f the ability to seek and find realistically available other selves w h o will sustain it by functioning as mirrors and ideals. I might add here that even many colleagues who, from early on, accepted my postulate o f separate developmental lines failed to draw the appropriate conclusion with regard to the successful analysis o f narcissistic personality disorders; they too overlooked the fact that, already in 1971, I clearly equated such therapeutic success with the maturation o f "narcissism." But I must g o still further in clarifying the problem under discussion. Assuming a colleague accepts the occurrence of selfobject transferences and their analyzability; assuming also that he understands that selfobject failures occur not only in infancy and early childhood but throughout early life as the ultimate cause o f psychopathology; assuming finally that he accepts the

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idea that, after successful analysis, archaic selfobject needs are replaced by the need for mature selfobjects—cannot this colleague still question whether we have overextended the meaning o f the term "selfobject," whether our theory in fact provides for anything but selfobject relationships? My answer is that I am much m o r e a drive psychologist than some o f the critics o f self psychology. Self psychology does not replace drive psychology any m o r e than quantum physics replaces the physics o f N e w t o n . W e are dealing with different vantage points, shifts in outlook, complementarity o f perspective. M o d e r n extrospective science is very free to e m p l o y different approaches to the explanation o f external reality; m o d e r n introspective science, I am convinced, must be equally free in its d o m a i n . ' Self psychology will continue to explain the " I ' s " experience o f the "you" from the viewpoint o f our empathic comprehension o f a strong, harmonious, cohesive self that is pushed toward others by sexual and aggressive drives, a self that turns toward others experienced as independent centers o f initiative differentiated from itself. U n d e r different circumstances, however, empathic comprehension will lead us to speak o f a self in various states o f structural fragmentation, weakness, or disharmony—not only when its disruption is severe and protracted but also when its disturbance is only fleeting and mild. Such a self is in need o f others—or, repeating what I stressed earlier, at least in need o f others as "others" are apprehended by the sociopsychological observer—whom it experiences not as independent centers o f initiative, but as extensions o f itself that can p r o v i d e needed sustenance and strength. O u r mother lifted us up and held us close when we w e r e babies and thus enabled us to m e r g e with her calmness and strength; she was an archaic idealized selfobject. A friend puts his arm around us or under-

Ί d o not take u p here the idea, to which I have referred informally to my colleagues on a n u m b e r o f occasions, that certain theoretical inconsistencies are valuable a n d that, temporarily at least, they should be tolerated as unresolved because o f the "creative" tension they generate.

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standingly touches our shoulder, and w e regain composure and strength; he is a mature selfobject for us now. Contemporary self psychology originated with my exploration o f archaic self-selfobject relationships ( K o h u t , 1959, 1968b, 1971), because the particular clinical demands o f patients with serious narcissistic personality disorders d r e w my attention initially to the need for the selfobject in its archaic stage. But though our selfobject experiences mature, there is no doubt that the archaic selfobject continues to exist in the depth o f our psyche; it reverberates as an experiential undertone every time we feel sustained by the wholesome effect o f a mature selfobject. Even when we feel uplifted by what I have c o m e to call our "cultural selfobjects" (i.e., the artists, musicians,

poets, novelists, and

dramatists o f o u r culture) o r by an inspirational political leader, the archaic selfobject experience through which we felt "uplifted" early in life will reverberate in the unconscious and impart a sense o f fullness and authenticity to what we feel. T h r o u g h these insights we have proceeded to the realization that the feeling o f being within the compass o f human empathy may indeed exert a beneficial, wholesome, and, under certain circumstances, "therapeutic" effect (chap. 8, this volume). A n existence characterized by the absence o f all potential empathy is vastly m o r e terrible than life o r even death in potentially e m pathic surroundings. F o r example, to be fought, or even killed by someone w h o hates us is preferable to being exposed to the indifference o f persecutors. T h e latter was the inhuman fate of millions in the Nazi concentration camps w h o faced extermination like vermin, not death like hated enemies. It was this experience above all, I believe, that made it so difficult for most o f the survivors o f concentration camps to return to a normal human existence. T h e p r o l o n g e d exposure to a milieu that lacked all selfobject support created self-defects in at least some o f the survivors, including the propensity toward profound disintegration anxiety that the m e r e passage o f time will not cure.

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In such cases we are dealing not with severe traumatic neuroses, but with p r o f o u n d self disorders acquired in adult life—a fact whose crucial significance for our understanding o f the self's needs for selfobjects throughout life cannot be overestimated. With such patients, no spontaneous cure can be expected, and only the beneficial effects o f p r o l o n g e d self-psychologically informed therapy will, in favorable instances, have a chance of undoing some o f the damage. E x t r e m e situations, such as the o n e to which the inmates o f Nazi extermination camps w e r e e x p o s e d / demonstrate with special poignancy that the dangers which elicit the greatest fears in p e o p l e are not associated with biological death per se, but with the destruction o f the self through the withdrawal o f selfobject support. A n d what is true under exceptional conditions also holds in the ordinary course o f individual existence; in general, it is not death that we fear, but the withdrawal o f selfobject support in the last phase of our lives. W h e n someone w h o is d y i n g is told by a friend, " I , too, will someday have to cross the barrier that you are crossing now, and watching you and observing your courage will be an inspiration to m e when I face the e n d o f my existence," this friend functions, whether knowingly o r by virtue of his spontaneous human responsiveness, as a selfobject for the dying person. A n d the dying person, feeling himself sustained within a functioning selfobject matrix, will end his life proudly and without undue fear, even as consciousness is fading away. Finally, let us glance briefly at the self-selfobject relationships o f the oedipal period and o f adolescence. I n the present context I can d o little m o r e than emphasize that a number of heretofore neglected aspects o f these two important stages of self develo p m e n t invite inquiry as soon as w e consider the influence o f Ά g r o u p o f A m e r i c a n astronauts were subjected to a psychologically similar situation when their space capsule became d a m a g e d far away from the earth a n d , for a while, it was feared that the spacecraft was not u n d e r control ( K o h u t . 1978a).

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the selfobject milieu on the ultimate shaping o f the self that will form the center o f the adult personality. A l t h o u g h the pathogenicity o f a parent w h o cannot respond to the child's selfobject needs in early life may simply continue throughout the oedipal period, latency, and adolescence, the conclusion is inescapable that, in certain instances, parental selfobjects w h o responded appropriately during earlier phases o f self d e v e l o p m e n t p r o v e unable to accommodate the needs o f certain later periods, such as the oedipal period and/or adolescence. I f the classical neuroses still exist—as I believe they d o , h o w e v e r rarely they are encountered in contemporary, Western society—then we will be able to explain them fully only if we broaden o u r understanding o f the genetics and structure o f these neuroses. Specifically, we must modify our perspective on the role of drive-related conflicts in such disorders to accommodate the realization that underlying selfobject failures lead to the disintegration of the oedipal-stage self and thereby account for the expression of sexuality and aggression that typifies the Oedipus complex. Finally, I must stress that even a self whose d e v e l o p m e n t has been comparatively normal up to early adolescence may remain permanently incomplete as a consequence o f selfobject failures experienced during this period. In particular, the adolescent's loss o f an idealized selfobject o f the same gender may block an important step in his subsequent self d e v e l o p m e n t : the establishment, via transmuting internalization, o f a self able to pursue adult sexual aims with confidence and a sense o f unforced security.

IV H a v i n g to this point focused on topics that had, implicitly or explicity, figured in several contributions to this volume, I now turn my attention to two criticisms that were raised by Wallerstein. T h e first is that self psychology is monotonously uniform in its genetic explanations because it traces all forms of psycho-

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pathology back to empathy failures on the part of the patients' mothers. His second criticism pertains specifically to my recent report o f the two analyses of M r . Z. M y success in the second of these two analyses, Wallerstein believes, was not, as I submitted, a result of a shift in my theoretical outlook that enabled me to deal with the core o f the patient's psychic disturbance. A c c o r d i n g to Wallerstein, the first analysis with M r . Z. failed because it was poorly conducted, whereas the second one succeeded not because o f the theoretical orientation I had adopted, but because I had finally d o n e what any g o o d analyst, equipped with the conceptual instrumentarium

of e g o psychology, would have

d o n e from the beginning. A r e the explanations of self-psychologically i n f o r m e d psychoanalysis indeed monotonously uniform, whereas those of traditional analysis (a comparison implied by this criticism) are multiple and varied? M y answer to this accusation is, at least up to a certain point that I return to later, a clear unambiguous "not guilty." First of all, and this argument needs no elaboration, self psychology adds something to traditional analysis; it does not substitute for it (chap. 8 ) . It can, therefore, hardly be a r g u e d that self psychology is impoverishing analysis by supplementing the traditional point of view with the vista obtained from a new vantage point. O f course, an opponent of self psychology with a sense o f humor could respond that the claims o f self psychology are like those of the new immigrant to the United States w h o boasted that if he were as rich as Rockefeller he would be richer still. W h e n asked how he would achieve this goal, the immigrant replied that he would carry on all of Rockerfeller's businesses but, in addition, open a little tobacco store on Broadway that would bring in a lot of money too. Clearly, we are obliged to show that self psychology is not the little tobacco store on Broadway of which the new immigrant speaks, but instead constitutes a significant expansion and enrichment of psychoanalysis.

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A r e the explanations of self psychology as uniform as some o f our critics claim? I think not. T o claim that they are boringly monotonous is, to my mind, like claiming that all of traditional analysis is simplistic because it explains psychopathology on the basis o f conflict. Both reproaches are equally misconceived. W e are dealing with different explanatory frameworks, but not with any dearth o f variety within the respective frameworks. Just as traditional analysis conceptualizes endless varieties of conflict and points to endless subtleties o f the conflicts that it uncovers, so self-psychologically i n f o r m e d analysis conceptualizes endless varieties o f selfobject failures that produce endless varieties of self pathology. Rather than attempting to provide an outline o f the varieties o f self-selfobject failures and the corresponding varieties o f resulting self disturbances, I offer a brief illustration o f the subtlety of the differentiations—or, I should rather say, of the seeming subtlety o f the differentiations—that are involved. It is natural that upon acquaintance with a new class o f phenomena one is at first able to recognize individuals only as representatives o f that class. T o an Oriental w h o has never seen Westerners, all Westerners look alike. It is only later, after having lived a m o n g Westerners, that he can differentiate between members o f various nationalities, social classes, regions, urban and country folk, and the like. Eventually, he will be able to recognize many individuals effortlessly as the result o f a single apperceptive closure. So also in self psychology. T o the outsider, so to speak, all o f our explanations may at first appear to be the same: selfobject failures o f the mother. T o those o f us w h o have now w o r k e d in this field for some years, however, the differentiations have bec o m e e v e r so c o m p l e x and variegated. W e already differentiate between failures in mirroring, in idealizability, and in alter-ego presence as bringing about, variously, the fragmentation, weakness, or disharmony o f the self—no less than nine options, I may add half jokingly, or even eighteen if we add to our list presentday "Schrebers" w h o experience the decisive selfobject failures

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from the side o f the father. W e realize, m o r e o v e r , what an enormous field for further research has o p e n e d up before us, challenging us to bring further o r d e r to an almost o v e r w h e l m i n g range o f explanatory possibilities. T h i s task o f arriving at an o p t i m u m number o f explanatory clusters o f specific selfobject failures with their respective self pathologies still lies largely ahead o f us. It was my recognition o f this fact that p r o m p t e d m e earlier to qualify my "not guilty" plea to the accusation that the explanations o f self psychology are monotonous and unif o r m . I submitted that self psychology was not guilty o f this charge "up to a certain point." T h i s qualification, as I h o p e to have now clarified, points to a need for further refinement in the classification o f an optimum number—not too many, not too f e w — o f different clusters o f selfobject failures that must await our future efforts. I now proceed to a clinical illustration that further clarifies my meaning. T h i s illustration is drawn from the presentation o f A n n a Ornstein in fall 1980 at the "Symposium: Reflections on Self Psychology" in Boston. I d o not wish to waste o u r time in praising her clear and persuasive report, but instead focus on a single, circumscribed flaw in her comprehension o f the material and thus in her response to her analysand. B e f o r e d o i n g so, however, I permit myself an aside regarding the specific data in question, because the self-psychological attitude toward the material under scrutiny—the type o f dream we characterize as a "self-state dream"—has been the target o f strong disapproval by some critics o f self psychology. It appears that a short passage from The Restoration of the Self (1977, p p . 109-110) has given rise to the erroneous claim that we are "wild" analysts w h o interpret the manifest content of dreams and d o not listen to our patients' associations. T h i s criticism is based on a serious misreading o f my w o r k . ' W h a t are

'This misreading is almost as far o f f the mark as the one that has given rise to the r e p r o a c h that w e gratify o u r patients by "mirroring" them a n d thai w e enjoy basking in their "idealizing" o f us (See Kohut, 1971, p p . 2(i()-2(i4, w h e r e

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the facts? T h e y are just as I described them in 1977. I n self-state dreams, I observed, free associations d o not lead to layers o f the mind that are m o r e deeply unconscious, m o r e deeply hidden than the manifest content o f the dream; at best they p r o v i d e us with further imagery that remains on the same level as the manifest content o f the dream. T h u s , as a harbinger o f incipient depression (i.e., before there is consciousness o f a p r o f o u n d m o o d disturbance) a patient may demonstrate some marginal awareness o f the i m p e n d i n g change via dreams o f empty landscapes, burned-out forests, decaying neighborhoods, and the like. Later we may well c o m e to appreciate the fact that the depression announced in these dreams is, for example, a reaction to the analyst's g o i n g away. M o r e o v e r , the analysis may ultimately lead to the reconstruction o f the genetic precursors o f the analysand's sense o f abandonment, including, for example, the withdrawal o f a previously available selfobject following the birth o f a sibling. A t the m o m e n t o f the harbinger dream, however, only the unconscious awareness o f the i m p e n d i n g ominous change in the state o f the self is depicted, and no admonition to the patient to supply further associations to the dream elements will succeed in squeezing genuinely valid dynamic (transference) or genetic (childhood) information out o f the manifest content. T h e only valid interpretation at this point in the analysis would therefore be: " Y o u are getting depressed; you feel like a burned-out forest, you feel like a decaying city." T h e same point can be made with regard to patients w h o , still consciously unaware o f any m o o d change, announce for the first time in dreams (e.g., o f an airplane out o f control that wildly flies higher and higher) their anxiety lest an uncontrollable manic excitement overtake them. A g a i n , it would be an e r r o r for the analyst to offer dynamic and genetic interpretations when such dreams occur, even though the analyst's calm reference to

I emphasize that w e d o not interfere with the u n f o l d i n g o f selfobject transferences in o r d e r to b e able to analyze them).

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the precipitating trauma or to a childhood percursor of the trauma may have a beneficial (psychotherapeutic) effect at a later point in treatment (e.g., after analogous dreams have been reported and the patient has become aware of his anxiety). A n d it would be even worse if, after the patient has told us his d r e a m , we gave voice to o u r expectation that the patient could now supply associative links to current precipitating and/or genetichistorical factors. If we, in such instances, led by our convictions about the correct path that is to be followed in analyzing a d r e a m , thus encourage the patient to leave the manifest dream and try to approach its latent meaning, the patient will often perceive our pressure, however gently and compassionately it is applied, as an indication that we, too, have become anxious. O u r most appropriate (and reassuring) response would be the simple message: " I believe you feel that you are again getting depressed (or overstimulated and out of control) and that you are anxious about that." T h e same considerations, to round out this exposition, also hold for the end of a period of depression or o f (hypo) manic excitement. Days ( o r even weeks) before any m o o d change is noticeable (i.e., the patient is still deeply depressed or still hyperactive and excited), the patient may announce through selfstate dreams the fact that he will regain his mental equilibrium. W h i l e still deeply depressed, he will dream o f a snow-covered landscape with freezing and wingless gray and black birds; a m o n g these sad creatures, however, one bird will appear that flaps his wings strongly and also has a speck o f color in his plumage. Correspondingly, a still overexcited, ( h y p o ) manic patient may d r e a m that, though shaky and veering a bit from side to side, the plane that he is piloting is coming in for a landing.'

1

"This analysis could be extended to show that, just as the empty a n d devitalized sell' o f the depressed a n d the empty self o f the (hypo) manic depict their conditions t h r o u g h sell-state dreams, so also with r e g a r d to the fragmenting sell a n d the self that reestablishes coherence, a n d to the chaotic, disharmonious self and the self that reestablishes inner harmony.

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But now I must end my discussion o f self-state dreams in general and proceed to the specific dream that figures in the clinical illustration at hand. I would only express the hope, in conclusion, that future critics will cease to generalize and take into account the fact that self psychologists approach self-state dreams as a specific, circumscribed, identifiable g r o u p o f phenomena. With regard to the majority o f dreams, we have at no time voiced any doubt that they can indeed be deciphered only if the associative material to each o f the dream elements is pursued in the traditional way.

7

H a v i n g concluded this expository aside, let me return to A n n a Ornstein's case report. I wish to focus on a single flaw in her generally exemplary presentation because I believe it is relevant to the alleged claim that self-psychological interpretations are monotonous and uniform, that the flawed empathic response o f the selfobject is our single explanatory factor. T h e illustrative material culled from this case report runs as follows. A t a point in the analysis when termination issues began to appear, "the patient had a dream—a self-state dream." " T h e r e was a ship in the ocean, that the hull was seemingly all firmly put together but that, in fact, it was in great danger because all the nails and bolts that had held the parts together were g o n e and, furthermore, that the ship was turning over or, at least, that it was in danger o f turning o v e r . " T h e analyst took the dream to be a self-stale dream; I cannot decide with absolute certainty whether it was indeed such a dream, but I assume that the analyst, who had c o m e to know her patient intimately, could sense the fact that the patient was describing the state o f his self at this point in the treatment. T h e analyst thus suggested that the dream portrayed "Although this is not the place for an extensive comparison of similarities a n d differences between the "symbols in dreams" a n d "typical dreams," which Freud (1900) presented at length in The Interpretation of Dreams, and the "self-state dreams" o f self psychology, Freud's statement about the "two techniques of d r e a m interpretation" can b e fruitfully consulted in the context of my o w n emphasis, previously stated, that, "the majority o f d r e a m s . . . can indeed be deciphered only if the associative material . . . is p u r s u e d in the traditional way."

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how the patient felt in relation to the recently mentioned prospect o f (eventually) terminating the analysis. Concentrating on the ship-in-the-ocean image employed by the dreamer, the analyst observed that the patient was anxious about the fact that, after the end o f the analysis, the safe shore o f the treatment situation would no longer be in reach and that the patient felt anxious and insecure on this account. A l t h o u g h I believe that, as regards the dynamic precipitant o f the dream, the analyst's response was on target, I d o take exception to one not unimportant aspect o f her interpretation. T h e patient's dream contained no reference to "a shore," no reference to "not reaching a shore." T h e nature o f the patient's anxious, insecure self-state, the danger depicted in his d r e a m , was (1) that the parts o f the ship were not being held together firmly a n y m o r e , that the connecting links that had held them together (the bolts and nails) were gone; and (2) that the ship was (in d a n g e r o f ) turning over. I n other words, the anxiety the patient felt was not—at least not at the time o f the dream—focused on the loss of "the safe shore" o f the analysis; it was not focused, for e x a m p l e , on the loss o f the supportive arms o f an idealized maternal selfobject. Instead, it concerned the fragmentation of the self and its lack o f equilibrium, balance, uprightness in space. The

importance o f such distinctions cannot be stressed

enough. T h e y d o not concern shades and nuances, but rather conspicuous differences, at least for those o f us w h o understand the specific significance o f different self-states. T h e misunderstanding e m b o d i e d in the analyst's ill-chosen metaphor was twofold:

( 1 ) It dealt with a disturbance

o f the

self-selfobject

relationship, whereas the patient was in fact preoccupied entirely with the state o f his self. T h i s is a very c o m m o n misperception which, as I pointed out long a g o (See Kohut, 1971, pp. 286-287), is often due to the analyst's reluctance to acknowledge that he has been relegated by the analysand to a position in which he is important only as a part o f the analysand's self. ( I n our specific

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case the analyst had been serving as the nuts, bolts, and nails that held the patient's self together.) (2) It referred to a supposed wish or need o f the patient to reach shore (it implied, in other words, that the patient was upset about the future unavailability o f a harboring, sheltering selfobject), whereas the patient in fact was preoccupied entirely with disintegration, imbalance, and loss o f uprightness. W h y is it so important that the analyst's understanding o f the state o f the analysand's self as depicted in the imagery o f selfstate dreams be accurate? W h y , in the specific dream under scrutiny, was it not enough that the analyst supplied a dynamic referent by mentioning the termination topic? T h e answer is simple: only when an analysand feels that the state of his self has been accurately understood by the selfobject analyst will he feel sufficiently secure to g o further. It is one o f the basic tenets o f psychoanalytic self psychology as therapy (see Kohut, 1977, pp. 77-78) that understanding must precede explanation—indeed, that even completely accurate explanations may be useless if they have not been p r e c e d e d by the establishment o f a bond of accurate empathy between the analysand and the interpreting analyst. In the specific instance at hand, only the communication o f an accurate understanding o f the manifest dream imagery by the analyst could have p r o v i d e d the emotional basis for a decisive forward move—via the e m e r g e n c e of further imagery about the state o f the self, via the acknowledgment and the e m e r g e n c e of memories from childhood pertaining to early precursors of the transference dynamics in relation to the selfobjects of childhood. In response to a correctly chosen metaphor about the self-state dream, a metaphor concerning a self o r body self in danger of falling apart and losing its balance, the patient might have shared with the analyst heretofore unexpressed hypochondriacal fears about the disintegration o f his body and mind; he might also have r e m e m b e r e d similar childhood fears about his health and

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sanity that arose when his mother went away or became e m o tionally unavailable. Finally, in response to a correctly chosen metaphor, the patient might have shared with the analyst heretofore unexpressed spatial insecurities; he might have r e m e m bered traumatic childhood experiences when tentative attempts at standing, walking, running, o r swimming led selfobjects to withdraw their attention o r become anxious rather than to react with p r i d e and c o n f i d e n c e to these crucial d e v e l o p m e n t a l achievements. In conclusion, then, I would emphasize that this self-state d r e a m may have o f f e r e d o n e m o r e chance for analyst and analysand to grasp with new precision the nature o f the selfobject's pathogenic influence on self development. W h y had the nuts, bolts, and

nails o f the self—O'Neill's "the grace o f G o d is

glue"—not become (via transmuting internalization) an intrinsic part o f the self structure during childhood? W h a t was it about the nature o f the selfobject's cohesion-enhancing support that necessitated the selfobject's actual presence? T h e s e are crucial questions and to answer them (e.g., via further material that may have been forthcoming after an accurate understanding o f the patient's self-state was communicated through the use o f an appropriate m e t a p h o r ) may not only have advanced this particular analysis but added to the storehouse o f scientific information that could be applied to subsequent analyses. I believe this consideration o f the interpretive subtleties elicited by a single self-state dream underscores my principal point: Far from being uniform and monotonous, self-psychologically i n f o r m e d genetic explanations are prodigiously varied. T h e nine basic permutations we have outlined thus far (fragmentation, weakness, o r disharmony o f the self in response to a lack o f mirroring, a lack o f alter-ego support, or an unavailability o f idealizable selfobjects) represent no m o r e than a first crude outline o f the multiplicity o f self deficiencies that derive from the multiplicity o f selfobject flaws. It is challenging and exciting to

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contemplate the research task before us: to examine in detail the various self states as they e m e r g e during analysis and to correlate, via the study o f the transference, specific flaws in selfobject responsiveness with specific disturbances o f the self.

V H a v i n g considered at length Wallerstein's claim that self-psychological explanations are monotonous and uniform, I now turn to his other criticism pertaining to my report o f the two analyses of M r . Z. (see chap. 11, this volume). Wallerstein feels that the ultimate success o f M r . Z.'s second analysis was not due, as I believe, to a shift in my theoretical outlook from traditional psychoanalytic theory to self psychology, but to the fact that, simply stated, the second analysis had been conducted by m e with reasonable competence (i.e., in line with traditional theory and technique), whereas the first analysis had not. Even before confronting Wallerstein's judgment concerning the two analyses of M r . Ζ., I had given a g o o d deal of thought to the position he adopts, as it has been debated by others o n earlier occasions ( G o l d b e r g , 1980; Ostow, 1979). Y o u should therefore not be surprised when I immediately express my certainty that this position is essentially erroneous. B e f o r e I attempt to p r o v e my point, however, I must briefly turn to a related issue that must be confronted before we can examine in earnest the question concerning theory change. Expressis verbis, the question o f whether I m o v e d to a new theory—with regard to the viewpoint o f self psychology in general and with regard to the second analysis o f M r . Z. in particular—implicates a larger question that has been asked a number o f times. T h i s question is whether the new theory o f self psychology, if in fact there is such a theory, should be accorded the status of a new paradigm in psychoanalysis. I must admit that I dislike the term (and the concept) of

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"paradigm," at least as it has come to be understood in psychoanalysis d u r i n g the past fifteen years or so (ct. Gitelson, 1964). It is no longer a sober, well-defined scientific concept—if, ind e e d , it ever was one—but a value judgment. It connotes, so to speak, a scientific batting average of 400 or more; it has underg o n e the kind of transformation that Wallerstein likes to characterize as "vulgarization." Even at best (i.e., even if we could cleanse the concept o f the admixture o f grandiosity that it has acquired), I d o not believe the concept has much to r e c o m m e n d itself, at least not with regard to the use to which psychoanalysts have tended to put Kuhn's (1962) original formulation. Psychoanalysts have used ( o r abused) it in o r d e r to protect and buttress a scientific conservatism, which holds that Freud spelled out the principles that must continue to guide analytic thinking, that Freud's basic dictums define psychoanalysis, and that any major reorientation o f psychoanalytic thinking is tantamount to an abandonment o f the psychoanalytic paradigm and the establishment o f a new science. I have discussed these issues before (Kohut, 1977, p p . 298312) and suggested that, taking physics as a model, the definition o f any branch o f science, including psychoanalysis, should be open-ended. Overly precise definitions, especially when based on supposedly unalterable doctrine, cannot help but have a stifling effect on thought and thus on the vitality o f the science that is restricted by them. I believe, in this connection, that analysts should realize that it is not specific theories that define their science, but the field of investigation (the inner life o f man) as defined by their basic observational stance (introspection and e m p a t h y ) . The contribution of both N e w t o n and Planck, although based on completely different orienting theories, constitute physics because the field of observation (the inanimate w o r l d ) and the scientist's basic attitude toward it (extrospection) remain unchanged. A n d the same should hold true for psychoanalysis, a science that is defined not by the specific theories

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formulated by Freud's o r d e r i n g mind, however awe-inspiring the depth and breadth o f his life work, but by the g o o d fortune—the genius o f the moment, one might say—of Breuer's and A n n a O.'s seminal encounter. It is the basic psychoanalyticsituation, in other words, the situation of someone reporting his inner life, while another empathically listens to the report in o r d e r to be able to explain it, that defines analysis and not the particular theory or o r d e r i n g principle that the listener employs. H a v i n g said this much, let us finally turn to the two analyses of M r . Z. Bypassing all questions about psychoanalytic technique in general and dispensing with any defense o f my personal skills as an analyst in particular, I restricted my focus to the only task that I consider significant. Specifically, I undertake to support two interrelated claims that have been rejected by my critics: the claim that I was indeed guided by a different theory during the second analysis; and furthermore, the claim that this different theory indeed allowed me to see M r . Z.'s personality disorder from a vantage point that was closer to the psychological truth than the vantage point p r o v i d e d by the first analysis. M y attempt to support these two interrelated claims is made with the aid of a single comparison between my interpretation of one specific set of data in the first analysis and my interpretation o f this same material in the second analysis. M y specimen is M r . Z.'s dream o f his father's return, which occurred toward the end o f the first analysis and was spontaneously r e m e m b e r e d by the patient—and reanalyzed—during the corresponding stage of the second analysis. I need not burden my discussion with an account o f clinical details, but merely direct the reader to the relevant sections of the original report (1979, pp. 8-9, 22-23). Suffice it to say here that the dream in question was clearly a significant transference d r e a m and that it was correlated to crucial genetic experiences 8

"Although this particular aspect of the d r e a m lies outside the area o f o u r specific present concerns, I should point out that it occurred in the first analysis (and was remobilized in the second) at a juncture when termination was con-

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of" the oedipal period. ( M r . Z.'s father, w h o had been away, leaving mother and son alone, returned when the little boy was about five.) In the dream M r . Z.'s father is depicted as loaded with gifts for the patient and trying to enter the house. T h e patient, however, tries desperately to keep him out, throwing his whole weight against the d o o r , which the father is trying to o p e n . L e a v i n g aside any discussion o f certain shades and nuances concerning the interpretation o f this dream, I believe I can safely claim, as indeed I did in my report, that when I interpreted this dream as depicting an aspect of the Oedipus c o m p l e x o f my patient, I was fully in harmony with the traditional outlook in which I had been trained and to which I had m o r e o r less subscribed up to that time. T h e father intends to intrude on the mother-son couple; his gifts are his T r o j a n horse. T h e son, for his part, feeling that the father is trying to seduce him in o r d e r to gain entrance and that once inside the house will castrate him—"I

fear

the

Greeks,

even

though

they

bring

gifts"—experiences p r o f o u n d anxiety and mobilizes all the p o w e r at his disposal to keep the father out. Returning to the issue at stake, I cannot accept as valid the claim that my original conceptualization o f this dream from the perspective o f the Oedipus c o m p l e x was an unusually clumsy or erroneous m o v e . O n the contrary, I remain as convinced as ever that an o v e r w h e l m i n g majority of my colleagues would have approached it in approximately the same way; indeed, that a large majority o f analysts would d o likewise even today. I would further avow that disregarding certain questions of emphasis (e.g., the question to what extent the boy's passive homosexuality may have found expression in the d r e a m ) , the explanatory framework that I invoked was fully in tune with tradition. A n d what was my attitude in the second analysis? H o w did the fact that I had broadened my conceptual Instrumentarium templated, that is, at a juncture when the pressure to complete the analytic task paralleled the pressure (to be discussed later) that the boy felt vis-ä-vis a similar task at the a g e o f live.

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via the formulation of a new set of theories influence my perspective on this dream, allowing me to c o m e closer to the psychological truth than had been possible during the first analysis? T h e shift in perspective that determined the focus o f my empathic perceptions as I analyzed M r . Z.'s dream in the second analysis was indeed a crucial one. Stated most tersely, it was a shift from macropsychology to micropsychology.' 1 had shifted, 1

in other words, from the effort to identify psychological macrostructures in conflict, on the one hand, to the effort to identify certain specific defects in the structure of the self along with certain manifestations o f the patient's activated need to acquire a strong, cohesive, and harminous self, on the other hand. Formulated in the terms o f experience-near theory, M r . Z. had been deprived o f the presence o f an idealizable selfobject father during an important phase of self development in childhood. Therefore,

his self

was d e f e c t i v e

and

in n e e d of

transmuting

internalizations via p r o l o n g e d exposure to innumerable smallscale disappointments in the idealized paternal selfobject (optimal frustrations). T h e dream under scrutiny, as I saw during the second analysis, did not depict a rival's return and fear o f castration but an embarras de rkhesses—the sudden availability of an excess o f identificatory opportunities. Unable to assimilate all that was now offered to him, the boy's psyche was overburdened, and he experienced the intense anxiety o f a traumatic

state,

'See my earlier clislinclion between "macropsychologv" (metaphorically speaking, psychological "mountains." e.g.. id impulses clashing with prohibitions) and "micropsychology" (metaphorically speaking, psychological "subpartides"). In the specific instance o f M r . Z . . the distinction is between the predominant aim o f my attention in the two analyses. In the lirsl analysis my allention was not on the pervasive defects in the fabric o f the self, but on conflicts that I sawraging between large areas of segments o f the mental apparatus (intersystemic: hostile impulses in conflict with s u p e r e g o injunctions; intrasvstemic: hostile impulses clashing with loving ones) o r on conflicts that 1 saw raging between broad sectors o f the mental apparatus (hostile impulses in conflicts with reality or. expressed in intersystemic terms, in conllict with the e g o as the agent o f reality). In the second analysis, however, my predominant attention was not on gross intersystemic o r intrasvstemic conflicts, but on the minute but pervasive delects in the fabric o f the patient's self ( f o r a description o f the process by which the particles that form the fabric o f psychic structure are laid d o w n , see Kohut and Seit/, 1963). !

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hopelessly trying to stem the influx of identifications that endangered the existence of his precariously established self. (It must not be forgotten, I should stress, that any self, h o w e v e r stunted its growth and however abnormal its form and content, is better than no self at all, and that any threat to the continued existence of even a severely defective self will be opposed with all the powers at the disposal of the personality.) I would add, furthermore, that the homosexualization o f M r . Z.'s identificatory needs, which had undoubtedly taken place—a homosexuality with passive anal- and oral-incorporative preconscious imagery surrounded by disintegration anxiety that may at times have been tinged with a trace o f paranoid suspiciousness—is, in our context, to be understood as his attempt to modulate and control the intense need for the identificatory, structural "gifts" that the father's presence now suddenly made available. T h e boy's attempt to block the intrusion of the father and his gifts is therefore to be understood not as a defense against castration anxiety but as a defense against the threat of loss of self, preconsciously elaborated as a closing of bodily openings into which the maleness of the father is experienced by him as wanting to intrude. T h e child needs the maleness; he needs the identificatory gifts. By getting them all at once, however, his precariously established self is now in danger o f being destroyed, of being replaced, of being taken o v e r wholesale by the self of another."

1

'"The individual w h o al a developmcntally decisive- juncture, such as that outlined for M r . Z . at the time o f his lather's return, a b a n d o n s his precariously established self, thus relinquishing all h o p e for its future strengthening a n d growth, lays the g r o u n d w o r k lor a manifestly homosexual position in later life, that even in the instances the original self is retained, however disdainfullv it may be disavowed, is attested to by the lifelong m o u r n i n g that a perceptive observer can sense in many homosexuals (i.e., by the depressive undertones that resonate t h r o u g h o u t the whole span o f any "gav" life). It is least in evidence, though still discernible, in the active partner o f the homosexual couple (whether female o r male) w h o , in the enactment a n d lifelong dramatization o f the incorporation of the n e e d e d selfobject o f childhood, assumes the role o f the endlessly giving, self-substance-providing selfobject at the same time as the partner represents his o w n needy childhood self ( f o r an early description of these relationships, see Kohut, 1948).

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Should we then claim, on the basis of this clinical example illustrating the direction into which our thinking has m o v e d , that self psychology has created a new "paradigm"? 1 believe that this question is a matter o f taste and nomenclature rather than a substantive scientific issue. H a v i n g appended this qualifier, however, 1 am still inclined to respond to the question in the negative. In particular, with reference to the theory change that took place between the two analyses of M r . Ζ., I agree with M . Ferguson (1981), w h o convincingly adduced my report on " T h e T w o Analyses o f M r . Z . " as evidence for his own (in my words) "antiparadigm" position. Ferguson demonstrates, in support of the conception of the steps by which science advances held by such philosophers of science as Laudan (1977) and Feyerabend (1975), that the significance o f the theory change that took place between the two analyses o f M r . Z. is most cogently defined with reference to the fact that the new theory has greater explanatory power and broader explanatory scope than the old theory it replaces. Still, having given expression to my agreement with the "antiparadigm" position, at least as regards psychoanalysis, and having endorsed Ferguson's way o f formulating the effect of selfpsychological theory on the success of the second analysis of M r . Ζ., I now feel impelled to make an entry on the other side o f the account. I feel impelled to stress, in other words, that the significance of the forward m o v e in the d e v e l o p m e n t of depth psychology e m b o d i e d in the theories of self psychology and in its whole outlook on man is insufficiently appreciated so l o n g as one restricts one's evaluation to the problem-solving p o w e r of its formulations. O r , to restate my view in yet another way, the greater problem-solving ability o f self psychology is itself an outgrowth o f a shift in emphasis and perspective that differentiates it from traditional analysis and allows us to speak o f it as a new step in psychoanalysis. Self psychology constitutes a new step in depth psychology because its psychological observations are made against the back-

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g r o u n d o f a broader conception of man and his problems. It sees man not only as Guilty Man, a psychic organization split by conflicts and either functioning despite them or malfunctioning because o f them, a psychic organization fueled in its activities by drives and either breaking d o w n under their at times excessive pressure or withstanding the pressure and transforming

the

underlying energy into adaptive action. It also sees him as Tragic Man, an abiding self in need of nutriment for its establishment and maintenance and endangered by the flawed responses of selfobjects throughout life, a self falling ill (the fragmented, enfeebled, or disharmonious self) when the gap between the need for sustenance from selfobjects and the actual performance with which they respond becomes too great, or able to maintain itself courageously, despite selfobject failure, on the basis of the sustaining responses it has experienced in the past and the confident expectation o f renewed selfobject availability in the future. Self psychology, further, constitutes a new step in depth psychology because, after first identifying certain dominant values by which analysts have traditionally been guided—values, I must add, which have unduly narrowed and even, at times, distorted our perception of the psychological phenomena that we observe both as therapists and as scientific investigators o f the human mind—it has been able to achieve an appropriate d e g r e e of emotional detachment from them, broadening our outlook on the psychological field, and thereby rectifying some o f the former distortions o f o u r clinical perception and theoretical understanding. A m o n g the ideal that self-psychologically informed analysis no l o n g e r places at the very pinnacle o f its hierarchy of values, I can mention two: ( 1 ) the ideal o f courageously facing the truth; (2) the ideal o f psychological independence. Both ideals, as any student of the history o f ideas knows, have for a number o f centuries been leading values of Western man. A n d psychoanalysis, via Freud's personal affinity for these values, adopted them as integral constituents o f its therapeutic and sei-

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entitle philosophy. U p to a point they are, of course, important and attractive values, but their relative importance as inner guides and prompters is not uniform for all people. They may be less relevant than other values to the particular kind o f inner guidance needed by certain individuals. M o r e o v e r , there are also specific periods o f history—our o w n is o n e o f them, we believe—when the values of truth-facing and/or independence are unrelated to the dominant era-specific psychological dangers that man confronts. In such periods man must maintain his threatened psychological integrity with the aid of other, eraspecific values and ideals. W e believe that truth-facing should be, to express our meaning in traditional mental apparatus terms, predominantly a function o f the e g o and not the supere g o . In this context an ideal of independence, which undoubtedly functioned as an important value for certain individuals during certain periods of history, must, in a broader psychological perspective, be evaluated as an idealistic and unrealistic abstraction. A s the self psychologist sees it—and we believe that we are here in tune with the essential psychological problem o f our century—the dominant positions in the value scale of m o d e r n man are occupied by those values that further the establishment and buttress the maintenance o f man's creative-productive self. T h e peak values o f m o d e r n man, in other words, are those values that guide and sustain him in the attempt to reassemble his self through an increased and guilt-free ability to find appropriate selfobjects and in the attempt to liberate his innate ability to serve—and to serve joyfully—as a selfobject for others. But I fear that I have let myself be lured away from the main purposes o f discussion by the attraction that experience-distant, broad topics tend to exert o n all of us. In reflecting thus o n scientific progress and the historical change o f values, however, I have not lost sight o f the fact that this volume is primarily directed to those interested in the clinical application of selfpsychological theories, and it behooves me to end my discussion

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on a note of concreteness and sobriety. Returning, therefore, to the clinical point on which 1 focused earlier in the analysis of the dream of the return of M r . Z.'s father, 1 repeat that in the first analysis my attention had been focused almost exclusively on the scrutiny o f psychological macrostructures (i.e., on M r . Z.'s conflicts), whereas in the second analysis the theory changes that had taken place during the interval between the analyses guided me toward the examination of microstructures (i.e., to the condition o f M r . Z.'s self). "What was the state o f M r . Z.'s self as it was reflected in the dream?" I asked myself. A n d then, grasping the fact that M r . Z. was not trying to keep out a dangerous competitor—a drive-object—but was trying to control the sudden, massive influx of identifications that endangered his self, I was able to assist him in the task of bringing his analysis to a successful conclusion.

17 On Empathy (1981)

I will summarize in my own way. 1 would think that many of those who spoke during these meetings, belonging to the intimate circle o f my friends and collaborators, have already begun to digest some o f my work during the last year or two that is still far from publication, and is not—I'm very persnickety about such things—in that final form that I try to insist on. But I d o believe that a m o n g the things that I have been writing about, in a book called How Does Analysis Cure? a 150-page essay on the concept o f defenses and resistances seen in the light of self psychology, and a broad statement on issues o f empathy on various levels o f meaning o f this term, are the most important ones. A n d I will address myself to the issue o f empathy despite the fact that [Editor's note: T h e following was transcribed from a recording o f exlt'in/iortinrous remarks m a d e by Heinz Kohut at the Fifth C o n f e r e n c e on Self Psychology at Berkeley. California, in October 1981. This was Kohut's last public address before he died just a lew days later, these remarks w o u l d undoubtedly have been carefully edited by him afterward, to meet his standards for publication. T h e v have only been minimally edited here, to enhance clarity by deleting some repetitious phrases, a few extraneous asides, and in o r d e r to maintain p r o p e r grammatical standards. Editing was also held to a minimum, so as to retain the immediacy, informality, a n d emotional impact o f Kohut's delivery, even at the expense o f some "inelegance'' ol style. A n earlier transcript, p r e p a r e d by Robert J. Leider, M . D . , in September 1983, for the exclusive use o f the Sell Psychology W o r k s h o p at the Chicago Institute for Psychoanalysis, was helpful in the p r e p aration o f this version.]

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some couple of years a g o I kept saying I'm sick of that topic. It seems to be nonproductive. I hear o v e r and o v e r again the same arguments, and they are so far o f f my meaning that I had the impression that I was wasting my time, my emotions, my energy that I could use on new ideas and new work. But idiot that I am, I still don't know, despite a fairly long life, and hopefully some attainment of wisdom, that when people keep asking you the same damn question, something must be wrong! Something is w r o n g . What is w r o n g is not what I said in 1959, in this pivotal paper of mine on "Introspection and Empathy," an investigation or an examination o f the relationship between m o d e of observation and theory.

This [as the subtitle clearly

indicates] was the paper; [it was] not on empathy, on being e m pathic as an act; [but] only on empathy as a definer of a field, [which is] therefore a field o f pure psychology, a field that relates to the inner life of man, the complex mental states—a definition of psychoanalysis that I have proposed many, many years a g o already. I think even in one of my presidential addresses, when I was still M r . Psychoanalysis and in the center o f the psychoanalytic m o v e m e n t , even then I said that [psychoanalysis was] the science of complex mental states, [a definition] which bypassed this specific theory, o r that specific theory, h o w e v e r important theories may be. It is just as important to realize [the necessity of omitting specific theories from defining our o w n field o f ] investigations, as it would be in [connection with d e f i n i n g ] , let us say, the physical sciences as the sciences that work with the theories o f causality, time, and space. By no means is that [explicit inclusion o f specific theories in the definition] necessary. There are physical sciences that d o not work with the theories of causality, time and space, and yet they are physical sciences. So the same is true for psychoanalysis. T h e r e is another reason why I want to g o back to empathy—namely, that I have a sense o f responsibility about the abuse of this concept. The fact again that people have acted as if I

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were abusing it makes me g o up on a high horse, and say, " T h e s e idiots, they don't read what I write!" But again I should have listened. I f they misunderstand (undoubtedly there are also irrational motivations, probably narcissistic ones, competitiveness, G o d knows what, I don't know, and I don't really want to make these d u m b interpretations); the point is that if they misunderstand, other people must misunderstand, too. They will claim that empathy cures. They will claim that o n e has to be just "empathic" with one's patients and they'll be doing tine. I don't believe that at all! What d o I believe? B e f o r e I g o into the m o r e exact practical statements aimed to contribute a little bit o f antidote to the sentimentalizing perversions in psychotherapy about curing through love, through empathy, through kindness, through compassion, to just being there and being nice and " Y e s , I understand you"; before I g o into that, I think what I need to d o , if I take you seriously, and I think I should, is to define empathy on the various levels on which this concept can be used. A n d having done that, I believe I can c o m e back again and make clearer what I said in my most recent writings. Let me first talk about empathy very, very briefly in the way in which I used it in the epistemological sense in 1959. In 1959 I used it, as the beautiful w o r d goes ( I never quite understood it, I looked it up sixteen times already in the dictionary; I think by now I d o k n o w ) . In other words, in the most broadly based theorizing about a science, (and these are my words, I always like concrete and palpable words) in a most experience-distant way, a theorizing in the most experience-distant way about a science. A s such, that may not be easy for many p e o p l e to understand. A n d I thought about why. As such, it is a definer of the field and nothing else. External reality and the sciences that deal with external reality are defined by the operational stance of the observer—namely, extrospection, and I will add for theoretical reasons (although it plays a very small role in the physical

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sciences) vicarious extrospection, corresponding to empathy. In other words, w e not only look at things theoretically, but we also listen to reports of people w h o have looked at things that we can't see either because we weren't there, w e couldn't be there, or because it is totally o r forever impossible to be there. Let us say, for e x a m p l e , scientists will instruct nonscientif ic astronauts what to look for on the m o o n , what to keep their eyes o p e n for, what particularly clearly to report about. W h e n the astronauts come back, they give their report (free association there is called debriefing), and the scientist evaluates now what he should d o with the data. T h i s is vicarious extrospection. [ R e g a r d i n g ] events, I mean physical events for example, in the ancient world, we have to rely on eye-witness accounts. W h e n was that eruption of Vesuvius? T w o different reports c o m e in with slightly different dates to be deducible from them. N o w we can think "where is the greater evidence?" It seems to me that's very, very similar to what the analyst does about the vicarious introspection o f his patient. W e cannot see what's g o i n g on in him. W e instruct him to report what's going on in his inner life. Introspection, pursued in a very particular way, for p r o l o n g e d periods, with due attention paid to all kinds o f obstacles to reporting o f things that are unpleasant to report. People in [history], let's say the G r e e k historians H e r odotus, X e n o p h o n , T h u c y d i d e s , they had axes to grind. Y o u know one was conservative, p r o Sparta; the other o n e was liberal, p r o Athens. W e have to know that, and then we'll take with a grain of salt what w e read and what we really believe. So outpatients of course have axes to grind. N o w mind you, I don't want to o v e r d o analogies. I know tremendous differences [exist] too. I ' m not suddenly forgetting my whole life as a listening psychoanalyst. I know how to listen to patients. So the analogies [should not b e ] overdrawn. But they have basic validity, I think. So really introspection and empathy are, in that sense, definers o f the field. T h a t means that they are defining our field as the inner life o f man and therefore that we are psychologists.

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I d o not believe, however hard it was tried, that there is a possibility to create such a misalliance as psychobiology, or biopsychology, o r something on that order. It was tried and the results o f this attempt led to the worst distortions o f the perception o f man that psychoanalysis is guilty of: the introduction o f the drive (not the experience o f being driven, not a self lusting and wishing to kill—that's psychology); but "the drive," being processed by an apparatus, being tamed via influences of civilization on the e g o that filters the drive. Y o u know, I know my classical analysis so well; and t h a t . . . [ T h e r e was some laughter in the audience which interrupted Kohut, but then he responded to it] . . . no, I mean that, because I d o think that my colleagues don't. T h e y don't even know anymore what I am arguing about. But they have made compromises in a vague way. 1 never d o that a n y m o r e , I never think that way anymore. I believe all that. But nobody has ever faced u p to the issue as the issue deserves. Freud was a genius. T h i s is no way o f treating Freud—to by-pass him. Freud has to be respected for what he gave us, and what we can see about the shortcomings of what he did, from our vantage point. A n d I think that is the respectful attitude toward a genius o f some time ago. Secondly, I would say that introspection and empathy should be looked at as informers of appropriate action. In other words, if you understand, "put yourself into the shoes of," think yourself appropriately into the inner life of another person, then you can use this k n o w l e d g e for your purposes. N o w I don't know how many times I have stressed that these purposes can be of kindness, and these purposes can be o f utter hostility. If you want to hurt somebody, and you want to know where his vulnerable spot is, you have to know him before you can put in the right dig. That's very important. W h e n the Nazis attached sirens to their dive bombers, they knew with fiendish empathy how p e o p l e on the g r o u n d would react to that with destructive anxiety. T h i s was correct empathy, but not for friendly purposes. Certainly

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we assume on the whole that when a mother deals with her child, and when an analyst deals with his patient, correct empathy will inform her appropriate maternal and his appropriate therapeutic analytic action. So [empathy] is an informer o f appropriate action, whatever the intentions may he. That's clear, and I don't think it needs any further elaboration, I'm sure. So, we g o to the next o f the levels in which we can examine empathy. Empathy serves also, and this is now the most difficult part—namely, that despite all that I have said, empathy, per se, is a therapeutic action in the broadest sense, a beneficial action in the broadest sense o f the word.

That seems to contradict

everything 1 have said so far, and I wish I could just simply bypass it. But, since it is true, and I know it is true, and I've evidence for its being true, I must mention it. N a m e l y , that the presence of empathy in the surrounding milieu, whether used for compassionate, well-intentioned therapeutic, and now listen, even for utterly destructive purposes, is still an admixture of something positive. In other words, there is a step beyond an empathyinformed hatred that wants to destroy you; and an empathyless environment that just brushes you o f f the face o f the earth. T h e dreadful experiences o f p r o l o n g e d stays in concentration camps during the Nazi era in Germany were just that. It was not cruelly on the whole. ( T h e Nazis w e r e not sadistic or cruel in those camps. There were exceptions of course, it couldn't be otherwise, there are always some exceptions; but that was clearly punished, that was clearly frowned o n . ) T h e y totally disregarded the hu1

manness of the victims. T h e y were not human, either fully not human, or almost not human (there was a little shift between, I think, the Jews and the Poles, or something like that, in that respect). T h a t was the worst.

'[Keillor's nolo: Neither the search ol the literature n o r eve-wituess accounts substantiate either the absence o f sadism or their punishment when these did occur. In tact, all eye-witnesses report frcc|iicnt a n d most brutal sadistic acts without evidence of attempts to c u r b these o r to punish the o l l c n d e r . N e v e r theless. Kohut's basic thesis that the Nazis aimed at lotal dehuinani/.ation of c a m p inmates, b e f o r e and d u r i n g their extermination, is I hereby not allered. |

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There is a touching story—again I c o m e back to the astronauts, you may r e m e m b e r it—of the astronauts when their spaceship, before landing on the m o o n , was hit by a meteorite, that's the theory. A n d they seemed to have lost control over it. A n d they had the choice, if there was indeed a loss of control, to g o on circling for many, many weeks with their supplies, or to g o back to Earth and—because

they couldn't

slow down—get

scorched and burned up upon entering. A s they w e r e discussing this issue a m o n g themselves—there was no question in their minds: " W e would never want to have our remains circle forever in empty space. Even if we burn up, it's Earth, it's our h o m e . " A n d that, I submit, stands for an empathic human milieu. There are many other examples that I could give you. I will not. 1 will at this moment g o a little bit on a side [trip] and talk about an aspect of my book that 1 consider to be quite an important one, namely, my differentiation between castration anxiety and disintegration anxiety; between the [fear o f ] loss of a prized part o f the body and the [fear o f ] wiping out of the [whole] self. I won't talk about castration anxiety, everybody knows what that is. But disintegration anxiety is not so easy. Disintegration anxiety means the loss of empathy, the loss of an empathic milieu, the loss o f an understanding milieu, not necessarily o f the correct action, but the loss o f any understanding. There are children with horrible mothers and fathers, misunderstanding their kids, reacting to them in horrible ways ( o h . of course, they show the scars when they g r o w u p ) ; but the worst suffering I ' v e seen in adult patients is in those very subtle, and difficult to uncover, absences of the mother—because her personality is absent. N o t h i n g will be told about it, because the patient assumes this is the milieu in which people grow up. H e had been made to feel guilty all his life for yearning for something else, for making demands. A n d the mother rightly made him [feel] guilty because he d e m a n d e d something that just wasn't in her to give. It is the hidden psychosis of the mother, a much

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m o r e frequent early circumstance, than has been understood. It is a psychosis o f the mother that Kafka described so well in The Castle—the attempt to come close and yet there is absolutely no response; o r in The Trial—the

wish to know what he's guilty

about. T h e r e is no guilt, he's just disregarded, the knife turns and he's—that's the end o f him. Metamorphosis—the changing to an ugly insect because the parents in the next r o o m speak o f him in the third person singular—he's doing that, he's d o i n g that, clearly excluding him. Sometimes the reports are very subtle and you have to be very, very perceptive to grasp them. In one o f my patients, it was the mother's hiding behind bridge cards. W h e n e v e r he came, there were those bridge cards between him and her. But she had nothing to give. It is this emptiness that leads to the worst sufferings later in life. W e l l now, how does all this fit with what probably is the most important point that I made in Hmv Does Analysis (hire? I submit that the most important point that I made was that analysis cures by giving explanations—interventions on the level o f interpretation; not by "understanding," not by repeating and confirming what the patient feels and says, that's only the first step; but then [the analyst has] to m o v e on and give an interpretation. In analysis an interpretation means an explanation o f what is going [ o n ] in genetic, dynamic, and psychoeconomic terms. I , for some reason, don't want to open the can o f worms o f Hartmann's adaptive point o f view now—which I believe is a foreign body in analysis, however, brilliant this bridging concept to sociology may be. But I believe that the m o v e from understanding to explaining, from confirming that the analyst knows what the patient feels and thinks and imagines (that he's in tune with his inner life), and the next step o f giving o f interpretations is a m o v e from a lower form o f empathy to a higher form o f e m pathy. Interpretations are not intellectual constructions. I f they are, they won't work; [they might w o r k ] accidentally, but not in principle. A g o o d analyst reconstructs the childhood past in the

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dynamics o f the current transference with warmth, with understanding for the intensity o f the feelings, and with the fine understanding o f the various secondary conflicts that intervene as far as the expression o f these [childhood wishes and needs] are concerned. T h e paradigm, or should I rather say (because that's now a loaded w o r d too, for some crazy reason), the prototype, the prototype o f this shift—this two-step m o v e from understanding to explaining—is, in childhood, a particular situation that I described, hopefully with feeling, in my new work, How Does Analysis Cure? I [cited there the example o f ] a child and his mother in the park. T h e child, as a young child always [does], clung to the mother. But the sun was shining, pigeons were walking around there. A l l o f a sudden, the child felt a new buoyancy and daring and he moved away from the mother, toward the pigeons. H e went three to four steps, and then he looked back. T h e general interpretation of that is that the child is anxious; he wants to be sure he can come back to be encased by the mother's arms again, cradled, etc. I think all that is true. But something much m o r e important is true. H e wants to see the mother's proud smile of his achievement. H e wants to see her pride, "look at him moving out now, on his own, isn't it wonderful?" A n d at this moment something extremely important has happened. A low form of empathy, a body-close form o f empathy, expressed in holding and touching and smelling, is n o w expressed only in facial expressions and perhaps later in words, " I ' m proud of you, my boy." N o w that's an interpretation, or at least it is the parallel to the interpretation in psychoanalysis. H o w ? I told you already—there is understanding that is sort o f like the bodily holding, a merger, and then that is given up later on (in some sick p e o p l e it might take a long time before o n e can actually make the next step); and then as the next step is made, it is o n a much higher form o f empathy, empathy in a complex way, with [explanation o f ] the past and how the present repeats it, all the forces that are involved—and given careful expression,

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it's still empathy. It's still psychological (and in that sense on a higher level), [it is now an] understanding [ o f ] the message. I think that's extremely important, and shows you that what you really need to investigate carefully is what I've c o m e to call the developmental line o f empathy—from its early archaic beginnings, to such high levels as barely touching, as barely still having any trace o f the original holding that communicates the empathic understanding. So that essentially tells you what I think about empathy. It is something that I could talk about for a long, long time. But as I said, and with that I want to close, I bring this up for many, many reasons. But one o f the main reasons is the responsibility that I feel that you must not abuse the concept o f empathy for vaguely supportive measures, but grasp the idea o f what empathy is, in fact, on various levels o f its development. Certainly I'm not stodgy, and I think the m o r e one knows, the greater one's f r e e d o m . The m o r e one knows, the less important some ritual that one sticks to anxiously, because no one knows what is appropriate and what is inappropriate. There is always the question o f how to treat people with very serious self disturbances, w h o cannot possibly benefit from interpretations. I believe. It's too soon, and for many years, they d o need an empathic understanding on the closest level that we can muster. A n d it does not mean that o n e cannot m o v e naturally, slowly, and gradually into higher forms o f empathy and explaining, much, much, much later on. I remember, and I think I'll close my remarks this morning with this, I believe, telling story. A b o u t fifteen years ago I was e n g a g e d in a long, long analysis with a woman w h o was extremely vulnerable. She lay d o w n on the couch the first time she came, having interrupted a previous analysis abruptly. She said she felt like lying in a coffin, and that now the top o f the coffin would be closed with a sharp click. I ' m telling it to you that way, because it expressed so well what she felt. She was deeply depressed, and

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at times I thought I would lose her—that she would finally find a way out of the suffering and kill herself. But I didn't. A t one time at the very worst moment of her analysis, during the first year o r perhaps year and a half, she was so badly o f f I suddenly had the feeling [and said]: " H o w would you feel if I let you hold my fingers, for a little while now while you are talking? M a y b e that would help you." Doubtful maneuver. I am not recomm e n d i n g it, but I was desperate. I was deeply worried. So I gave her two fingers, m o v e d up a little bit in my chair, gave her two fingers. A n d now I'll tell you what is so nice about that story. Because an analyst always remains an analyst. I gave her my two fingers. She took a hold o f them, and I immediately m a d e a genetic interpretation to myself. It was the toothless gums of a very young child clamping d o w n on an empty nipple. T h a t was the way it felt. I didn't say anything. I don't know whether it was right. But I reacted to it even there, to myself, as an analyst. [ A f t e r this o n e occasion] that was never necessary anymore. I wouldn't say that it turned the tide, but it overcame a very, very difficult impasse at a given dangerous moment, and gaining time that way we went on for many, many m o r e years with a reasonably substantial success. So with that I think I will now close. I'm very glad you waited for m e . I'm quite sure this will be the last self psychology meeting that I will attend, but I wanted to d o my utmost to be able to g o through with my promise. So, let's all hope for a g o o d future for the ideas e m b o d i e d in self psychology. Good-bye.

18 Introspection, Empathy, and the Semicircle of Mental Health (1981)

T w e n t y - f i v e years a g o , I spoke at the twenty-fifth anniversary o f our Institute. T o d a y I am speaking again—as far as I know, as the single still living and scientifically active o f the participants of that f o r m e r occasion. T h a t celebration contained only two presentations and lasted only one day: half the day was d e v o t e d to a paper by T h e r e s e Benedek—on a psychosomatic topic, I believe, discussed by several analysts especially interested in that field. During the other half day I presented my paper, "Introspection, Empathy, and Psychoanalysis," which was discussed by Rudolph Loewenstein, H e l e n M c L e a n , Maxwell Gitelson, and Franz A l e x a n d e r . In view of the fact that my address today will take off from the point that I had reached then, I will remark briefly on the f o r m e r occasion. T h e discussants differed widely in their feelings T h i s p a p e r is Heinz Kohut's last a n d was written shortly before bis death for presentation as a plenary address at the celebration o f the Fiftieth Anniversary o f the Chicago Psychoanalytic Society and the Chicago Institute for Psychoanalysis. This p a p e r was edited a n d presented (in an abbreviated f o r m ) posthumously in Chicago by his son. T h o m a s A . Kohut, on N o v e m b e r 7, 1081, a n d subsequently published in the International Journal of Psychoanalysis, (i3:395-407, 1982. This is the original, unabbreviated version of the p a p e r , jointly edited by T h o m a s A . Kohut a n d the editor o f this volume.

537

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about my paper: from Alexander's intense, angry, almost violent objections to it, over Loewenstein's severe but respectful critique, and Gitelson's middle position—more criticism than acceptance; but it was he w h o insisted that, however great the N e w Y o r k e g o psychologists' doubts might be, the paper had to be published by the Journal of the Association—to, finally, Helen McLean's warmly expressed acceptance and praise. A n d yet, as I knew only dimly at that time but as I have c o m e to see ever m o r e clearly since, all the discussants, whether laudatory or disapproving, had fastened on issues that w e r e unrelated to the subject matter o f my paper. T h e y all missed—or disregarded—the essential, simple, and clear scientific message that it contains. I will begin then, today, by spelling out this message once again—as I have d o n e many times since that day twenty-five

years

ago—hoping that I will succeed in adding further colleagues to the list of those who have c o m e to understand it. A n d I will then, today, from the secure basis that I established twenty-five years ago, proceed further and take an additional step in a new direction. After the disappointment I experienced at being faced with a total absence o f response to what I had p r o p o s e d and being exposed instead to great numbers of rejecting and accepting reactions from readers who, I am forced to conclude, had formed an unshakable opinion o f what my essay dealt with after reading the title, i.e., disregarding already the subtitle o f the paper by which I defined my topic, you might expect that I would g o about the task to which I decided to devote the first half of today's presentation with some diffidence. But this is not the case. Both my capacity for dispassionate reflection and my sense of h u m o r have sustained m e during the past twenty-five years, and they d o sustain m e now. I n one o f my favorite novels, Tristram Shandy, Laurence Sterne describes an episode which is relevant in the context. Let me retell it in Sterne's words.

present

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539

'Twas nothing, — I d i d not lose two drops of blood by i t — . . . thousands suffer by choice, what I suffered by accident. — Dr. Slop made ten times m o r e of it, then there was occasion. . . . The chamber maid had left no ******* *** [clearly: chamber pot] under the bed: —cannot you contrive, master, quote Susannah, lifting up the sash with one hand, as she spoke, and helping me up the window set with the other, — cannot you manage, my dear, for a single time to **** *** ** *** ****** γ [Clearly, the last four words are 'out of the window' — the four-lettered first, the decisive verb, I'll leave for you to fill in.] Ί was five years old. — Susannah did not consider that nothing was well-hung in our family, — so slap came the sash d o w n like lightning upon us; — N o t h i n g is left, — cried Susannah, — nothing is l e f t — f o r me, but to run my country.' ' M y Uncle Toby's house was a much kinder sanctuary; and so Susannah fled to it' [ V o l . V , chap. X V I I , p. 284]. I must d e p r i v e you of all the delightfully presented

inter-

vening references to the incident in question—the guilt o f Uncle Toby, and o f his factotum Trim w h o had r e m o v e d the weights and pulleys from the sash windows because Toby needed them for his war games; the father's intensive study o f the ritual of circumcision in o r d e r to find out whether his son had become a Jew, an Egyptian, a Syrian, or a Phoenician, to name only a few, and the fight between Susannah and the doctor while applying a poultice to Tristram's injured penis—and turn directly to the for us pivotal conclusion. Dr. Slop ( V o l . V I , chap. X I V , p. 329) had apparently spoken in an exaggerated way about "Susannah's accident" and, within a week everybody was saying, " T h a t P o o r Master Shandy [twenty-one asterisks] entirely." A n d in three further days the r u m o r was established "That the nursery w i n d o w had not only [twenty-eight asterisks];—but

that

[twenty-one askterisks], also." A family council was thereupon held. It concluded with the following pithy dialogue: " I should

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

shew him publickly, said my U n c l e Toby, at the

market

cross."—" T w i l l have no effect, said my father." But now, disregarding Tristram's father's opinion that once people have espoused a certain strong belief even the most direct and plain demonstration to the contrary will have no effect, I will expose the central message of my introspection essay, sound and undamaged in its essence like Tristram's penis after the sash came d o w n , once m o r e in the market place. W h a t does my 1959 essay discuss, what was its objective? The answer to this question was spelled out in its subtitle. It was to be " A n Examination of the Relationship between M o d e of O b servation and T h e o r y . " I did not write about empathy as a psychic activity. I did not write about empathy as associated with any specific emotion such as, in particular, compassion o r affection. It may be motivated by and used in the service of hostiledestructive aims. I did not write about empathy as associated with intuition. A s is the case with extrospection, it may, occasionally, be used seemingly intuitively by experts: that is, via high-speed mental processes of observation that identify complex configurations preconsciously and at great speed. But mostly, certainly in psychoanalysis, empathy is used

nonintui-

tively, ploddingly, if you wish, by trial and error. I did not write about empathy as being always correct and accurate. A s is the case with extrospection and external reality, introspection and empathy may misperceive the psychic reality we scrutinize (already on the level o f data collection). Misperception occurs either because we are guided by erroneous expectations, by misleading theories that distort our perception—our theories must, in other words, be o p e n - e n d e d and capable o f change under the impact o f new data—or because w e are not sufficiently conscientious and rigorous in immersing ourselves for protracted periods in the field o f our observation. W e must, in other words, be able to tolerate uncertainty and to postpone our closures. But now, while I could, of course, g o o n and enlarge the list

T H E SEMICIRCLE OF M E N T A L H E A L T H

541

of the areas that I did not address in my original essay, I will turn from the negative to the positive, from telling you what I did not say in 1959 to what, in fact, I said. 1 will begin with a general statement. T h e r e are, to speak descriptively and implying no value judgment whatever, two roads in science. L e t m e call them the high road and the low road in science. The low road is the empirical stance—data collection and experience-near theory—vis-ä-vis the field that is investigated. The high road is the epistemological stance. It examines the relationship between the data already collected and, especially, the relationship between the experience-near theories that have already been formulated. O n the basis o f these cognitive maneuvers, it formulates a broad and comprehensive experience-distant theory. I believe that science needs to proceed on both o f these roads. I rebel against a purely speculative stance when theory is built upon theory and the observation o f the field is neglected. But I also know that every science must be aware of the experience-distant theories that p r o v i d e the framework for its experience-near investigations and that it must, from time to time, reexamine the experience-distant theories it has espoused—even those that seem so basic to its outlook that they are hardly considered to be theories anymore, such as in physics, the theories o f space, time, and causality. Luckily, there is a voice in us that will tell us, h o w e v e r dimly we may perceive it at first, and h o w e v e r reluctant w e may be to acknowledge its message, that the time has come for us to question our basic theories. T h i s voice will, in general, speak to us after we have been persistently and increasingly uncomfortable with the pragmatic results that we have been obtaining. It is then that we should m o v e from the low road of pragmatism to the high road of epistemology—only to return to the first in o r d e r to test the new theoretical vantage point that we may now have adopted. In o r d e r to prevent confusion let m e stress here that during the first half o f today's presentation I will be primarily talking

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about empathy in the context in which I had used it in my 1959 paper and in which I have continued to use it, until very recently (for exceptions see Kohut, 1975a, 1975b). I will, in other words, be talking about empathy in an epistemological context. In this context, as should g o without saying, empathy is value neutral—neither necessarily correct, nor necessarily in the service o f affection o r compassion. It is a m o d e o f observation attuned to the inner life of man, just as extrospection is a m o d e o f observation attuned to the external world. ( T h e fact that, in the observation o f the world within, empathy, i.e., vicarious introspection, plays a much greater role than does vicarious extrospection, i.e., gathering of information via eye-witness accounts, in the observation o f the world without is o f no significance in the context o f our present considerations.) It is true, h o w e v e r , that, as I mentioned earlier, empathy can and should also be examined and evaluated in an empirical context as a mental activity, whether e m p l o y e d in everyday life or in scientific pursuits. ( T h e analogous statement can, o f course, be made with regard to extrospection and vicarious extrospection.) A n d I have indeed, very recently, begun to look upon empathy from this point o f view—a complex but still manageable undertaking, if one keeps in mind that even with regard to this "low road," that is, with regard to this experience-near approach, we must differentiate between two levels: (a) empathy as an information-gathering activity, and ( b ) empathy as a powerful emotional bond between people. B e f o r e addressing myself, as I did in 1959, to the role o f empathy in the most experiencedistant, epistemological sense, I will briefly consider the specifics of the examination of empathy in these latter two m o r e e x p e rience-near contexts. A s an information-collecting, data-gathering activity, empathy, as I have stressed many times since 1971, can be right or w r o n g , in the service o f compassion or hostility, pursued slowly 1

'It may be helpful, in this context, to point out some difficulties which reliance on empathy (vicarious introspection) shares with reliance on eyewitness accounts

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T H E SEMICIRCLE OF M E N T A L H E A L T H

and ploddingly or "intuitively," that is, at great speed. In this sense empathy is never by itself supportive or therapeutic. It is, however, a necessary precondition to being successfully supportive and therapeutic. Specifically, the confusion between empathy and always-correct-and-accurate

empathy

is b o t h

understandable and excusable (see chap. 8, this vol.) if we keep in mind the rightfully posited view that correctness and accuracy of a mother's empathy vis-a-vis her baby or small child are to be considered as "normal" (normality as I always stress, not to be confused with frequency of occurrence), certainly, that gross, frequent, and protracted errors in maternal empathy are "abnormal" (again independent o f any consideration o f the number of incidents o f such abnormality in certain groups, cultures, eras of history, etc.). But I would like to add that even if a mother's empathy is correct and accurate, even if her aims are affectionate, it is not her empathy that satisfies her child's selfobject needs. H e r actions, her responses to the child will d o this. In order, however, to achieve their e n d properly, these actions and responses have to be guided by correct and accurate empathy. Empathy is thus a precondition for a mother's appropriate functioning as the child's selfobject, it informs parental selfobject function vis-ä-vis the child, but is not by itself the selfobject function

(vicarious cxtrospcction). a n d c o m p a r e the remedies that are employed to overcome them. W e instruct o u r patients in the use of introspection and how to report their Undings to us just as physicists a n d other exlrospective scientists instructed the astronauts, in anticipation of llieir landings on the moon, about what to look for, what materials to gather, a n d how to report alxuit what ihey saw. The historians o f ancient G r e e c e (such as Herodotus, T h u c y d i d c s . and X e n o p h o n e ) are another case in point. Should we disregard their admittedly unscientific reports a n d rely exclusively on the remains that we can actually still see a n d touch (such as marble statues, temple ruins, inscriptions) in o r d e r to reconstruct the complex history o f Greece? N o one will insist on that. What we must d o is take these reports with a grain o f salt. What axe did this or that historian have to grind"-' W a s he a Conservative leaning toward Sparta, or a Liberal leaning toward Athens, we will ask. W h a t other information d o we have that strengthens o r weakens their reliability in this or that instance. I believe that it is not difficult to discern innumerable analogies here with the evaluation of the results of o u r empthy vis-ä-vis the reports o f o u r analysands concerning their introspective observations.

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that is needed by the child. ( T h a t analogous considerations apply also in analysis needs hardly to be stated.) I wish that I could stop my discussion of empathy as a concrete force in human life at this point without having to make one further step which appears to contradict everything that I have said so far, and which exposes m e to the suspicion of aband o n i n g scientific sobriety and of entering the land of mysticism or of sentimentality. I assure you that I would like to avoid making this step and that it is not the absence of scientific rigor but submission to it that forces me to tell you now that even though everything that I have said up to now remains fully valid so long as we evaluate empathy as an instrument of observation and as an i n f o r m e r of supportive, psychotherapeutic and psychoanalytic action—in therapeutic analysis this action is called interpretation. I must now, unfortunately, add that empathy per se, the m e r e presence o f empathy, has also a beneficial, in a broad sense, a therapeutic effect—both in the clinical setting and in human life in general. Let me first support my claim that the assertion that the presence o f empathy is beneficial per se is a scientific hypothesis and not an outgrowth o f vague sentimentality or mysticism. It is the f o r m e r because it suggests an explanation for certain observable contents and/or sequences o f events in man's psychic life; it is not the latter because it is not the expression o f hopes or wishes and/or of an openly espoused or m o r e or less hidden morality. T h e fact that this hypothesis can be used for the purposes of those who have a moral stake in this area or whose mystical and sentimental bent will lead them to overplaying and o v e r e x t e n d i n g its significance—in particular, for e x a m p l e , by seeing it as the only psychotherapeutic agent that needs to be paid attention to. T h i s position is o f importance for a sociological examination o f competing psychotherapeutic schools but can, in the present context, be disregarded.

2

-I referred to this issue in a h u m o r o u s vein in an address which I gave in 1970 in Berlin, on the occasion o f the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Berlin Psv-

T H E SEMICIRCLE OF M E N T A L H E A L T H

545

For the rest, in view o f the fact that I am basically dealing today, at least in the first part o f my presentation, with experience-distant, epistemological considerations about the interrelationship between empathy as a m o d e o f observation and psychoanalytic theory, I will restrict myself to enumerate a number o f concrete examples to which I have referred in my writings. I will first mention my hypothesis ( f o r details see Kohut, 1984) that the fear o f death and the fear o f psychosis are, in many instances, the expression o f the fear o f the loss o f the empathic milieu that in responding to the self keeps it psychologically alive. Second, I will adduce again the experiences o f the astronauts when their space capsule seemed out o f control, an episode which I described in my correspondence with Professor Erich H e l l e r . ' T h i r d , I will again call attention to the psychologically destructive effect o f having faced impersonal, dehumanized "extermination" experienced by those w h o survived the Nazi concentration camps—as opposed to the far less psychologically destructive experience o f having been exposed to empassioned, hate-motivated killing. A n d I remind you o f the artistic renditions o f the experience o f exposure to the total absence o f emapthy (mainly by Kafka, as in Metamorphosis, but also by O ' N e i l l , as in Long Day's

choanalvtic Institute (see the storv o f the clock repair in Kohut ( l i ) 7 3 . vol. 2. p p . 524-525). '"There is a story about one o f the expeditions o f o u r astronauts that has always touched m e deeply. Y o u may r e m e m b e r it well enough to spare me the task o f checking on the accuracy o f my recall concerning the details o f the actual event that took place a few years a g o . W h e n , d u r i n g one of the moon shots a meteorite smashed part o f the space capsule and seriously impaired the maneuverability o f the craft, the astronauts, after having safely landed back on earth, reported that d u r i n g the hours o f gravest d a n g e r they had felt o n e para m o u n t wish: if they should have to perish, they wanted the capsule containing their bodies, however b u r n e d into dust, to return to earth. The greatest h o r r o r to them had been the thought that their remains w o u l d forever be circling in space, in crazily meaningless trajectories. 1 can well understand their feelings. A n d it is reassuring to me to know, that these three h u m a n beings—they w o u l d undoubtedly consider themselves first and foremost as representatives o f m o d ern scientific technology—harbored as the expression o f their ultimate deepest desire the wish to be symbolically reunited with the earth: the symbol o f h u m a n meaning, h u m a n warmth, human contact, h u m a n experience."

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Journey into Night ( K o h u t , 1977, p. 287; 1978a, pp. 680f., 743, 7801., and 872). A n d finally, I will refer to the significance for self d e v e l o p m e n t of the shift from the sustaining effect of e m pathy-informed physical contact between mother and child to the sustaining effect of the mother's empathic response itself (as when the child moves away and, turning around, sees the mother's face expressing pride in the child's achievement). A n d alternately I will mention that the shift from the sustenance supplied by the analyst's "understanding" to the sustenance signified by his "explaining" can be understood as a shift from a lower to a higher f o r m o f empathy, analogous to the aforementioned shift in early development. It is with the f o r e g o i n g considerations in mind that I will now return to the scientific "high road" if you will, to empathy as a m o d e of observation, in o r d e r once m o r e to spell out the essential content of my original essay on empathy. Specifically, I will give you my reasons for undertaking the epistemological investigation o f the analyst's observational stance, for my conclusion that psychoanalysis cannot d o anything but employ the introspectiveempathic stance, and that it must, therefore, be a psychology—albeit a very special psychology, a psychology of complex mental states—and, finally, for my assessment of the pragmatic consequences that w e r e brought about by the consistent application of the new theory concerning the operationally defined basis on which analysis rests. W h a t p r o m p t e d m e to undertake an epistemological investigation concerning the quintessence o f psychoanalysis? What prompted me, in other words, to undertake a venture in basic theorizing that in general is not to my taste? It was my g r o w i n g discomfort with the fact that the significance o f the quintessential best in psychoanalysis was being increasingly downplayed by m o d e r n analysis and that this process was taking place without anyone seemingly knowing about it or, at least, without anyone openly acknowledging its very consequential, and, in my j u d g -

T H E SEMICIRCLE OF M E N T A L H E A L T H

547

nient, deleterious presence. While it is not only legitimate but, of course, even desirable to apply psychoanalysis to biology and social psychology, as I saw already then with reasonable clarity and as 1 have since then c o m e to see m o r e clearly still, these exports beyond the bounds of the basic rule were not acknowle d g e d as such. Instead it was simply taken for granted that these new developments—I will p r o v i d e conspicuous examples immediately—were true expansions of analysis itself. I selected the samples that I will mention now for two reasons. First, having been formulated by outstanding minds and with courageous directness, they are easy to discern. Second, because, so far as I can j u d g e in retrospect, they w e r e the actual triggers that led me f r o m my overall vague discomfort with the developments that analysis had u n d e r g o n e to the decisive scientific action, e m b o d i e d in my essay o f 1959. T h e examples that I will adduce are the following three. First and foremost, Franz Alexander's application of psychoanalysis to biology, in particular his explanation o f the various medical syndromes that he had selected for depth-psychological investigation via the pivotal concept o f the vector of "the drives." Second, Franz Alexander's application o f psychoanalysis to social psychology, in particular his explanation of large sectors of human behavior via the pivotal concept o f man's oral-drive-fuelled inclination toward "dependence." A n d third, Heinz Hartmann's introduction o f the pivotal concept o f an "adaptive point of view"—as an expansion of psychoanalysis, I stress, not as an application o f psychoanalysis to the field of social psychology.

1

'As a personal note 1 will a d d here that, despite the fact that my objection to the introduction o f the "adaptive point o f view" w e r e the same as those that I felt n e e d e d to b e raised against Alexander's blurring o f the borders o f depth psychology a n d social psychology, Hartmann's e r r o r was less compelling in motivating me to undertake the intellectually a n d emotionally a r d u o u s task o f demonstrating that ( I ) psychoanalysis should be defined with reference to the field that it investigates and not by this o r that specific theory or technique that it employs; and (2) that the domain o f analysis—the inner life o f man—-was correlated to the observer's basic observational stance, t h e explanation for this motivational disparity is complex, personal, a n d unimportant. Suffice it to say

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But now, after sharing with you this personal information about the triggers that p r o m p t e d m e to embark on an inquiry into experience-distant theory, a scientific activity for which, in general, I have little enthusiasm, I will attempt to enumerate those factors that justified the 1959 examination on substantial, intrinsically scientific grounds. I am using the word "substantial" advisedly, because I would like to d o what I can to prevent having my 1959 thoughts brushed aside, whether in ridicule or with respect, as being the unnourishing fruit of pedantry and purism (in this context see Kohut, 1978a, p. 266f.). T h u s , had it been only for the fact that Alexander's psychobiology and Alexander's and Hartmann's sociopsychology had introduced concepts into the framework o f analysis which, belonging to a different world of scientific discourse, were foreign bodies there and could not be accommodated, I would still have been inclined to welcome these, in and of themselves, valuable and impressive contributions to science. I would not have felt the need to outline the operationally determined borders of psychoanalysis and thus to define the essence o f this science. If it was not the need for theoretical exactitude and harmony, what was it that in fact impelled m e to set out in 1959 on this excursion into epistemology? A n d what sustained my interest in pursuing my goal, h o w e v e r subordinated to other tasks since then (see, for example, Kohut, 1977, chap. 7)? I have no doubt that it was the fact that this unacknowledged shift in the quintessentially significant basic stance of the analyst (as illustrated by the aforementioned contributions of A l e x a n d e r and Hartmann) had led not only to changes in theory but also—and this is the substantial issue for me—to a covertly proceeding, gradually increasing distortion o f the analyst's perceptions in his function as a researcher in the applied field and, most importantly, in his therapeutic functions as a professional practitioner. that I was not dealing with Hartmann's influence at close r a n g e since it centered a r o u n d N e w Y o r k and not a r o u n d Chicago, a n d that I felt secure about the total context within which the fine mind o f the protagonist o f this new direction in analysis was operating.

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Leaving aside for this occasion the by no means second-inimportance responsibilities o f the psychoanalyst vis-ä-vis such fields as literary criticism, medicine (psychosomatic research, investigation o f doctor-patient relationships, etc.), anthropology, sociology, and par excellence political science and history, I will turn directly to the prevalent task of the analyst: the therapeutic analysis. H o w have the aforementioned foreign bodies in depth psychology—the biologically u n d e r s t o o d ' c o n c e p t of "drive," the sociopsychologically understood concept of "dependence," and the sociopsychologically understood concept of "adaptation"—led, as I think they did, to the decisive shift o f the essence of analysis, to an alteration o f the analyst's basic stance—both as concerns the theory o f technique and the actual conduct of analysis—that is, I believe, m o r e significant in the long run than external threats, such as that via its absorption by psychiatry, which are openly faced and resisted? T h e answer, broadly speaking, is that they have d o n e so by becoming the unacknowledged and unquestioned basis of an unacknowledged and unquestioned total view of the essence of man and of the essence o f life. Despite innumerable protestations to the contrary, analysis has under the influence o f the aforementioned concepts become less o f a science and m o r e o f a moral system, and psychoanalysis as therapy has become simultaneously, pari passu with their increasing employment, less of a scientific procedure based on the elucidation o f dynamic and genetic relationships and m o r e an educational procedure, aiming at predetermined and thus extraneous goals—which, again, are unacknowledged and unquestioned—toward which the patient is led and which, on the basis of an unacknowledged and unquestioned dimension o f his transference, the patient tries to reach.

'My use o f the w o r d "understood" is not accidental since it is the meaningobserving effect o f certain amphibological terms used in analysis that I wish to stress here. For the discussion o f illustrative examples o f such a m b i g u o u s analytic terms in mv previous writings see K o h u t (1978a, vol. 1. p p . 209, 222, 443).

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

W h a t are these values of traditional psychoanalysis which have been directing the analyst's focus of attention and thus, secondarily, the goals that he pursues, both as researcher

and

therapist? N o one familiar with my writings of recent years can be unacquainted with my answer. It is that knowledge-values and independence-values have been the leading values o f the psychoanalyst, and that they have guided him toward selective perception and selective action within the psychological field in which he has his h o m e . It is not that I object to these values. I n d e e d I subscribe to them. Y e t I believe that their unacknowle d g e d influence distorts the depth-psychological scientist's perception and—here the effects are even m o r e palpable—that their unacknowledged presence interferes with the analyst's ability to allow his analysands to d e v e l o p in accordance with their o w n nuclear p r o g r a m and destiny. I am aware o f the hold that the aforementioned ideals have had on Western man since Socrates (via Plato) and Plato who believed in the primacy o f k n o w l e d g e as man strives to achieve a perfect life and, especially, in opposition to medieval collectivism and medieval anonymity when the individual was eclipsed by his work, since the revival o f the individualism o f antiquity in the Renaissance. Since, as a deeply rooted m e m b e r o f Western civilization, I am myself strongly influenced by these values, I know how difficult it is for us even to be aware o f these basic ideals and thus make them the target o f our scrutiny. A n d , within certain limits, I d o indeed not question them. What I d o question is their abiding primacy in the hierarchy o f man's values—their primacy at all times and under all conditions. H o w e v e r great their importance to Western man, they cannot serve as the ultimate guidepost by which the depth-psychological

researcher

evaluates man and as the scale on which the depth-psychological therapist marks the goals and measures the d e g r e e o f success or failure o f the psychoanalytic treatment. O n the contrary, I hold the view that these two values have prevented us from recog-

THE SEMICIRCLE OF M E N T A L H E A L T H

551

nizing the central position of the self and its vicissitudes in man's psychological make-up par excellence as concerns the man of our time and his era-specifically prevalent psychopathology. T h e y have prevented us, in other words, from acknowledging the significance o f the innermost p r o g r a m of the self, and the importance which the realization or nonrealization o f its potential has for the individual in deciding whether he feels psychologically ill or whether he feels that he is healthy. I will not attempt here to support my stance—a rather peripheral support at best—by adducing a series of facts about developments in other sciences that are analogous to those which, in the f o r m o f self psychology, I am advocating for psychoanalysis. I will simply point out that twentieth-century physics, too, has progressed decisively by relegating the relevance o f certain constituents o f its observational and explanatory framework which up-to-now held unlimited sway, such as time, space, and causality, to certain clearly delimited areas. A n d I also only mention in passing the for depth psychology crucially important point that m o d e r n physics has, with regard to certain areas that it investigates, posited a new kind of objectivity which includes the subjective. Instead I have decided that it would be appropriate within the framework of this presentation to share with you a personal factor that may have contributed to my partial failure twentyfive years a g o to make it harder for the original discussants o f my "Introspection and Empathy" essay to misunderstand my intent. For reasons that I cannot explain I have, so far as I can j u d g e , ever since my childhood been familiar with the relativity of our perceptions of reality and with the relativity of the framework of o r d e r i n g concepts that shape our observations and explanations. I had always assumed that everybody shared this knowledge. A n d when, later in life, during my adolescence, I studied the w o r k o f the great classical investigators of human cognition (from Plato to Kant) and talked with my friends about

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their writings, I was puzzled about the difficulties they seemed to have in understanding them. A n d the same was true when, much later, I acquired an at least superficial acquaintance with the scientific outlook of m o d e r n physics—Einstein's and par excellence that o f Planck and Heisenberg. W h i l e the intricacies of the application of their outlook were—and remain—beyond my grasp, it was always easy for me to accept their basic stance almost as a matter o f course. T w e n t y - f i v e years ago in my paper on "Introspection, Empathy, and Psychoanalysis" I spelled out the application of this basic stance in the field of depth psychology—namely, that an objective reality is in principal unreachable and that we can only report the results of specific operations. I simply assumed that I shared this basic stance with all o f my scientific colleagues and expected that they would, therefore, in their reactions to what I had to say not question the basic stance itself but only reject, approve, or partially reject and a p p r o v e some o f the detailed conclusions that I had drawn from my consistent application of the aforementioned basic principles. I had never seriously considered the fact that I would have to define or d e f e n d my " o p erationalism," my clearly established knowledge that reality per se, whether extrospective or introspective, is unknowable and that w e can only describe what we see within the framework o f what w e have d o n e to see it. I have paid dearly for my naive assumption that all my colleagues shared this k n o w l e d g e of the unknowability—the unknowability in principle—of reality. I was completely unprepared personally for the complete misunderstanding from the side o f my colleagues o f these issues—the debatable issues—that I had presented to them. I was completely unprepared

for the fact

that the only thing discussed was for me a nonissue, hardly in need to be stated at all. Y e t in retrospect, I have come to see that I could probably have d o n e nothing at that time that would have prevented the storm. I have come to see that indeed the gradual explanation and elucidation o f my basic stance, as now

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553

undertaken by me and by an increasing number o f those a m o n g my colleagues who d o understand it, constitute a phase o f scientific working through

that might ultimately facilitate

the

thoughtful consideration o f the changes in theory and practice in psychoanalysis that self psychology is proposing. But now, finally, into medias res and to some o f the concrete issues which twenty-five years a g o p r o m p t e d me to start on the scientific road that I have been following since. For our present purposes I will concentrate on a single issue: the drive concept in psychoanalysis and its consequences. A n d I will immediately emphasize once again that it is not the presence o f the d r i v e concept per se, not the isolated inconsistency of the intrusion of a vague and insipid biological concept into a marvelous system of psychology that would have spurred me toward scientific action—and the same can be said with regard to my attitude visä-vis the concepts o f "dependence," "autonomy," "identity," and "adaptation" imported from social psychology. It was not theoretical inconsistency that p r o m p t e d my reflections but only my conviction that the drive concept (as well as the aforementioned sociological intruders into depth psychology) has had significant deleterious consequences for psychoanalysis. U n d e r normal circumstances we d o not encounter drives via introspection and empathy. W e always experience the not-further-reducible psychological unit o f a loving self, a lusting self, an assertive self, a hostile-destructive self. W h e n drives achieve experiential primacy, we are dealing with disintegration p r o d ucts: in the realm of Eros, the fragmenting self watching helplessly as it is being replaced by a feverishly intensified pleasure experience, by the ascendency of a pleasure-giving erogenic zone, and thus of the drive over the self; or, in the realm of Thanatos, the fragmenting self watching helplessly as it is being replaced by a feverishly intensified rage experience, by the ascendency of a destructive and/or self-destructive orgy, and thus again o f the drive o v e r the self." "1 will not elaborate here, as I have clone elsewhere before (see Kohut, 1977). that there is a roatl back from the pathological drive primacy to the self—indeed

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All the f o r e g o i n g conclusions w e r e stated (or, at least, clearly implied) in my 1959 essay. A n d I also showed already then, though clearly expressed with less vigor than I should have m o bilized, what the specific deleterious consequences w e r e that forced m e increasingly to underline the fact that "the d r i v e " did not belong into a system o f psychology. Specifically, I showed the distortions o f our psychological perceptions in the area o f "independence," "dependence," "free will," a n d — o f course, not then r e f e r r e d to by the present name (see 1978a, vol. I , p. 220 and especially p. 225)—in the area o f the set o f phenomena we have now c o m e to call selfobject transferences. A n d what have I said since then in support o f my viewpoint, and what remains to be said today? A g o o d deal, indeed, not only as concerns yesterday and today, but par excellence as concerns the t o m o r r o w in which the work begun by my colleagues and m e must be continued by a younger generation o f selfpsychologically i n f o r m e d psychoanalysts. A g a i n I am forced to assume that you are familiar with my work—even though I know full well that while many may have quickly sampled my writings, there are only a few w h o have immersed themselves into them by devoting sufficient time and e n e r g y to the task o f being able to say that they have actually read them.

7

But since I can obviously not repeat here what I

have now said in hundreds o f pages during the last ten years or more, I will restrict myself to identifying m o r e o r less briefly certain important areas on which I cannot focus extensively today.

that the intensity o f the drive experience can be used by the remnants o f the self to recrystallize its structure. I also will not discuss here the difference between the above-mentioned slates of self disintegration a n d the sell voluntarily a n d temporarily giving u p its watchfulness, d u r i n g orgasm and d u r i n g certain other intensely p u r s u e d activities. 'I mean read them in the sense to which I recently referred when I welcomed the participants at the Boston C o n f e r e n c e a year a g o (this volume, chap. I S ) .

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T H E SEMICIRCLE OF M E N T A L H E A L T H

A s the first of these I will mention the interrelatedness of drive

psychology,

on

the

one

hand,

and

hidden

morality—courageously facing the truth morality and

inde-

pendence morality—on the other hand, that characterizes traditional analysis. A n d , secondly, interrelated with the second point, I will remind you of my previous efforts to raise into my colleagues' awareness the view of man, of the essential nature of man, o f normal man, as it were, that traditional analysis has espoused: namely, man as an insufficiently and incompletely tamed animal, reluctant to give up his wish to live by the pleasure principle, unable to relinquish his innate destructiveness. Since the second o f these t w o basic characteristics of psychoanalysis will f o r m the starting point o f the second major topic o f today's presentation, I will, in preparation for the step into new territory that I promised you for today, elaborate my thoughts concerning the view of man that traditional analysis had adopted from the Zeitgeist in which it arose—a view o f man to which most analysts subscribe as a matter o f course. I will first remind you that w e are referring to the concept o f man's psychological nature espoused by traditional analysis as the concept o f "Guilty M a n , " while w e designate the corresponding view of self psychology—a broader, m o r e comprehensive view that complements the previous o n e but does not supersede it—by the term " T r a g i c Man." I will not discuss these two views o f the nature of man again but will only add a comment that, so far as I know, I have not m a d e before. Even though Freud (and a great number o f influential present-day analysts follow him completely h e r e ) professed the belief that the subject matter of psychoanalysis was " h o m o natura" (Binswanger, 1957) and that the investigation of his inner life should, therefore, be regarded as falling within the domain o f the natural sciences, integrated, in particular, as closely as possible, with biology and medicine, the espousal o f the quasibiological concept o f drives processed by a neutral apparatus has in fact not led to a biological concept o f man. What e m e r g e d was

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not " h o m o natura," a biological unit interacting with its surroundings, but "Guilty Man"

a psychological and moral view of

man, a conception of man seen as reluctant to give up his old pleasure aims, however nonadaptive, and thus "resisting" therapeutic analysis; a conception of man seen as unwilling to allow his aggressive-destructive aims to be tamed, and thus engaging in wars and/or p r o n e to self-destruction (see Freud, 1933b). Within certain strict limits the explanatory framework of "Guilty Man" has been very useful. But, unless it is supplemented by and subordinated to the self-psychological viewpoint which can put the self experience into the center o f a psychological view of man, the traditional outlook will be misleading. Self psychology has freed itself from the distorted view o f psychological man espoused by traditional analysis because, having accepted the fact that the field-defining observational stance of introspection and empathy is absolute and indeed axiomatic, it does not pose as biology o r psychobiology but accepts itself as psychology through and through. Traditional analysis, on the other hand, had to carry the burden imposed on it by its need to make a bow to biology—via the quasi-biological conception o f primary drives which (in close analogy to certain biological theories which were universally accepted in Freud's time, namely, in analogy to the functions o f the neuronal structure o f brain) are seen as being processed (discharged, neutralized, put "on hold," as it were, etc.) by a mental apparatus. T h e end result is, as I said before, not " h o m o natura" but a distorted psychological view which will be misleading because it considers a frequently encountered set o f pathological phenomena as constituting "normality" and leads thus to a serious misunderstanding o f man in the therapeutic setting and o f man in the arena o f history. T h e new step that I will take, a task of reformulation that I have up to now only alluded to, is the reevaluation of man's intergenerational relationships and par excellence the reeval-

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THE SEMICIRCLE OF M E N T A L H E A L T H

uation of the depth-psychological matrix in which, in the view of traditional analysis, certain crucial normal developments of childhood are e m b e d d e d . It is, of course, the Oedipus complex that I will be talking about. Much has been said about the resistances that this conceptualization o f man's intergenerational hostility has aroused. It did, and to a much lesser extent, it still does. It did especially when it was rejected both as a new idea and because it exposed a hypocrisy o f Victorian man who professed the belief that children were pure and naive, that they were not yet subject to the twin burdens of guilty lust and guilty killing wishes carried by adults. By now, however—a wholesome development up to a point—the Freudian view o f "Guilty Man," in general, and o f the Oedipus

c o m p l e x , in p a r t i c u l a r , h a v e b e c o m e

widely

accepted—indeed it has become entrenched not only a m o n g the metropolitan intelligentsia but also via movie, television, and best-selling

fiction,

in b r o a d e r sections of the

population.

Ephemeral art, in other words, that art, I should add, which, though in the long run unjustifiably neglected by the history of literature, is in fact shaping the world view o f and the concept o f the essence o f man held by the majority of the population of a given era. Only great art, as the first sensitive expression of man's actual central problems (see Kohut, 1975a, especially p. 680f.)—and I have referred to this quality o f great art as its "anticipatory function"—will depict the greatest, most threatening psychological danger to which man is currently, era-specifically, exposed, and it will, therefore, be violently rejected by the great majority which cannot yet acknowledge and confront this danger. Put tersely, the depiction of intergenerational conflict by the artists and writers o f our time is broadly accepted as expressing the essence of man, while the greatest m o d e r n art (the art of Picasso, Schönberg, Proust, Kafka, Pound, and Joyce) which deals with the vicissitudes o f the fragmenting and empty self, is not yet broadly understood.

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A n d how does the self-psychological evaluation o f the centrality o f the intergenerational conflict, in particular in the specific f o r m o f the Oedipus complex, c o m p a r e with that o f traditional analysis? In a nutshell: (1) it agrees with the estimate o f the near-ubiquity o f its occurrence; it agrees that, at least in traces, its presence can very frequently be ascertained. A n d it also agrees, though its agreement is based on the significant modification that it is only a link, and not the deepest o n e at that, in a causal chain, that the Oedipus complex is a constituent in a set o f causal factors and that it contributes to the vis a t e r g o that results in deleterious action and/or neurotic suffering. ( 2 ) Self psychology, however, disagrees completely with traditional psychoanalysis concerning the significance o f human intergenerational strife. Specifically, traditional analysis believes that man's essential nature is comprehensively defined when he is seen as "Guilty Man"

as man in hopeless conflict between the drives

(sexual lusting for the parent of the opposite sex, the wish to kill the parent o f the same sex) that spring from the biological bedrock of h o m o natura and the civilizing influences emanating from the social environment as e m b o d i e d in the superego. Self psychology believes that man's essence is defined when seen as a self and that h o m o psychologicus ( i f you excuse this term that is meant to contrast with h o m o natura) is, o n the deepest level, "Tragic Man" attempting, and never quite succeeding, to realize the p r o g r a m laid d o w n in his depth during the span o f his life. W h a t stands in the way of the acceptance o f our outlook, why can w e not convince m o r e o f those w h o have espoused the traditional psychoanalytic outlook that intergenerational

strife,

mutual killing wishes, pathological Oedipus complex—as distinguished from normal oedipal stage—refer not to the essence of man but, that they are deviations from the normal, however frequently they may occur? W h y can't we convince our colleagues that the normal state, however rare in pure form, is a joyfully experienced developmental forward m o v e in childhood, includ-

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559

ing the step into the oedipal stage, to which—and again, this includes, of course, and par excellence, the oedipal stage—the parental generation responds with pride, with self-expanding empathy, with joyful mirroring, to the next generation, thus affirming the younger generation's right to unfold and to be different ( T e r m a n , 1972). W e believe, in other words, that in the last analysis, w e are not dealing with an uninfluenceable conflict o f opposing basic instincts (Thanatos battling Eros) but with, at least potentially remediable, interferences that i m p i n g e on normal development. I will not, as some of you might now expect, talk about "resistances" to o u r view. Instead, I would like to turn to a feature o f Freud's skills as a promulgator of his ideas, a feature which was deeply rooted in his personality yet which, as far as I know, has not been given the attention it deserves. It is his great ability to mythologize the key concepts o f his scientific system and thus to plant them firmly, via name and ingrained cultural association, into the minds o f the ever-broadening circle o f his followers. A l t h o u g h the means by which Freud achieved his historical stature in the history o f thought—the means by which, in W . H . A u d e n ' s (1945, p. 166) beautiful words, he ceased to be "a person" and became for us "a whole climate o f opinion"—are worthy of psychological investigation, I will not dwell here on the possible genetic roots and dynamic functions o f this aspect o f Freud's genius but will fasten only o n a specific feature of its scientific results, namely, that the critic w h o wishes to question certain basic views proposed by Freud confronts a task that is vastly m o r e extensive than that aspect o f it that requires logical argument and the presentation of supportive clinical evidence o r o f data gathered outside the clinical situation. A f t e r all is said and d o n e , and however carefully and convincingly the argument may have been presented—after a while Freud's formulation asserts again its old hold on our minds via a deeply rooted attraction, and the logic and the evidence recede.

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THE SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

Y o u realize, of course, that I am raising this issue not in the abstract, but in o r d e r to illuminate our difficulty when we attempt to reassess the explanatory p o w e r of Freud's concept of "Guilty Man," his view that man's essential nature is defined with reference to intergenerational strife par excellence and in particular, when w e attempt to reassess the paradigmatic intergenerational conflict between father and son—in short: the "Oedipus complex." H o w flat d o our arguments sound when we assert a textbook normality in analogy to "normal" anatomy, "normal" physiology, "normal" metabolism—a normality so beautifully defined by C. Daly K i n g (1945) as "that which functions in accordance with its design" (author's italics)—by c o m p a r i s o n with Freud's pithy and powerfully evocative terminology. H o w insipid is the normality of an oedipal stage, joyfully experienced by parent and child, against the dramatic background of the O e d ipus c o m p l e x : King Oedipus, the mythologized exalted figure w h o in Sophocles' tragedy is presented to us as an automaton who inexorably makes step after step to a preordained d o o m and whose humanness and f r e e d o m are confined to the ability to react to his unspeakable pain via word and communicative action. W h a t instruments does a critic have at his disposal to counteract Freud's magic? T w o , I believe: o n e weaker and

one

stronger. T h e weaker one is the attempt to undermine the p o w e r o f the myth that has supported Freud's concept by analyzing it in o r d e r to demonstrate not only that it does not support the original theory but that, in fact, it supports the new one that is now advanced to supplant the old. T h i s is the rational approach. T h e stronger one—you must drive out the Devil with the Beelzebub, as the saying goes—is to present a dose o f countermagic in o r d e r to neutralize and o v e r c o m e that which supports established rule. I will for the moment postpone the first task, the reinterpretation of the myth, and will turn directly to the second one, which, I will add, has p r o v i d e d me with the undoubtedly

T H E SEMICIRCLE OF M E N T A L H E A L T H

561

puzzling final part of the title of my address today. I will, in other words, now turn to the "semicircle of mental health." Sophocles, as you may know or have inferred from his writings, was an arch conservative in the Athens of his day who, in opposition to the tide of modernism and of the right of the individual as represented by Euripides, held the ingrained view that law and discipline came first and that the individual with his aspirations and experiences second and last. Despite all the propaganda, therefore, that his greatest creation. King Oedipus, portrays the deepest and most central experience o f the individual, the man's wish to sleep with his mother and to kill his father, Oedipus is presented in a strangely nonhuman way—more like a sacrificial animal that is made to g o through the rigidly predetermined paces of ancient ritual before it is slaughtered than like the experience of a man w h o can be said to have participated in the crime for which he is destroyed. M y countermagic is derived from the story told by H o m e r about a man o f quite a different breed. It is not a tragic story in the sense ot'tragos, the sacrificial he-goat o f the Dionysian cult, from which tragedy, as represented by Sophocles, evolved and got its name, but tragic in a human sense, as represented by Euripides—striving, resourceful man, attempting to unfold his innermost self, battling against external and internal obstacles to its unfolding; and warmly committed to the next generation, to the son in whose unfolding and growth he joyfully participates—thus experiencing man's deepest and most central joy, that of being a link in the chain of generations. H a v e you guessed by now who the embodiment of my countermagic may be? A n d have you hit on the solution to the riddle that I posed for you when, in the title that I gave to this address, I spoke of the "semicircle o f mental health"? If not, I will no longer keep you in suspense and will tell you the story that will relieve you of uncertainty. It is, I like to think, the first story concerned with an indi-

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T H E SEARCH FOR THE SELF

vidual w h o , although still surrounded by d e m i g o d heroes, is a m o d e r n man. A n d w e can thus, I think, identify with him m o r e easily than with the ritually destroyed victim o f Sophocles' tragedy, and can understand him and his human trials and tribulations m o r e easily and reliably than w e can K i n g Oedipus, w h o is propelled toward his d o o m . It is the story o f the first wouldbe draft evader in literature, the story o f Odysseus. W h e n , as told by H o m e r , the Greeks began to organize themselves for their T r o j a n expedition, they drafted all the chieftains to j o i n them with their men, ships, and supplies. But Odysseus, ruler of Ithaca, in the prime o f y o u n g adulthood, with a young wife and a baby son, was anything but enthusiastic about g o i n g to war." W h e n the delegates o f the G r e e k states arrived to assess the situation and to compel Odysseus' compliance, he maling e r e d , faking insanity. T h e emissaries—Agamemnon, Menelaus, and Palamedes—found him p l o w i n g with an o x and an ass yoked together, and flinging salt o v e r his shoulders into the furrows; on his head was a silly, conically shaped hat, as usually worn by Orientals. H e pretended not to know his visitors, and gave every sign that he had taken leave of his senses. But Palamedes suspected him of trickery. H e seized Telemachus, Odysseus' infant son, and flung him in front o f Odysseus' advancing plow. Odysseus immediately made a semicircle with his plow to avoid inj u r i n g his son—a m o v e that demonstrated his mental health and made him confess that he had only feigned madness in o r d e r to escape g o i n g to Troy." "1 a m stripping my story o f all the mythological overlay that was required by tradition, in particular, o f the various oracles that are introduced to legitimize the individual's reactions. I am thus omitting the account o f the oracle (hat led the Greeks to the conviction that they needed the participation o f Odysseus at all cost, as well as that of the oracle that legitimized Odysseus' unwillingness to go. In anticipation o f my reinterpretation of the O e d i p u s story. I will say here also that 1 will d o likewise with r e g a r d to the oracle that p r o m p t e d Laius to pierce his son's feet a n d to o r d e r that he l)e left to die on Mount Cithaeron. ' T h i s episode is told largely in the w o r d s o f the account o f it in The New Centiin Classical Handbook, ed. C. B . Avery ( A p p e l t o n - C e n l u r y - C r o f t s , 19(52, cf., in particular, p. 762).

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H e r e is the solusion to the puzzle. It is the semicircle of Odysseus which, as the semicircle o f mental health, I am holding up against the father murder of Oedipus—nonscientifk, perhaps, and emotional in its appeal (and appealing in its simple humanness); but then, so is the appeal o f K i n g Oedipus and his complex. T h e semicircle o f Odysseus proves nothing, of course, but it is a fitting symbol o f that joyful awareness o f the human self of being temporal, of having an unrolling destiny: a preparatory beginning, a flourishing middle, and a retrospective end; a fitting symbol o f the fact that healthy man experiences, and with the deepest j o y , the next generation as an extension of his own self. It is the primacy of the support o f the succeeding generation, therefore, which is normal and human, and not intergenerational

strife, and

m u t u a l w i s h e s t o kill

and

destroy—however frequently and even ubiquitously, we may be able to find traces o f those pathological disintegration products o f which traditional analysis has made us think as a normal developmental phase, a normal experience o f the child. It is only when the self o f the parent is not a normal, healthy self, cohesive, vigorous, and harmonious, that it will react with competitiveness and seductiveness rather than with pride and affection toward the child when, at the age o f five, it is making an exhilarating m o v e toward a heretofore not achieved d e g r e e o f assertiveness, generosity, and affection. A n d it is in response to such a flawed parental self which cannot resonate with the child's experience in empathic identification—in response to a parent, in other words, w h o is unable to function as stage-appropriate selfobject when the child enters the oedipal stage—that the newly constituted assertive-affectionate self o f the child disintegrates

and

that the breakup products o f hostility and lust o f the Oedipus complex make their appearance. A n d now a few words about the reinterpretation o f the O e dipus myth that I promised you before. It is a remarkable fact that nobody, as far as I know, has pointed out, at least not in an

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

effective way, a feature of the Oedipus myth which refers to the intergenerational relationship—an aspect of the story which is truly remarkable, especially in comparison with the parallel aspects of the intergenerational story about Odysseus and

I'ele-

machus as told us by H o m e r . It is as if analysts have reversed their usual stance as regards King Oedipus by taking the manifest content—father

murder,

incest—as the essence, while disre-

garding clues that may allow us to see the relationship between parents and son in a different light. Is it not the most significant dynamic-genetic feature o f the Oedipus story that Oedipus was a rejected child? N e v e r mind the all-explanatory oracle that served as a convenient vehicle for rationalizing a human failure as obedience to the gods. T h e fact is that Oedipus was not wanted by his parents and that he was put out into the cold by them. (His ankles were pierced—significantly thus his name.) H e was abandoned in the wilderness to die. W h i l e his appealing-assertive baby self found substitute parents—down d e e p the sense of his original rejection must have remained. Does our attention to this part of the story not allow us to see King Oedipus' "Oedipus c o m p l e x " in a different light? A n d does it not, by stark contrast, illuminate even further how Odysseus' normal intergenerational response, the semicircle o f his plow, led to a relationship between father and son—I remind you o f their

shoulder-to-shoulder

fight against outside disturbers thus reestablishing the interrupted intrafamilial bond—which, I submit is the true and nuclear essence of humanness. T h i s nuclear essence of man is not a surface p h e n o m e n o n , not part o f a precariously maintained civilized crust of the personality or o f a reaction formation. It constitutes the essential nucleus of the self and the access to it in our patients is often attained only with the greatest difficulty. But now I will stop. M y main message today is the same that I gave twenty-five years a g o when I was jarred into action because I saw that the operational mismatch that led to the psychobiological framework o f analytic theory had brought about severe

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distortions of our perception of man's psychological essence without yet achieving a true integration o f analysis with biology and medicine. It was, in particular, Freud's positing of the primacy of the drives that had p r o v i d e d the basis for a specific, incomplete concept of psychological man—Guilty Man, told to be civilized, and unwilling to comply. O n the other hand, I felt that the two universes accessible to science—equally important and equally worthy of the total devotion o f those w h o e x p l o r e them—are defined operationally via the basic stance of the observer. T h e sciences which e x p l o r e the fields that are accessible via extrospection (plus vicarious extrospection, i.e., eyewitness accounts): the physical and biological sciences. A n d the sciences which e x p l o r e the fields that are accessible via introspection (plus vicarious introspection, i.e., empathy, our ability to think ourselves into the inner life o f another, e.g., the inner life of the analysand via his o r her "eyewitness account" o f his or her inner life): psychoanalysis par excellence. T h e first part o f my talk to you today repeated what 1 said twenty-five years a g o . A n d I h o p e that I have now stated my message regarding the basic experience-distant theory of psychoanalysis clearly and intelligibly. In the second part I reinterpeted the position and significance o f an experience-near theory, the theory o f the Oedipus complex, in the light o f the shift that I advocate—from psychobiology to psychology, from h o m o natura to h o m o psychologicus. A n d I advanced the claim that the force that impels us to carry out the semicircle of Odysseus' plow lies at the most central core of our self, while the forces that motivate us toward the deeds o f King Oedipus constitute a m o r e superficial layer o f the self that covers the core. Is this conclusion motivated by the falsifying need for an optimistic outlook on man? It is not. Science must be neither optimistic nor pessimistic—it observes and explains. As a depth psychologist I observe regularly that behind the oedipal dis-

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turbance lie flawed selfobject responses. A n d that behind them the primary h o p e for a normal, self-growth-promoting milieu is still alive. Should, in the future, data become available that demonstrate still d e e p e r layers, we will verify the evidence and change our theory. W h a t I cannot see changing, however, is the psychological outlook. I f such a change w e r e to c o m e about, it would indeed mean that analysis, that depth psychology, has been superseded and turned into a thing o f the past. But this possibility need not concern us now. Analysis is in its childhood. H a m p e r e d by such misleading medical analogies as the removal o f disease instead o f the reestablishment o f psychological health by the interpretative, empathic responsiveness to its claims, psychoanalysis has hardly yet scratched the surface o f the fascinating mystery o f man. A n d how can analysis return to its nuclear self, m o v e on to fulfill its destiny by realizing its essential p r o g r a m o f action? It can d o so only i f it can make the decisive developmental step o f the full transmuting internalization o f the great parental selfobject o f its past. I f it succeeds in this task, it will be able to d o what it must in o r d e r to stay alive, to reach its peak before it declines: it must turn from the study o f Freud to the study o f man.

Summary [prepared for the condensed published version by T h o m a s A . Kohut, Ph.D.] Written shortly before his death, Heinz Kohut's last paper opens with a discussion o f the paper "Introspection, Empathy, and Psychoanalysis," written in 1959, which he presented at the Twenty-fifth Anniversary M e e t i n g o f the Chicago Institute for Psychoanalysis. In his first essay on the role o f empathy in psychoanalysis, an essay that according to Kohut provided a foundation for many o f his subsequent investigations in the field of

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depth psychology, he advanced the thesis that the introspectiveempathic stance o f the observer defines the science of psychoanalysis. T h e author explains that he was m o v e d to propose this operational definition of psychoanalysis twenty-five years a g o because he felt that the introduction of the psychobiological concept o f the drives (as well as various social-psychological concepts) had not led to a true integration o f psychoanalysis with biology o r medicine but to a psychological and moral view of "Guilty Man" that w o r k e d to distort the analyst's perception in the clinical and applied field. Kohut asserts that by defining itself operationally, psychoanalysis can accept itself as psychology, a psychology that studies man in terms of a self attempting to realize the p r o g r a m laid d o w n in his depth during the span of his life. T h e final section o f the paper is devoted to a reexamination o f man's intergenerational relationships in light o f the shift K o hut advocates from psychobiology to psychology. T h e Oedipus c o m p l e x is not to be understood as the end product o f the uninfluenceable conflict o f basic opposing instincts but as the result o f interferences that i m p i n g e on man's development. Acknowle d g i n g the mythic p o w e r o f Freud's formulation o f the Oedipus complex, the author offers a dose of mythical countermagic (to which the "semicircle o f mental health" in the paper's title refers) and a reinterpretation of the story o f K i n g Oedipus. Kohut believes that the essence of human experience is not to be found in the biologically inevitable conflict between generations but in intergenerational continuity. Access to this essential nucleus of man's self can best be gained if psychoanalysis shifts from psychobiology to psychology. In this way, Kohut concludes, psychoanalysis can return to its o w n nuclear self, can realize its o w n essential p r o g r a m of action.

19 Letters 1978

January 25, 1978 Silin your article T h e N e w Narcissism (Newsweek, 1, 30, 1978) you reported on contributions to the understanding of the narcissistic personality of o u r time made by a number of scientists and scholars, including those made by me. Although I was disappointed because I felt that my outlook did not clearly e m e r g e in your article, I consoled myself by the thought that it was impossible to d o justice to the work of decades in the few paragraphs that you could devote to it. T h e r e is, however, one erroneous impression created by your report that I would like to correct. I d o not share, as the reader of your essay unfamiliar with my work would be led to believe, in the prevailing pejorative outlook on narcissism. This is what I said in 1972: "During quiescent historical periods the attitude of society toward narcissism resembles Victorian hypocrisy toward sex . . . the o v e r c o m i n g o f a hypocritical attitude toward narcissism is as much required today as was the o v e r c o m i n g o f sexual hypocrisy a hundred years a g o . " M y work, in other words, emphasizes the wholesome potentialities inherent in a person's narcissistic strivings and it aims at bringing about their liberation.

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September, 1978 [From a letter to one o f the participants at the Chicago Conference o n the Psychology o f the S e l f ] Y o u r scientific aside gives me the chance to clarify certain ideas that are important for the understanding o f my outlook and I will now respond to it. With reference to a passage in my report on the two analyses o f M r . Z. in which I interpreted his lonely, depressed masturbation as not being "the vigorous action o f the pleasure-seeking firm self o f a healthy child," you suggest that the masturbation could also be seen in accordance with Spitz's theories as "an attempt to separate . . . as g r o w t h - p r o m o t i n g , in the service o f separation." A n d you also say that it could be understood in accordance with the conceptions o f Mahler w h o says that the "empathic mother is attuned to the child's attempts at separation . . . and can tolerate the necessary accompanying aggression" and that the child o f such an empathic mother can therefore neutralize [the aggression] and use [it] for self-gratification. T h e child o f such an empathic mother is then able to turn to himself, in furtherance o f his separation, after which he enters the phallic phase with the capacity to enjoy his newly won ability to gratify himself independently." A n d you summarize by stating that—apparently

as prototypical for healthy devel-

opment—a sequence o f "the separation o f self and object leading to drive cathexis" can be observed. A l l in all, you seem to conclude that M r . Z.'s childhood masturbation should be considered as belonging to a "subphase in the separation-individuation process," thus implying clearly that it should be considered essentially as a healthy, forward-looking m o v e , a step in maturation. I wish I could agree with these propositions. I would even wish I could at least disagree with them. I can d o neither because, not lying squarely within the realm o f that aspect o f reality that 'This letter was first published in Advances in Self Psychology, edited by A r n o l d G o l d b e r g ; with summarizing rellection bv Heinz Kohut. N e w Y o r k : Int. Univ. Press, 1980, p p . 449-456.

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is accessible via introspection and empathy—not clearly placed, in other words, within the conceptual framework by which in my view depth psychology is defined—I cannot get a firm grasp o f their psychological meaning. I will underline the importance that the preceding statement has for m e by saying that understanding it means understanding the essence o f my outlook. Lacking this understanding, o n e can neither agree nor disagree with my theories. N o r could I e n g a g e in a meaningful argument with someone w h o does not understand it—it's the old story o f the tiger and the polar bear: they live t o o far apart to d o battle. Let m e get into medias res. T h e framework within which Spitz's and Mahler's theories belong and within which their statements find their meaning is the framework o f sociology. In other words, however psychologically insightful and sophisticated these great contributors are, they deal in essence with social relationships and they must, therefore, formulate their findings in sociological—interactional, transactional—terms.

Mahler's term "sym-

biosis" is fully appropriate within this frame o f reference: it means that the two biological units are viable only if they live together ("sym" means "together"; "biosis" refers to their " l i f e " ) . T h e specific emphasis lies, o f course, on the survival ability o f only o n e o f the two (the child), but that does not alter the essence o f the assertion that is implied by use o f the term. While the meaning o f the term "symbiosis," because it is placed clearly within an interactional framework, is unambiguous, that o f "individuation" is not. O n the o n e hand, as a move away from symbiosis, it contains the assertion that now the living together is not necessary a n y m o r e for survival, that separateness has been achieved (by both, especially by the formerly dependent o n e ) . O n the other hand, however, the term "separateness" does not predominantly carry a biological meaning but a psychological o n e : the formerly dependent unit is not claimed to have now become independent in the sense o f its separate biological o r

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social survival, the independence to which the term refers is one of" an inner feeling state—a significant inconsistency has crept in. I believe that the puzzle resolves itself when we realize that the observers w h o formulate these statements are not only influenced by conflicting commitments to biology and psychology but that they are also implicitly subscribing to a set of values. In a spectrum of values that extends from clinging dependency ("bad" in the value scale of human society, especially Western society) to uncomplaining self-sufficiency ( " g o o d " in the value scale of human society, especially Western society) the term "individuation" implies that the weaker m e m b e r o f the formerly symbiotic twosome has made a decisive m o v e from a ("bad") attitude o f fearful clinging to a ( " g o o d " ) attitude of fearless selfsufficiency. Please d o not dismiss my arguments as fussy or pedantic. In themselves the inconsistencies o f the sociopsychological framework of the external observer o f childhood behavior who is also a sophisticated

psychologist, e.g., o f the stature o f Spitz and

Mahler, would not bother me. Most important theories in science outside of mathematics show some internal inconsistencies. But I am not complaining about formal imperfection—what is at stake here, as demonstrated by a comparison o f the results obtained when the same data are seen from o n e point of view or from the other, is a decisive difference between the outlook of the child observer and the outlook of the introspective-empathic psychologist, which is mine. Let us first compare concepts of "independence" and "individuation"—ä lä Spitz and Mahler—with the concepts of a "nuclear self" and o f the "establishment and firming of the nuclear s e l f ä lä the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self. Y o u will see immediately that the two pairs o f concepts belong to two different w o r l d views with two different sets o f values. I can perhaps point up the difference of outlook most sharply by stating that from the point of view of the psychoanalytic psy-

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chology of the self a value-laden demand for psychological ind e p e n d e n c e is nonsense—almost as nonsensical as would be a d e m a n d that the human body should be able to get along without o x y g e n . A t this point one would need to write a book to begin to d o justice to the variety of self-self object relationships and self-object relationships, both real and fantasied, that characterize a full and successful human life; and I will not attempt to indicate with the aid of examples how this dimension of a g o o d life should be elaborated in the course o f childhood and adolescence in o r d e r to lead to a fruitful maturity. I will restrict myself to reminding you that the courage which is required for some o f the greatest human achievements, the products o f those rare moments in the history o f humanity to which Stefan Zweig referred as Sternstunden der Menschheit (stellar hours o f mankind), in art, science, and political action, rests on the relationship—I spoke once o f transferences o f creativity in a related context—to fantasied selfobjects with godlike p o w e r and perfection. H a v e I begun to make it clear to you why I find Spitz's and Mahler's formulations unsatisfactory? T h e y are not wrong. But even though derived from the careful empirical observation of the behavior o f children, they strike m e , from the standpoint of the depth psychologist, as "experience-distant" because they are not d e r i v e d from the p r o l o n g e d empathic immersion into the inner life o f the observed but from the scrutiny o f behavior that is evaluated in accordance with the traditional value judgments of Western man. If w e now, however, equipped with the insights of the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self, turn to the childhood of M r . Z., in particular to his lonely masturbation,

which you inter-

preted in harmony with Spitz and Mahler as being in the service of maturation, you will recognize, I hope, that self psychology allows us to see decisive differences in experience where the observer o f childhood behavior sees the same phenomena, and you will understand why I am forced to disagree with your sug-

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gestions. M r . Z.'s masturbation was not the essentially joyous activity o f a strong and cohesive self that can allow itself the experience o f intense zonal pleasure without incurring the danger o f fragmentation due to the concentration o f feelings upon a single body part and o f being destroyed by the ecstatic excitement. His masturbatory activities were accompanied—as w e r e M r . W.'s fantasied excursions across his body—by a melancholy m o o d , even by a sense o f depression. T r u e , they w e r e attempts to provide pleasure for himself. But while there was pleasure, there was no joy since, as the accompanying fantasies testify, even while experiencing bodily pleasure, his body was not his own: it was bought and sold in accordance with the selfobject's whims. A s seen by the psychoanalytic self psychologist, normal development—the varieties o f normal development, o n e should say—does not rest on a "separation o f self and object." A p a r t from brief episodes o f self-selfobject confusion when, during the working through o f a selfobject transference the analysand responds to an empathy failure o f the analyst by substituting an archaic m e r g e r for empathic resonance, the cognitive separation o f self and object is fully achieved by almost all o f even the most severely disturbed selves that I have been in therapeutic contact with. A n d the essential therapeutic task—a conviction that is increasingly establishing itself in me as I am adding year after year o f experience o f analyzing patients with self pathology—is not the achievement o f the separation o f the self from its selfobjects but, on the contrary, the reentering into the course o f the line o f d e v e l o p m e n t o f self-selfobject relationships at the point where it had been traumatically interrupted in early life. A s I crudely outlined already long a g o (1966), narcissism is not, as Freud had taught, a precursor o f object love, to be relinquished and to be supplanted by the latter—it has its o w n line o f development. Even some o f the most individuated o f individuals, men and w o m e n w h o are able to express the pattern o f

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their selves most unambiguously in creative word and d e e d , may persistently search for the selfobject environment that is in harmonious contact with them until, often after p r o l o n g e d periods o f loneliness and a, to outward appearances, bizarrely uncompromising persistence, they ultimately obtain what they need. But when they have securely inserted themselves into the e m pathic matrix that they require, they are then not only able to receive freely but also to give o f themselves in abundance. A n e x a m p l e from literature: Eugene O'Neill's propensity toward alcoholism and shiftlessness diminished decisively and his creative productive life began in earnest after he had experienced several months o f empathic care in a tuberculosis sanitarium. A n d he created his greatest, most d e e p l y m o v i n g works—Mourning Becomes Electra, The Ice Man Cometh, Long Day's Journey into Night—after

he found Carlotta, his third wife, w h o

for many years completely fulfilled his needs for an empathic selfobject. She protected him against traumatizing disturbances and gave him the mirroring responses he required, with a singlem i n d e d devotion that must have been the outgrowth o f intense, almost perfectly attuned needs o f her own nuclear self. O ' N e i l l intuitively recognized the incredible fit almost at their first encounter and pursued her without regard to the suffering he inflicted on his family and to the social disapproval to which he exposed himself. ( I n contrast to most o f the students o f O'Neill's life, I would not regard his actions as being "selfish" in the derogatory sense in which this w o r d is customarily e m p l o y e d but rather as being undertaken in the service o f his creativity, i.e., as enabling him to reach conditions in which he could simultaneously live out the pattern o f his self most fully and give to others the best he had to give. A t any rate, similar to the pattern o f the life o f other great men—cf., for example, the self-selfobject unit that Proust established with his servant Celeste—he ultimately found a psychological milieu that became the matrix in which, despite social isolation, conflicts, and physical illness

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[i.e., "beyond the pleasure principle" as 1 defined the term in The Restoration of the Self (1977)], his self could fulfill its destiny.) T h e maxim that the self requires a milieu o f empathically responding selfobjects in o r d e r to function, indeed in o r d e r to survive, applies not only in the instances o f selves w h o because o f unusual talents and skills are able to express their pattern in a form that has broad social consequences (such as in the case of O ' N e i l l and Proust), it is even m o r e valid in the case of anonymous Everyman. H o w e v e r insignificant from the point of view o f society the inner p r o g r a m of ambitions and goals that forms a person's nuclear self might be, however unimpressive to others the pattern o f thought and action that emanates from it, if, surrounded by a nourishing selfobject milieu, that self has developed around a firm core and is able to realize its nuclear aims, it will feel fulfilled, i.e., in tune with the unrolling of its destiny, and ultimately at peace with its inevitable decline—a decline that is then not experienced as leading to meaningless destruction but as ushering in the completion of a meaningful course. A n d others, too, if they are able to perceive human wholeness and to recognize the unrolling o f a cohesive life, will respect

the

person w h o has achieved such integrity in the structure o f his personality and o f the history of his life—however small as measured by objective societal standards the person's stature may be and h o w e v e r narrow the scope of the reverberations of his existence. A s you can see again, I have remained u n r e f o r m e d ; despite the criticism to which my work on the psychology of the self has been exposed, I continue to maintain that the sequence of maturing and changing empathic m e r g e r relationships between the self and its selfobjects can be fruitfully examined by the depth psychologist, from its archaic inception, via the creative-productive p e r i o d o f the self, to its ultimate wisdom as the world o f objects begins to recede, i.e., I continue to maintain that narcissism has its own line o f development. I n d e p e n d e n c e from

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selfobjects, a break with the selfobject world, I might add, is indicative of serious psychopathology—it occurs not only in the clinically ill paranoiac but in certain character types whose pseudoproductivity is, unfortunately, capable of bringing about destructive consequences, e.g., in the arena o f history. T h e pathological forms of expression of the needs of the self, on the other hand, that w e often encounter in our patients with narcissistic disturbances—their enraged demandingness, their arrogance—is no m o r e than a cover, barring access to the legitimate demands for the empathic selfobject environment of which they were d e p r i v e d as children. It is the very helplessness and despair of those w h o have almost given up all hope of getting the response they need for their psychological survival that lead to the asocial attitudes that are then, in turn, rejected coldly, angrily, patronizingly, or contemptuously by those who cannot discern the rightful demands that have g o n e into hiding. So much for today, I consider this letter not only as a personal response to you but also as a trial run—I very much hope that our Chicago conference will be filled with similar interchanges, enabling us all to see many o f the issues and problems o f self psychology with increasing clarity. September 1978 From a letter to a colleague I was surprised by o n e statement in your recent letter concerning the correspondence between Erich Heller and me, a statement on which, since, as you said, you have promised yourself only to applaud but not to enter the field, you did not expand. " A s to the historical givens o f your work, H e i n z , " you wrote, "it seems to me that empathy can only become a tool of inquiry, once it has ceased to be an immanent part o f human discourse and existence." I p o n d e r e d your statement which questions the basic position from which I have pursued my work since I first presented my

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thoughts on empathy m o r e than twenty years a g o ( K o h u t , 1959). A n d I asked myself what you meant when you used the phrase "the historical givens o f some of your work" (all of your work, you could have said) and, in particular, when you said that "empathy can only become a tool of inquiry, once it has ceased to be an immanent part o f human discourse and existence." C o n cerning the latter I concluded that, since you obviously imply that empathy still is "an immanent part o f human discourse and existence," you must feel that it cannot yet serve us as such a "tool." Y o u may be acquainted with some o f my views on empathy; I hope, however, that you will not take it amiss when I now encourage you to (re)read the most important passages in my writings that deal with this topic in o r d e r to refresh your m e m ory. T h e r e is first o f all the aforementioned paper o f 1959; then there are the pages d e v o t e d to empathy in "Forms and

Trans-

formations o f Narcissism" (1966, pp. 450-453); then there is the subchapter on empathy in The Analysis of the Self (1971, pp. 300307); and there is, above all, chapter 7 o f The Restoration of the Self (1977), especially the subchapter called "What Is the Essence o f Psychoanalysis?" ( p p . 298-312). T h e s e are the most important references. But you might also like to look at the remarks about introspection and empathy in "Psychoanalysis in a T r o u b l e d W o r l d " (1973a) and at the essay " T h e Psychoanalyst in the C o m munity o f Scholars" (1973b). A s you see I have given a g o o d deal of thought to the role and position o f empathy in our

field—indeed,

I consider my

views here to constitute the basis for the whole o f my work, a conclusion that is not idiosyncratic but was also reached by others w h o studied and evaluated my contributions to depth psychology. John G e d o and A r n o l d G o l d b e r g , for example (1973, p. 315), claimed that my views on empathy occupied a pivotal position in the framework o f my thoughts, and Paul Ornstein, the editor o f my selected writings (the collection bears the title The

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Search for the Self [1978a]; originally however it had been my intention to call it Scientific Empathy and Empathic Science, a choice which again tells you how crucial I consider my position on empathy to b e ) , assigned the same central role to my views on empathy in his thoughtful introductory essay. For me—as was true for Freud (1933a, p. 179), w h o , however, did not follow through consistently in his theorizing here—all empirical sciences belong to one o f two categories: there are, on the o n e hand, the sciences that base themselves on extrospection and vicarious extrospection, and there are, on the other hand, the sciences that are based on introspection and vicarious introspection ( e m p a t h y ) . T o the first category belong the physical and biological sciences, to the second the psychological sciences, par excellence psychoanalysis, the science o f complex mental states. I f the orientation about the external world p r o v i d e d to science by our sensory equipment w e r e invalid because the use o f our sensory equipment had not yet "ceased to be an immanent part o f human discourse and existence," then the nonpsychological sciences would have no observational basis to stand on. A n d i f w e w e r e forced for the same reason to consider as invalid the orientation p r o v i d e d to science by introspection and e m pathy, then psychology would be deprived of its observational foundation. If various explorers o f a country to which we ourselves will never be able to g o (e.g., because these explorers lived before our time and the area they e x p l o r e d is now obliterated) describe this country to us in the terms o f the storehouse o f the images and memories that w e have acquired through our lifelong previous acquaintance with the external world via the use of our senses (plus, o f course, all the relevant experience-distant theories that belong to this dimension o f our outlook on the w o r l d ) , then w e are in principle able to learn from them, via vicarious extrospection, what the country which their reports describe was like. H a d we not seen, touched, heard, and smelled the world

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before we studied their reports, we would not be able to grasp the information they transmit. A n d the same holds true with regard to psychoanalysis, the psychology o f complex mental states, the psychology o f inner experience. W h e n our analysands tell us about their inner life, they describe to us a country to which w e have never been, a country to which we can never gain direct access. Still, we are, in principle, able to understand their reports via vicarious introspection (empathy) because they are given to us in the terms o f the storehouse o f the images and memories that we have acquired through our lifelong previous acquaintance with the inner world o f man through our own introspection (plus, o f course, all the relevant experience-near theories that belong to this dimension o f our outlook on the w o r l d ) . As you can see, my conviction concerning the irreplaceability o f empathy has remained unshaken. A n d I will d e f e n d it against the view that it cannot yet serve as a tool o f scientific inquiry because it is still an immanent part of human discourse and existence, just as I have in the past d e f e n d e d it against the skepticism of those w h o confuse it with compassion (see 1977, pp. 304-305) and against the skepticism of those who confuse it with intuition (see 1971, pp. 302-303), two aspects of psychic life which are in essence unrelated to empathy. T h e confusion with compassion is easily dealt with—it rests on the erroneous assumption that because empathy is a prerequisite for compassion, the obverse must also be true. Empathy is, however, not only e m p l o y e d for friendly and constructive purposes but also for hostile o r destructive ones. W h e n the Nazis attached howling sirens to their dive bombers and were thus able to create disintegrating panic in those they were about to attack, they used empathy for a hostile purpose. It was empathy (vicarious introspection) that allowed them to predict how those exposed to the mysterious noise from the skies would react. If a salesman uses in quick succession both a firmly c o m m a n d i n g and a softly cajoling approach, his empathy is not in the service

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o f compassion—it is meant to o v e r c o m e the sales resistance of the customer. In other words, he—or the supervisor w h o instructed and trained him, or the industrial psychologist who devised the method—is in empathic contact with the child in the customer w h o was once made to obey by similar means, i.e., through near-simultaneous c o m m a n d and seduction. I now turn to the failure to differentiate between empathy and intuition which is as erroneous as the failure to differentiate between empathy and compassion discussed in the preceding. T h e correct perception of psychological data through empathy proceeds neither m o r e nor less frequently in an intuitive manner than the correct perception of nonpsychological data through vicarious extrospection. A person whose use of empathy

has

become highly trained by decades of familiarity with certain psychological areas may at times grasp some detail concerning the inner life o f another person with great speed and apparently without the necessity to gather evidence. It has happened to me many times, and I am certain that every experienced analyst will corroborate the fact that he, too, is familiar with such events; for example, in the course of seemingly innocuous ruminations from the side o f the analysand I will suddenly r e m e m b e r an incident from the patient's childhood which the patient may have mentioned only once before, perhaps years a g o , and then, five or ten minutes later during the session, the patient will again talk about this very incident. I used to w o n d e r on such occasions whether I had not fallen prey to a retrospective falsification here, whether an unresolved remnant o f an infantile wish for clairvoyance or omniscience might not have persuaded me that I had anticipated the analysand's association when in fact I had not. In o r d e r to ascertain the correctness o f my observation I disciplined myself to commit to paper any suddenly recalled information about a patient—e.g., information concerning a childhood event about which the patient may have spoken only once, years ago. T h e result was that in not infrequent instances I could

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indeed confirm the fact that my own associations had been ahead of those o f my patient. Should one ascribe such occurrences during analytic work to some unusual and mysterious gifts that analysts supposedly possess and say that they are based on intuition? T h e answer to this question is "no." Even though a scientist trained in the use o f empathy may himself be unable to spell out the individual data on the basis o f which he identified a complex psychological configuration, the process by which he arrived at his perception is, in principle at least, open to rational investigation. W e have simply witnessed the performance o f a mind that has learned to pick up numerous data preconsciously and at great speed and, like a well-programmed computer, either first to combine the information concerning details and then to arrive at a correct and accurate result or to identify a complex but familiar configuration all at once. But speedy and seemingly direct perceptions are also available to a gifted and/or trained observer of the nonpsychological realm w h o investigates the nonpsychological dimensions o f our surroundings through extrospection. I f we get a glimpse o f a face that we know well, we will recognize it on the basis o f the instantaneous perception o f a great number o f individual details which f o r m a c o m p l e x but familiar configuration and we are in general not able to spell out the individual data that have enabled us to p e r f o r m this act. N o one, o f course, will speak of intuition with regard to our ability to recognize the face o f a friend. But how about single-glance diagnosis o f some illness by a seasoned clinician; the seemingly unreasoned choice o f an, to others, unpromising direction o f scientific investigations that ultimately lead to a great discovery by a gifted researcher; and, yes, even the decisive moves o f certain great chess players, military strategists, politicians, and diplomats? In all these instances talent and experience combine to allow either the rapid and preconscious gathering o f a great number o f data and the ability to recognize that they form a

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meaningful configuration o r the one-step recognition o f a complex configuration that had been preconsciously assembled, perhaps in years o f silently proceeding work. Some scientists w h o are committed to the traditional metho d o l o g y applicable in certain phases o f the physical sciences would say now that these speedy processes will at times also lead to erroneous results. T h e y d o , o f course. A l l human achievement is imperfect. A n d they would probably say, furthermore, that in science w e need not only speedy perception but also an accurate and detailed accounting o f the methods by which we arrived at our results. A n d , again, I would agree. W h e r e I d o not agree, however, is the implication that such a detailed account is, in principle, possible with regard to the extrospected universe but not with regard to the introspected o r vicariously introspected universe o f the inner life o f man. T o my mind there are in this regard no differences, in principle, between the extrospective, nonempathic, and the introspective, empathic observational methods that belong to these two realms. But now I must try to convince you that, despite the fact that it is still an immanent part o f human discourse and existence, empathy can be employed by scientific depth psychology—which, as you know, means to m e that I want to convince you that a scientific psychology o f complex mental states, the only psychology that I consider worth pursuing, is possible at all. L e t me first say that I d o not deny that there are specific difficulties that stand in the way o f man's use o f empathy for the exploration and control of the world within us—-just as there are specific difficulties that stand in the way of man's use o f his extrospective orientation for the exploration and control o f the world outside. But admitting the existence o f these difficulties does not make m e a pessimist with regard to empathy. O n the contrary, the m e r e fact that despite man's ingenuity in the use o f physical, psychological, and cognitve tools, there is nothing else at his disposal, that he has no alternative if he wants now through

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depth psychology to investigate and ultimately control the inner world, as he has attempted to d o with the external world via the physical sciences, makes me on the whole rather optimistic. Since we are talking about a process of maturation, d e v e l o p m e n t , and growth, the fact that our survival depends on our ability to achieve this maturation, development, and growth increases to my mind the chances that these changes will in fact occur. But what opposes the scientific e m p l o y m e n t of the introspective-empathic stance? Put in a nutshell: there is nothing w r o n g with it per se—no m o r e w r o n g with it, in principle at any rate, than with the use of our senses in extrospection; it is our shortcomings in using it which are the problem. I don't know whether you are familiar with Hanns Sachs's essay " T h e Delay o f the Machine A g e " (1933). His thesis was that, at the time that preceded the end o f their political and military supremacy, i.e., at the time that preceded the breakup o f their far-flung e m p i r e , the Romans had at their disposal the means that could have saved them—if only they had been able to use these means. Yes, they had machines, and they used them, but only for frivolous, peripheral activities: for children's toys, and for their games and theaters. T h e y did not use them to build roads and bridges, they did not use them to transport their legions, they did not use them for the serious business of war. H e r e they stuck to their marching feet, to their legs and arms with which they controlled their horses, thrust their swords, and held their shields. T h e reason for their failure to harness the power o f machines in the service o f the state, a move that might have prevented their downfall, was, according to Sachs, that they prized their o w n bodies too much and could therefore not give over the performance of the functions of their beloved arms and legs to inanimate machines—at least where life in all its seriousness was involved. T o paraphrase the crucial statement of your letter: they could not freely transmute the p o w e r of their bodies into the p o w e r o f machines as proxy for or replica o f the body

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because their bodies were still an immanent part of their existence—or, as I would say, because their self in this sector was still an archaic body self. ( C o m p a r e these reflections with the related thoughts I presented concerning the move from eating with one's hands to eating with eating utensils [1977, p p . I l l 112].) But we must return to the main subject matter of this letter and ask whether and, if so, to what extent Sachs's thesis applies also to our use of introspection and empathy, specifically to the use of introspection and empathy with regard to the serious business o f life, i.e., above all, to the scientific use of introspection and empathy e m p l o y e d in the service of the attempt to control our destructiveness and thus to ensure our survival. A r e we, in other words, whose survival is threatened by our inability to control our narcissistic vulnerability, in particular our inability to curb the narcissistic rage that supervenes when our self is hurt, unable to use a potentially effective tool, indeed a tool that might save us? T h e tool, of course—I know I am repeating myself, but the matter bears repetition—is the scientific investigation of our inner life in o r d e r to understand and control it and thus, perhaps, to prevent the end of civilization via an atomic holocaust triggered, in the last analysis, by an uncontrolled outburst o f narcissistic rage in the arena of history. But now you might say that I have contradicted myself. First, you might say, I point to the Romans w h o were not able to harness their knowledge about machines to actions that would have allowed them to stem the tide of the barbarians at their farflung borders, but then, you will add, I express the view that we, in our era, would not be falling prey to the analogous failure concerning the use of introspection and empathy. T h e r e are certainly similarities between the time preceding the fall of the Roman e m p i r e to which Sachs referred and the juncture at which Western civilization finds itself at the present time—and, as you know, these similarities have led some

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thoughtful observers (e.g., Eissler, 1965, pp. 225-228), in harmony with the principles and conclusions o f Oswald Spengler (1918-22) and o f Freud (1930, 1933b), to be deeply pessimistic about the survival chances o f man. Strange as it may seem o n first sight, there is something uplifting about prophesies of unavoidable d o o m , while a balanced approach that recognizes the extent o f the d a n g e r but can also consider man's potential ability to deal with it tends not to e v o k e enthusiasm and gratitude but rather the superior smile o f contempt. T h e r e is grandeur about the suprahuman position of a seemingly objective, detached pessimism, while the need to recognize the necessity for hard work, and the possibility of failure even then—the price that cautious optimism exacts—is human, all too human. Still, if I w e r e pressed to be m o r e specific about my assessment of the survival chances of Western man I would say that I am neither a pessimist on the basis o f a Spenglerian historical or Freudian biological argument nor an optimist on the basis o f an unshaken faith in man's rationality and the inevitable victory o f civilization. In support of a pessimistic outlook o n e can say indeed that there are many similarities between the symptoms that are generally manifested by dying cultures and those discernible in our society. A n d o n e must also admit that there are similarities between, on the o n e hand, the inability of the Romans to use the tool—the p o w e r of the machine—that might have been able to deal with the external foes w h o ultimately destroyed their e m p i r e and culture and, on the other hand, our inability to use the tool—the p o w e r of the insights achieved via scientific introspection and empathy—that might have been able to deal with the internal foe, man's tinconquered propensity to e n g a g e in wars, his propensity, when in the throes o f narcissistic rage, to disregard even the danger o f total destruction. T h e r e are still further similarities, in particular a crucial o n e which is, I believe, related to the point that you raised in your letter. Even u n d e r the pressure o f an adaptational emergency

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of utmost urgency, the Romans were unable to make a comparatively simple maturational step concerning an aspect of the body self—a step they needed to make in o r d e r to b e c o m e capable o f e m p l o y i n g machines in the service o f their survival. T h e inability o f the Romans to make this step in adaptation is indeed comparable to our inability to make the analogous maturational step concerning an aspect o f our mind self—a step we need to make in o r d e r to become capable o f e m p l o y i n g the insights o f introspective-empathic science in the service o f our survival. O r — a d o p t i n g for the sake o f the present considerations the frame o f reference within which you arrived at your j u d g m e n t that empathy is not, or not yet, available for scientific use—we might say that the Romans' inability to give up their archaic body fixation is similar to our inability to dislodge empathy and introspection from its position as "an immanent part of human discourse and existence," thus preventing us from using it as an autonomous "tool o f inquiry." It is my claim, however—and now I am arguing on the side o f a cautious optimism—that the similarity between our difficulties in using introspection and empathy and the failure of the Romans to use machines, or, in other words, that the similarity between the delay o f the machine age and the delay o f the age o f an effectively applied depth psychology, is essentially only a partial one. First I will mention—admittedly a weak argument—that

the

d a n g e r faced by m o d e r n man is greater than the danger faced by the Romans. T h e Romans w e r e threatened by the loss o f their world domination while w e , since the introduction o f atomic weapons o f destruction, are threatened by the possibility of the total extinction not only of o n e people or one culture but of all o f human life on earth. Does the broadening o f the danger allow us to assume that man will try harder to institute countermeasures, that, to be specific, he will even bow to the necessity of having to investigate his inner life in o r d e r to control his p r o -

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pensity toward destructiveness that might be his total undoing? I d o not know the answer to this question, but I assume that the greatness of the peril should be considered as a factor, however small in itself, that might increase man's readiness to take steps to subdue the enemy within himself. T h e r e is, however, another fact to consider, a fact that I would evaluate as m o r e potently on the side of the cautious optimism concerning man's future that I believe to be the realistic assessment of his capacity for survival than his recognition of the enormity of the danger to which he is exposed. Strange as it might seem on first sight, I believe that the very existence of scientific depth psychology—a new phenomenon in the history o f science, in human history—is itself a fact that supports the hope that mankind will respond to the threat to its survival by the great adaptational step that is required. True enough, the insights o f depth psychology are not yet being e m p l o y e d in the arena o f history—at least not on a scale that could be considered as even minimally effective. These are so far employed only—seen in historical perspective one might say they are e m p l o y e d playfully; perhaps in analogy to the Romans' use of machines in the theater and as children's toys—in individual therapy. N o doubt, depth psychology is also being used in the investigation o f human activities outside of individual therapy. But here, in contrast to individual therapy, there is not yet any serious attempt at translating insight into effective change, analogous to the way by which w e proceed in psychotherapy. In addition to all these acknowledged similarities, however, there is this significant difference. It concerns the attitude of those w h o hold the key to the storehouse of the new knowledge toward their respective fields of activity: the attitude of the R o man artisans—slaves, I would assume, not free citizens—who designed and built machines toward the field of knowledge about machines, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, the attitude of the depth psychologists o f our era toward depth-psychological

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k n o w l e d g e . While the psychoanalytic insights concerning man, like the k n o w l e d g e about machines o f the Romans, d o not—with minor exceptions, e.g., perhaps in the fields o f education, business administration, and jurisprudence—yet make significant contributions to the conduct of public life, psychoanalysts, at least a g r o u p a m o n g them, unlike the task-oriented slave technicians in R o m e , are workers in a forward-moving, yet broadly based and theory-supported science w h o , despite the many internal and external obstacles that stand in their way, continue to pursue their research and to expand the scope of depth-psychological k n o w l e d g e and of its potential application. I n d e e d I believe that, however hard it may be to dislodge the use of introspection and empathy from its archaic commitments as "an immanent part of human discourse and existence," this great and

indispensable

tool

of

our

science

is

already

beginning—especially since the advent o f the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self—to p r o v i d e us with insights about man's inner life that have a chance of giving him increased control o v e r his actions, in particular over his destructive actions. Y o u know—to express myself m o r e specifically now—that I d o not believe that man is to any pragmatically significant extent motivated by an unconquerable death instinct; that I believe instead that he has been the victim of his still unconquered tendency to react to injuries to his self with often boundless narcissistic rage. But while, as I said, this tendency has not been mastered, I cannot see why our increased scientific knowledge—obtained with the aid o f the increasingly disciplined employment

of

introspection

and

empathy

as

tools of

observation—should not ultimately lead us to further progress that will allow us to obtain effective control o v e r human aggressivity. W h e t h e r we will or will not be successful in this e n d e a v o r may indeed d e p e n d ultimately on our ability to increase the scope and depth of our scientific empathy. Will scientific depth

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psychology, in general, will the new psychoanalytic psychology o f the self, in particular, be able to attain its goals? I d o not claim the ability to predict the future. AU I wanted to say is that a favorable outcome o f man's attempt to deal with his destructiveness is in principle not impossible. A n d I derive from this conclusion the injunction that the depth psychologist must not retreat to a position to sterile pessimistic superiority, but that he must continue to strive to penetrate into man's inner life and to illuminate it as broadly and deeply as possible and, furthermore, that he must fight courageously for the effective integration o f his insights into the broader awareness o f society—despite the opposition, in particular, despite the painful ridicule which his attempts will elicit and, last but not least, despite his o w n tendency to remain fixated on that developmental level in which the scientific use o f introspection and empathy and the results that are obtained via their use are shunned as a threat to man's wholeness instead o f being welcomed as a chance to buttress his disintegrating self. It is this last-named uneasiness, I suspect, that prompts even such well-meaning p e o p l e as you to take sides with Professor H e l l e r against the psychoanalyst's attempt to use his empathy for the scientific scrutiny o f man's self and o f the products o f its creative activities. But this use o f empathy will neither weaken man's self nor destroy the beauty and significance o f the creations that emanate from it; nor will empathy lose its position as an immanent part o f human discourse and existence by becoming a sharply focused tool o f disciplined scientific inquiry. Most, if not all, great achievements o f man—not only in art and in the world o f action but also in science—certainly the very greatest o f them, are brought about by psychological functions in which a total sector o f the psyche participates. T h e y are not produced by isolated surface activities o f the mind but through the unified cooperation o f all psychic layers, including the d e e p and archaic ones. A n d these conditions, I know, prevail also with regard to scientific empathy as e m p l o y e d by the depth

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psychologist. It engages, on the o n e hand, simultaneously and/or in rapid alternation, empathic responses that g o back to an earliest nonverbal c o m m u n i o n between a rudimentary sell and its selfobject which has as its goal the nurture o f psychological wellbeing and the furtherance o f d e v e l o p m e n t and, on the other hand, h i g h l y disciplined, sharply d e m a r c a t e d e m p a t h i c responses that satisfy the standards o f scientific objectivity. Psychoanalysis explains what it has first understood, I said some years ago. Restated in the terms o f the framework that your remark provided for me: psychoanalytic empathy can be a tool o f scientific inquiry while yet remaining an immanent part o f human discourse and existence. I will close by telling you that I am grateful to you for having expressed your doubts about my position in such a friendly and tactful, yet o p e n , way. I h o p e that my response clarified my views on empathy, this crucially important tool that is potentially available to man in his quest for knowledge, mastery, and, it is h o p e d , survival. A p r i l 2, 1978 Dear L . : I read your essay on the application o f the psychology o f the self to Bion's group-behavior theories with great interest and profit and I am looking forward to further work that will deepen and extend your researches in this very important field. A s far as I could see, you apply the theories o f the psychology o f the self expertly and there was only one point where I thought you did not g o far e n o u g h in making clear to the reader w h e r e self psychology stands. I will focus my remarks on a single sentence—not because this sentence is in itself important but because I think that it most clearly expresses a conceptual problem that you—and I believe many others w h o are adopting the viewpoint o f self psychology—have not yet mastered completely. It is the brief sentence on page 5 that reads: " T h e use o f these drive energies is regulated by the cohesive self."

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It would take some doing to explain fully why this formulation is inappropriate, and w e can perhaps discuss the issue further when w e next meet. In the meantime I think that a rereading o f certain passages in The Restoration of the Self (such as pp. 111-125) should come close to clarifying what I am aiming at. T h e self does not "regulate." Drive regulation is a concept that belongs to mental apparatus psychology and, in particular, it is the ego—a part o f the mental apparatus—that does the drive regulating. T h e self is not an "agency o f the mind" in Freud's sense. It is either a content o f the mental apparatus (the psychology o f the self in the narrow sense) or it is a configuration that is supraordinated to that o f the mental apparatus (the psychology o f the self in the broad sense). Mental apparatus psychology and the psychology o f the self (in the broad sense) are, in other words, two different frameworks o f thought. Traditional mental apparatus psychology disregards the self. I f we evaluate this noninclusion o f the self from the vantage point o f self psychology, we will say that mental apparatus psychology may dispense with the self, because the self, being essentially strong and cohesive in those instances where mental apparatus psychology applies, is either not in evidence e x p e rientially or, at any rate, o f sufficiently peripheral significance to allow its being neglected. What is in the focus of attention of mental apparatus psychology are man's—Guilty

Man's—conflicts

concerning his drives. These conflicts (the conflicts that underlie the transference

neuroses) are, in other words, conflicts o v e r

essentially healthy drives (whether oral, anal, phallic, genital, or aggressive-assertive) in an individual whose self is firm and cohesive. Quite different with regard to the problems of Tragic Man. H e r e the self—its cohesion and destiny—is at stake. A n d the drives that we encounter here (whether oral, anal, phallic, genital, or aggressive-assertive) are not the activities of a basically healthy self but disintegration products. W e will say that the appearance and the disappearance o f such drive phenomena is

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correlated to the disintegration and reintegration of the self. W e cannot say, however, that the self "regulates" drive discharge. I have little doubt that self psychology in the broad sense of the w o r d must not only be understood as complementing mental apparatus psychology but also as being broader and m o r e generally applicable—a theory, in other words, which is supraordinated to mental apparatus psychology, i.e., includes the latter. In a certain sense then we could say that some day self psychology might c o m e to supersede mental apparatus psychology. Still, in view of the fact that we are used to thinking in mental apparatus terms and that the concepts of classical theory have served us reasonably well within a limited area, I am opting for parting with these terms and concepts slowly—and with appropriate reluctance. Let me refer to one m o r e feature of the psychology of the self that differentiates it from mental apparatus psychology, namely, the absence o f a time axis in the theoretical formulations of the f o r m e r and the presence of a time axis in the theoretical formulations of the latter. Classical analysis does, of course, take account o f the passage o f time in its clinical formulations. W e are speaking o f a psychoanalytic "process" that has a beginning, middle, and end; and, m o r e importantly, on the experience-near clinical level, classical psychoanalysis takes the historical point of view by emphasizing the relationship of a person's past to his present experiences. Even in its clinical formulations, however, it must be added, it pays only the scantest attention to the future. In its metapsychological formulations, as was recently pointed out by D. C. Levin, the time axis is not included at all. A l t h o u g h the important position o f the concept of transference in metapsychology (Freud, 1900) would on first sight seem to argue the other way, brief reflection will demonstrate that this argument is invalid because transference, the amalgamation of currently present remnants of the past with currently active experience, is essentially a dynamic-topographic concept.

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T h e psychology o f the self, on the other hand, is time-related par excellence. T h e concept o f a nuclear self, o f a structure that, once it has been established, has, from the beginning, a destiny, a potential life curve, and the self-psychological emphasis o f the relationship in the major disturbances o f the self between dynamic-structural conceptualizations that are in essence not related to the time axis (such as the fragmentation o f the self, or its weakness, o r its lack o f h a r m o n y ) , on the one hand, and functional failures along the time axis that might lie far away in the distant future (such as a lack o f fulfillment o f creative-productive potentialities), on the other hand, differentiate self-psychological theory

in this r e s p e c t c l e a r l y f r o m

classical

metapsychology. I f I have still not made myself clear here, I suggest that you look at my remarks concerning the depressions o f late middle age (in The Restoration of the Self, p. 241) as the "pivotal point" in the life curve o f the self (corresponding to the position of the Oedipus c o m p l e x in the classical neuroses). Self psychology recognizes that these disturbances are due not to the reactivation o f structural tensions from childhood (such as the ego's reaction to the absence o f the penis in the girl or the sexual possession o f the mother by the father) but to the hopelessness o f the self to fulfill its destiny as laid d o w n in its nuclear ambitions, skills, and ideals. L o o k i n g back over my letter I can see that it might seem as if I had strayed overly far from what might be expected to constitute an appropriate response to your work about g r o u p psychology. In fact, however, I believe that only the full understanding o f the new dimension introduced by self psychology that I discussed here will lead to the most fruitful application to the understanding of g r o u p behavior of the insights gained by the depth psychologist's empathic immersion into the individual. Only if we d o not disregard the fact that self psychology has enabled us to understand now such central experiences o f man as his h o p e and despair, will w e be able to apply it fully in the

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study o f g r o u p behavior. A n d only then will it b e c o m e what, indeed, it ought to be: a valuable—perhaps, at this time, the most valuable—psychological tool in man's attempt to control his historical destiny. D e a r Professor Schaefer: W h e n 1 saw your response to the two letters that 1 had written to Professor Heller, 1 was as puzzled as you had been when you read my letters in which, instead o f setting the record straight as to what you had said and not said in your essay on Kleist, I appeared to you to take sides with Heller against you and to a g r e e with his criticism. For a m o m e n t I was at a loss to understand what, in the two or three sentences in which I referred to Professor Heller's "text," could be taken this way, but then the puzzle of my, in your words, "acceptance of Heller's distorted descriptions" o f your article as though 1 had not read it myself resolved itself. M y letters had been written in response to Professor Heller's lecture in which you and your essay were not only not referred to directly but w e r e indeed explicitly kept anonymous. A p a r t from an essay by Freud (which was, however, not as prominently addressed by Professor Heller as yours), your contribution was to represent all o f applied psychoanalysis. A n d a specific hypothesis contained in your article, your statement that Kleist's penis problem "was probably the deepest source o f his preoccupation with mind-body fragmentation"

11

served Pro-

fessor Heller as the paradigm of all formulations p r o f f e r e d by applied analysis—to be exact, for all that was w r o n g with them. T h e essay in itself and, o f course, its author w e r e irrelevant in this general context. T h u s , with a friendly aside about you personally, Professor Heller stated explicitly that " I shall not divulge either the name o f the author . . . or the name of the journal -Reprinted from Critical Inquiry, p p . 189-197, A u t u m n 1987. 'Margret Schaefer, quoted by Erich Heller, "The Dismantling o f a Marionette T h e a t e r ; o r . Psychology and the Misinterpretation o f Literature," Critical Inquiry, S p r i n g 1978, p. 424.

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that printed the article"—a m o v e , as I understood it, meant not only to underline that his approach aimed at the general but also to save you from embarrassment. (So far as I know, it was only in Critical Inquiry that this sentence was r e m o v e d and a footnote inserted in its stead which identified you as the author and gave the date and place o f the publication o f your essay.) A t any rate, I felt that it was not up to me to deviate from Professor Heller's approach; and, in my reply to him I tried, therefore, not to reveal your identity. But let us now look at specifics. T a k e , for example, the sentence in my first letter in which I chided Professor Heller for having displayed all the erudition and beauty o f his introduction "only in o r d e r to serve as a contrast-providing background for the sharp delineation o f a reductionistic explanation . . . : the interpretation o f the disturbance o f man's naive, unselfconscious pre-Fall state as nothing m o r e than a portrayal o f sexual impotence—the reduction o f a d e e p existential preoccupation to a case o f phimosis." T h a t I am not expressing my o w n opinion 4

here about the hypothesis in question but Professor Heller's becomes clear on the following page in the passage in which I first propose that we should "assume . . . that Kleist had suffered from sexual impotence . . . . that this experience . . . had c o m e to be a . . . deeply felt wound in his self-confidence." I g o on to say that it would then be by no means a negligible task "to show how . . . a deeply felt personal hurt became in a genius the motivating force for the creation o f something beautiful and broadly meaningful" but that, on the contrary, it would be "a worthy enterprise to show . . . how a great artist. . . can raise his lonely suffering to a supraindividual level and can thus bec o m e the spokesman for the suffering o f his age" ( p p . 435-436). It seems to me that I made a strong case here for the relevance o f your hypothesis—that / did not consider it ridiculous. '"Psychoanalysis a n d the Interpretation o f Literature: A C o r r e s p o n d e n c e with Erich Heller," Critical Inquiry, S p r i n g 1978, p. 434. All further citations to this article will a p p e a r in the text.

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1978

Still, I avoided any reference to Professor Heller's specific "text" and its specific author and, with only two exceptions, restricted myself to discussing a general critique o f psychoanalysis, specifically o f psychoanalysis as applied to the understanding o f works o f art and literature. H e r e are the two exceptions: ( 1 ) 1 referred to you in one sentence by saying that the supposedly representative example o f the misinterpretation o f literature by psychoanalysis was not written by a psychoanalyst but by someo n e in Professor Heller's own field; and (2) I referred to your essay by the use o f one word—"here"—in the sentence that preceded the quotation to which I referred earlier: " L e t us, for a moment, assume," I said, "that the hypothesis that you rejected—and I am inclined to agree with your rejection here [my italics]—was correct" (p. 435). By using the word "here" I was indeed referring to your essay—a connection that was probably hardly noticed by the readers o f Critical Inquiry but one that was nevertheless in my mind. I will return to the second point in a different context later; at this m o m e n t I will discuss only the issue raised by my pointing up the fact that the essay in question was written by someone in Professor Heller's field. What motivated me to make the statement was not my belief that the use o f psychoanalysis in the interpretation

of art should be restricted to certified psycho-

analysis—indeed, I have always been a staunch advocate of the opposite view. My motive for this, I assumed harmless, and now, of course, irrelevant, indiscretion was that I wanted to show that Professor Heller's critique of psychoanalysis was not broadly based, that his representative example was a piece that happened to have crossed his way, that he was not using the work of an established writer in the field that he was condemning. M y statement that your essay is an unacceptable text in a sermon preaching against applied analysis is unrelated to the value of your article. Even if in the future it should turn out that your essay—as far as I know your first contribution to applied psychoanaly-

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sis—was the forerunner o f a significant oeuvre that would put you into the class o f the great contributors of psychoanalytic interpretations o f literature, it is at this point not an acceptable text for a sermon against our

field.

After demonstrating that my correspondence with Professor Heller does not allow any conclusions concerning my evaluation o f your Kleist essay, it appears to me imperative, despite the irrelevance o f my opinion of it within the context of Professor Heller's argument, that I now tell you what in fact I think. Y o u have already quoted me as having twice praised your effort, first in a letter after reading your manuscript and second after Professor Heller's lecture. B e f o r e giving you here my present, considered j u d g m e n t , I must point out that the two statements you adduced have only limited significance. H e r e is my A p r i l 1975 letter to you in its totality. I wrote: I was finally able to read your essay on Kleist's "Puppet T h e a t e r " during the last weekend. It is a skillfully written, carefully thought out, and well balanced presentation which gave me a great deal o f enjoyment. I liked especially your elaborations on the theme represented by the relationship between the puppeteer and the puppet. It is beautiful to see how Kleist in his story alludes simultaneously to three psychological issues and synthesizes them. ( 1 ) T h e dim m e m ories which all human beings harbor deep in their personality o f a phase o f normal d e v e l o p m e n t in which the baby still felt himself to be part o f an idealized omnipotent selfobject. ( 2 ) T h e danger o f the pathological revival of this phase in a schizophrenic regression in which the self as a center of independent initiative is put out o f action—here I would refer you especially to a particular symptom of a certain type o f schizophrenia which is called "automatic obedience." A n d (3) the leading psychological problem o f an era (specifically the dangers posed by mass society: the anonymity o f the individual) for which the description of the individual psychopathology of the artist is only a vehicle. O n c e m o r e my

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thanks for giving me the copy o f your paper, and g o o d wishes for your professional and personal future. 1 believe that any perceptive reader o f this letter will agree that this is a friendly statement, addressed by a m e m b e r o f an o l d e r generation to a m e m b e r o f a younger one, meant to be supportive and encouraging. T o my profound gratification, my findings have indeed been useful to many investigators in my o w n and in neighboring fields, and I receive many manuscripts and reprints containing contributions which to a greater o r lesser extent are based o n my work. A n d I try, to the best o f my ability, in the time that my own work leaves m e for the discharge of this responsibility, to meet the expressed or unexpressed wishes of the authors for a response from m e just as I did with my letter to you. N o w to the second instance to which you refer. I must confess that I d o not r e m e m b e r that I took pains to tell you after Professor Heller's lecture "how much" I liked your article, as you say. But while I don't remember, I d o not question your m e m o r y in the least. I d o r e m e m b e r a feeling o f great compassion for you after the lecture and that I told you about that. I thought that you must have sent your manuscript to a revered teacher figure expecting praise, only to have your effort used as the paradigm o f something that very teacher rejected. A s I said, I d o not r e m e m b e r praising your essay at that point but, knowing myself, I can well imagine that under the circumstances I might have d o n e so. But again, I d o not believe that my reaction at that point can be taken as a carefully reasoned opinion. W h a t then is in fact my evaluation o f your contribution? T h i s time I must clearly neither be influenced by the wish to give encouragement nor by compassion with someone whose expectations have just been dashed. I had read your article only once, three years a g o , when you sent me the typescript—I had avoided rereading it when I began to formulate my response to Professor H e l l e r because (1) I did not want to be drawn into a specific

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issue and inadvertently break the code o f anonymity; and (2) my interests, as I will show later, were not directed at any specific issue raised by your contribution. A t any rate, the years that had elapsed since my original reading allowed m e now, when I read it again, to look at it with fresh eyes, as if for the first time. A n d I was glad to find that my overall j u d g m e n t corresponded almost exactly to the one I gave you in my letter three years a g o . C o m paring your production with the average paper o f a psychoanalyst, I am struck by how much better you write, how much better is the organization o f your line o f thought, and how much better is the balance o f your presentation. I think that psychoanalysts ought to heed the lesson learned from the comparison; our field is d e p r i v e d because o f the lack o f p e o p l e such as you; and it would be enriched if p e o p l e with your disciplined attitude towards ideas w e r e to participate in it, not as outsiders and exceptions but as regular members o f our profession. T h a t there is a loss for every gain should not c o m e as a surprise, but the disadvantages o f the nonclinician may be m o r e difficult to see. T r u e , your paper makes use o f the ideas that have recently begun to form a cohesive system o f thought, the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self, and it does so in a competent and resourceful manner. But there are also shortcomings. I certainly would not expect of you that, in a first production in a new field, you should present us with new and unexpected insights—on the contrary, I was pleased to see how much you were able to achieve. But, turning now to the debit side o f the ledger, I felt that your formulations lacked the reverberations of a direct familiarity with the human experiences they were describing, a familiarity that not only enriches the writings o f the great in the field of psychoanalysis, not excluding some of their theoretical formulations, but that is even evident in the work of the run-of-the-mill contributors, incomparably lower in level of scholarship than yours. T h e explanation for the difference is, I believe, your lack of clinical experience. H o w e v e r tin-

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tutored the mind of the average contributor to psychoanalytic literature may be, when it comes to the presentation of ideas (not only does medical training not help here, it is downright impoverishing in this respect), those w h o have sat with many patients through years of emotional turmoil and struggle will be m o r e directly in tune with the psychological material they are discussing than those who, like you, live primarily in the world of ideas. Granted exceptions in both groups, I believe that, on the whole, the perception of those without clinical experience will be narrowed by theoretical preconceptions, while the empathy of the seasoned clinician will be m o r e open to resonate in response to nuances in the psychological data and thus able to gain access to a broader spectrum of meanings. T o my mind your lack of clinical experience is most evident in that part of" your essay that is not based on the psychology of the self, the part that Professor Heller used as his paradigm for all that is w r o n g with applied psychoanalysis. A s I said earlier, I d o not reject the possibility that an experience of impotence could be the center of a d e e p wound in an artist's self-esteem and that it would be a worthy task for a psychoanalyst to show how such a deeply felt personal hurt becomes "the motivating force for the creation of something beautiful and broadly meaningful—vastly transcending the original disturbance, yet still in unbroken psychological contact with it" ( p . 436). Still, while I thus disagree with Professor Heller's general rejection of the relevance of the investigation of such a possibility in the scrutiny o f a work o f art, I tend, paradoxically, to be m o r e on his side as concerns Kleist and the marionette essay. ( Y o u r e m e m b e r : I wrote to Professor Heller that " I am inclined to agree with your rejection here") W h a t are my reasons for taking this position? Let me first say that here the limitations of almost all interpretations of applied psychoanalysis come to the fore most glaringly. W e simply d o not have enough psychological data to arrive at a firmly

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supported conclusion. But, disregarding this fact, I believe that the data that are available d o not speak sufficiently for your hypothesis, indeed may be said to militate somewhat against it. Y o u say in your essay that "Kleist's concern with the awkward dancer, the impotent fencer, and the vulnerable y o u n g boy w h o cannot m o v e his leg hints also at a quite specific and concrete narcissistic vulnerability: the threat o f sexual impotence, and the humiliation attendant on a disfigured, non-functioning penis."

5

But there is indeed a ten-year g a p between the operation on the penis and the writing o f the essay on the "marionette theater," and, in o r d e r to make the connection m o r e plausible, it would have to be shown that, preceding the writing o f the essay, Kleist's concerns in this specific area had been reactivated. So much about the absence o f sufficient positive evidence. But m o r e important, my perception o f Kleist's description o f the fencer and the bear is somewhat closer to Professor Heller's than to yours. M y scrutiny o f the episode evoked in me not the m e m o r y o f clinical experiences that relate to lowered self-esteem because o f sexual impotence and weakness but rather that o f a boy's hopeless attempt to impress an idealized adult, especially the father. T h e i m a g e called up in m e is m o r e that o f a child trying desperately to impress an admired adult, to make a dent in this admired adult's impassive superiority, while the adult remains unreachable, disdainful, hardly noticing the child w h o wants to show his skills, his gifts. N o t having studied Kleist's life, I cannot say how my impressions fit the biographical data. But the fencer's hopelessly giving up the attempt to touch the bear, after e m ploying all his skills, would make me alert to the possible presence o f a crucial childhood situation: the situation o f an intellectually and artistically gifted child whose talents, the very core o f his self, failed to impress a bearlike adult, an adult, in other words, whose personality (especially his ambitions and ideals) is such "'Schaefer, "Kleist's 'About the P u p p e t Theater' and the Narcissism o f the Artist," American Imago, 32:383, 1975.

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that he cannot respond to this kind o f child. A n d if I should be able to ascertain that such a situation did indeed exist in Kleist's childhood, I would then search for parallels to it in the p e r i o d preceding the writing o f the marionette essay, that is, I would search for a recent experience that was analogous to the childhood failure o f the attempt to impress an ideal. But let m e stress again that these thoughts are speculative only. I would not introduce them in a scientific communication unless I could support them with solid empirical evidence (data from Kleist's biography). I mentioned them only in o r d e r to show why I said in my first letter to Professor Heller that I was "inclined" to a g r e e with him "here." T u r n i n g to the third and last part o f my response to you, I will n o w address the topic that for me is the most important. Q u i t e apart from the fact that I did not deal with your specific article and your specific thesis in my letters to Professor H e l l e r for the reasons that I have now explained, the whole tenor o f my response to Professor Heller was determined by interests that pointed in a different direction. I f you are familiar with some o f my recent essays—"The Future o f Psychoanalysis," for example, or " T h e Psychoanalyst in the Community of Scholars"—you will know that, f o r some years now, I have expressed my concern about the fact that psychoanalysis does not occupy the central position in m o d e r n human thought that I think it ought to occupy, that it is not the b r i d g e between the sciences and the humanities that I think it ought to be. It is here that I want the significance o f my dialogue with Professor Heller to be seen. A n d it is the wish to impress scholars in other fields with the ability of psychoanalysis to make a very important contribution to the creation o f a true university that p r o m p t e d m e to end my second letter with a reference to the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self. "Does the Psychology o f the Self N a r r o w the G a p between Psychoanalysis and the Other Sciences o f Man?" is the title o f one of the symposia of a conference on the psy-

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chology o f the self to be held next fall. M y answer is "yes"—and I hope that the other participants in the panel will agree with me. T h e acceptance o f psychoanalysis as the discipline that m o r e than any other can contribute to a rapprochement between the sciences and the humanities—to a healing process, in other words, that, if its significance is fully understood, can be considered as crucial for the psychological survival o f man—is opposed by strong forces. Foremost it is opposed by an emotional attitude present in the scientist, humanist, and psychoanalyst to which I have referred as "tool and method pride." It is in this area that the divergence o f our interests becomes most obvious. Y o u understandably reacted to Professor Heller's address as a critique o f your paper, as the rejection o f a contribution to which you had d e v o t e d all the scholarship and skill at your disposal. I , on the other hand, took Heller's essay as a critique o f all o f psychoanalysis, indeed o f science. I f Professor Heller attacks reduction ism, he does not attack you, or me, or psychoanalysis but all o f science because, in some ways, reductionism is the essence o f science, o f good science. Strange as it may sound to you, I see Professor Heller as bravely occupying an unpopular minority position in our time when he attacks psychoanalysis as the most immediately dangerous representative o f the dominant scientific attitude o f our era (the "scientific Weltanschaung"—Freud's ultimate ideal) which he believes endangers the psychological survival of man. 1 d o not share Professor Heller's passionately held view, but I am glad to see his concern expressed because it is an important one. What I tried to tell him in my letters—inadvertently hurting you in the process—was that he was doing his position an injustice by using the methods of ridicule and caricature. But while I pleaded against his methods, I expressed, directly and indirectly, my admiration of the courage with which he has spoken up for his beliefs throughout his life. A s I said before, his position is not

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a popular o n e in our time. Scientists, in particular, tend to push it aside as obscurantism and regression, and I am sure that Professor Heller and the other humanists w h o dare to o p p o s e the preeminence o f science in our time are used to being told, patronizingly, that their enmity to science is not m o r e than a remnant o f unresolved childishness,

a clinging to the

pleasure

principle that makes them insist on the validity o f the experiences o f the whole man and his experience-near perceptions

and

makes them fight the reductionism and the experience-distance o f scientific explanations. But should it not give us food for thought that there are great scientists—Heisenberg, for e x a m p l e , w h o d e f e n d e d the appropriateness o f Goethe's, to modern eyes bizarre, rejection of" Newton's discovery that the color white was the summation of all the colors of the spectrum—who not only acknowledge the fact that the experience-nearness of the artist's perception of the world must be preserved but also seem to recognize, i f ever so dimly, that science with its reductionism is not only man's helpmate but that it is also, and especially in our era, a danger to his wholeness and thus to his emotional survival. It is not easy for me to put down the pen at this point—there is so much still to be said, to be explained. But I know that this debate must come to a close. I cannot help but realize with some sadness that a m o v e that I undertook in o r d e r to increase the understanding between literary criticism and

psychoanalysis,

between two deeply related disciplines, seems to have led to nothing but anger, strife, and enmity. T h a t , specifically, while I have hardly won a new friend for psychoanalysis, I have in the process lost the g o o d will o f a gifted fellow worker w h o formerly had looked to me as mentor and guide. Still, on balance, I d o not regret what I have d o n e . T h e written word outlasts the tribulations of the day. A n d thus I hope that my words will continue to make a contribution, however small, to the goal of increasing the mutual understanding between the scientific psychologist and the humanist. A s you know, I d o not believe that

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such a result is brought about by the suppression or taming o f an inherent aggressive drive but as a consequence o f our increasing ability to o v e r c o m e the hurt o f injured self-esteem and o f the rage that follows it. Is there a chance that we could, all o f us, achieve that extension o f the empathic grasp o f the inner experiences o f the other that allows us to move toward that goal? Can Professor Heller accomplish this feat, can you; can I? July 1978 Dear Dr. F.: T h a n k you for sending me a copy o f your letter to Professor Sacks. I am sorry to gather that, as attested by such phrases as "tilting at each other on a well-worn Field o f battle" and "how often have we heard," you found the debate between Professor Heller and me both irrelevant and boring. I was also sorry that you d e v o t e d the greater part o f your letter to chiding Professor Heller and me for wasting the readers' time by belaboring a barren topic rather than to the task o f elaborating the two m o r e fertile ones that you feel should have been discussed, namely, as you quote Dr. D . as having suggested, the special role that the marionette theater has "always" had in the training for the dance, and, as you suggest, that Kleist in his essay had portrayed the very subject matter that Heller and I debated, the relationship between science and art. A p a r t from ridiculing both Professor Heller and m e for having e n g a g e d in a high-flown debate concerning a trite and stale topic that didn't deserve our spirited efforts, you level two criticisms at m e in particular. Y o u claim that I , erroneously, think that the psychology o f the self is "broad" rather than " d e e p " in its approach towards art; and you censure me for finding it difficult to temper my enthusiasm for my contributions to depth psychology with the recognition o f their inevitable inadequacies. I h o p e that the following quotations from my letter o f July 31, 1977 will p r o m p t you to reexamine your opinions about my

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intentions and attitudes. ( I am underlining those phrases that I would especially like you to consider.) O n page 444: " I must now m o v e to the next—the final topic . . . , namely, to my assertion that the latest development in scientific depth psychology, the psychology of the self, has indeed increased the capacity of our theoretical formulations to encompass creative man . . . and . . . has enabled us to make significant explanatory statements about the products of his creativity." O r , on page 447: "with the advent o f the psychology of the self, depth psychology can for the first time begin, however haltingly and cautiously, to deal with the problems and activities of the whole man." O r , on page 449: " T h e s e scientific explanations are no more than tiny steps on mankind's path toward increasing consciousness—tiny steps in the direction of that state of 'infinite consciousness' which. . . ." O r , again on page 449: "Despite the full acknowledgment, therefore, of the tentativeness of the formulations supplied by the psychology of the self, despite the smallness of the progress, they constitute. . . ." A n d immediately following: "Whatever their limitations and shotcomings, I know not only that the psychology o f the self explains more meaningfully certain areas. . . ." A n d , finally, carrying the special weight o f being the last sentence of the whole long letter, I closed by saying that "the new psychology o f the self has m o v e d one inch forward on our unending road." I think that the f o r g o i n g excerpts show (1) that my enthusiasm about the insights o f self psychology is not

untempered

by the recognition o f the inadequacies o f the results o f our new perspective; and (2) that with my references to them as "broad" and encompassing I did not mean to give expression to the view that they w e r e "broad" rather than " d e e p " but that the scope of their explanatory power—the "breadth" and "depth," sit venia verbis—was w i d e r than that o f the explanations o f conflict psychology (mental apparatus psychology). In particular I advanced the claim (and supported it with the aid of many examples) that the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self would, by comparison

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with those of conflict psychology (mental apparatus psychology) not only p r o v e to be m o r e helpful to the scientific depth psychologist himself with regard to certain large areas of psychopathology (the disorders of the self) but, again as compared with the explanations of conflict psychology, would ultimately also prove to be m o r e helpful to the humanist with regard to certain large areas outside of psychopathology (the area o f man's philosophical and religious endeavors, and, above all, the area o f his artistic creativity). N o v e m b e r 5, 1978 Dear G.: I could, unfortunately, not be present at the N o v e m b e r 1 research meeting in which a M r . Α . , according to the schedule of meetings a student a t . . . College, presented some material o n William James. I heard that he gave the impression at the beginning of his, as I understand, very p o o r and amateurish presentation

that I had endorsed

his work by calling it "very

convincing." Since I could not remember either having heard Mr. A . ' s name o r having read his essay on James, I went to my files and, to my initial dismay, found there a xerox copy o f a few hurried lines that I had written in response to his sending me two pages o f quotations from James's The Varieties of Religious Experience. In these pages James describes—indeed very convincingly—a serious disturbance of the state o f his self that he experienced when he was twenty-eight. A t any rate this must have been my impression last summer when I wrote these lines to M r . Α . : "Thank you for the 2 pp. about James's loss-of-self episode. V e r y convincing! I am curious whether you will also supply material from childhood (about the relationship to his selfobjects) that explains the precariousness of the self." W h e n I heard that M r . A . had presented a very p o o r paper I p o n d e r e d the question whether my general policy o f responding in an encouraging way to beginners w h o turn to me was

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justified. It's difficult to c o m e to a decision here, but on the whole I would defend my inclination to be encouraging and stressing that I also point out that much learning is involved. In other words, I encourage studying, reading, and, as I did in M r . A.'s case, the seeking o f consultations. I am not writing this letter, however, in o r d e r to defend myself against the possible accusation that I am too uncritical toward people w h o are trying to apply my work to research in other fields but in o r d e r to make a point that appears not to have been made at the meeting. Disturbed self states occur frequently and are ubiquitous. A l t h o u g h I am differentiating various types o f disturbed self states (e.g., fragmentation, depletion, disharmony), I often refer to all o f them—a potion, following Freud's tradition (see Kohut and Seitz, 1963, pp. 124-125)—as fragmentation. States o f fragmentation, in this broad sense, even temporary experiences o f "loss o f self," occur not only in individuals with defective self structures but also in people whose self is active and strong. T h e opinion that I expressed in my note to M r . A . that James's description o f his state o f self fragmentation was "convincing" implies therefore neither that I believe that his state was necessarily a pathological one nor, in particular, that he was suffering from a primary disorder o f the self. (For a differentiating classification o f primary and secondary disturbances o f the self see The Restoration of the Self, p p . 191-193; see also chapter 2 o f the essay by W o l f and me which will appear in the next issue o f the International Journal of Psychoanalysis, i.e., V o l u m e 59, Part 4, 1978.) Disturbances

in t h e s t a t e o f t h e

self, e v e n o f s e v e r e

degree—whether in the form o f fragmentation, depletion, or disharmony—occur in psychologically healthy individuals in response to external and internal stress, e.g., in particular during periods o f transition at various ages or when a person is confronting an unusually difficult task; or they occur in response to the tensions created by structural neuroses; or they occur as the symptoms o f primary self disorders. I understand that you

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suggested that James may have described not a state of self disturbance but that he could have experienced severe castration anxiety. N o t having studied William James's biography, I cannot j u d g e whether there is indeed any evidence for the presence of castration anxiety at that time. ( T h e material that M r . A . sent m e does not seem to point toward castration anxiety, but the data are insufficient to arrive at a conclusion here.) W h a t I want to stress, however, is that this possibility does not exclude James's having suffered a serious disturbance o f the state of his self. V e r y serious self disturbances can indeed be temporarily caused by an upsurge o f castration fear, just as they can be caused by a variety o f other internal and external traumatic factors, not only by chronically defective selves but also by unusually strong and creative ones. N o v e m b e r 16, 1978 Dear Dr. M . L . L . : Thanks for the permission to use the L . version of Corinthians I, 13, whatever its appropriate title might be. I am sorry that your paper was rejected but I am glad that you kept your cool. I had a hard time doing so when I read some o f those mean and silly comments, even though I should be used to them by now. "What Kohut tells us to d o with these three transferences is to accept them." That's by now a wellknown canard, started by a prominent N e w Y o r k analyst at a Philadelphia meeting some years a g o . I f you read only the word "accept" (line 14 of p. 264 of The Analysis of the Self), you could possibly be misled. But if you read the total context in which this expression is used, it would seem almost impossible to misinterpret my true meaning. (See, e.g., the statement on p. 266 in which I compare the rejection o f a patient's beginning idealization of the analyst with "an analyst's protestation that he is not his patient's parent in response to the first hint of the patient's oedipal strivings.") N o one w h o reads pages 260-269 could misunderstand my true meaning unless he actively wants to distort it.

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I have recently c o m e across a similar distortion—ludicrous yet sad. A reviewer of" my essay " T h e Psychoanalyst in the C o m munity o f Scholars" finds only one phrase of this long and complex article to be worth quoting (see p. 630, line 17 o f Psychoanalytic Quarterly, 47, N o . 4, 1978), namely, the friendly and laudatory, at any rate innocuous phrase "deceptively simple" with regard to a specific idea of" Freud. H e quotes these harmless words, out of context, as one example—a single one he presents—of a "number o f controversial ideas" in my paper. A g a i n , reading the phrase in isolation, one might possibly think that I had been belittling a thought of Freud. But even the most cursory reading of the phrase in context (see The Annual of Psychoanalysis, 3, p. 344, 1975, from line 4 to line 15) shows that the opposite was intended, that my meaning was approximately: even m o r e complex and p r o f o u n d than one would think at first sight. A h well, I have learned to keep my sense of humor and I am glad to see that you, too, aren't bothered too much by such rebuffs. December 15, 1978 Dear D . : T h a n k you for your p r o m p t reply to my letter, and thank you also for giving me permission to show your response to some o f my friends and colleagues at the Institute. I was touched by your remarks about my role in the October Conference on the Psychoanalytic Psychology of the Self, and I accept your offer to send m e the list o f registrants. But I will not hide from you that I d o so with mixed feelings. I am not interested in the list and will hardly look at it when I get it from you. I will simply pass it on to the Committee on Continuing Education o f the Institute because I think that they should have it. If, h o w e v e r , you could o v e r c o m e your reluctance and give it directly to N a t e Schlessinger, the chairman of the Committee, I would not only be grateful to you for sparing me the discomfort

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of having to d o something that I might still suspect as being taken by you as counter to your interests, I would also admire you for having made an important generous and constructive move. T h a t you w e r e able to shoulder a part of the responsibility for the unfortunate impasse that has d e v e l o p e d between Michael Reese and the Institute in this affair made me feel less desperate than I had increasingly been feeling about the short-sightedness that seems to prevail in psychoanalytic and psychiatric circles. Many years a g o a friend told m e how he and his brother—they were both adolescents at that time—were e n g a g e d in a vicious fight with each other about some minor matter on the balcony of their house in a German town, while down below, in the town square, the Nazis w e r e rallying in celebration of the final takeo v e r o f Germany by Hitler. I have never forgotten this picture. T h e man who told me the story became a psychiatrist at the age o f fifty, after having been a very successful internist for m o r e than two decades. I have always assumed a connection between his experiences in Germany at that time and his turning to psychiatry. W h e t h e r my guess about the motivation for his ultimate choice of profession is right o r not, I don't know. But I d o know that my o w n encounter at that time with the gruesome consequences of man's irrationality w e r e a strong determinant in my choice of profession and, especially, in the choice o f my subsequent search to understand man's proneness to fall victim to cruel, unforgiving rage. A t any rate, when I see protracted attitudes o f anger between various institutions in our field, between factions o f analysis, between groups even inside a single institute such as our o w n , I am reminded o f the brothers' violent fight while the Nazis were marching and heed the lesson that one can easily derive if one thinks about this scene. I will not, therefore, accept it as a fact of life and as an unavoidable social reality that two institutions of the caliber of Michael Reese and the Institute are working at cross-purposes.

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T r u e , the Nazis are not at the m o m e n t marching in the town square. I am convinced, however, that similar, and perhaps even greater, dangers are indeed around the corner. In a world threatened by atomic extinction it is our duty, as the students of human personality who probe most deeply into peoples' m o tivations, to d o what we can to c o m e up with insights that may help man to understand his propensity toward boundless rage. T h e r e are many paths along which we might inch our way torward toward such insights and our investigations and discussions, and o u r mutual learning and teaching, should be pursued in various directions and on various levels. Seen in this perspective, different institutions and their activities are not in competition with each other and our o v e r r i d i n g commitment is not to the specific setting in which we pursue our activities but to our c o m m o n goals. W h e n the Institute, on the one hand, plans a conference—let us say on a topic within the clinical-professional area which, as is maintained by many analysts, should be considered as the only p r o p e r area for a psychoanalytic institute's activities—and when, on the other hand, Michael Reese ventures to sponsor a conference on psychohistory, these two important centers of learning and research should support each other in activities that c o m p l e m e n t each other—they should not compete, fight, o r be envious o f the other's success. Each success of the one enhances the other; and each failure is also the other's defeat. I must now give you my reaction to the conference on psychohistory which Michael Reese wants to sponsor—with my help, as you say—next fall. T h a t the application of my work to the motivations o f people and to their behavior in the arena of history is very important to me can be deduced easily not only from my earlier remarks regarding the experiences o f the late 1930s when I witnessed the disintegration o f the whole culture that had f o r m e d and sustained me but also from the fact that I have many times in my work attempted to apply the lessons I learned

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in the psychoanalytic setting to the area "beyond the bounds of the basic rule." A n d , as you know, apart from my summarizing remarks at the end of our meeting, my only active contribution to the Chicago Conference o n the psychoanalytic psychology of the self was the brief paper I presented to the symposium on applied analysis in which psychohistory played a prominent role. Still, there are reasons why my participation in a Reese-sponsored conference on psychohistory cannot be a prominent one. I am aware of two o f them—I don't know which one of them is the m o r e important one; but they are probably interconnected—and I feel that I should spell them out to you as best I can. T h e first reason is that my deepest obligation is to my o n g o i n g work and that, in reluctant deference to my age and my limited energies, I must concentrate on those activities—mainly at my desk—where I believe I can still contribute the most to the p r o g ress o f depth-psychological science. T h i s is not a new decision. I have for many years now declined all invitations—literally hundreds o f them and many o f them by famous centers o f learning and by important organizations inside and outside the United States—because I wanted to concentrate on my work. T h e very few exceptions to my otherwise strictly adhered-to nonparticipation in teaching and lecturing activities and in professional meetings related to such institutions as the University o f Chicago—my first intellectual h o m e in the United States—and the Chicago Institute for Psychoanalysis on whose staff I had been continuously for a quarter of a century, from 1953 until a few months a g o when, as you probably know, I was not reelected to the Council of the Institute despite my o w n willingness to continue to serve on it. ( A l t h o u g h o f lesser importance, I will also mention to you, for completeness sake, that I have retained my appointment as a Visiting Professor o f Psychoanalysis at the University o f Cincinnati, an institution that gave me an honorary d e g r e e at a particularly difficult and painful juncture o f my life,

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namely, when I had to face the angrily expressed unwillingness o f my own psychoanalytic society to sponsor a meeting that some o f my colleagues wanted to organize on the occasion o f my 6()th birthday.) A n d this brings me to the second reason for my decision not to participate prominently in a Reese-sponsored conference at this time. So long as the great tensions between Reese and the Institute continue to exist, any conspicuous involvement on my part in the Reese conference would p r o v i d e ammunition for the many p e o p l e in the psychoanalytic community w h o wish m e ill. T h e y will use my participation in your conference by again spreading the rumors that I am founding a movement, that I want to divorce my work and myself from psychoanalysis, that I am shifting my loyalty from the Institute to Michael Reese. I feel ashamed, deeply ashamed, o f bowing to this kind o f pressure, and I feel ashamed for those—they don't—who force me to behave in a way that runs counter to some o f my most deeply held convictions. I f a conference could be organized that would give m e and others familiar with the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self the opportunity to acquaint people in a variety o f fields (historians, social and political scientists, even writers in the popular media and individuals active in the foreign relations area) with the enormous explanatory potential o f the psychology o f the self in this area, a voice in m e says that nothing should hold me back from openly and strongly supporting such an undertaking. Still, after struggling with myself for days, I have c o m e to the decision not to offer my support in any conspicuous way to such a Reese-sponsored conference for the reasons that I gave you before. W h i l e I know within myself that not a trace o f disloyalty to psychoanalysis in general and to the Chicago Institute as the representative o f analysis in this area would be involved by my giving o p e n support to such a conference, I also know that this is not the way it would be taken by others and so, for the time being, and at great cost to myself, I will bow to this social pressure.

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W h y am I telling all this to you? W h y is it to you—an individual w h o m I hardly know personally, the head of an institution with which, until just recently, I have never had even the slightest contact—that I am making all these revelations about my inner struggles? T h e reason for my openness to you is that at the m o m e n t it is the only way by which I can express my gratitude to you and to Michael Reese Hospital, the institution you represent. I am grateful to Reese and you on two counts. First for honoring my work and me publicly at the very moment when both my work and 1 were exposed to a great deal of severe criticism from a variety o f sides. A n d secondly because the C o n ference on self psychology organized by the Michael Reese School o f Health Sciences offered to the new work a forum that was exemplary in its total absence of any form of censorship in any of its overt or covert variants. A b o u t the first point I can be brief. T h e decision o f Reese to honor me since, without my ever having d o n e any teaching there in person, the psychiatric staff felt that I had been their teacher through my writings, was accidentally reached not long before the time when I was exposed to the wounding rejection from the side o f my colleagues at the Institute that I mentioned before. T h e public expression of esteem for my work through the bestowal o f an honorary staff membership at Michael Reese Hospital was, therefore, especially meaningful and supportive to me at this time and I am deeply grateful for it. With regard to the second point, I will have to be a bit m o r e specific since, at first sight, it might seem hard to believe that the academic f r e e d o m that the Reese-sponsored C o n f e r e n c e provided for the presentation of the work o f my colleagues and me should not be available to m e in my o w n home, i.e., within the area o f organized psychoanalysis. A n d yet this is indeed the case. I cannot think o f any psychoanalytic organization which would be willing to sponsor a conference on the psychoanalytic psychology o f the self in which we, the creators o f the new field.

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would have full freedom in organizing the meeting in a way that we feel would be the most appropriate o n e for the presentation o f our findings and ideas at this point. I will not waste your time by telling you about blatant forms o f censorship—by

various

psychoanalytic teaching institutions East and West, by scientific organizations, and by scientific journals—but will mention only one kind o f curtailment because, hiding its purpose behind a cover o f democracy, its true nature may not be recognized by some. L e t m e clarify my meaning with the aid of two examples of what I consider academic freedom to be. W h e n Freud in 1915-17 wanted to give his Introductory Lectures at the University of Vienna, no one, I am sure, interfered in the slightest with his presentations—however

inimical the faculty and

those who

wielded the power o f decision-making might have been. W h e n , to use an e x t r e m e example from our days, a professor of political science at Northwestern University wants to teach that Nazi atrocities against minorities, in general, and the Jews, in particular, did not really take place but w e r e propaganda inventions, Northwestern University, in the spirit of academic freedom, did not dismiss him or prevent him from lecturing. I am aware of the fact that the attitude of Northwestern University in this case could be questioned—even by individuals w h o cherish academic f r e e d o m . But, within the context of my present argument, the e x a m p l e demonstrates clearly that, even in extreme cases, universities will rather risk widespread social disapproval and loss of income than curb that freedom that is the very essence of academic life. W h e r e is there a similar spirit in psychoanalysis? W h e r e in our field is the institution which is proud of being an institution o f higher learning and lives up to the example of the great universities o f the Western world? T h e r e is not one psychoanalytic institution where the psychology of the self could be presented

with that near-total lack o f interference that the

University o f Vienna long a g o gave to Freud and that the Reesesponsored forum provided for us. Reese did not tell us that we

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had to have representatives o f other schools o f thought on our p r o g r a m . Reese did not sponsor another conference o f another school o f thought in o r d e r to p r o v e that it did not fully endorse the ideas o f self psychology. It simply allowed a g r o u p o f p e o p l e w h o wanted to present their ideas to present them in the way that these people thought best. T h e granting o f a forum to present ideas does, o f course, not mean that the sponsoring institution agrees with the ideas presented either hi lolo or in part. It only means that the sponsoring institution believes that the ideas fall in general within the limits ofthat branch o f science with which it is concerned and that the participants are serious members o f the scientific community. Y o u can see now, I hope, why I am grateful to Reese and you. A n d you can see also why it distresses m e so deeply that I cannot openly involve myself in the organization o f the conference on psychohistory that you are considering for next year. But I will not accept the total burden for my less than exemplary decision. T h e whole problem—and

it is not only

mine—would immediately be vastly closer to a solution if the strife between the two institutions could be deescalated and a combined constructive set o f plans be devised. I d o not know whether any substantial issues d o really separate the parties involved. A s I assess the situation at my institute, the faculty which now influences institute policies much m o r e than in the past seems to look at the institute increasingly narrowly as a professional school only and not as a multi-layered universitylike enterprise that I have always considered it to be. G e o r g e Pollock, the director, shares, I believe, my broader views—but he must take into account the pressures that come from the faculty and perhaps also the pressure exerted on the Institute by the A m e r ican Psychoanalytic Association. Still, I am sure that with g o o d will, persistence, and the renewed devotion to the ideals that all o f us surely held in our younger years but often tend to forget as we g r o w older, constructive moves can be made.

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Michael Reese and the Institute could get together and plan a combined conference; o n e g r o u p would concentrate on a clinical topic, while the other would focus on the applied field. I really d o not know whether the present atmosphere would permit us even to contemplate such a possibility in seriousness. The human element—the resentments, the self-righteous certainly that the other side is wrong—might not allow us to m o v e in the direction of such a close cooperation. But still, when I consider that w e in our daily work expect our patients to recognize and to control their narcissistic vulnerability and rage, and to m o v e on to constructive action, I d o w o n d e r why it should be conside r e d as unrealistic o r extreme to think that we should expect the same from ourselves?

20 Letters 1979

January 6, 1979 Dear R.. D. L . brought me his copy o f your Darwin paper. I read it right away, thought that it was a valuable contribution, and enjoyed it very much. I understand that you will present the paper at the psychoanalytic society and I wished that I could be there and lend you my support and discuss it. Instead, I will restrict myself to giving you now some o f my ideas about it in writing. Since you openly, and courageously, base your contribution on my work, let m e begin by telling you that I believe that the passages in my o w n work that are most applicable to the puzzles in Darwin's personality that you are in the process o f solving relate (a) to the concept o f the idealizing transference, ( b ) the concept o f a transference o f creativity, and (c) to certain formulations about the sequences that lead to creative action. In view o f the fact that you have yourself focused strongly and explicitly on the concept o f an idealizing transference, I need not refer you to the places where I am dealing with it in my work. I believe, however, that you might find it helpful to look over what I have said about the "transference of creativity" and about the various stages of the creative process. Y o u will find the first o f these two topics treated in The Analysis of the Self ( p p . 316-317) and, especially, in the paper "Creativeness, Charisma,

621

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G r o u p Psychology: Reflections on the Self-Analysis of Freud" (1976, in particular p p . 804-823); you will find the second of these topics—a formulation concerning the stages o f creativeness—taken up in the same paper, intermingled with further thoughts about the transference o f creativity in the pages that follow those I just mentioned (i.e., pp. 823-832). But now back to Darwin! I think that you present here a specific, beautiful e x a m p l e of the workings of creativity against the explanatory background of the relationship of the creator to an idealized transference figure. Darwin—as d o so many people who build up their selves out of compensatory structures (cf. The Restoration of the Self)—tried to organize a self by turning from his mother to his father. T h e father was a better selfobject, but he was not quite g o o d enough. T h u s , the need for an external omnipotent figure in o r d e r to remain organized (i.e., for example, not fragmented, not hypochondriacal) persisted. In your study you demonstrate beautifully how the relationship to Lyell served this purpose. I think, however, that your contribution would benefit i f it specifically referred to the following dynamic sequence: the relationship to the idealized, omnipotent selfobject is maintained only during the phase in which the new ideas are being d e v e l o p e d (the "hatching phase," one might call it). In o r d e r for the creative person to be enabled to make the last steps o f explicit formulation, however, a decisive shift must first take place—a shift not only from an external idealized selfobject ("the idealized parent figure") to internalized guiding ideals ("the idealized parent imago," the idealization o f the goals that make up the " e g o ideal"), but also, and especially, a shift from the exclusive emphasis o f ideals to the at least equal, i f not now predominant, emphasis on exhibitionism and ambition. Speaking in the terms of the concept o f the "bipolar self," I am here referring to the setting up o f a complete, active tension arc between ambitions and ideals. A t o n e point Darwin had to let g o of the organizing en-

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meshment with Lyell, in o r d e r to enter the last phase o f creativity, in o r d e r to m o v e from the "hatching phase" o f creativity to its "phase o f consummation." Relinquishment o f the organizing ideal has two consequences: (1) it allows creativity to organize the personality during periods of creative work; and ( 2 ) it exposes the personality to fragmentation during those periods when creativeness cannot be maintained. Darwin's oscillations between creativeness and hypochondria bear witness to the correctness of the preceding formulation, adding I believe a third dimension to the two-dimensional formula that I suggested in the "Creativeness" paper ( K o h u t , 1976, p. 815f.). Let me m o v e toward the end o f this all-too-long communication by r e c o m m e n d i n g to you if not the study in depth so at least a glance at the relationship between Nietzsche and W a g n e r which in many—and very richly documented—ways is analogous to the Darwin-Lyell relationship. ( Y o u will get an easy first access to this relationship by reading Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau's book Wagner and Nietzsche: A Continuum Book. N e w Y o r k : Seabury Press, 1976. It will show you that with the relinquishment of the idealized W a g n e r , Nietzsche's creativity came to full flower—yet at the price o f a disintegration o f his personality. Fischer-Dieskau at least asserts strongly that Nietzsche's psychosis was "functional," not "organic," i.e., specifically, not syphilitic.) Ultimately a brief remark about the crucial dream. I think that both yours and D. L.'s interpretations have much to reco m m e n d themselves—as a matter of fact the dream could, as you both know, be taken as a pictorial rendition o f the split between creative and hypochondriacal selves that is set up after the relinquishment of the formerly sustaining but also creationinhibiting ideal. I would only like to add one further hypothesis to those that you and D . L. already advanced, namely, that the references in the dream to being "witty," to making "many jokes," to "banter" are the veiled expression of triumph—of the triumph o f a self that, whatever the cost o f hypochondriacal suffering

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and temporary disorganization, has made the decisive step toward the fulfillment of its nuclear potential. But now enough! A f t e r all that I have said I d o not need to tell you again how stimulating I found your contribution to be. I thank you for it and want to tell you that you have given m e the greatest pleasure that nowadays comes my way. to see devoted minds at work pursuing the path on which I have made a few halting steps. T h a n k you and g o o d wishes. . . . January 8, 1979' Dear Dr. S.: Y o u r very interesting and cogently argued letter arrived here at a most inopportune time when I will have to be away from my office and desk f o r some time—I don't know yet how long. But I d o not want you to think that I am disregarding your important message and will therefore—unfortunately

in the

most condensed way—reply as best I can at this moment. With regard to the theoretical inconsistencies I would like to tell you that I am aware o f them and—our field is very much in flux, in an early phase o f development—that I am in the process of m o v i n g toward greater internal consistency. H o w e v e r , in my o w n way, I must work via experience-near theories—I d o not want to get to consistency by shuffling experience-distant theories. That's not my style! A t the moment 1 will r e c o m m e n d to you the paper " T h e Disorders o f the Self and T h e i r T r e a t m e n t " (with E. W o l f ) in the International Journal of Psychoanalysis, N o . 4, 1978, and in volume 2 of The Search for the Self (P. Ornstein, e d . ) the paper 45 ( p . 737) and the "Conclusion" ( p . 931). Concerning participation in the research project you suggest I regret that my age and limited energies preclude it—1 must 'Copy o f a handwritten letter to l.loyd Silverman. P h . D . . N e w Y o r k University.

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d e v o t e what energies are at my disposal to furthering my work as best I can. But perhaps o n e o f my colleagues ( D r . M . F. Bäsch; Dr. A . G o l d b e r g ) might be persuadable by you. Sincerely, February 14,1979 Dear P.: N o t only the energy limits o f my convalescent state but also my wish to write each o f the great number o f people who have in recent weeks written to me forces m e to respond only selectively to your interest in Professor L e o n a r d and his " L o c o m o t i v e G o d " because it happens to coincide with one o f my recent preoccupations, the reassessment o f the phobias in the light o f self psychology. Y o u may r e m e m b e r that I spoke about this topic in my summary to the conference on self psychology on the last day o f the conference. But I had earlier devoted a whole teaching session to the theme (a lecture presented to the psychiatric residents at the University o f Chicago: Ernie W o l f has the recording o f this lecture and he may be able to give you a transcript) and I also spoke about the topic during my last visit in Cincinnati (these lectures were videotaped and presented on at least two occasions [in Cincinnati and in Montreal]; Paul Ornstein may be able to obtain a transcript o f the relevant passages o f these lectures for y o u ) . M o r e important still, during December and early in January I was working on an essay called " T h e Restoration o f the Self: Responses and Afterthoughts" (it is the essay that is g r o w i n g out o f the original letter to " L . " which I believe you read) which contains a subchapter on the reassessment o f the phobias. T h e essay was, unfortunately, not completely finished (I was w o r k i n g on its last subchapter called " A Reassessment o f the Curative Effect o f Psychoanalysis in the Light of Self Psychology" when my sudden hospitalization and the operation and its aftermaths interrupted my w o r k ) . Still, the subchapter that refers to your specific interest in the L o c o m o t i v e G o d is finished.

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It is called " A Reexamination o f A g o r a p h o b i a " and is in fact hardly m o r e than a summary o f the statements that I had made in the University o f Chicago lecture, in Cincinnati, and in the summarizing statement o f the October conference. In the following I will share with you the pages from the unfinished manuscript which I just mentioned.-

A Reexamination of Agoraphobia " A c c o r d i n g to the classical view—a position, I will add, which decisively influences the ambience in the analysis and the analyst's therapeutic strategy—the (female) patient's anxiety when unaccompanied in the street is seen as a manifestation o f the underlying primary disturbance, i.e., as a paralyzing reaction to her oedipal wishes toward the father as displaced upon the men she encounters in the street. A n d , again according to the classical view—influencing the analyst's approach decisively—the patient's panic is only a symptom, the relief that the patient experiences when she is accompanied by a woman, in particular an o l d e r w o m a n , is only a defensive maneuver, understandable as the mother's presence which by making the oedipal enactment impossible, short-circuits the fantasy and forestalls the outbreak o f anxiety. " H o w , we ask now, does self psychology look at these same phenomena? T h e answer to this question is as simple as it is significant. W h a t classical analysis looked upon as secondary and peripheral is now becoming primary and central because self psychology sees the structural and functional deficiencies as the primary disorder and focuses its attention o n them, while classical analysis saw the content o f conflicts as the primary disorder and focused on it. W e believe, in other words, to return to our specific example, that the agoraphobic woman's essential illness -[Editor's note: Subsequently the published version is in Kohut (1984, p p . 28-30).]

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is not the hidden wish for incestuous relations with her father but that it is a structural deficiency in the self that accounts both for the disintegration o f her affectionate attitude toward the father in childhood (with sexual fantasies replacing the f o r m e r joyful w a r m t h ) , o n the o n e hand, and the tendency toward the spreading o f anxiety, the d e v e l o p m e n t o f paralyzing panic, on the other hand. T h e first aspect of the structural disease of the self relates to the father, the second one to the mother w h o was apparently not able to p r o v i d e a calming selfobject milieu for the little girl that, via optimal failures, would have been transmuted into self-soothing, calming, anxiety-spread-preventing structures. It is the structural deficit, in particular the deficiency in calming structures—a defect in the idealized pole o f the self—that necessitates the presence o f a companion (a w o m a n w h o replaces the missing structure and its functions) if the anxiety outbreak is to be forestalled. It was a nonempathic selfobject milieu during the oedipal phase, in other words, that brought about the replacement o f affectionate attitudes by sexual drivenness and failed to establish the necessary preconditions for the gradual internalization o f self structures that would have provided self confidence and the ability to remain calm despite conflict and tension/' " T o summarize: self psychology sees the empathic failure o f the oedipal selfobject milieu as the essential genetic factor in agoraphobia. It considers the pathological oedipal fantasies as a symptomatic consequence o f the flawed selfobject responses. A n d , finally, it believes that in the adult symptomatology the addictive need for an accompanying woman is not to be viewed

A s an aside I will mention that the effectiveness o f psychopharmaka, in particular o f tricyclics, in a g o r a p h o b i a might well be psychologically understood in the f r a m e w o r k o f a theory that sees as the central illness the absence o f soothing, anxiety-curbing structures. T h e d r u g , like the accompanying w o m a n , takes the place o f the precursor o f psychological structure, namely, o f the archaic selfobject. In view o f the fact, however, that no w o r k i n g - t h r o u g h process is activated, calming structures are not acquired a n d the addictionlike d e p e n d e n c e on the d r u g or on the accompanying w o m a n persists. :,

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as a defensive maneuver but as a manifestation of the central, primary disorder. T h e central disorder, in other words, in the light of" self psychology, is the structural defect of which both the unconscious oedipal fantasy and the conscious need for a female companion are symptoms. The fact that the sexual wish for the father can be kept outside of awareness ("repressed") while the need for the selfobject mother in o r d e r to curb the anxiety is conscious does not mean that the first is "deeper" o r m o r e severe than the second. O n the contrary, it is the very severity of the structural deficit in the sphere of anxiety-curbing functions that makes it impossible to fight against it. A s is the case with regard to the analogous needs of the addict, the personality has to bow to the pressure of the need in o r d e r to survive." N o w o n e further piece o f advice with regard to your research interest in Professor L e o n a r d . I was glad about your "discovery" o f his mother's diaries from the clue he left in his book and 1 am especially fascinated with the material concerning the attitude o f his parents toward him. T h a t his parents were, as you quote him, "singularly responsive to him and his needs" and—what a magnificent find!—that in his mother's diary which he had in his possession at age fifty she refers to him in the first person as if she were he, that she did not differentiate between herself and him, that she totally m e r g e d with his experiences as she imagined them to be—does not all this fit beautifully with what I have described in The Restoration of the Self ( p p . 146-151) in the subchapter called " T h e Analyst's Child"? Please read these pages in the context o f your research concerning L e o n a r d : I predict that they will help you a great deal as you try to grasp the essence o f the structural defect that f o r m e d the basis of his phobia. If it can be shown that the mother's m e r g e r with the baby during the early stages o f his development was not followed by empathic responses vis-ä-vis his increasing sense o f joyful

separateness,

then we have clearly defined the pathological matrix out o f which

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the later self defect e m e r g e d . Y o u may r e m e m b e r that already in my 1972 paper I said ( p . 617f.) that for the normal develo p m e n t o f a healthy self it is necessary that the parents not only are able to relate to the child "in empathic narcissistic m e r g e r and look upon the psychic organization o f the child as part o f their o w n , " but that they also "at other times respond to the child as to an independent center of his own initiative." A n d I believe that I have nowhere expressed m o r e poignantly the need for the parent's ability to extend his empathy toward the child's experiences of separateness than in my essay "Remarks about the Formation o f the Self" (1974, in particular pp. 769-770) w h e r e I describe a specific father's reaction w h o with "calm amazement" asked himself the question "Is this my child?" But now enough! A s you can see, your interest in the L o comotive G o d has aroused strong responses in me. I d o h o p e that you will pursue your research and, in d o i n g so, not only supply further empirical proof to the already formulated theories of self psychology, but perhaps g o even a step beyond the already e x p l o r e d as you apply these findings to intergenerational patterns, i.e., not only to the single interaction between parental selfobjects and the child, but to several generations. May 29, 1979 Prof. Dr. H . Petzold Integrative T h e r a p y FPI-Publikationen Brehmstrasse 9 4000 Düsseldorf 1 Germany Dear Professor Petzold: T h a n k you for asking me to write a contribution to your v o l u m e about the concept of resistance as formulated by various schools of psychotherapy. I am unfortunately not able to prepare such a chapter but would like to point out to you that I have already

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made such a contribution which I presented at a meeting of the D . P . V . in Berlin in October 1970. A n edited and e x p a n d e d version of the originally extemporaneously presented lecture is contained in the v o l u m e Introspektion, Empathie, und Psychoanalyse (Suhrkamp, 1977; pp. 36-49). T h e same speech, in a further revised and e x p a n d e d English translation, is contained in V o l ume 2 o f my selected essays (The Search for the Self, edited by P. Ornstein; International Universities Press, 1978, pp. 547-561). I f you wish to include either the one o r the other version o f my lecture in your volume, I will be very glad to give you my permission to d o so. I f you want a new contribution o r if you would like to see my 1970 contribution still further e x p a n d e d , I would suggest that you turn to Dr. Paul Ornstein and ask him whether he would be willing to undertake the o n e or the other of these tasks. August 11, 1979 Dear S.: W e are in Carmel now. After seeing S. . . . at the airport in Chicago on T u e s d a y night (July 31) and spending the night at O ' H a r e , we got the early plane to San Francisco the next day, changed planes in San Francisco, and arrived in Monterey at 1:00 P.M. W e are renting a pleasant house here where we will be staying throughout August and September. I hope that these two months will allow m e to recuperate further from the dreadful series o f illnesses that beset m e during the past seven months. AU in all I am clearly better now, but there is still a lot left to be desired. I still tire easily, must restrict my physical activities, and must, in particular, get rid o f the remaining tendency to feel slightly seasick which is an aftermath o f the inner-ear problem that had laid m e low just about six weeks a g o . Still, when I consider where I was about three o f four months a g o , I have g o o d reason to be pleased with the progress I have made. H a v i n g settled d o w n a bit here and having assembled my

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papers around me in anticipation of the work that 1 would like to d o , I turned, as a transitional m o v e , to your Biography of a Composer, the review o f Maynard Solomon's book o n Beethoven, destined, I believe, to be published by Slochower's American Imago. I read your study in o n e sitting, was delighted with it, and want to congratulate you on a fine achievement that is not only an excellent informative book review written by an expert w h o knows how to think and write, it also defines your perspective on the investigation o f works o f art—a perspective that, I assume, is shared by the great majority o f humanists—and it does so in a reserved, moderate, nonbelligerent tone that adds to the effectiveness and persuasiveness o f your argument. W h i l e I could debate your position with you, a pleasure that I must f o r e g o at this time, I've nothing to criticize with regard to your important contribution and am filled with admiration for it. A g a i n , congratulations! So much for today. A n d how are the two o f you in Italy? 1 would love to hear from you sometime and get a picture of your life and learn what work you might be pursuing. With warm regards from Betty and m e to the two of you, I am your old P.S. I have a few small comments and suggestions regarding the Solomon review. (1) Concerning the issue o f Beethoven's cheating in his commercial dealings: I would not be surprised if a thorough investigation of such acts would point up a higher morality, e.g., that, in o r d e r to protect and support his creative self, Beethoven considered the question of morality or i m m o rality in the usual sense as irrelevant, just as a revolutionary might consider a murder in the service o f his idealized cause as a moral act. ( 2 ) I d o not get the meaning o f (on p . 26) " A n d it is highly probable that a man guilty of certain moral 'lapses' could not obtain such heights." Did you quote Sullivan correctly here? (3) I know that Eissler dislikes being referred to as Kurt R.—he wants K . R. ( 4 ) I would prefer "response" to "answer" on p . 29.

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P.P.S. Did you receive the second volume of The Search for the Selp August 23, 1979 I am glad that your interest in psychoanalytic self psychology has continued. A n d I will, o f course, respond to your questions even though I am afraid that I might not be able to answer them to your full satisfaction. Is my aim pedagogical and/or political, you ask, when in the two papers that appeared in the two latest issues o f the International

Journal

of Psychoanalysis I empha-

sized—quite unnecessarily, as you rightly say, in view of my unambiguous position all along—that the analyst refrains

from

blaming or exhorting his patient? The answer is that it is both. Its educational aim points into two quite different directions. T h e r e are those w h o , for reasons o f their o w n , misinterpret self psychology and believe that it gives them license to attempt to cure their patients by giving them love (for an example, see the last o f the letters in V o l u m e 2 o f The Search for the Self, 1978a). A n d there are those a m o n g classical analysts w h o attack my work via the claim that I d o indeed r e c o m m e n d the use o f nonanalytic attitudes and nonanalytic curative means. ( F o r example, see an essay by Martin Stein w h o , leaning on one w o r d but failing to consider the total, completely unambiguous context in which this word is used, accuses m e of allowing my patients to idealize me, i.e., accuses m e o f "accepting" my patients' admiration rather than analyzing it. Stein, as I said, fastens on the word "accept" that I use—I believe it is in the chapter on countertransferences to the idealizing transference in The Analysis of the Self—and builds

his

case

around

this

word,

even

though

my

meaning—namely, that one does not censor the patient's admiration or belittle it but that o n e has to allow the transference to unfold in o r d e r to interpret it effectively in genetic and dynamic terms—is unmistakable.) Y o u might rightly question whether my emphasis in o r d e r

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to refute such attacks should be called educational or whether it does not serve a political aim? It does the latter, o f course. But then it is also and simultaneously an educational tool because I surmise that the very people who accuse me o f "accepting" the narcissistic transferences (now called "selfobject transferences") are likely to respond in censorious and belittling ways to their analysands' reactivated narcissistic needs. T h u s when I emphasize that my clinical stance is a truly analytic one, I am indeed trying to d o a bit of educational work—though I know that its relevance will not be acknowledged by those at w h o m it is directed. A s you anticipated I am on vacation. I was quite ill during the past six months and I'm now taking a very long vacation (into October, in fact) in o r d e r to complete my recovery. I have, unfortunately, no books available here that I could look into to give you some references about the topic that you inquired about. But d o read The Restoration of the Self (in German [Suhrkamp] Die Heilung des Selbst) which, so far as I know, is also already being translated into Italian. It contains a chapter called " T h e Psychoanalytic Situation" in which you will find the topics that you raised illuminated from a variety of sides. T h a n k you again for your interest in my work. 1 am glad to hear that it has been helpful to you. August 23, 1979 I took your essay " T h e Little M e r m a i d " along to California and read it today. It is a charming little piece, full of evocative material and, on the whole, quite convincing. Y o u have a very attractive way of writing, as if you were yourself telling a fairytale to the reader—a way that, I am afraid, will be objected to by our stuffy professional colleagues, but a way that I personally like and can easily accept. O n e wishes for m o r e supportive material at times—almost everything, for example, that you say about your patient is spec-

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ulative. But, again, I can g o along with you and don't insist o n the trappings o f scientific rigor. I would, however, like to know something about the specific personality o f your patient's parents and how, specifically, they stunted her growth; and I would like especially to learn m o r e about Andersen and his relationship to mother and grandfather in o r d e r to understand in depth why he did not form an autonomous male self but shifted his creativity toward art. T h e r e ' s only o n e area in which I would differ with you—not in substance but in emphasis. Despite your respect for A n d e r sen's achievement, as expressed at the very end, the total context o f your formulations shows that, in harmony with Freud's bias in this regard, you see the artistic action as a substitute for sexual assertiveness. I d o not believe that such a view does justice to the way the human psyche is in fact constituted. T h e artistic action is not a substitute, an escape, a compromise. For those whose self is creative, the exercise o f their creativity is true autonomy; and sexual assertiveness would be the substitute if, for whatever reason, that development has resulted in a self that could not pursue the exercise o f its nuclear talents and skills. It is in these areas where drive psychology and self psychology part company. A n d it is in these areas where self-psychological investigations are ever so much m o r e fruitful than the drive- and conflict-oriented stance that w e all learned to accept as the only valid o n e . But 1 should not complain. Y o u have really given a g o o d deal in your essay and I am grateful to you for sharing it with m e . Still, would it be too much to hope that you will undertake at some time a d e e p e r - g o i n g study o f Andersen's creativity—not from the point of view o f stunted or sublimated drives but f r o m the viewpoint o f the artistic self that has been able to assert itself and to enrich the w o r l d . I f you undertake this task with the aid o f such concepts as the nuclear self and o f the building up o f compensatory rather than defensive structures, I think that you

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will be able to make discoveries about this great man and how he came to be great that had formerly escaped you. W a r m regards and, again, thanks for sending m e this delightful piece o f work. August 24, 1979 Dear P.: W e are now in our beloved Carmel and I ' m looking forward to g o o n recovering at a steady pace. I'm definitely better, though I still have not yet reached the level o f well-being to which I h o p e to get. T h e r e is still a bit o f muscular weakness left and the light-headedness, an aftermath of the vertigo that was caused by an acute attack o f labyrinthitis that I had about five weeks ago, is still with m e and bothers m e . A n d my energy level, especially for reading and writing, is still much lower than I would like it to be. Still, since I know that it is fortunate that I am around at all—that septicemia in March could easily have d o n e away with m e — I will not complain, d o the best I can with what health is at my disposal at the moment, and trust that my condition will be fine again in the reasonably near future. A n d how are you? Did the thesis get finished? A r e you getting ready for Cincinnati? L e t me hear how things are going. T h e incentive for this letter comes from my having just read, and for the first time, a long letter you wrote to me o n February 28th. It undoubtedly reached me after I got ill and I never was able to read it until just a few days a g o . It contains your response to my having reacted to your interest in the author o f " T h e L o c o m o t i v e G o d " and, in particular, in his specific phobia. I d o not know whether your interest is still as intense as it was at the time when you responded to a letter of mine about phobias in general and Leonard's phobia in particular. I will, therefore, today d o no m o r e than tell you that I think that your letter contained a number of worthwhile ideas and that I h o p e very much that you will follow through and prepare a draft of your

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findings and let me see it. I don't have the correspondence that preceded your February 28th letter with me and can't recall the details of what I had written to you. I d o r e m e m b e r vividly that I was fascinated by a specific discovery that you had made, namely, that in his mother's diary there was evidence that she confused herself with the baby, that, instead of* a wholesome m e r g e r via empathy (a part m e r g e r ) she seemed to usurp the baby's f o r m i n g self into her own—an attitude which, it seems to me, was an indicator of her later inability to respond empathically, by delighted mirroring, to the g r o w i n g baby's attempt to display his increasingly autonomous self. A n d I venture to suggest that it was this pathology from the side of the mother that was the deepest and earliest source of the phobia propensity and of a need for a maternal figure that he would totally possess and whose eternal presence he needed. T h a t the presence of a parental figure did not d e p e n d on either tactile or visual contact but was felt to be maintained within the confining boundaries of a certain area remains to me a fascinating mystery, even though it is a well-known p h e n o m e n o n . T o ascribe it to archaic thinking or say that it is part o f thought magic or belongs to the primary processes tells us little. Only the investigation o f specific instances, especially in the transference, will ultimately allow us to grasp the general principle that is here involved. Y o u will find a beautiful illustration of this phenomenon in the case vignette o f M r . E.—I hope I r e m e m b e r the initial correctly—which I d r e w in the essay on Freud's self analysis. T h e r e it was the increasing distance from the analyst that increased the intensity of the threat to the patient's as yet insecurely consolidated healthy self structures. In general it is easy to understand that the greater the distance from the clung-to selfobject becomes, the greater the child's anxiety lest the loss become irretrievable. Still, the question why certain phobics design specific areas within which they can tolerate the separation from the selfobject or its symbol is not yet fully understood. Perhaps your investigation o f L e o n -

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ard's phobia will aid us here. I am certainly very interested in hearing about your

findings.

Y o u asked a specific question which I believe I can answer. T h e essay on the formation of the self is in the second v o l u m e o f my collected papers (The Search for the Self) and the page number I gave you must refer to that reprinting of the article. With regard to Leonard's correspondence with Freud, I would suggest that you write to Dr. K. R. Eissler in N e w Y o r k (300 Central Park West, N e w Y o r k 10024) and to Miss A n n a Freud (20 Maresfield Gardens, L o n d o n , N . W . 3 , England). Y o u may mention to them that I suggested you write to them; I am sure that they will be as helpful as they can. A n d now only my regards and g o o d wishes September 23, 1979 I took the typescript o f your essay along on our vacation, and now I have finally c o m e to read it—much later than I had originally intended. But, since I hope that you may still be interested in my response to your work, I will give you my impressions. T h i s is a fine paper: carefully thought through and wellsupported by evidence. It helps us understand a fascinating figure o f the recent past and, in addition, has something to say to the

p s y c h o a n a l y t i c c l i n i c i a n w h e n he—as was t r u e

for

you—encounters a patient whose personality is similar to that of the gifted writer and daring adventurer w h o is the subject of your psychological study. Rather than g o i n g into details about the aspects o f your paper with which I agree—and I d o agree with most of what you have to say—I will tell you about a certain uncomfortable reaction that I had toward your whole outlook on Exupery. It is not a response that is specific; I have for many years experienced this discomfort vis-ä-vis almost all the psychoanalytic studies of outstanding men that I have c o m e across. Already many years ago—you will find the evidence for this statement in my old

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survey o f applied analysis, the essay " B e y o n d the Bounds o f the Basic Rule" ( n o w in V o l u m e 1 o f The Search for the Self)—and

I

began to express some doubts, although cautiously as befits a young man w h o comments on the work of his elders, about our traditional treatment of the personality of unusual people, of great men, as w e tend to call them, on the basis of the lessons that we had learned from our patients. I'm not o f o n e mind concerning this issue. I admit without hesitation that there is a g o o d deal to be said for the traditional approach—and I am still d e f e n d i n g it, up to a point, even now, as you can see i f you read my recent statements about this topic in a series o f letters which appeared last year in Critical Inquiry (a fine literary periodical that is published by the University of Chicago). Still, it behooves us now to g o beyond the traditionally established limits o f applied analysis—especially in view o f the fact that psychoanalytic self psychology has given us the conceptual means o f d o i n g so. Let me take your case as a case in point. The p h e n o m e n o n o f Saint Exupery should not, I am convinced, be classified as a Narcissistic Behavior Disorder, as we would d o appropriately i f we had a patient on our couch w h o exhibits analogous behavior and who had c o m e to us for help. But does such a diagnosis d o justice to a man as fascinating, as unusually heroic, as was Saint Exupery—a man who led an in many ways enviable life, a man w h o stirred the imagination o f innumerable people all o v e r the world by his words and deeds? Was it pathology, to be diagnosed in terms of our classification of e m o tional disturbances, that Churchill risked his life unnecessarily many times, from early on and throughout the whole span of his life? O r should we not rather speak of unusual courage and the willingness to take risks? C o u r a g e and risk-taking, in other words, not as the manifestations o f a pathological self-destructive unconscious tendency but as emotional instruments in the service

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of the goals of a nuclear self that wanted to gain fame by rescuing the civilization with which he identified himself. T h e s e are not theoretical considerations only—they are, I am convinced, o f great practical importance, even in our clinical work, i.e., even vis-ä-vis our ordinary patients. I f we, in other words, in o u r function as therapists, cannot free ourselves from the bias of explaining personalities only within the framework o f the psychopathology of unresolved conflict rather than within a framework o f striven-for, yet thwarted achievement, w e are overlooking explanatory possibilities that would stand o u r patients in g o o d stead. I must not make this letter the vehicle for a dissertation about this major change in emphasis that self psychology introduces into depth psychology—our viewing of certain data p r o v i d e d to us not so much as the manifestations of regression and

fixation

but as indicators o f developmental potentialities that had been stunted in childhood and are now remobilized in

treatment.

Certainly with regard to such a figure as Saint Exupery the specific genetic situation that you described so convincingly could be seen not only as a seed bed for later pathology but also as the source of a continuous challenge to him, driving him toward achievement. H a v i n g no idealizable father, the intense fantasies o f greatness remained unmitigated, pushing him toward an albeit brittle autonomy and toward greatness and success. W h a t a life, after all—filled with imaginative poetry and romantic action. H o w many of us can say of our lives that they have been as full as his, as close to reaching that nuclear destiny that was implanted in us in earliest times? N o t many, 1 dare say. Let m e finish by thanking you for giving me the chance to read your essay—it gave m e great pleasure and p r o v i d e d me with a g o o d deal of stimulation—and by sending you my best wishes for a productive professional life.

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D e c e m b e r s , 1979 Dear Friend Kucera: Christmas wouldn't be Christmas in our home without the arrival o f one o f those beautiful volumes of photographs from Czechoslovakia. T h i s year's gift, Krkonosc by Feyfar, arrived safely today and it has already given m e much pleasure as 1 began to turn the pages. T h e landscape is especially appealing to me—it stimulates the probably never-again-to-be-fulfilled desire for long hiking trips, skiing, and mountaineering. T h e old skiing pictures are, in particular, arousing a variety o f feelings in me because when I was a child skiing was still d o n e with one long stride ( w e called it Alpenskitechnik; its protagonist was Zdarski) and I can still r e m e m b e r our gradual shift to the N o r w e g i a n 2pole technique—secretly at first and then m o r e and m o r e openly, despite pangs o f guilt about our disloyalty. Funny—when I describe this switch in my early life it sort of parallels my experiences late in life (see The Search for the Self, vol. 2, p p . 931-938). Only that the attitudes of my colleagues are m o r e vicious than were those o f the ingrained one-pole devotees toward those w h o m o v e d toward the two poles. Let me hear from you again some time. A n d many thanks for your lovely gift and, above all, for thinking o f me. Cordially, A n d Merry Christmas and H a p p y N e w Y e a r to you from all of us. December 7, 1979 Dear Mrs. G.: T h a n k you for your friendly letter and the copy o f your R e p o r t on the Los A n g e l e s Conference. Y o u ask me to comment on how the review does o r does not accurately reflect my intentions and theory base. T o d o full justice to your request is a task that, unfortunately, other demands

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on m e d o not allow me to undertake. I will, therefore, restrict myself to a few remarks about those points where I feel that you have misunderstood me. 1. P. 2, column 2, 11.4ff.: I think that empathy is a datagathering instrument and not an end in itself, even though I also believe that being in a situation (such as the psychoanalytic situation) that is characterized by a climate in which o n e person (the analyst) has committed himself to extend his empathy for a p r o l o n g e d period toward another person (the analysand) will often (though not always; see Restoration, pp. 146-151) have a nonspecific wholesome effect on the person (the analysand) w h o is the focus of the other's "empathic intention." 2. P. 2, 11.18ff.: Self psychologists d o not believe that "empathy with the patient's psychic reality is an end in i t s e l f and that "these techniques replace interpretation" and p. 2, 17.11. up ff., self psychology does not "offer 'real' responses to the patient" instead o f interpretations (see, for example, Restoration, p. 259). 3. P. 2, 4.1 Iff. up: W e d o not delay interpretation of the idealizing transference anymore than the interpretation o f any other form o f transference. A transference must be allowed to unfold before it can be successfully interpreted (see The Analysis of the Self, p. 266). 4. P. 4, column 1, 11.25ff.: Self psychology has not shifted from an intrapsychic to an interpersonal point o f view. The selfobject, as it emerges in analysis, is an "imago," related to childhood experiences, not to childhood events. 5. P. 4, column 2, 11.24 up ff.: 1 said (The Search for the Self, V o l u m e I I , p. 850) with regard to the parents of future addicts: "it is less important to determine what the parents do than what they are." T h i s dictum is not meant to apply to the analyst in the analytic situation. I also believe that empathy is teachable and that our investigation of empathy is scientific and does not carry an "anti-intellectual flavor."

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6. P. 4, column 2, 1.17 up: I d o not think that self-psychological theory supersedes classical theory—it complements it (cf., for example, Restoration, p. 279). O n e m o r e c o m m e n t . M y colleagues and collaborators have many disagreements with me and with each other, which is as it should be. Self psychology is not a finished system of beliefs, not a system o f d o g m a , but a step in the d e v e l o p m e n t of psychoanalysis—and a very new o n e at that. T h u s , our ideas are in flux (see the remarks in Kohut and Wolf, Int. J. P.m., 59, p. 413 and p. 424; and chap. 9 in this volume). I h o p e that the f o r e g o i n g notes, terse as they had to be, will be o f some help to you. I have just finished a long summary of the present state of self psychology which will be the closing chapter in a book (edited by Dr. A r n o l d G o l d b e r g , I . U . P . ) that takes its material from the conference on self psychology held in Chicago in October, 1978.1 believe you will find many answers to your questions in this review. Finally I want to express my regret that you switched from an initial overenthusiasm about self psychology to an attitude o f predominant rejection, especially with regard to its theoretical formulations. Even though I regret that you wrote your review while on the rebound, as it were, I d o not give up h o p e that you will, in the long run, enter a third phase in which you can accept our formulations as worthwhile attempts to arrive at m o r e or less experience-distant generalizations and abstractions that correspond to a, w e h o p e , reasonably correctly perceived, sector of psychic life. December 12, 1979 Dear Dr. D . : I am very glad to see from your Fine summary of Shepard's play and from your well-informed commentary that your interest in self psychology has not slackened during the interval since you First wrote me about your essay on "Notes from the U n d e r -

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g r o u n d . " T h e r e are many similar testimonials to be found a m o n g m o d e r n writers—my favorite remains O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night which, I hope, will some day be discussed in extenso by somebody w h o is familiar with self psychology. A s concerns your remarks about the Annual,

I will inquire

o f Dr. Pollock or some other m e m b e r of the Editorial B o a r d . So far as I know the meetings o f the Chicago Psychoanalytic Society are being abstracted in the Bulletin of the Philadelphia Psychoanalytic Association. I must tell you, however, that the great majority o f the contributions made at these meetings are not self-psychologically informed—quite the opposite, in fact. W e d o have a workshop on self psychology here once a month—I attend most of its meetings—in which most o f the participants are familiar with self psychology, in varying degrees. I will mention your suggestion to them and will ask the chairman (Dr. Sheldon Meyers o f Chicago) to respond to your suggestions some time next year. I close with the expression of my gratitude for the generosity o f your support for my work and by sending you my g o o d wishes. December 12, 1979 Prof. Dr. U . H . Peters Direktor d e r Nervenklinik d e r Universität zu Köln Joseph-Stelzmann Strasse 9 D 5 0 0 0 Köln 41 Dear Dr. Peters: T h a n k you for letting m e know that you are sending me a copy o f your A n n a Freud biography and that the volume Psychiatrie will be published soon. I am glad that the photographs were helpful to you; I heard from Mrs. Pöppel that they will be returned to me soon. I , too, would be pleased to meet you one o f these days. T h e chances o f my taking a trip to Europe are, however, not very

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great. I was quite ill during this last year and am just now beginning to be my old self again. Please accept my warmest congratulations concerning the important new responsibilities that have c o m e your way. I wish you the very best in the new position in C o l o g n e . P.S. Yes, I a familiar with the fact that A . F . shares her father's reluctance vis-ä-vis any kind o f personal display. (See Die Heilung des Selbst, Suhrkamp; s. 284-285.) December 28, 1979 I read your paper and was fascinated by it. I n d e e d your elaboration o f the analogy between the analytic process and certain forms o f play evokes so many responses in me—hazy responses that I would have to lift into awareness and try to put into words—that I have to resist the temptation to follow you on the path on which you lead the reader with your carefully wrought formulations. But since I know that I must not allow myself to be taken away from the work to which I am committed at this point, I will restrict myself to two remarks. T h e first is simply that I think that your essay is o f high quality and that—a rare experience for me as concerns current psychoanalytic literature—I enjoyed reading it. T h e second is a reference to a brief, similar—and yet decisively different—attempt

on my part,

namely, the remarks on pp. 211-212 in The Analysis of the Self, especially the footnote on p. 211. Y o u r comparison is with the play o f the child, my comparison is with the spectator in the theater—as he identifies with the author of the play out of whose psychic depths the contents of the play emerged and then were put into loords and became stage-action. A lot can be said for and against your as well as my analogy; and to compare them and to confront the issues these similar yet contrasting formulations carry with them would be, I feel, a task that could lead to significant results. A l l o w m e to stop now and to end my thanking you for giving me a few unusually pleasant hours while I read and p o n d e r e d your essay.

21 Letters 1980

January 8, 1980 I read your paper attentively and it gave m e great pleasure. Y o u apply the self-psychological viewpoint very competently in your field and I congratulate you on the intelligence and skill with which you proceed. In view o f my overall agreement with your fine work with which, I trust, you will be able to familiarize many others in your field to the benefit o f the elderly w h o need the self-psychologically i n f o r m e d responses which you described so well, you must not take the following comments in any way as a criticism but rather as some thoughts that I want to share with a colleague. In recent years, perhaps publicly expressed for the first time in my summarizing statement at the end o f the Chicago C o n ference on Self Psychology in 1978, I have made a slight but, I think, significant shift in my stance vis-ä-vis the question o f what constitutes the essence o f psychopathology. Specifically, since I feel m o r e and m o r e that w e should in general not look on the self in isolation but rather o n a lifelong sequence o f changing self-selfobject relationships, I am now inclined to define psychopathology in general and self pathology in particular in terms not only o f this or that defect or distortion in the self but also in terms o f a disturbance o f the self-selfobject relationship during a particular stage o f the curve o f life. A l l o w me to quote

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from my summarizing statement—it will be the final chapter in a book called Advances in Self Psychology (ed. A . Goldberg, I . U . F . , 1980) which will contain a number o f the papers presented at the Chicago Conference. I said: " I n the view o f self psychology man lives in a matrix o f selfobjects from birth to death. H e needs selfobjects for his psychological survival, just as he needs oxygen in his environment throughout

his life for physiological sur-

vival. . . . Self psychology does not see the essence o f man's development as a m o v e from dependence to independence, from m e r g e r to autonomy, and, yes, not even as a m o v e from no self to self. . . . W h a t we have begun to study, therefore, . . . is the sequence o f self-selfobject relationships throughout man's life. H o w accurately in tune with the small baby's various, specificneeds w e r e the responses o f the selfobject at the beginning o f extrauterine life, we will ask. Did the selfobject respond with proud mirroring to the first strivings for a m o v e away, will be another question. [ Y o u notice that while we speak now o f greater physical distance from the selfobject, w e d o not speak o f a lessening o f the empathic bond.] H o w , we will ask, does the selfobject milieu respond to a person in all the many subsequent stations in his life: in adolescence, for example, or in middle age? . . . A n d how, finally, does the selfobject milieu respond to a person's dying? With pride in him for being an example o f courage in pain and decline? O r by withdrawing their mirroring from him at this ultimate point in the curve o f life?" Y o u have, I am sure, understood why I quoted at such length from my manuscript for Advances in Self Psychology: I did so ( 1 ) because it will make even m o r e clear to you than it undoubtedly already is, w h e r e in the schema o f self-psychological research your valuable work belongs; and (2) because I wanted to explain to you where your present approach would benefit from a (ever so slight) modification, namely, a m o r e even-handed evaluation o f the psychopathology o f the old by focusing on the old and

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his environment as a unit rather than by focusing only on the failures o f the aged and on the defects o f his self. W h e n (p. 9 o f your manuscript) "the elderly paranoid woman accuses her daughter . . . o f stealing from her," the symbolic meaning o f this accusation may not only refer to loss o f functions and c o m p e tence but also to the failure o f the selfobject w h o still wants to "take" from your patient as she once appropriately did when she was a baby and the patient took care o f her. T h e s e are endlessly complex problems, because some reverberations o f the patient's selfobject failures vis-ä-vis her daughter when the daughter was small may now come back to haunt the old woman; and there may also be reverberations o f the unsatisfactory selfobject responses from the side o f her (maternal) selfobject when she herself was a baby. Let me end my already overly long letter to you by quoting one o f my favorite passages from Tolstoy's War and Peace. T o l stoy writes (p. 1291 o f the Inner Sanctum Edition, Simon and Schuster, N e w Y o r k , 1942) in the First Epilogue (chapter 3: T h e O l d Countess in Decay): " T h e old lady's condition [she was senile] was understood by the whole household . . . and they all m a d e every possible effort to satisfy her needs. Only by a rare glance . . . was the c o m m o n understanding o f her condition expressed. [ T h e s e glances said] that she had played her part in life, that what they now saw was not h \ r whole self, that w e must all become like her, and that they were glad to yield to her, to restrain themselves for this once precious being formerly as full o f life as themselves. . . . Only the really heartless, the stupid o f that household, and the little children failed to understand this and avoided her." A n d now once m o r e the expression o f gratification that the self-psychological outlook is so well-applied by you in your field, and g o o d wishes for the successful further pursuit o f your studies.

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January 30, 1980 In your important discussion o f my summary o f the state o f self psychology you ask several times, with regard to my emphasis o n man's lifelong need for selfobjects, whether you are missing something, implying by your question that, unless my true meaning escapes you, you cannot help but conclude that my emphasis gives the misleading impression that analysis has up to now failed to acknowledge the presence and legitimacy o f this need. A s I understand you, in other words, you agree with me that such a need exists, but feel, in essence, that what I said goes without saying and that I am claiming novelty for a view that has always, o r at least for a long time, been held by psychoanalysts. Put still differently, your disagreement is not with the substance o f my assertions but with the current significance of my emphasis. Y o u think that it is not needed; I think that it is. H o w can o n e c o m e to a decision about which o n e of us is right? I f you are right, then it was foolish o f me to speak in support o f a view that is already held by everyone. If I am right, then I have either failed to convey the full scope and significance o f my claim—the claim that there exists a lifelong need for selfobjects—or you have confused your o w n insights with those o f psychoanalysts at large and have failed to recognize that you are less in tune with the prevailing opinion than you thought. Let m e say first that you would probably be right if you asserted that most o f our colleagues' attitudes toward their patients, including the health goals they have preconsciously in mind for them, are not in opposition to the view that I supported. But such attitudes, so long as they are unofficial only, subscribed to sub rosa, as it were, are not enough. Important views such as the one under discussion should be expressed openly and directly and—a crucial requirement—they should be part not only o f our human-clinical outlook but also o f our theoretical system. Perhaps you are missing something after all. Perhaps you don't fully appreciate the fact that traditional theory—the theory

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o f a mental apparatus which processes drives, in general, and the theory o f a mental apparatus, m o v i n g from immaturity (primary processes) to maturity (secondary processes), sublimating drives which, too, m o v e from immaturity (narcissism) to maturity (object l o v e ) , in particular—cannot fail but influence the humanclinical attitudes o f those whose minds have been steeped in it. 1 like and admire classical analytic theory; and I also think it is adequate and useful—up to a point. Specifically, I believe that it serves us well so long as we examine man in conflict. It does not serve us well at all, however, when w e focus on man's self because I am convinced o f the fact—an empirical fact, not an ideal, moral goal, i.e., not an abstraction—that the presence o f other selves w h o m e r g e partially with the self and with w h o m the self can partially m e r g e is a necessary aspect o f the self's existence. W e d o not always have to deal with the broadest levels of meaning, o f course. It is thus unobjectionable to examine the d e v e l o p m e n t o f the drives and that o f the mental apparatus, from immature to mature states. A n d it is equally unobjectionable to examine the d e v e l o p m e n t o f the self, its immature and its mature states. But it is also necessary to complement the preceding investigations by the examination o f the changing forms o f the self-selfobject unit, from its inception at birth to its dissolution with death. Y o u have perhaps noticed that I did not say that immature self-selfobject units become transformed into mature ones—I spoke o f changing self-selfobject units. In all stages, from the first to the last, there can be perfection or imperfection—human life does not start out imperfectly, to end again imperfectly after reaching a peak o f near-perfection during maturity. T h e selfselfobject unit f o r m e d between the newborn and the joyfully responding selfobject of the newborn can be near-perfect and so can be the self-selfobject unit established between a dying person and his selfobject—while adulthood, if the right selfobject

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milieu is lacking, can be badly flawed. A t each stage—and this is an emphasis worth making, especially as a p r o g r a m for our investigative goals—we should examine in depth how a g o o d self-selfobject unit—one with which the empathic observer resonates with participating joy—is constituted. It is worth noting, furthermore, as I indeed did in the Chicago C o n f e r e n c e summary, that there are times in maturity when g o o d self-selfobject units are f o r m e d which, if measured with a, to m e inappropriate, yardstick that is calibrated in degrees o f maturity, would have to be j u d g e d as immature. T h a t such a conclusion would be irrelevant has, f o r example, been demonstrated repeatedly by you when you furnished us with beautiful illustrations of the transference-of-creativity hypothesis by showing how the creative mind leans during periods o f intense creativity on selfobjects, in archaic relationships that most of our colleagues would be inclined to call immature. T h e r e is much m o r e that I could say in o r d e r to explain to you why I thought that it was important to emphasize that man cannot survive psychologically unless he is surrounded by a matrix o f responsive selfobjects, from birth to death. T h e main purpose o f my emphasis was not polemical—neither as concerns the classical moral-developmental attitude which indeed helps us to understand Guilty Man (the child's m o v e toward progressive drive-taming; his m o v e from the pleasure to the reality principle; etc.) nor as concerns such m o d e r n modifications of the classical schema as Mahler's (the child's m o v e from symbiosis to individuation) which p r o v i d e us with important insights into the experiences o f children w h o are brought up in an environment that subscribes to an independence morality. A s I see it, my advocacy o f a dispassionate objectivity vis-ä-vis the self s need for selfobjects throughout life was primarily based on my wish to p r o m o t e science by outlining a promising blueprint for research. I wanted to tell my colleagues in self psychology that they should now focus their investigations o f man o n the successive stages o f the changing self-selfobject unit throughout life. O n c e

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we accept the fact that the need for a selfobject milieu o f mirroring and o f idealizable selfobjects is not a sign o f immaturity, that it is not defensive, as regards its primary,

undistorted

form—the need to m e r g e with an idealizable selfobject, for example, is primary and normal; it must not be seen as having been acquired on the rebound, as it were, i.e., after experiences o f weakness and helplessness, as 1 once thought—but that the self and the selfobject milieu belong together just as does our breathing organism and an atmosphere containing o x y g e n , w e can, unencumbered by our f o r m e r biases, turn to the task o f examining the various forms o f the self-selfobject unit, as it sustains, or enhances—and as it stifles or distorts—psychological life. H o w d o friends serve our selfobject needs, how does the marital partner, how does the surrounding professional o r national g r o u p , and how, last but not least, does the culture—via the artists, writers, and other creators o f the selfobject climate that surrounds us—in which we live?

February 7, 1980 Stephen R e c k e n , M . L I T T . , P H . D . Department o f Portuguese and Brazilian Studies University o f L o n d o n King's College Strand L o n d o n W C 2 R 2 L S England Dear Professor Reckert: T h a n k you for your inquiry and for your interest. T o a certain extent the terms you are referring to are, o f course, self-explanatory. T h e r e are theories that lie close to our observation—e.g., that man reacts to injuries o f his self-esteem with rage and aggression—and there are theories that are distant from observation—e.g., Freud's theory that human aggressions are a manifestation o f man's "death instinct" which, in turn, is a manifestation o f the tendency o f organic matter to strive toward a simpler

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(inorganic) organization. Since observation o f the "psychology o f complex mental states" (my term for the type o f psychology I am interested in—it relates to man's feelings and behavior) is undertaken via introspection and vicarious introspection (i.e., empathy), it focuses on experiential configurations. In the psychology o f c o m p l e x mental states (and that includes, broadly speaking, such areas in the humanities as literary criticism, history, anthropology, etc.) theories close to the primary data I call "experience-near," while theories at a distance from the primary data o f observation I call "experience-distant." I am enclosing some passages from my writings that you might find useful in the context o f your interest: (a) my use o f the terms you asked about on p. 179 in the Interational Journal of Psychoanalysis, 51, 1970 (also in The Search for the Self: Selected Writings of Heinz Kohut, International Universities Press, N . Y . , 1978, V o l . 2, p. 584); ( b ) pp. 302-03 o f The Restoration of the Self ( I . U . P . , N . Y . , 1977); furthermore, as a commentary o f my use o f theory; (c) cf. pp. 14-15 o f the enclosed essay "Psychoanalysis in a T r o u b l e d W o r l d " ; ( d ) pp. xx to xxii o f Restoration; and ( e ) some pp. from an unpublished manuscript about the definitions o f four basic concepts in self psychology. I h o p e that some o f this will be of help to you. March 5, 1980 Dear M r . F.: I found your essay clear and easy to read as well as convincing. I congratulate you on having d o n e a piece o f very g o o d work. I find it especially remarkable how well you familiarized yourself with an aspect o f a territory outside your professional focus—one rarely finds such an absence o f amateurish mistakes and misunderstandings when people g o outside their own field. T h e r e is little to criticize—but I would like to give voice to a hope. A l t h o u g h you explain yourself decently and generously about the fact that you have misgivings about some o f my m o r e

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recent work (e.g., p. 37, where you say that a "clear j u d g m e n t on this matter will not be forthcoming . . . for many years"), I am confident that you would be m o r e on my side concerning these newer developments if you were as familiar with them as you are with the earlier stages o f my thought. I have d e v e l o p e d some o f my ideas a g o o d deal further since I wrote Restoration, and, from what I learned about your perceptiveness from your "Progress and T h e o r y C h a n g e " essay, I conclude that my newer work has a g o o d chance of ultimately being accepted by you. I wonder, also, whether you are not also inclined to push it aside because it fits less clearly with your major thesis. I f so, that would be a pity. Y o u r thesis is not only well substantiated but also welcome and important. Perhaps you will in the future be able to explain how my later thoughts are related to my earlier ones and

demonstrate

that, despite their greater deviation from the classical model, they also d o not supersede it but complement it. ( T h e only time, by the way, when I felt misunderstood by you was when I read page 31. I have emphasized many times that I consider self psychology as complementary to the classical outlook, not as superseding it.) W h i l e the broad changes in the outlook o f man and his life that are e m b o d i e d in the later developments of my thinking (Restoration and after) are not a comparatively simple response to a comparatively simple insufficiency o f preceding theory (as were the formulations o f the psychology o f the self in the narrow sense), they d o also remedy a shortcoming in the classical conceptions and lead, in combination with my earlier formulations, to a significant i m p r o v e m e n t in therapeutic efficacy. T h e s e issues will be raised in the final chapter o f Advances in Self Psychology (edited by Goldberg, I.U.P., in print). I sketched them briefly—and m o r e or less extemporaneously—in December 1979 at the meeting o f the A m e r i c a n Psychoanalytic Association in N e w Y o r k . I am enclosing for you a copy o f the survey of these remarks.

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Let m e finish by telling you again that I enjoyed your paper very much and that I consider it to be a solid and

important

contribution. P.S. Please note the error on page 8, line 3, o f your manuscript. P.P.S. I would like to suggest that you send a copy o f your paper to Dr. Paul H . Ornstein, 4177 Rose Hill A v e n u e , Cincinnati, O h i o 45229; with a note that I thought that he would be interested in it. (Dr. P. Ornstein is, as you probably know, the editor o f my selected essays The Search for the Self.) March 12, 1980 . . . N o w I will respond to your remarks about my "Reflections o n Self Psychology." A l l o f your comments are important and I will not be able to d o full justice to them within the confines o f this communication. 1. 1 a g r e e with y o u r p o i n t that—unlike M a h l e r

and

others—some infant and child observers may take a stance that is c o m p a t i b l e with ours—I understand, f o r e x a m p l e , L o u Sander's approach to be quite in harmony with ours—and that it would then be not only possible, but indeed desirable to make the attempt to integrate their findings—and perhaps also their theories—with ours. ( l a ) A g a i n I agree with the substance o f your remarks. But I was not critical o f Mahler's espousing the "independence m o rality" o f Western civilization, I only stressed that it differs from that espoused by us. W e have m o v e d from drive-taming and dependence-relinquishment values to the values o f the realization o f the program laid d o w n in the nuclear self and to the values associated with the ability to find appropriate selfobjects throughout life. I believe that our value system is less moralistic than the one w e stepped away from because w e f o r m e d it o n the basis o f the observation o f actual instances o f fulfilled lives and significant actions. Differing, in other words, from the pre-

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vailing value system o f the Western world to which Mahler—and so did Freud, as I have often stressed—subscribes, I think that the evidence supports the conclusion that man's self reaches its optimum o f cohesion and harmony and courageous creativeness when it has appropriated for itself a milieu o f sustaining selfobjects. Seen f r o m still a different point o f view, I will say that I have remained faithful to my 1972 statement "that the o v e r c o m ing o f a hypocritical attitude toward narcissism is as much required today as was the o v e r c o m i n g o f sexual hypocrisy a hundred years a g o . " A n d I think, furthermore, that our value system is m o r e in harmony with the psychic life o f man, while the Freud-Mahler value system leans heavily on biological consideration—a distinct source o f e r r o r with regard to issues that lie in the psychological field. 2. H e r e , if I understand your meaning correctly, I largely disagree with you. Specifically, I think that you are misled because you are still hampered by the very thinking habits from which we are trying to free ourselves. Because you are still thinking in terms o f primary drives and of tension

regulation—a

tendency to which we all tend to fall prey from time to time because, despite o f our new insights, old thought patterns are hard to relinquish—you fail to see the essence o f the problem. T h e "material overstimulation" to which, according to your interpretation, the children o f the wealthy North Shore parents are exposed, is a disintegration product, a response to parental distance and lack o f parental empathy, not to overgiving. Parents give material gifts not because they subscribe to an erroneous, overpermissive ideology but because, unable to feel pride in their children and to provide for them a joyful reflection o f their presence, unable to feel the inner security that would allow them to be idealized by them, and, finally, unable to allow them to work next to them, side by side, for long, silent, satisfying hours, they shower them with material gifts. T h e s e gifts cannot replace the parents' mirroring, cannot be a substitute for their offering

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themselves as a target for the child's idealizing needs, cannot make up for the lack o f their alter-ego presence—the unsupported self o f the child disintegrates and the manifestations appear that look like, but are not, the result o f overstimulation. T h e contrast between the genetic matrix o f the psychopathology that is the prevailing one today (the narcissistic personality disorders) and that o f the psychopathology that may have been the prevailing o n e in Freud's time—or was at least characteristic for Freud's time and social milieu—(the classical neuroses) can be defined with regard to the extent and the focus o f selfobject failure. T h e emotional distance of today's pathogenic parents from their children is both greater and m o r e diffuse than that of the parents o f the time in which Freud gathered his data. N o w , characteristically, it is present in all developmental phases; then it involved specifically the child at the a g e when his affectionate and assertive attitudes took on the flavor and the intensity that is characteristic for the age to which we traditionally refer as the oedipal age. N o w the absence of empathic selfobject responses concerns the child in the earlier as well as in the later phases of development; then it led to the breakdown o f the child's affection and assertiveness via the unempathic overcloseness o f the parents and/or o f other adults during the oedipal period. N o w there are the manifestations o f the g r e e d of overstimulation o f a child d e p r i v e d o f the appropriate responses to him vis-ä-vis the material substitutes that he receives; then there w e r e the manifestations o f sexuality and hostility o f the child responded

to

inappropriately d u r i n g the oedipal phase by selfobjects w h o failed to mirror the little girl's or the little boy's affection and assertiveness with pride and responded instead with (preconscious) sexual stimulation and competitive alarm. 3. Y o u r remarks about the difference between psychoanalysis and psychotherapy—that they are "two separate but parallel endeavors," the one "a research tool that happens to be useful

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therapeutically," the other "a therapeutic tool that uses the discoveries o f psychoanalysis"—are first-class. T h i s is a valuable formulation which—while it does not invalidate my dialectical approach—defines one aspect of a complex issue by surveying it from a particular vantage point. March 18, 1980 A r n o l d G o l d b e r g , [to] w h o m I showed the scientific part of my recent letter to you pointed out to me that I had in three places been inexact in my use of the term "empathy" ("empathic"). A n d indeed on p a g e 2, line 27, I should not have referred to "lack o f parental empathy" and on page 3, lines 9 and 13, I should not have spoken o f an "absence o f empathic selfobject responses" and of "unempathic overcloseness." In the first-mentioned instance ( p a g e 2 ) , I should have said "is nowadays most frequently a disintegration product, a result of parental distance and lack of development-enhancing parental responses, not to overgiving." A n d in the second and third instances (page 3) I should have said " N o w the absence o f development-enhancing selfobject concerns . . . and via the development-thwarting overcloseness o f the parents and of other adults. . . ." I am grateful to A r n o l d for pointing out this e r r o r to me—it is important for us, especially at this time, to be consistent in our differentiation between the value-neutral use of the term "empathy" and the value-laden ideas o f " g o o d parenting," "correct and accurate empathy," "empathy i n f o r m e d by relevant hypotheses about the inner life o f people," etc. T h i s differentiation, I will add, does in no way contradict my assertion that an empathic milieu—even if the empathy is to be used for hostile purposes—is experienced by us as m o r e life-enhancing than a totally unempathic milieu (the atmosphere of a concentration camp; a child's exposure to bizarre psychotic parents, etc.). Finally, as I reread my letter to you, I feel impelled to state explicitly a fact that is probably not in need of being underlined,

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namely, that the formulation I gave in my letter referred to many but not all cases o f "overgiving," just as I had many but not all instances in mind when I spoke o f the consequences o f "overcloseness." ( A l l this I already discussed in Restoration, e.g., on pp. 277-278.) March 25, 1980 Dear B . : Dyed-in-the-wool analyst that I am, I tried at first to c o m p r e h e n d the impact your letter had on m e . But I could make no headway: to grasp the method by which this wonderful communication achieved its effect on m e is beyond me. A n d that is clearly as it should be—-just as the analyst sometimes must not

interpret

mechanisms but only express his understanding for the broad need that the analysand had expressed, so must one sometimes simply accept gratefully a wholesome, joyful experience and not interfere with it by cutting a living whole into lifeless slices. It simply was g o o d to have another mind resonate with mine, thinking and feeling as I d o , and courageously facing the disappointment and obstacles o f the moment—facing them

with

the

confidence that is nourished by the conviction that we have ind e e d gotten hold o f a valuable set o f insights. T h e s e insights, w e trust, will continue to bear fruit, directly or indirectly, long after we have ceased to support and defend them by our individual efforts. T h a n k you for your d e e p convictions, thank you for your courage and your persuasive example. I'm lucky to have found a colleague and collaborator like you. March 25, 1980 G e o r g e H . Pollock, M . D . Chairman, Editorial C o m m i t t e e T h e Annual o f Psychoanalysis 180 N o r t h Michigan A v e n u e Chicago, 111. 60601

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Dear G e o r g e : H e r e is my evaluation of" "Progress and T h e o r y C h a n g e : T h e T w o Analyses of" M r . Z . " by M r . M . F. A l t h o u g h this paper focuses principally on a problem that is not directly related to the theory and practice o f psychoanalysis, it will be o f considerable interest to many analysts. In this essay the author takes a specific position on one side o f a debate that has been carried on in recent years between two groups of philosophers and historians of science. It is the debate whether significant new steps in science are the e m b o d i m e n t o f a shift in paradigms—this view, advanced originally by Kuhn, emphasizes the importance of psychological and sociological factors in the d e v e l o p m e n t of sciences—or whether—a position taken by such authors as Feyerabend and Laudan—important forward movements in science are the result o f the introduction of hypotheses that have greater problem-solving capacity than those that existed before. T h e r e are two reasons why this issue is of interest to analysts: (1) It is in and o f itself important because a particular g r o u p o f analysts, such as M . Gitelson (cf. "On T h e Identity Crisis in American Psychoanalysis,"y.A./M. 12:451-476, 1964) and K. R. Eissler (cf. Talent and Genius, N e w Y o r k : Quadrangle, 1971; see especially p p . 248ff.) have made use o f Kuhn's approach in defense o f the very conservative definition of psychoanalysis which they espouse; and ( 2 ) it is especially useful for analysts because the author supports his argument against Kuhn's and for Laudan's position via evidence culled from a psychoanalytic contribution, namely, the case report on " T h e T w o Analyses of M r . Z." O n the whole, the author's clarity o f thought and the straightforwardness o f his argumentation are both enjoyable and instructive for the reader. ( A n impressive e x a m p l e o f his skill can be found on page 45.) T h e r e is only one major objection to this paper: the tone in which the reader is introduced to the relevant

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psychoanalytic concepts used in his argument by the author is wrong. In view o f the fact that this paper if accepted by the Annual will have a predominantly analytic readership, the author must address analysts w h o m he reminds o f the essential issues that are invovled, rather than nonanalysts w h o m he acquaints with them. ( I n the reverse, the full significance o f such concepts, familiar to the philosopher o f science, as "the d e g r e e o f confirmation and falsification" could well be explained to the analytic reader.) My overall j u d g m e n t is that, while this paper should be accepted, w e should insist that the author g o over it with an analyst (I understand that Dr. Bäsch is willing to p e r f o r m this function) in o r d e r to make the appropriate changes (on p p . 5ff'.). P.S. ( 1 ) A n e r r o r that must be corrected is to be found o n page 8, three lines up and on page 9, line 3. T h e term "agency"—even in reference to the regions of the

tripartite

model o f the mind (see G e d o and G o l d b e r g , 1973)—is not of recent vintage as the author believes but stems from Freud (see, for example, S.E., 22, p. 60, 11. 8-14). ( 2 ) T h e references to Dr. Bäsch and me a d d e d by the author just before submitting this paper to the Annual should be r e m o v e d . Dr. Bäsch and I saw this paper after it was written—we knew nothing about it (nor about its author) until it was sent to us two or three weeks a g o . W h i l e the author means well in thanking us for our comments, the impression that he creates that we have helped him with this paper weakens his position and blurs the important fact that he undertook his w o r k and carried it to completion entirely on his o w n , using the material that was available in our literature, for the purpose o f illuminating an issue in the philosophy o f science.

March 28, 1980 Y o u r note touched me and I know that the compassion that you expressed to m e with regard to the animosity to which I was exposed at the Regional Meeting is sincere. Y e t , after I had

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finished

reading your message, I felt vaguely disappointed with-

out being at first able to identify the cause o f my frustration. I know now what my dissatisfaction was about. What is needed is for i n f o r m e d and thoughtful people like you not only to write warm notes—however I welcome such a m o v e personally—but to stand up in o p e n meeting and to express, with calm assurance, their indignation about those w h o level their often quite ill-inf o r m e d broadsides against us. W o u l d it not seem otherwise as if Yeats' marvelous words had c o m e true again among us that " T h e best lack all conviction, while the worst are full o f passionate intensity"? With warm thanks and—my favorite Freud quotation (Freud to A b r a h a m , October 13, 1913)—a resounding " C o r r a g g i o Casimiro!" I am as always. . . . A p r i l 11, 1980 I read your paper on parenthood with much enjoyment and profit, and feel quite in tune with your approach and with your formulations. T h e conception o f the three developmental steps that ultimately lead to the actual adult function or, better, the conception o f the three-layered essence o f the parental attitude that deals with the adult function in depth, is very felicitous and persuasive. T h e r e are some aspects o f your approach with which I feel not equally in tune—in particular, your equating

persisting

struggles (conflict; ambivalence) with pathology, and the rather apologetic way in which you accept the fact that the need for selfobjects persists throughout adult life. I feel increasingly that we need to grasp each person's mental health individually and that persistent inner struggles may be an intrinsic part o f some highly significant lives. T h u s , I am increasingly disinclined to accept as useful the dichotomy between health and disease—at least as this cleavage is traditionally conceptualized. A n d with regard to the need for selfobjects throughout life, you know

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what I think. T o m e it is as nonpathological psychologically as the need for o x y g e n physiologically. I am sharing these reflections with you not because I am critical o f your work—which, in fact, I consider thoughtful and attractive—but because I believe that the slight but not insignificant shift in attitude that I suggest might be helpful to you as you pursue your work in this crucially important area. T h a n k you once m o r e for giving me the opportunity to read your contribution. A p r i l 16, 1980 Senator f. W . Fulbright Suite 600 815 Connecticut A v e n u e Washington, D . C . 20006 Dear Senator Fulbright: T h a n k you for your friendly and thought-provoking letter. I w o n d e r whether psychohistory—I will always include psychologically oriented political science when I say psychohistory—has reached the stage at which it could deal objectively with the kind o f task that you outline. H a v e w e , in other words, I am asking myself, reached that d e g r e e o f the courage to be objective with regard to our attitudes and opinions in the political and historical arena? A r e we able to be objective with regard to events to which we respond with our deepest and most intense feelings because they mobilize in us—as indeed they d o in those whose actions and attitudes w e would like to investigate—concerns about the survival o f the core o f o u r self? It is this commitment to the core o f our self, to those ambitions, ideals, basic skills, and talents which form the center o f our personality, that is the greatest obstacle to scientific objectivity vis-a-vis the field of historical action. A n d , so it seems to m e at least, all historians, including the m o d e r n psychohistorians, continue, therefore, as the saying goes, to have an axe to grind when they are j u d g i n g events that

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are close to them. Of the endless number of data from which he can choose, will not the clever mind o f the

psychohistorian

assemble those that justify his particular, emotionally p r e f o r m e d view—will he not use selected data in o r d e r to rationalize the claims o f his nuclear self, whether this self is Islamic, European liberal, westward-moving American, invasion-fearing Russian, o r o f whatever other variety? Still, as concerns the long run I am not pessimistic. I f you look at the enclosed essay, in particular at the last part (vol. 2, p p . 832-833), you will see that I d o not discount the possibility that we might d e v e l o p the objectivity required f o r tasks such as the o n e you mentioned. A n d there can be no doubt that some people, for reasons that are connected with events and relationships early in their life, are passionately devoted to the pursuit o f truth and are m o r e able than the majority o f us to remain objective, even when facing a threat to their biological and, what is even m o r e important, their psychological survival. O u r realistic j u d g m e n t tells us, however, that psychohistory is on the main not pursued by such geniuses o f objectivity. A n d , since it is a very young science, it must not be hurried. It must not only devise methods o f research and proof, it must also train those w h o have devoted their life to it to analyze their o w n motivations, so that they can obtain awareness with regard to those factors within themselves that interfere with objectivity, in general, and vis-ä-vis specific tasks, in particular. O n l y o n e thing I consider to be certain: however great the obstacles that the psychohistorian has to surmount, his acceptance o f the principle to which you, explicitly and implicitly, subscribed in your University o f Chicago address is crucial: he must first think himself—consistently,

prolongedly—into the

minds o f those whose actions he investigates before he begins to analyze their motives and to explain their behavior. It is this "principle o f p r o l o n g e d empathic immersion," as I like to call it, which demands that a long period o f "understanding" must precede the attempt to "explain," that has to become paramount.

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P.S. During the weekend o f June 6-8, 1980, there will be a conference on the "Psychohistorical Meanings o f Leadership" in Chicago. I am enclosing a p r o g r a m for you. Should you be interested in it and able to attend it, we would be pleased to welcome you as an honored guest. Just let me know. June 10, 1980 Dear M r . N . : I think that I understand the problem that you are referring to, but I consider it less an issue o f substance and m o r e one o f terminology, choice, or definition. O n the w h o l e I am inclined to emphasize that empathy is an "operation," a "process," a "stance," and thus separate it from the theories by which our empathy is informed. But I am—and quite consciously so—not consistent here. Vis-ä-vis some o f my colleagues—those who say that self psychology has introduced a new empathy—1 may take the position that self psychology has introduced new theories that allow our empathy to perceive formerly unperceived configurations.

Vis-ä-vis others—those w h o say that the preself-psy-

chological observer was just as empathic as the self psychologist—I may take the position that our theories have broadened our view to such an extent that one may indeed speak o f a new kind o f empathy. Please look at the enclosed pages from an essay o f mine in a forthcoming book (Advances in Self Psychology, ed. A . G o l d b e r g ; N . Y . : I . U . P . ) , which should help to clarify my views on empathy; and consider also the differentiation between two kinds o f theories as described in the (enclosed) footnote on pp. 749-750 o f The Restoration of the Self. Certainly our consciousness with regard to theories changes—after we have totally absorbed a new theory it ceases to be conscious theoretical equipment and becomes as it were an unquestioned part o f our whole outlook vis-ä-vis the field we observe. It's similar to a p h e n o m e n o n when, living in a new country and gradually learning its language, you will for

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awhile "hear" certain words over and over again. T h o s e are the words you have just recently learned to understand. T h e n , when they have become totally familiar to you, you don't hear them a n y m o r e but a new g r o u p o f words takes their place. I h o p e that I have d o n e some justice to your inquiry. G o o d wishes to a successful completion o f your doctoral thesis. June 11, 1980 Dear Professor Gay: W h e n I told my wife last night at the dinner table that I had sent you a few o f my articles and told her what I had selected for you, she called out in amazement: "What, you didn't send him your Heller-Schafer correspondence? That's just exactly analogous to the debate you had with Peter Gay." I said chat in a way she was right, but that I didn't want to send you even m o r e stuff to read—or not to read (1 know what a busy schedule is like), but now I am sending it to you anyway because this lovely interchange might just possibly catch your attention. A n o t h e r thought a propos your impression that I disregard detail and complexity was expressed to m e after the meeting by a friendly colleague w h o laughingly said that you should d o penance for this claim by being made to read the near-fifty pages in The Restoration of the Self in which I discuss one single moment in the analysis o f a patient ( M r . M . ; pp. 6-54). Still, apart from the fact that you had in fact misunderstood my remark o n Saturday night that pre-Nazi Germany was "easy," there is a substantial issue hidden here that neither o n e o f us confronted. T h e r e is a place for the examination o f details (the painter's brush strokes, his mixture o f pigments, etc.), but there is also a place for the struggle with the overall configuration (stepping away from the painting and surveying it with squinted eyes). T h u s the m o m e n t in history that you referred to (Hindenburg's senile wavering, the intrigues o f his son [?], von Papen's wish to let Hitler make a fool o f himself—I may not have these things

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right at all, but that's the way I r e m e m b e r t h e m ) is only trees. I am sure that w e are really basically in agreement; how could it be otherwise? June 20, 1980 Dear G.: I read your discussion of" M.'s paper with interest and admiration—interest, because insofar as I could understand your scholarly statements they stimulated the wish in m e to know m o r e about the theory o f science than I d o ; admiration, because o n e tends to feel most awed when o n e grasps just enough o f a thing to know that it is over one's head. Some questions arose in m e , as you no doubt expected. H o w d o you feel about my o w n position—the one that 1 defined in 1959—that there is no duality o f worlds (one should really g o beyond dualism and say "no multiplicity o f worlds") but only a duality (multiplicity) o f observational approaches. (See in this context not only my 1959 essay but also, and especially, the remarks in The Search for the Self V o l u m e I I , especially pp. 698702.) It seems to m e that my approach is quite in harmony with Seymour Kety's 1963 remark which you quote approvingly —indeed I believe that in 1959 (see The Search for the Self, V o l u m e I , pp. 205ff.) I expressed at length and with scientific seriousness the same meaning that Kety's charming obiter dictum alludes to in a playful way. I am above all a relativist. T h e o r i e s are mainly means to an e n d for me. T h e y don't become "hallowed"—neither the theory o f a dynamic unconscious, nor the theory o f the primacy o f the self-selfobject unit. A n y theory is replaceable metaphor for m e . I use it so long as it does its j o b , I use another when the other helps m e to see m o r e , to understand m o r e , to increase my o p erational leverage. A n d as you know—you heard me say it again when Douglas Levin presented his papers in our workshop recently—I am perfectly willing to e m p l o y the Freudian model

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(the psychology o f the self in the narrow sense) should an analysis c o m e my way in which, at least temporarily, the issues that present themselves can be defined satisfactorily within the framework o f the structural m o d e l o f the mind. Still, even in such a case, I will shift to the theory o f the self-selfobject unit (the psychology o f the self in the broad sense) when, after the conflicts have been clarified (have been m a d e conscious), the selfobject failures begin to occupy center stage and must be investigated if w e want to understand why the patient's conflicts have become the organizing center o f his abnormal behavior and/or his painful symptoms. T h a n k you for having given m e the opportunity to read your thoughtful discussion. I learned much from it, share some of your predilections (see, for example, the use o f dynamic-economic formulations in my contribution to a psychoanalytic theory o f affects in The Search for the Self V o l u m e I I , pp. 654-656), and am, above all, glad to see that you are functioning so well in the new surroundings that are now your home. June 2 7 , 1 9 8 0 Dear Professor Gay: I really appreciated your letter o f June 22. A n d I fully agree with you that we are "not that far apart." W e can look at the details in a painting, the artist's brush strokes, the mix o f pigments—and much can be learned. W e can step back from the painting, even squint our eyes in o r d e r not to be distracted by details but to get some "closure" about large configurations—and much can be learned this way, too. W e need to examine heterogeneity, without yet disregarding the apparent homogeneity of an ultimately e m e r g i n g pattern o r process-design. W h e t h e r one and the same person needs to d o both is a practical question for which there must not be a clear-cut answer; but those w h o use the complementary approaches

must talk to each other in

friendly, understanding, mutually respectful ways and must be

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willing—perhaps even to the point o f Coleridge's famous "willing suspension o f disbelief"—to immerse themselves in the other's viewpoint. Specifically I have tried the interweaving o f "heterogeneity" and " h o m o g e n e i t y " in my discussions o f the changing (or seemingly changing) patterns o f dominant psychopathology (see The Restoration of the Self, pp. 267-280). T h e chapter on " T h e Nature o f Evidence in Psychoanalysis" (also in Restoration) is also relevant with regard to our discussion. O n c e m o r e my appreciation o f your kind and

thoughtful

letter. I h o p e w e will meet and talk again. July 1, 1980 Prof. Graham Little University o f M e l b o u r n e Political Science Department Parkville,Victoria 3052 Australia Dear Professor Little: I was sorry that you did not say hello at the Psychohistory meeting but glad to get your letter. I thought that the Psychohistory meeting was excellent and that everybody came away with new knowledge, new insight, and new questions. It is gratifying for m e to know that, to some extent, my work continues to inform yours, as you put it. In the examination o f the vicissitudes o f the g r o u p self—just as is the case for the individual self—we must not confuse pathological narcissism and healthy narcissism. T h e injured g r o u p self, d e p r i v e d o f the supports that it needs for sustenance (traditional sources o f pride, traditional uplifting ideals, traditional selfobject responses from its intellectual and political leaders) will respond with (a) temporary states o f imbalance (narcissistic rage, depletion, loss of cohesion) which are remedied sooner or later by the support from the aforementioned traditional sources

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of self-esteem; or it will respond ( b ) by serious and long-lasting disturbances (chronic narcissistic rage, the turning to archaic grandiosity and

messianic self-righteousness) and, especially

when the g r o u p selfobjects (the writers, artists, political and social leaders) d o not p r o v i d e the needed echo to the suffering g r o u p self, fail to p e r f o r m their function adequately, will attach itself to archaic selfobjects (charismatic and messianic leaders) in o r d e r to escape from the painful loss o f self-esteem, the painful sense of fragmentation, and the painful sense of depletion. T h e "smallish settings" o f which you speak approvingly—and rightly so—are thus, to my mind, not the opposite o f g r o u p cohesion and healthy self-assertiveness. O n the contrary, they are a social achievement that rests on a basically healthy sense of group-self cohesion. It is only o n the basis o f such a healthy g r o u p self that the groups of which you speak can argue productively with each other and can thus, in an o n g o i n g process of social "working through," contribute to that gradual change in the life of the g r o u p self that is as much an aspect of its health as the abrupt changes, in particular those that involve a return to archaic narcissistic positions, are an aspect o f its pathology. Still, I have no objection to your speaking o f "healthy fragmentations"—as a matter o f fact this is a rather appealing term. But, I think, you must stress that you are then not using the term fragmentation in its technical, self-psychological sense but have in mind a creative diversity of functions, opinions, and actions that is kept in check by a sense o f responsibility for the destiny o f the g r o u p . W a r m regards and best wishes for a productive, successful life. July 24, 1980 Y o u r perceptive friend asked a significant question. Is there not, he w o n d e r e d , an inconsistency contained in the concept o f selfselfobject relationships—a phrase, I might add, which has appeared with increasing frequency in my o w n writings and in

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those o f my friends in recent years. T h e inconsistency which your friend has in mind, you explained, is e m b o d i e d by the fact that when we speak o f selfobjects, we are, according to his understanding, referring to objects that are not ( o r , to a significant d e g r e e , not sufficiently) differentiated from the self. H o w can o n e speak o f a "relationship," your friend's critique implies, between individuals w h o are not differentiated from each other? Let m e , to begin with, admit that I , too, believe that an objection to the use o f the term self-selfobject relationship can be raised. I must add immediately, however, that, to my understanding o f the issue, the objection that could appropriately be raised is not the one that was brought to your attention by your friend. I will in the following first try to show why your friend's misgivings are unwarranted and will then turn to a conceptual inaccuracy that I consider indeed to be inherent in the term in question and which I therefore think to be in need o f examination. Y o u r friend's understanding o f the term selfobject is not the same as ours—or, to be m o r e exact, it is not the same as that which w e have increasingly attempted to clarify, to ourselves and to others, o v e r the years. First o f all, and perhaps most importantly, the concept o f a selfobject refers not to an object in the social sphere, to an object in the interpersonal sense of the w o r d , but to the inner experience o f an object. T o use the traditional psychoanalytic term: the selfobject is an imago, i.e., it is an object within the framework o f depth psychology (at least as / believe depth psychology must be defined [see Kohut, 1959, pp. 205212, and Kohut, 1977, pp. 298-312]), it is not an object within the framework o f social psychology. M y emphasis on the fact that we are referring to an inner experience and not to an external fact when we speak of selfobjects will, however, not yet allay your friend's misgivings completely. W e must add, as I now d o , that the experience in question is not in essence the outgrowth o f an act o f erroneous, distorted, or, at any rate, idio-

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syncratic cognition, as the phrase might seem to imply. True, in certain archaic m e r g e r states the experience o f the selfobject contains features which, from the point o f view o f the objective observer, are distorted. (See, for example, Kohut, 1971, p. 10, and G o l d b e r g , 1978, p. 274.) In essence, however, and in the o v e r w h e l m i n g majority o f instances, the experiential content to which self psychology refers as selfobject is not a distortion due to faulty cognition but the result o f the correct perception o f the significance which the objects that surround us have for the d e v e l o p m e n t and/or maintenance o f our self. W h e t h e r cognitively insufficiently separated from the self, as may be the case in infancy and in certain archaic m e r g e r states later in life, or, as is most often the case, in particular in the older child and in the adult, cognitively separated from it, the selfobject is defined by our experience o f its function. W h e n our self-esteem is low after we have suffered a defeat and a friend puts his arm around our shoulder and thus symbolically allows us to m e r g e with him—to be suffused by his calmness and security—we d o not d e v e l o p the delusion that we have become part o f his body or mind o r that he had become a part o f us. What we experience—and that is why he is our selfobject at such a moment—is that, on the one hand, he participates (via his empathy with us) in our dismay, in our despair, in our sense o f failure and defeat, while, on the other hand, we feel calmed by his calmness and strengthened by his strength because (via our empathy with him) we sense his calmness and strength and are able to participate in it. T h e prototype o f such psychological events is the baby's or small child's experience of being picked up by the mother. W h e n the baby is upset and the mother allows him to m e r g e with her calm and strong body as she cradles him in her arms and holds him close to her body, this infantile experience o f m e r g e r with an archaic idealized selfobject anticipates the later experience of the adult w h o is comforted by a friend. W e may assume, in other words, that the calmness that now suffuses

the baby via the

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mother's responsiveness to his upset is still experienced by him as a m e r g e r with her—that whatever perceptual differentiation from the mother may have already existed has become dissolved while she is holding him close. T h e empathic responses which maintain the cohesion o f the older child and o f the adult, however, whether they come from a mirroring selfobject, an altere g o , or an idealized parent imago, are experienced as emanating from selfobjects that are cognitively clearly separated from the self. T h e empathic echo o f the selfobject has taken the place o f the earlier experience of a m e r g e r or fusion with it. A n d now to my second point. As I said initially, a critic could indeed raise a valid objection to our use o f the phrase self-selfobject relationships, but this objection would not be the o n e raised by your friend. T o my mind, as I explained before, it is not the occasionally present lack o f cognitive differentiation o f the selfobject from the self which constitutes an objectionable contradictio in adjecto when we use the phrase self-selfobject relationships, since in most instances the cognitive differentiation between self and object is in fact made and since, even when it is not made, the lack o f differentiation in these instances is not an inherent property o f the experience but only an incidental feature. But what is the valid objection? I think that it is to be derived from the fact that both the term self and the term selfobject refer to inner experiences, i.e., to imagoes—that neither the concept o f the self nor that of a selfobject are concepts of social psychology. T h u s , if w e wish to be precise in our communications, w e should talk neither about the self nor about selfobjects as if w e w e r e talking about people, i.e., about interacting individuals, and we should, therefore, strictly speaking not talk about any relationships between them. A s you undoubtedly know, however, I have never felt the need for absolute accurateness in the use o f my terms if I felt sure that my true meaning would not be in doubt, and I have, in particular, never shied away from using evocative terms even

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if" I exposed myself to the reproach o f theoretical inexactness by d o i n g so. Y o u may remember, for example, that in 1966 I took "the risk o f sounding anthropomorphic" and said that "the e g o experiences the influence o f the e g o ideal as c o m i n g from above and that o f the narcissistic self as coming from below," that "man is led by his ideals but pushed by his ambitions," that the idealized parent i m a g o "is gazed at in awe," while the "narcissistic self wants to be looked at and admired." I certainly don't have to spell out all that is w r o n g with these phrases—and yet, while I am fully aware of" the inaccuracies o f these statements, I d o not regret them, and would make them again if I again had to acquaint my readers for the first time with the concepts in question. I have on several occasions responded to these criticisms (see, for e x a m p l e , K o h u t and Wolf, in this vol., chap. 9 ) ; and I have remained u n r e f o r m e d , even though I am respectful of the conceptual exactness o f those (see, for example, Schäfer, 1979) w h o have criticized me with regard to this issue. In o r d e r to present my point most palpably I will demonstrate the hardships—the unnecessary hardships, I hasten to add—that would be involved for writer and reader if I tried to be terminologically accurate when making a statement such as the following. "Self-selfobject relationships are present from birth to death—the healthy self thus always needs the sustaining responses o f selfobjects, from the first to the last breath." I believe that, despite the gross terminological inaccuracies and inconsistencies o f this statement, my meaning is clear. But think how clumsily, complicatedly, and, in the end, confusingly I would have to express myself if I did not trust the reader to make the necessary allowances but tried to be conceptually accurate. I said that "Self-selfobject

relationships are present from

birth to

death." But what I should have said in o r d e r to be accurate would be something like this: " T h r o u g h o u t his life a person will experience himself as a cohesive, harmonious, firm unit in time and space, connected with his past and pointing meaningfully

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into a creative-productive future, only so long as, at each stage in his life, he experiences certain representatives of his human surroundings as joyfully responding to him, as available to him as sources o f idealized strength and calmness, as being silently present but in essence like him, and, at any rate, able to grasp his inner life m o r e o r less accurately so that their responses are attuned to his needs and allow him to grasp their inner life when he is in need o f such sustenance." N e e d I g o on? I believe not. But I d o want to stress that I wrote the foregoing sentence not in o r d e r to caricature the d e m a n d for exactness but only in o r d e r to show that there are no advantages—but

many disadvan-

tages^—in being exact at all times. T h e r e is a place for sentences such as the f o r e g o i n g o n e , namely, when the focus o f the communication is o n the definition o f the sustaining effect of the self-selfobject unit. But when the point to be made lies elsewhere—e.g., in my e x a m p l e , o n the fact that the need for this unit persists throughout life—then completeness and exactness become unnecessary burdens that d o not need to be shouldered. I have given you a long answer to the fine question that your friend has posed. Still, I know that I have by no means touched o n all the important issues that are raised by your friend's query. H a v e you ever seen my (unpublished) paper on "Four Basic Definitions in Self Psychology" (chap. 12, in this vol.)? It deals m o r e broadly with our topic and, if you are interested in a m o r e extensive discussion, I shall be glad to send you a copy o f the manuscript. Please thank your friend for having given m e the opportunity for clarifying my position about an important point o f definition and theory, and thank you for transmitting his inquiry to me. October 7, 1980 I read your R o m e o and Juliet paper with pleasure and learned a g o o d deal from it. I f only the days weren't already so filled, I would love to spend again some o f them on applied analysis,

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especially by devoting myself to the study o f literary works. U n fortuantely, there is other work that, as you know, does have priority now. Still, I hope that in the not-too-distant future, I will be able to return to the area into which I made my first analytic research moves, long ago—perhaps by writing about the m e t h o d o l o g y of applied analysis, a theme that has been in the back o f my mind, and, in the f o r m of notes, between the covers of a folder, for some time now. A s you recognize, your paper needs fleshing out. Y o u conscientiously introduce the work of those w h o were Shakespeare's precursors in the use of the R o m e o and Juliet plot. That may be all right, for completeness' sake; and it is quite in line with scholarly tradition. In addition, however, you should undertake a m o r e detailed examination of the actual source from which Shakespeare drew the details o f his plot. His deviations from the model he used should be spelled out one by one and you should discuss the reasons that p r o m p t e d him to introduce the changes that he made. W e r e these changes made for theatrical reasons, for psychological reasons (intended and/or unintended ones), or both? Can you give explanations for the significance o f each of the deviations from the model—or, at least, offer hypotheses? Furthermore, a point that seems to me to be o f equal o r even greater importance than the preceding one, I believe that your focus is too narrow—specifically, that you are neglecting a significant aspect of the psychological meaning of the play. Even though this aspect o f the meaning o f the play may be considered to be susidiary to the main psychological theme, you could provide your primary hypothesis with a stronger basis if you would acknowledge its existence and

discuss its significance. Y o u

should, in particular, illustrate it by adducing relevant quotations from the play, just as you did so convincingly with regard to your major hypothesis. W h a t is this significant secondary theme that, as I believe, you should also pay attention to? It concerns the nature of the

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flawed selfobject milieu in which the pathology of the adolescent arises. If, in other words, the play is the carrier of a psychological message about the disappointed need for selfobjects during the crucial developmental moves undertaken by adolescents, then we should examine the selfobject milieu m o r e broadly than you have d o n e . Seen from the broader perspective that I advocate, R o m e o and Juliet are not only two specific separate individuals—the two children of two different families w h o happen to be feuding with each other—they are also one. Symbolically they are the adolescent as he faces his ( h e r ) family during a crucial period o f emotional d e v e l o p m e n t . Seen from this vantage point the Montagues and Capulets are o n e child's parents, fighting with each other, absorbed in their marital feud, each trying to draw the child to its side. T h e y are parents w h o put themselves and their need for support first—they cannot rise to the true parental attitude; cannot, maturely, live up to the inner need to serve as selfobjects for the child; cannot, in d o i n g so. experience the d e e p j o y o f fulfilling man's essential destiny, of being a link in " T h e Great Chain o f Being." T h i s is what the parents ( M o n tague-Capulet) cannot d o , are unable to experience. Something essential is missing in them. T h e i r self-cohesion appears to be sustained

mainly by their hatred toward each other, by the

chronic narcissistic rage that arose in each of them because they could not obtain selfobject support from each other. Sustained only by their mutual hatred, their eternally repeated mutual accusations, their repeated vicious fights, they appeal to the child for support, only to experience renewed rage—now directed at the child and expressed via moral accusations designed to punish the child and to render it compliant by making it guilty—when the child, in harmony with its own developmental needs, resists the parental appeal and tries to g o its own way. What I have described here is drawn from specific clinical experiences concerning marriages in which the partners appear to hate each other intensely, yet cannot let g o o f each other—each hoping

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against h o p e that the other will ultimately fulfill his or her selfobject needs. Could you, to condense the issue I raised in the foregoing, adduce evidence for the thesis that the feuding clans in the play stand, symbolically, for feuding parents and elaborate, if possible, with the aid of relevant material that you can discover in the play, how the Capulets and Montagues by what they say and d o reveal some details about the defects in their selves that makes them unable to respond to the children's needs? H e r e is another, related theme that I will mention because it, too, could and, I think should be discussed in greater detail than you have d o n e so far. Y o u demonstrated the fact that the two lovers cannot be open about their demands, that they cannot confront their parents with their m o v e toward greater selfhood. T h i s is an excellent point, and I compliment you for recognizing the significance o f this issue that might easily have been overlooked. But just because it is significant I think that you should now elaborate on it. Y o u could give clinical examples from your own practice, e.g., concerning young people in the present time w h o live together without getting married—open about this arrangement vis-ä-vis their peers, but keeping it a secret from their parents. Y o u could also give references to such related illustrations in the available literature as, from my own writings, that o f M r . X . , described in The Restoration of the Self w h o kept his walks with his father a secret from his mother; or that of M r . Z.'s similar secretiveness (Int. Journal of Psychoanalysis, 1979 and chap. 9, in this v o l . ) after he had witnessed his father's independence from the mother during a vacation and could thus establish the nucleus o f a self that became consolidated in his second analysis. Finally, a word about language and style. I know that the manuscript is not in its final form. Still, I also know that the terseness of your sentences, your inclination to cram several messages into them, is not just a feature o f your unfinished writings, it tends to remain. T r y to be m o r e discursive. Present

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o n e meaning per sentence, give a single message to the reader each time—not two o r three. I have found that 1 tend to overload my sentences when (preconsciously) I want to hide that one or the other o f my meanings is not clear. By condensing several meanings into the same sentence attention is concentrated »>n the task o f isolating them one from the other and the fuzziness o f the meanings themselves remains unnoticed. T r y to resist this self-defeating method. I myself d o still occasionally succumb to this habit in my early drafts. Later, however, I tend to recognize what I have d o n e and I r e m o v e the condensations wherever I detect them. I h o p e that all this advice is helpful. In closing I d o want to tell you that the major line o f thought o f your paper is very g o o d and worthwhile. G o o d luck as you g o on to i m p r o v e the work! The task is not far from being completed. October 21, 1980 Ms. Ruth Rosenberg Brooklyn College Humanities/English Bedford Ave. & Ave. H . N e w Y o r k . N . Y . 11210 Dear Ms. Rosenberg: I was touched by the warmth o f your letter and glad to hear that my work, and that o f my colleagues in self psychology, is helpful and opens doors to new understanding in a field that is not my own. Concerning your specific question, the answer is yes. D o use the "Forms and Transformations" essay for your v o l u m e — I think it's a g o o d choice from a m o n g my writings for your purpose. T h e r e is another idea. W o u l d you be interested—in addition to "Forms and Transformations"—to use a brief paper o f mine that has never been published? It is my introdution to a Panel

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on A p p l i e d Analysis (the panel was called "Does the Psychology o f the Self N a r r o w the G a p between Psychoanalysis and

the

Other Sciences o f Man?") which f o r m e d part o f the Conference on Self Psychology in Chicago in October 1978. The papers given at this Conference have now appeared in the volume Advances in Self Psychology ( e d . A . G o l d b e r g ; I.U.P., 1980). This volume contains the papers given at the " A p p l i e d " panel but, in view o f my lengthy contributions to the volume—two "letters" and a long summarizing survey o f the field—the "Introductory Remarks" I am offering to you w e r e not included. Dr. P. O r n stein w h o is preparing a third volume o f my selected essays (The Search for the Self) will, o f course, include this piece—but that's still some time away. I am enclosing it. L o o k at it and, if you think you can use it, d o so. But only in addition to "Forms and Transformations," not instead. Concerning "Forms and

Trans-

formations," I might add, you have to get the permission o f the Journal

of the American Psychoanalytic Association, H a r o l d Blum,

M . D . , editor, before you can use it. Y o u may, o f course, make editorial changes and additions (an explanatory footnote), if you want the "Introductory Remarks." Please let me hear what you think.

22 Letters 1981

A p r i l 10, 1981 Max Forman, M . D . President, T h e Chicago Psychoanalytic Society 180 N o r t h Michigan A v e n u e Chicago, 111. 60601 In re: Calder R e p o r t Dear M a x : Y o u asked the members o f our Society to respond to your A p r i l 1981 Newsletter report, in particular, with regard to the issue o f admitting nonmedical p e o p l e into the analytic profession. M y opinion, as I am sure you know, differs from yours. I believe that w e should o p e n our doors to emotionally and intellectually qualified nonmedical candidates and give them full clinical training. T h i s is a view I have held, unchangingly, for thirty years, and I d o not believe that my attitude will change. I am not influenced by Freud's stance in favor of lay analysis which must be evaluated within the cultural framework o f the Vienna o f the 1920s; and I d o not know, in particular, whether your interpretation o f Freud's motivation—i.e., that it was a reaction to a narcissistic injury—is correct. M y opinion is based on independent considerations which to me are as valid in 1981 as they were when I became an analyst in 1950. I will present them in the following in the o r d e r of increasing importance, at least as far as I feel about them.

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1. Great and significant contributions have been made by many nonmedical analysts, such as Erik Erikson, Melanie Klein, A n n a Freud, Ernst Kris, August A i c h h o r n , Siegfried Bernfeld, David Rapaport, Robert W a e l d e r , Roy Schafer, Hanns Sachs, etc., etc. ( I wrote d o w n these names helter-skelter, as they happened to c o m e to my m i n d . ) A n d , what is most significant in our context, their specific contributions have been in many instances an outgrowth o f their particular (nonmedical) background. 2. I believe, furthermore—and I consider this point as m o r e important than the preceding one—that medical training tends to create one specific type o f psychoanalyst with many fine qualities, no doubt (such as the unforced feeling of belonging to a curing-helping profession; and rigorous clinical and scientific training), but also often lacking in other important qualities (such as sensitivity to nuances in human experience; freedom from the confining shackles of diagnostic thinking; a broad basis in the understanding o f such significant human activities as art and literature; and training in the philosophy o f science). I think, in other words, that a broad spectrum o f candidates would also broaden the research potentiality and the spectrum of clinical perceptiveness in the analysis of the future if nonmedical candidates w e r e admitted to our institutes. 3. Finally my most important motivation for being on the side o f a broad admission policy. H a v i n g experienced first-hand the threatening irrationality o f Man during the Nazi era, having seen how close the world came to utter disaster, I have c o m e to hold the view that your plea that we should keep the organization o f our profession in the shape that you, and many others, have come to love, appeals to us to maintain a luxury that we cannot afford. In our struggle to safeguard the values o f Western culture that sustain us, every small effort may count. A n d analysis which to my mind is vastly m o r e than a specific form of individual psychotherapy has much to offer here. W e cannot d e p r i v e ourselves o f potential insights into the irrational side of man that

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may be m o r e easily accessible to those w h o have both a humanistic background and psychoanalytic training; and we should not d e p r i v e the community of the therapeutic help that becomes m o r e widely accessible if w e give training to people from a variety of educational and cultural backgrounds. I believe that restricting access to a basically humanistic enterprise such as psychoanalysis to graduates from medical school would diminish the leverage o f psychoanalysis as it confronts the all-important problem faced by Man and tries to make a contribution to the survival of mankind which, in the face of Man's propensity to b e c o m e chronically and uncontrollably enraged, hangs very much in the balance, indeed. September 12, 1981 Dear Dr. W . : I appreciate your devotion to and enthusiasm for peace and can understand your wish to contribute to its maintenance via a conference which asks the question "Can H u m a n Civilization Save Itself from Self Destruction?" But to ask a question is one thing, to pretend o n e knows the answer is another. I certainly can see the usefulness o f a conference that asks this question in a scientifically elaborated form. A n d I can also see that it would be very useful at this juncture to acquaint a variety of professions—sociologists, political scientists, historians—with the ideas that psychoanalytic self psychology has d e v e l o p e d about the nature of Man. A s far as your o w n thesis is concerned, however, I can only say that, while I respect it as a seriously undertaken attempt to explain a c o m p l e x set of phenomena, there are many aspects of it that I find difficult if not impossible to integrate with the selfpsychological approach. W e d o not believe that a self-destructive drive (Thanatos) is responsible for Man's destructiveness but believe instead that destructiveness arises when the self is threatened, especially when it is either threatened by selfobjects now

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and/or when the experience of injuries from the side o f selfobjects long a g o is now being reactivated. W h e t h e r unilateral disarmament or equalization of war potential—si x>is pacem para bellum—is m o r e likely to lead to peace is not easy to decide. It is, at any rate, a question m o r e likely to be d o n e justice to by political scientists and historians than by depth psychologists. A t any rate, the willingness to die is by no means always an expression o f a d e e p wish toward self destruction. O n the contrary, it may express the highest form of self survival—in the service o f ideals, o f the next generation, o f the potential maintenance of a worthwhile human life. T h e dreadful decision to e x p l o d e atomic bombs o v e r H i r o shima and Nagasaki is easily c o n d e m n e d in retrospect. But I d o not believe that it was T r u m a n ' s cruelty or basic destructiveness that led to it. H e saw it probably as the sacrifice of a battalion in o r d e r to save an army. T h e failure was a failure o f the empathic grasp o f the specific consequences o f the decision in terms o f individual suffering and in terms o f its portent for the future. But we must not add to this terrible failure o f empathy by adding a new one, namely, the failure to immerse ourselves deeply into the m o m e n t of the decision, before w e pass j u d g m e n t . In summarizing my position, I d o not believe that any single insight, or any specific set o f insights, will save humanity. I am not altogether pessimistic, however, about the ability o f M a n , when faced with great d a n g e r o f survival, to make use o f the new insights about his vulnerable and rage-prone self and to transform these insights gradually into tools for survival. 1981 Dear E.: I read your thoughts on o u r consultative sessions with great interest. It was instructive for me to see myself through your eyes. A n d I am pleased to tell you that you not only are a sensitive observer w h o was able to perceive many important nuances of

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the interplay between us but w h o also remained committed to a broad perspective and did not focus on the flaws and defects in my personality and performance that our p r o l o n g e d relaxed contact undoubtedly made discernible. I will divide my response to your essay into two sections. In the first I will comment o n a number o f m o r e or less peripheral issues. In the second I will focus on two questions which are o f central importance—the question whether the traditional dynamic conceptualization o f defense is still relevant in present-day psychoanalytic theory and, correlated to the first, the question whether the analysis o f defenses (resistance analysis) should still be considered to be as intrinsically significant and, indeed, indispensable an element o f clinical psychoanalysis as Freud had considered it to be. A m o n g the, in our context, peripheral issues is one that is raised by your discussion o f the dream o f the patient to w h o m you refer as Miss C. and your and my interpretations o f it, and o f the dreams o f the patient w h o m you call M r . A . and our varying interpretations o f them. Since you, understandably, are focusing mainly on the manifest content o f these dreams, the reader o f your paper, especially an ill-willed, fault-finding reader will say that my responses to the dreams demonstrate again that, as has been claimed by some, self psychology does not focus on the dreamer's associations to his dreams, that it dispenses with the careful attention to details that is required if w e want to get to the unconscious meanings of a dream, and that my ways should, therefore, be c o n d e m n e d as wild analysis. T h e fact is, as, of course, you know, that self psychology is aware o f the difference between the manifest content of a dream and of its d e e p e r meaning and significance. T h e analysis of the vast majority of dreams requires indeed that the analyst listen to the dreamer's associations to each o f the constituents o f the dream that is to be analyzed. T h e r e is, however, no need to burden our present discussion with such details, e.g., to present, as if we

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were beginners o r were telling, to beginners, all the intermediate links that have led us to our conclusions about every dream that we are adducing. A well-meaning reader will, and without question, assume that experienced analysts know how to g o about the analysis o f a dream, even if the nitty-gritty o f the detailed work that has g o n e into the understanding that is ultimately reached is not spelled out. T h e aim o f your report was not, after all, to make a specific contribution to the technique o f dream analysis, and an excessive preoccupation with details would have tended to bury the essential message that you wanted to convey—specifically, it would have obscured your informative description o f my overall clinical stance vis-ä-vis my analysands. I will also make a few remarks about the role which the supervisor's o r consultant's attitude t o w a r d d r e a m analysis plays—remarks, I will add, that apply also, mutatis mutandis, with regard to most other dimensions o f his contributions. In brief: a great deal depends o n the specific needs o f a specific supervisee. W h i l e , to return to the topic in focus at this point, 1 might well deal in detail with an analysand's associations to his dreams in the case o f a beginning student, I would not d o so with an advanced student, and I would certainly almost never d o so when I want to be o f help to a person like yourself who is a training analyst and has had years o f experience. Y o u know, 1 assume, why I am taking the time to talk about this topic. In the thousands o f pages that I have written about analysis, in general, and about psychoanalytic self psychology, in particular, there is also one that contains a few lines about certain dreams—I called them self-state dreams—in which the dreamer's associations to the details o f the dream d o not lead us toward d e e p e r understanding but supply us only with further, essentially analogous, imagery about the way in which the analysand feels about himself. I f a patient dreams o f desolate landscapes o r about abandoned neighborhoods in a city, filled with decaying buildings, then the analyst will know that the patient

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is beginning to realize in his dream that a depressive episode is about to begin—even though he is not yet aware o f this fact in his waking life. A n d when, at another time, a depressed patient dreams o f a snow landscape in which dark and listless birds are hovering about but that there is one bird a m o n g them, with brightly colored wings, w h o seems to be vigorous and active, then the analyst will know, even though the patient is still deeply depressed, that the end o f the depression is in sight. W h i l e , in the first case, the analyst might well have access to information that allows him to speculate about the dynamic (transference) antecedents o f the patient's depression and to establish genetic connections with analogous events in the patient's childhood, and while, in the second instance, the analyst might well be able to arrive at highly probable conclusions about the

dynamic

(transference) and the genetic (childhood) factors that heightened the patient's self-esteem and increased his vitality, these explanations are not derived from the self-state dreams

and

psychological knowledge, would on the whole interfere with the spontaneous unrolling of the analysis and thus, ultimately, with the patient's progress toward health. I n d e e d , the analyst's bringing in material that is not presently activated in the analysis might well be experienced as traumatic by many patients who, for example, might feel that their self object-analysts are, as may have been true in childhood, m o r e interested in their own pet preoccupations than in them and in their current mental state. N o w to my second response to peripheral topics: it deals with your impression that, at times, I try to "proselytize a little," in particular when I say now and then that some material would be interpreted as "oedipal" by many analysts but that / d o not see it that way. T h e r e is nothing w r o n g with proselytizing—although

the

word you chose does have a pejorative connotation—so long as the theory p r o m o t e d by the consultant has indeed greater explanatory p o w e r than the one it is meant to replace and so long

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as the new technique is in fact m o r e efficacious than the established o n e . I n most o f the instances, however, when I mention the oedipal theory to you, I am not only trying to demonstate the superiority o f the self-psychological over the traditional approach, I am mentioning it to you also, and par excellence, because I want you to r e m e m b e r that the traditional theory exists and that you should consider it before deciding whether the o n e o r the other theory would be most relevantly applied. Just as I dislike the oedipal cliche, so d o I dislike a self-psychological routine. Only a patiently undertaken, d e e p , empathic immersion into the inner life o f o u r analysands can in each individual instance truly convince us that the data offered to us are indeed m o r e fruitfully approached within the conceptual framework o f self psychology than within that o f structural conflict and the vis a tergo o f primary drives. Just think, f o r e x a m p l e , o f the crucial dream of the father's return in the t w o analyses o f M r . Z. Is it not, on the face o f it, obvious to an analyst trained to see oedipal constellations that the child's anxiety relates to the castrating father w h o will now take again the place that the son had usurped during his absence? Is it not, on the face o f it, almost obvious to him that the child's trying to shut the d o o r is a defense against the negative Oedipus complex, a defense against the upsurge o f a passive homosexuality to which he turned under the pressure of castration fears? Since you have studied the case of M r . Z., you know that I came to the conclusion that these interpretations, despite their attractive concordance with traditional thinking, are w r o n g — o r , to express myself with complete accuracy, I should say that they are almost totally w r o n g , since there does exist a small overlap between the oedipal interpretation of the dream and the selfpsychological o n e with regard to the possible homosexual implications o f M r . Z.'s attempt to close the d o o r . But would it have been better f o r m e just to report the insights o f the second analysis? Was it not m o r e instructive, m o r e telling with regard

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to my attempt to present the essence o f the new viewpoint, to outline the new against the background o f the old? I have no question that this is so. Only by thinking through the traditional approach—and

without caricaturing

simplification—can

one

fully appreciate the shift in attitude that we now r e c o m m e n d , in particular the shift from the analyst's near-exclusive preoccupation with the clash o f psychological macrostructures to his focusing on the composition of the structures themselves, i.e., on the microstructures of the analysand's self. T h u s , to return to the dream o f M r . Z., a detail in the manifest content (the father's being loaded with gifts) which, from the traditional point o f view is easily interpreted as peripheral and defensive—don't trust the father w h o only hides his hostile intentions with his gifts; or, on a m o r e deeply unconscious level (as w e would formerly have been inclined to say): I want to kill the father, but my wish to d o so is opposed by my castration fear and my defensive passive-homosexual position—becomes n o w the dynamic-genetic and par excellence the psychoeconomic center of the experience. T h e gifts that the father carries stand for the whole not-yet-ingested, let alone transmuted, paternal psychic substance that the boy needs in o r d e r to make the next step in the d e v e l o p m e n t o f his self; and the danger to which he feels exposed is not castration but o f being o v e r w h e l m e d by the sudden availability o f the opportunity to identify with his father. It is this potentially disintegrating effect o f the father's return that the boy tried to deal with by stemming the tide, i.e., by the attempt to prevent a wholesale identification that would destroy his nuclear self. H e tried, in other words, to replace the sudden intrusion o f psychological foreign substance by the gradualness o f a transmuting internalization. A n d it is here that the overlap between the t w o approaches of which I spoke before—the macrostructural and the microstructural—becomes

evident. For

anyone w h o studied the whole case report there can be no doubt about the presence of the psychic act to which self psychology

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refers as homosexualization. The decisive difference between the traditional view of homosexuality as an expression of man's biological bisexuality and the concept o f homosexuality can only be appreciated by contrasting both points o f view sharply. T h e homosexual aspect of the boy's experience is not a defensive return to an inborn passive-homosexual biological propensity but, as seen from the vantage point o f self psychology, it is an attempt to deal with traumatic overstimulation by sexualizing it. Infantile sexuality, I might add, is in many instances the flood way for the comparatively safe disposal o f various selfobject intrusions that occur under a variety o f circumstances. With its aid the maintenance o f the nuclear self can be safeguarded. But let m e now turn to the topic that I found to be the most important and challenging o n e in your essay about your supervisory experience with me, namely, the role that I assign to the defenses and resistances in the psychoanalytic process, i.e., in particular, how I approach them (interpret t h e m ) in the course o f the analysis. I have given the greatest weight to this topic not only because I myself consider it the most significant one of the several to which you addressed yourself in your report but also because, by putting your own reactions about my view of the defenses and resistances into the most conspicuous positions o f your essay (at the beginning, i.e., on p p . 2-3; and then again at the very end, i.e., on p p . 16-17), you may leave the reader (and listener) with the impression—whether you intended to d o so or not—that, although you had learned a g o o d deal from m e that is valuable for your work with patients, you are still ultimately returning to the conceptualizations of the structural m o d e l , and that you will ultimately conduct your analyses in essence in the traditional way, i.e., by seeing the treatment process as an o v e r c o m i n g of resistances which are in the way o f your and your patients' efforts to penetrate to the unconscious. I will begin my discussion o f this pivotal issue by voicing my

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agreement with you about the facts on which you base your report o f your encounter with m e in this respect. I agree with you, in particular, that m o r e so than would have been the case with most analysts to w h o m you might have turned for consultations, my approach is strongly influenced by the philosophy that you ascribed to me in the beginning o f your paper: while I acknowledge the presence o f defenses and o f defensiveness, I d o not consider the activities and attitudes o f the patient that are correlated to these psychic structures and attitudes as resistances to the treatment and d o not react to them as such. I will first deal quickly with two peripheral points and eliminate them from further considerations so that the significant aspects o f the important issue that we are confronting are set apart and in full view. Specifically I will make these points—they were already implied earlier in my letter—concerning

your

impression that I am underplaying defense analysis: ( 1 ) L e t us not forget that you are describing consultations, i.e., that you are describing a situation in which the person whose task it is to take up a position vis-ä-vis an o n g o i n g analysis, i.e., the consultant, must try to digest fairly large blocks o f material in a limited time—he does not have the opportunity to indulge in the luxury o f dealing with the detailed report o f one o r two sessions. (2) Let us not forget, furthermore, that different students ( I know that you will understand the term in the broad sense in which I use it and not in its narrow sense, i.e., as referring to an undergraduate) have different needs. S o m e o f them are too general in their approach, tend to rely too much on intuition and disregard the fact that one must first collect much detailed information before o n e can see the broad patterns o f the personality and the ingrained characteristic configurations that m o l d his thought. It must have been my impression that, when we began our work together, you tended m o r e toward the opposite attitude, that you, as the saying goes, tended to overlook the forest and see only the trees. It may well be, therefore, that

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in response to what I sensed to be your specific needs, I stressed the overall picture and the broad personality features of* your analysands m o r e than I might have d o n e with others—perhaps also because I felt that you had already interpreted the knowle d g e of details, i.e., of" the so-called psychic mechanisms. Y o u were certainly beyond the stage in your psychoanalytic education in which you needed instruction in this area. But even the regular undergraduate training to which most students o f psychoanalysis have been exposed deals, to my mind, too much—or, as I should rather say it, for too long—with psychic mechanisms and other details. T h i s knowledge should be absorbed during the beginning phase o f training. Later, however, g o o d psychoanalytic e d ucation—and I mean Institute training—should gradually shift away from these preoccupations and, taking the knowledge o f details for granted, should focus m o r e strongly on personality and on curve o f life. But now I will leave these in our context less significant considerations behind and turn to the essential two questions which we want to answer: H o w does self psychology evaluate the relevance and usefulness o f the concepts o f defense and resistance? A n d how does it evaluate the relevance and usefulness o f the traditional conceptualization o f the process o f treatment as an o v e r c o m i n g of resistances so that the unconscious can be made conscious or, to use the words that conclude your whole report, as an "explaining to patients about their feelings which are unconscious, and how, as the result, they behave in ways that are totally puzzling to them"? I am aware o f the pitfalls of" the "genetic fallacy." Still, with regard to our present examination o f the relevance and usefulness o f defense-resistance analysis, o f the analytic stance, in other words, that sees the analyst's task as a clearing of the way that leads to the uncovering of unconscious motivations, it is appropriate for us to consider the historical origins because, as I have already pointed out in the past (see Search, V o l . 2, pp. 547-561),

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traces—and m o r e than traces—of the attitudes that w e r e in harmony with the conceptualizations that shaped the analyst's therapeutic stance in the earliest years o f psychoanalysis are still in evidence. A n d , whether avowed or disavowed by the analyst, they still influence the analyst's actions and, what is even m o r e important, the climate in which analyses are being conducted. T h e s e attitudes, however, are only partially compatible with the theoretical tenets o f e g o psychology and they are even less in harmony with the theoretical framework of the psychology of the self. What, within the context o f our specific examination of the roots o f the present-day analyst's attitude toward defenses and resistances, were the original conceptualizations that guided the analytic psychotherapist—or, if you wish, what was the theoretical model that shaped the preanalytic psychotherapist's, i.e., Freud's—observations and determined his goals as he m o v e d toward becoming an analyst? T h e answer is simple and, at least to m e , o f great m o m e n t u m . T h e therapeutic model was, and for a while remained, hypnosis. T h e decisive step toward analysis, however, was not, as might be assumed, the giving up o f hypnosis and its replacement by another therapeutic technique but a pivotally changed concept o f the nature o f psychopathology that was to be cured. So long as hypnosis, in other words, did not conceptualize a psyche in depth (and, correspondingly, a psychopathology in d e p t h ) , it was nonanalytic hypnosis. As soon as it conceived o f a psyche in depth, however (and, correspondingly, o f a psychopathology in d e p t h ) , it became, .sit venia verbis, psychoanalytic hypnosis. T h e preanalytic hypnotist o r d e r e d the hypnotized patient to get rid o f his symptoms; the analytic hypnotist o r d e r e d the patient to come forth with an account of the dynamic (and later: the genetic) background, i.e., with the data that illuminated the endopsychic causes of his symptoms. T h e significance o f this step—a decisive step forward, despite the fact that the hypnotic technique continued to be employed—cannot, to my mind, be overestimated.

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Still, when evaluated from the vantage points of e g o psychology and, especially, of self psychology, even this later model might not yet deserve to be called psychoanalytic. It introduced—and with long-term deleterious consequences—a m o d e of thinking into the psychological field that was congenial to the medically trained mind o f the researcher but was ill-adapted to serve a science of c o m p l e x mental states. T h e imagery that it evoked and the kind o f metaphor it encouraged were basically foreign to a field observed via introspection and empathy. The unconscious was the abscess that had to be drained (see Freud, S.E., 2, p. 305)—the intervening tissue had to be pierced, by whatever means that would serve the purpose, and the healing would take care o f itself once the noxious substance was rem o v e d . Freud's well-known reference to the ferrum and ignis o f psychoanalysis (S.E., 12, p. 171; see also S.E., 16, p. 459) and his famous injunction that analysts should " m o d e l themselves during psycho-analytic treatment on the surgeon, w h o puts aside all his feelings, even his human sympathy" (S.E.,

12, p. 115) are

clear evidence that the theory of an unconscious to which the analyst must penetrate exerted a strong influence on the therapeutic attitude o f the analyst vis-ä-vis his patients. ( I t might be stressed here that some o f the statements by Freud that I quoted were by no means obiter dicta from the earliest days of analysis but were fully representative statements o f Freud's most mature thought, some o f them made as late as 1917, e.g., in his Introductory Lectures.) E g o analysis should have led to a decisive change in emphasis but, in fact, it d i d not d o so consistently. S o m e analysts (e.g., L o e w a l d , Stone), it is true, were now able to speak up openly against the attitude o f "the surgeon, w h o puts aside his feelings, even his human sympathy" as he proceeds to drain the pathogenic abscess in the unconscious; and they began to espouse the attitude o f the psychologist w h o wants to understand and explain so that stunted psychological d e v e l o p m e n t can again proceed.

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But the hold that the old conceptualizations continue to have o v e r the analytic profession remains strong, even today. It is not only the surgical imagery, the draining o f the abscess o f the unconscious, that stands in our way o f recognizing that the patient wanted to develop, that in his deepest depths it was not infantile pleasure-seeking that we would find but a desperate self that wanted finally to be confirmed and supported. In their original form these images and metaphors would surely now be disowned by the ego-psychologically informed analyst. But there are, as offshoots of the original concepts, a g o o d many other theories, such as those that cluster around the conception that the patient tries to cling to his unconscious infantile pleasure aims and that he resists the confrontation with painful, adult reality. Reich's in many respects very valuable contribution on character analysis may be an e x t r e m e in this regard—here the resistances are still an armor, almost palpably so, that has to be pierced—but the term character itself, which came in v o g u e in the thirties, however laudable the m o v e from the analysis of an isolated symptom to the analysis of broad psychological constellations may have been, and indeed was, had moral connotations—the term character does imply images o f badness, o f childishness, o f "narcissism" in a pejorative sense, and the like. Has self psychology now completed the step that e g o psychology began? Probably not fully, I would j u d g e . But it has m o v e d us farther forward into the right direction, not the least by its ability to spell out clearly the errors o f the past. By d e e m phasizing the structural model it has weakened the deleterious imagery o f a penetration into the depth that meets with resistances;

by d o i n g away with the

imagery of the powerless

baby—with the imagery concerning the nonexisting artifact, I should say, of a baby in isolation, outside the matrix of selfobjects—by deemphasizing, furthermore, the imagery of the child's clinging to pleasurable infantile aims, and by thus ultimately invalidating the hypothesis of the child's stepping from depen-

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dence to independence, from symbiosis to autonomy, and the like, self psychology has g o n e a g o o d deal further into the direction that was first indicated, if only by implication, when e g o psychology was introduced. But, despite the fact that self psychology has formulated some new theories that should provide us with a basis for a new, nonmoralizing attitude—the theory of the psychological primacy o f the self, the theory o f the reactivation o f the search for development-enhancing selfobjects in therapy and their recovery in the transference—some of our old biases are hard to take o f f completely, witness the

frequency

with which, despite my protestations, the self-psychological term narcissistic personality disorders is rendered as narcissistic character disorders, to give only one, comparatively harmless example a m o n g the many that I could adduce. T h e r e is still, in all of us, the image that the therapeutic task is the making conscious o f the unconscious—and that d o i n g so is brave and upstanding, while shrinking from it is cowardly and weak. Will w e ever be able to shift from committing ourselves to a trust in the voice o f the intellect as our ultimate salvation to the trust in man's ability to experience the j o y of existing in a matrix of nurturing selfobjects and in his correlated ability to experience the joy o f providing such a matrix for others? T h e belief that knowledge makes free was the basic d o g m a o f a powerful stream o f Western thought whose Utopian fulfillment was to be, analogous to the Marxist dictatorship o f the proletariat, the dictatorship o f science and scientists, as e x e m plified by such influential thinkers as Francis Bacon (cf., TheNeio Atlantis, 1627) and Auguste C o m t e (see esp. Positive Polity, 187577). Freud, as I said, was totally committed to this tradition and his discourse on the scientific world view (Freud, Neio introductory Lectures, S.E., 22, pp. 158-182) states unambiguously the principles o f the scientific, truth-facing morality which had guided him throughout his life. Clearly, the primacy o f the truth-facing values pervades analysis: it did so not only during the phase

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when it was almost exclusively dominated by Freud's thoughts, both in its general theories and in its theoretical stance, and it bears the stamp o f his specific moral preference even today. T h e theory and practice o f analysis, in other words, are still largely shaped via the consistent application o f the belief that the acquisition o f k n o w l e d g e makes free. W e penetrate to the unconscious, we make the unconscious conscious, we now know—and then the e g o is free to decide what it wants to d o (see T h e E g o and the I d , S.E., 19, p. 50, n.). H o w admirable in its uni-axial simplicity the traditional understanding o f cure was—and how impenetrable to criticism because o f the fact that, within its limits, it was self-contained and totally consistent. A n d yet, as w e have c o m e to see with increasing clarity, the explanatory p o w e r o f this d o g m a concerning the essential path by which to understand man's mind was limited. What does the

penetration-to-the-unconscious-via-the-over-

coming-of-resistances model explain? A n d what does it fail to explain? I have no trouble with the answer to these questions, at least not by responding to them in approximation. T h e explanatory p o w e r o f the old model is best—fully satisfactory, I would say—when it is applied to isolated processes and isolated, circumscribed sectors o f psychic life. It is worst—indeed, quite unsatisfactory—when it is applied to the complexities o f man and his personality and, in particular,

to man's personality

viewed along the time axis o f his unrolling life. T o be specific: the traditional model explains slips o f the tongue and

other

forms o f the psychopathology o f everyday life to perfection; it also does well with regard to the interpretation o f the majority o f dreams—self-state dreams are the exception—as long as they are seen as delimited units o f psychic function; and it is also satisfactory with regard to the understanding o f the symptoms o f the transference neuroses—again, as was true for dreams—so long as they are seen as delimited units o f psychic function, i.e., in this case as delimited units o f psychic dysfunction. T h e model

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is unsatisfactory, however, in explaining personality, in general, and the psychopathology of personality disturbances in particular—especially those in which the essence of the psychopathology is a result of the thwarted d e v e l o p m e n t of the self. Clearly, I am not going to condense the contributions that I have m a d e in the past fifteen years into a paragraph o f this letter. W h a t I want to outline at this point—I am undertaking a much m o r e extensive examination o f the therapeutic process in a forthcoming book (How Does Analysis Cure})—are

two specific

interconnected shortcomings o f traditional analysis that self psychology attempts to remedy via its approach, shortcomings that 1 wanted to highlight via the brief historical survey that I presented to you and via the foregoing assessment of the explanatory p o w e r o f the static psyche-in-depth model with which analysts have traditionally been working. T h e two interrelated shortcomings o f traditional analysis are: (1) its adherence to the traditional, nineteenth-century

stance of scientific objectivity

which posits the sharp separation of the observer and the o b served especially, but by no means exclusively, in its approach to theory; and ( 2 ) its m o r e or less hidden and, at any rate, disavowed espousal o f a specific moral d o g m a which posits primacy o f truth-facing values, especially, but by no means exclusively, in its outlook on therapy. Since I have discussed the first-named issue before (Kohut, 1977, p p . 63-69) and, especially, since I will discuss it again quite extensively in my forthcoming book on the nature of the therapeutic process, I will be brief and, in conformity with the restricted topic o f this letter, focus only o n the therapeutic aspect o f our continuing adherence to the stance o f scientific objectivity. T h e issue is crucial. I f the analyst is an objective observer in the sense o f nineteenth-century science, if, in other words, his empathy assessing the inner life of the analysand comes from the outside as it were, he will express his theoretical conceptualizations—and quite appropriately so—via the use o f me-

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chanical metaphors. T r u e , the data that he obtains are obtained via empathy—i.e., he thinks himself into the inner life of another; there is no other way. But once obtained they are immediately considered to be foreign material and translated into a framework o f thought that conforms to the extrospective penetration o f the macrocosm, i.e., expressed via metaphors that are in harmony with the physical and biological sciences that dominated man's mind up to the end of the nineteenth century. A g a i n I must resist g o i n g further in my discussion of the change in attitude that the shift o f interest from macro- to microstructures necessitated in m o d e r n physics. A n d I must, above all, resist the—I will admit—almost irresistable temptation to speak here at length about the analogous change that the shift o f focus from psychic macrostructures (conflicts) to psychic microstructures (the fabric o f the self) necessitates, a change that self psychology has brought about in the psychological field. A s I said, I will here deal only with the therapeutic dimension of the traditional psychoanalytic attitude, and even with regard to this aspect o f our problem, only with one o f its facets. T o put my opinion into a nutshell: the stance o f the scientific observer's objectivity—the objectivity of an " I " observing a "you"—with its leading structural metaphor, the metaphor of the psychic apparatus, is matched in therapeutic analysis by the stance o f the scientific therapist's objectivity—the objectivity of an " I " that is curing a "you"; or, at any rate, o f an " I " (the analyst) that is d o i n g something to a "you" (the analysand) that will lead to the cure o f the latter's disease—with its leading medical and par excellence surgical metaphor. I believe—at least I hope—that the strands that I am weaving for you in this letter are beginning to form a discernible pattern. A l t h o u g h the surgical metaphor (the draining of the abscess of the unconscious) had its historical origin at the very beginnings o f psychoanalysis, it continues to exert its influence on all of us, even today. It does so because the imagery that surrounds it can

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claim scientific respectability because it is in harmony with the stance of the objective scientist of the nineteenth-century science, a stance, I should add, that is still the dominant one in most branches o f contemporary science. Most m o d e r n depth psychologists, in particular, believe that they can leave themselves out of the field with which their scientific and therapeutic activities are dealing—at least in theory. While in practice, by contrast, the existence o f impurities of the basic m o d e l has always been acknowledged, even by the most dyed-in-the-wool traditionalists, self psychology, as I will demonstrate in my forthcoming book, believes that the influence o f the observer on the field must not only be realistically accepted as an unfortunately always present, unavoidable, distortion that should be kept to a minimum, but that we must acknowledge the fact that the observer is in principle an immanent aspect of the total field. T h e effect that the traditional attitude o f scientific objectivity—of the sharp separation between observer and field—has on the practice o f psychoanalysis is twofold: it leads to a preoccupation with (psychic) mechanisms, in general, and to the formulation o f the therapeutic process as being in essence the o v e r c o m i n g o f defense-resistance analysis on the way to the unconscious, in particular. Ultimately, and inexorably correlated to the foregoing, it introduces moral issues—questions o f courage and faintheartedness; o f truthfulness and lying—into a field that, in principle—never mind the unavoidable impurities—has nothing to d o with morality, in general, and with the application o f moral premises in particular. I will be brief about the general influence of the hidden morality that has influenced psychoanalysis from the start and that continues to influence it even now, deflecting it from its scientific and therapeutic goals. I have thought about this problem long ago (see my discussion o f the then current emphasis on the maturational m o v e from dependence to independence in Kohut, 1959) and my interest in it has remained undiminished

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(see, for example, my discussion in A . Goldberg, 1980, in particular, pp. 478-482] o f the morality that hides behind such seemingly objective developmental conceptualizations as that o f the m o v e from symbiosis to autonomy and that of the powerless baby. A n d I will again be dealing with this issue in extenso in my current examination o f the process that leads to a psychoanalytic cure). In and of itself the presence of a value system in the sciences o f man is not only unavoidable, it is also unobjectionable. M y uneasiness is not with the fact that Freud's conceptualizations ( o f a m o v e from a pleasure principle to the reality principle and o f civilization as progressive instinct-taming) were the expression o f his specific basic system o f values or that the conceptualizations o f Franz A l e x a n d e r w h o m I had in mind in my 1959 discussion and those o f Spitz and Mahler to w h o m I referred in 1980 retained Freud's outlook. T h e r e is probably no way by which the overall attitude of the psychologist toward complex human phenomena could be made totally value-free. Certainly, psychoanalytic self psychology, by its espousal of the theory that archaic narcissism changes into mature narcissism not into object love and of the theory that throughout the whole of life a matrix of responsive selfobjects is as necessary for the maintenance o f psychological life as is an atmosphere containing oxygen for the maintenance o f biological life, has been subscribing to a value system o f its own. W h a t is w r o n g is not the unavoidable presence of a value system. A s I said before, it is probably inevitable that the psychologist of complex mental states—as is the historian, and the student o f literature—is guided by certain basic values as he orders the data o f his observation. W h a t is w r o n g is a value system that remains unacknowledged and poses as scientific objectivity. A s is to be expected, the deleterious effects of the hidden value system o f traditional analysis are most easily ascertained in psychoanalytic treatment, despite the fact that I have been

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comforted time and again when 1 could also ascertain evidence o f the softening o f the damage by the ineradicable humanness o f most analytic practitioners. M y access to this information was not only obtained via self-observation—an unreliable source o f information in an area where o n e holds strong opinions—and via the analysis o f patients w h o had been analyzed before—again an unreliable source o f information since analysands' memories o f their previous analysts may be distorted—but also, and especially, via my functioning as a consultant to colleagues regarding seemingly unbreakable stalemates with patients w h o m they have had in analysis for many years. I f we believe that for a psychologically healthy small child the gratification o f isolated infantile pleasure aims are a joyful experience, if we believe that it is normal for such a child to be fearful o f making the step from dependence (symbiosis) to independence (autonomy) and, as concerns the focus o f the present communication, in particular, that normal human beings o f all ages are unwilling to face unpleasant reality and, that they, specifically, cling to the supposedly j o y o u s state of self-overestimation (omnipotence, omniscience, moral and esthetic perfection)—how could an affirmative attitude toward these hypotheses help but color the analyst's attitude as he analyzes his analysands? Scientists in all sciences and, especially, in all the sciences o f man will, involuntarily in most cases, occasionally substitute values for facts and thus become unfaithful to their avowed purposes. Analysts, as I have already demonstrated, are no exception to this rule. A s an illustration that is specifically relevant with regard to the subject matter o f psychoanalysis qua therapy, the topic on which w e are focusing at this point, I will mention the process o f mourning. I n Freud's original formulation it was—it was almost, I should say; I will talk about the one possible exception to my claim in a moment—a dispassionate scientific description

and

explanation

within the

framework of

the

psychodynamics and psychoeconomics o f the libido theory. A

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drive-object that is cathected with libido is irretrievably lost in external reality, while within the mind the psychic representation o f the object remains and is still cathected with libido. A n d now the painful, gradual, fractionated withdrawal o f libido from the i m a g o o f the object must be accomplished so that inner freedom is achieved and the libido can cathect another object. W h a t a beautiful hypothesis—scientific not only because it can be affirmed with the aid of appropriate empirical evidence, but also, and par excellence, because it is, in addition, accessible to being refuted on the basis of counterevidence. But Freud's concept, h o w e v e r close to being purely explanatory it originally may have been, became soon, and increasingly so, adulterated by an admixture of morality. Even in Freud's usage we can already discern

the

seeds

of

this

development

because,

in

an

a n t h r o p o m o r p h i z i n g metaphor, Freud spoke o f the "work" of mourning—something morally desirable in the framework o f the prevalent work ethic o f Western civilization, with the implication that failing to d o the work (not to m o u r n ) was morally undesirable, was bad. But what harm is there in the use of such anthropomorphizing metaphors, it may be asked? H a v e I not myself d e f e n d e d it on other occasions as communicative and evocative and thus not only permissible but, indeed, as desirable? Yes, as I admit freely, that is indeed what I have d o n e ; and I will add now only that I see no reason to retreat from this position. I f some anthropomorphic metaphors are harmless, let us use them. I f some o f them turn out to be misleading, then let us point out the fallacy and, if we decide to retain them, make sure that they are to be understood in a sense that expressly defines and refutes the misleading implications. In the case under discussion, for e x a m p l e , I am perfectly willing to retain the phrase "work of m o u r n i n g " or the correlated term "working through" in therapy (a kind of therapeutic mourning, implying the fractionated withdrawal of the libidinal cathexes from some of the imagps o f childhood that have been activated in the trans-

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ference) if the moral undertone o f the term is defined and, having rid ourselves o f the shackles o f the values o f a work ethic we can—and with scientific freedom—examine those cases o f object loss in which mourning does not occur. Freed, in other words, f r o m the moral injunction that one must always mourn, that not to mourn when an object is lost is always a kind o f emotional laziness o r cowardice o r weakness or immaturity which has to be overcome, w e will be able to consider, and without prejudice, the question whether there are not instances o f object loss w h e r e our expectation that mourning should now ensue may in fact be a non sequitur. Y o u know, undoubtedly, what I am speaking of. What is simply "object" from the point o f view o f the extrospective observer, however supported by an admixture o f empathically gained information his observations may be, may turn out to be experienced in quite different ways by the "subject," e.g., by the subject that has lost an object. A s seen from the psychological (i.e., introspective-empathic) point o f view, it could have been either an object—i.e., a center o f ind e p e n d e n t initiative that was the target o f the "subject's" love o r hate—or a selfobject—i.e., considered by the object only with regard to those functions that enhance the self or that diminish it. Since the selfobject dimensions o f the relations o f children to parental adults (mirroring selfobjects and idealized others) and to sibling figures (alter-egos) concern to a considerable extent selfobject and not love-object experiences, it follows that a process o f mournful detachment is not to be expected if the object is lost but a protracted period o f self-diminution subsiding as selfobject substitutes are helping to nourish the self again. T h a t m o u r n i n g is absent when a "narcissistically cathected" object is lost was long a g o recognized by Freud when he described his o w n reaction—an absence o f mourning—when his grandson died. T h e relationship to children o f old people who are nearing the end o f their lives is, however, a topic that I must not g o into now—especially because I intend to discuss it m o r e broadly in a different context in the near future.

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But, having in the foregoing demonstrated some o f the deleterious effects o f the clandestine intrusion o f morality on traditional psychoanalysis, I want to make clear that self psychology has not fallen into the same trap and speak at least briefly about the values which, as we know well and admit, are implicit in self psychology. T o be specific, let m e say straightforwardly that there can b e no doubt about the fact that such a self-psychological tenet as the centrally important o n e that narcissism is per se healthy and that it need not change into object love but that it is necessary, desirable, and capable o f its o w n m o v e toward maturity, cannot help but influence the self-psychologically inf o r m e d analyst's attitude toward his analysands, just as the opposite theory influenced the traditional analyst and that ind e e d does still. A n d how, m o v i n g closer to the focus of the present communication, in particular, can the self-psychological theory o f a nuclear self that strives to realize its p r o g r a m in the course o f life and the correlated self-psychological tenet that man, from childhood on, is, in the depth o f his being, in tune with the knowledge o f the unrolling o f life—see my introduction to the panel "Does Self Psychology N a r r o w the G a p between Psychoanalysis and the O t h e r Sciences o f Man?" as quoted in J. A. Psa. Assoc., 1980—help but influence the self-psychologically i n f o r m e d analyst's attitude toward his analysands, just as the opposite view about man's attitude toward the acquisition of knowledge, namely, that the unconscious knows nothing o f time and change, and o f birth and death, indeed that man is supposedly unwilling to accept the truth about life and death and about the endless succession o f generations, influenced the traditional analyst and that it indeed does still. T h e self psychologist, I must emphasize, is convinced that this k n o w l e d g e about time and change, about birth and death, is not the rare achievement of the mature insight of a select few but that the possession of these truths is part o f the immanent equipment o f all men. Man's ultimate, full, conscious awareness of them, which I once de-

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scribed as part of man's final wisdom (see Kohut, 1966), his melancholy-joyful recognition of being in tune with life even in death, is as much contained in Goethe's poetry (see Seeltge Sehnsucht) as it is in Louis Armstrong's trumpet (see, for example—or rather listen to—his " I Gotta Right to Sing the Blues"). Let m e briefly, before fastening my focus definitively on the issue o f defense-resistance analysis, return once more to the issue o f objectivity. I am d o i n g so o n the basis o f my belief that the self-psychological attitude toward this issue is decisively different from that o f traditional analysis and that this specific attitude of self psychology leads us to the adoption o f a therapeutic stance that is subtly but nevertheless significantly different from that held during the preceding stages of the d e v e l o p m e n t of our science—a change that w e must explain before we can profitably turn to the self-psychological view o f defenses and resistances in treatment. A s I have pointed out previously (Kohut, 1977, pp. 63-79), Freud's attitude—it affected especially his and, by extension, all analysts' theoretical formulations—was that o f scientific objectivity vis-ä-vis the field of the inner life of man. But this traditional scientific objectivity vis-ä-vis our analysands' experiences—as differentiated from our objectivity vis-ä-vis the analyst-analysand unit, i.e., as differentiated from the objectivity vis-ä-vis the self experience within the matrix o f the analyst qua selfobject which we adopt once w e are i n f o r m e d by the insights o f self psychology—predisposed us toward a certain set of theoretical metaphors, e m b o d i e d in our conception o f the psyche as mental apparatus, and toward a certain type o f imagery concerning our roles as therapists, e m b o d i e d in our conception that therapeutic analysis is the repair o f a malfunctioning apparatus, e.g., in the medical metaphor of early times as the surgical drainage of an abscess, into the metaphor o f later times of the engineering feat that is simultaneously a civilizing achievement: the draining of the Zuider Zee.

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T h e choice of these theoretical metaphors and the preconscious imagery about the therapeutic process that is correlated to them had certain specific results—or, to express the situation m o r e accurately, both metaphor and imagery served to entrench analytic attitudes which may be said to have especially led to the terminology and to the thinking patterns that w e r e later conside r e d as essential and permanent psychoanalytic truths. S o m e of these results must be accepted as having been favorable. T h e sharp differentiation between the " I " o f the analyst and the "you" o f the analysand qua object o f observation may have been needed in the early days o f analysis to protect the analyst's emotional integrity while he was exposed to the intense transference involvement of his patients with him. A n d they may still, even today tend to protect us against becoming unscientific d o - g o o d ers w h o try to cure by love, to cure via being friendly with our patients, and the like. It is the harmful effects o f the application o f nineteenth-century

scentific objectivity to the psychology o f

complex mental states, however, which is of the greatest significance in our context. T h e aforementioned choice o f metaphor and the preconscious imagery correlated to it legitimized the analyst's preoccupation with mechanisms, allowed him, indeed enjoined him to focus—not briefly and on the way to the significant problems o f the patient but protractedly and as a therapeutic end station (the rest will take care o f itself)—on his analysand's unconscious drive^wishes, the defenses he had instituted against them, and, ultimately, on the concretization o f the defenses in the set of actions, enactments, and psychological attitudes o f the analysand vis-ä-vis the psychoanalytic process that we call his resistances. Let me, at the price of a d e g r e e o f repetitiveness, be as specific and unambiguous as possible. T h e attitude of nineteenth-century scientific objectivity—an " I " (the analyst qua scientific observer; the analyst qua therapist) observes and analyzes a "you" (the patient qua the object o f a scientific inquiry: the patient qua

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the object o f a therapeutic analysis)—combines with the allegiance to a set o f theories; as maturation proceeds, narcissism is replaced by object love; the pleasure principle by the reality principle; symbiosis by autonomy; and, the primary drives, sexual and destructive, are m o r e o r less tamed through the influence o f education and the pressures o f civilization, with the result that the analyst sees his therapeutic efforts as an attempt to help the patient via the expansion o f the latter's knowledge o f himself and via the extension of the autonomous sphere of his ego—an attempt, furthermore, that is being resisted by the patient w h o doesn't want to know, doesn't want to be realistic, doesn't want to give up the gratifications o f symbiosis. T h e imagery that ultimately determines

the analyst's

attitude

toward

his

patient—however subtle its influence—varies greatly from individual to individual and may cover a wide spectrum o f nuances. With some analysts it may lead to grossly mechanistic conceptions—the resistance o f the patient becomes that of a hard metal that prevents penetration (see Kohut, Search, I I , p. 548)—or to conceptions that are b o r r o w e d from the ideational Instrumentarium o f the disciplinarian trainer o f animals and children—the resisting patient becomes the stubborn mule or the recalcitrant child—or it may lead to conceptions that have m o v e d far away from such machine-minded concreteness and have become humanistic, refined, and gentle. I have little doubt that the presence o f all these attitudes can be ascertained, not only as dispersed among various individuals but, each o f them, at times, in everyone o f us. I have also no doubt, however, that it is the lastmentioned attitude—the humanistic one—that predominates, and by a vast margin. Still, I maintain, so long as our thinking follows the patterns that are traced out for us by the terms "defense" and "resistance," it will influence our

therapeutic

stance in ways to which the self-psychologically informed psychoanalyst will continue to object. H e will object on the basis o f an attitude that is determined (1) by a different conception of

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scientific objectivity: his objectivity focuses on man within the matrix o f selfobjects, in general, and on the analysand within the matrix o f the analyst qua selfobject, in particular; ( 2 ) by a different set o f theories: that narcissism does not get transf o r m e d into object love but that it has its own line o f development, i.e., that it matures; that it is the pleasure-experiencing joyful self that is primary but not the pathogenic infantile sexuality, whether it hides beneath the surface o f the adult neuroses o r whether it really holds center stage in the perversions, which indeed came into being secondarily and are a fragmentation product o f the unresponded-to self; that man does not m o v e from dependence to independence, or from symbiosis to autonomy, but that he lives in a changing matrix o f selfobjects, from birth to death. Does self psychology, in line with the foregoing considerations, advocate the elimination o f the concepts o f defense and resistance from our clinical theory? I would say " n o " in reply to this question if it is put into the foregoing (over)simplified form. Specifically speaking, certain experiences of our patients, and certain aspects o f their behavior in analysis that are correlated to these experiences, are indeed quite appropriately referred to as resistances. T h e s e resistances may be directed against the analytic process in general (see Kohut, 1970, in Search, I I , pp. 547554), o r they may arise at certain specific junctures o f analysis in reaction to the fact that the analysand has become apprehensive because he feels that the analysis threatens the psychic status quo, in particular as regards the maintenance of a residual self, however precariously established and stifled in its functions it might have been. I myself, as you recognized and described accurately ( p p . 2-3 of your manuscript), am inclined to speak o f the defensiveness o f my patients—and to think of their attitude as adaptive and psychologically valuable—not to their resistances. Still, I believe that we should not be pedantic about the complete accuracy o f the established terms and, if someone de-

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mands that, pouring new wine into old bottles, we proceed by redefining the meaning o f the old terms, I am willing to d o so, at least temporarily. ( T h e steps by which I tend to proceed are not difficult to demonstrate. In 1971, after all, I can be said to have still poured new wine into old bottles. In 1977, h o w e v e r , I came to the decision that I would have to reformulate the old theories decisively and that I needed a terminology that was in harmony with the new interpretations of the clinical data that I had presented.) T h e elimination o f terms, in other words, is crucial only when they contribute specifically to the perpetuation of substantial conceptual errors; a danger that can often be obviated by the careful redefinition of their meanings and, especially, by pointing out exactly where the old meaning may be said to apply and where it does not apply. T h u s , with regard to the issue at hand, I will say that w e speak appropriately o f an analysis of defenses during an interim phase of the analytic process, before it has yet begun to deal with the crucial issues that explain the analysand's psychic disturbance. In my view, then, the theoretical concept o f defense-resistance and, correlated to it, the clinical concept o f defense-resistance analysis are neither w r o n g nor are they superseded by newer concepts at this point. T h e y are, however, less important nowadays than they once w e r e and d o not deserve to be considered o f central significance in theory and practice. T h e y are still important for the beginning student who undertakes his first analyses under supervision; and deserve to be focused on at appropriate junctures in the therapy. A n d they w e r e of great importance during the years when analysis itself was still in its infancy phase and all analysts, including Freud, may be said to have been beginners. But the focus o f our attention has now shifted both with regard to the science as a whole as well as with regards to the experienced practitioner, with the result that the preoccupation with psychic mechanisms is diminishing while the

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attempt to grasp the condition o f the self and its position in time—its future as well as its past—is in the ascendency. T h e self-psychologically i n f o r m e d analyst in particular, in other words, w h o has achieved a d e g r e e o f therapeutic mastery will only very rarely look upon his patient in terms o f his drivewishes and defenses; and if he does, he will d o so within the framework o f his overall understanding o f the needs o f the patient's self. Defense-motivation in analysis will, therefore, hardly ever be interpreted by him as the resistances o f a recalcitrant child-patient w h o , clinging to established sources o f drivegratification and pleasure gain, opposes the civilizing influence of educational measures but as activities undertaken in the service o f the attempt to survive psychologically, i.e., as the attempt to save at least that sector o f his nuclear self, however small and precariously established it might be, that he had been able to construct and maintain despite the serious insufficiencies of the development-enhancing matrix o f selfobjects that is needed in childhood. Let m e now, at the end o f this discussion o f the viewpoint o f self psychology vis-ä-vis the analysis o f defenses and resistances, turn to a clinical illustration. I know that clinical illustrations will always p r o v i d e ammunition for those w h o want to criticize. But I also know that a benevolent reader like you, however appropriately skeptical and inclined to suspend j u d g m e n t he might be, will not sift the data that are offered to him in o r d e r to detect flaws but will take them in the spirit in which they are given: as a means to evoke relevant memories and associations from a colleague's o w n clinical experience.

1

1981 Dear L . : I read your fine letter attentively and find myself in agreement ' [ T h e clinical examples referred to are included in Kohut (1984. p p . 115151.]

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with almost all o f its contents. T h e r e is, however, o n e point to which I need to respond. It is an important one because it contains a serious misunderstanding o f my therapeutic attitude tow a r d p a t h o l o g i c a l conditions to which you refer as "real deficiencies" of the self. Y o u think that I feel "that o n e will have to break o f f the treatment before the analysand gets into too disturbing material." Y o u , however, while conceding that "a regression can be in certain cases quite difficult to control," are of the opinion—as you believe, in opposition to my view—that "slow and cautious work and especially the ability to verbalize the experiences" would counteract the danger sufficiently. T h e s e statements disturbed m e . I had not realized that my views concerning this issue, in particular as presented in The Restoration of the Self, would be interpreted in the way in which you d o . A n d there are undoubtedly other readers w h o misunderstand my attitude in the same way. In the following I will try to explain to you my actual position. It is my fundamental conviction, the essence o f the therapeutic application o f all my contributions to the understanding o f the self and its d e v e l o p m e n t , that it is the defect in the self that brings about and maintains a patient's narcissistic transference and that it is the working through o f this transference which via transmuting internalization, via a wholesome psychic activity, in other words, that had been thwarted in childhood, lays d o w n the structures needed to fill the defect in the self. I n d e e d , I take the appearance o f this process and, especially, its persistent engagement, as evidence that the treatment situation has reactivated the developmental potential o f the defective self. T h e s e are the central hypotheses. T h e y are clearly set forth in The Analysis of the Self and in many other places—and careful reading will confirm my assertion that The Restoration of the Self does not contradict this previously defined position. Y o u r belief that I am now advocating incomplete analyses with analyzable disorders o f the self, that, in particular, I am

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giving the advice that some o f the structural defects in the self should be allowed to remain unhealed in these cases, stems, I would think, from the fact that I did not succeed in impressing even such a perceptive and benevolent reader as you with the significance o f certain theoretical refinements concerning the d e v e l o p m e n t o f the self in childhood and o f certain correlated shifts in the definition o f psychological health and o f psychoanalytic cure that I have now added to my earlier hypotheses concerning the laying down o f this central structure o f the personality. But let m e proceed slowly and allow m e to present my views concerning early development, mental health, and cure not in isolation but within the fundamental context from which all my explanations are d e r i v e d : the empathic observation o f the experiences o f my analysands in the analytic situation. I will start by reaffirming, once m o r e , my central claim with regard to the cure o f the defects in the self, namely, that in the analysis of narcissistic personality disturbances all actually existing defects in the self become spontaneously mobilized as narcissistic transferences. A n d I will only add now, to prevent a possible misunderstanding, even though it goes without saying, that, when I speak o f the spontaneous mobilization o f the transference here, I am fully aware o f the fact, even though for brevity's sake I am not elaborating o n it in the present context, that transference resistances exist which o p p o s e this development, and that they will have to be recognized and dealt with by interpretation. T h e acknowledgment o f the existence o f forces that oppose the unfolding o f these transferences does, however, not contradict my central assertion that, given the actuating matrix o f the psychoanalytic situation, the defective self of the patient with a narcissistic personality disturbance will mobilize its striving to complete its development, to achieve wholeness, i.e., it will try again to establish an uninterrupted tension arc from basic ambitions, via basic talents and skills, toward basic ideals. T h i s tension arc is the dynamic essence o f the complete, nondefective

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self; it explains the nature o f the structure whose establishment makes possible a creative-productive, fulfilling life. I f a self has attained such nondefective structural completeness, but is yet unable to enact its intrinsic p r o g r a m because its energies are consumed by persistent involvement with unresolved oedipal conflicts, then oedipal conflicts will be mobilized in the psychoanalytic situation, and an oedipal transference will offer itself to be w o r k e d through. I f the poorly coherent o r enfeeblementp r o n e self o f an analysand suffering from a severe narcissistic personality disorder, a self, in other words, that is exposed to serious degrees o f temporary fragmentation o r enfeeblement, requires the working through o f the lethargies and rages o f earliest infancy o n the way toward its rehabilitation, then these archaic experiences will be mobilized in the psychoanalytic situation and w o r k e d through. I might add here that these primeval experiences usually manifest themselves in the transference via the "telescoping" o f archaic needs and archaic responses to their frustration (such as the need for a primitive m e r g e r and primitive forms o f rage and lethargy) with analogous needs and frustration-responses o f later developmental stages (such as the wish for closeness via empathy and the disappointment when the empathic response is either faulty o r absent). But—and here is the crucial point, the point that I stressed in The Restoration but that I apparently did not succeed in illuminating sufficiently—if, during its d e v e l o p m e n t in early childhood, the self succeeds in disentangling itself from a seriously pathogenic selfobject and creates a new pattern for itself via a new developmental route, nearly reaches its goals in this second attempt at taking shape, yet ultimately fails again, though not by as wide a margin, then, given a renewed chance in adult life via psychoanalysis, the spontaneously unrolling sequence o f transferences will ultimately come to rest at the point at which those needs begin to be remobilized that had not been responded to when the child attempted to build up its self in a new way after

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earlier attempts had c o m e to grief. T h e working-through processes that are thus set into motion will then bring about a cure of" the disease o f the self", i.e., they will establish a structurally complete self. I repeat: when I am speaking here of the cure of the self, my statements are in harmony with my conviction that the psychological health of this core of the personality is best defined in terms o f structural completeness, i.e., that we should speak o f having achieved a cure when an energic continuum in the center o f the personality has been established and the unfolding o f a productive life has thus b e c o m e a realizable possibility. Such a healthy self

may widely deviate from

norms

d e m a n d e d by a morality—however disguised as scientific objectivity—that bases its j u d g m e n t s o n the ex-cathedra assumption that every analytic cure is defined either by the e n g a g e m e n t and ultimate resolution o f oedipal conflicts, or, according to the Kleinian school, by the reexperiencing and ultimate o v e r c o m i n g of early depressions, suspicions, and rage. H o w e v e r rough-hewn the definition o f psychological health on the basis of" structural completeness may still be, I believe not only that it is m o r e meaningfully applicable to human life in general, inside and outside the realm o f psychopathology, but also that it is m o r e specifically relevant to the psychic disturbances that are prevalent today than definitions which, basing themselves on the pivotal position of this o r that supposedly all-important psychological task of early life, formulate mental health in terms of" the attainment o f postoedipal genitality, o f the capacity for postparanoid-depressive object love, o r of any number o f other specific developmental successes that are d e e m e d to be crucial. I am opposed to these definitions not because of their perfectionism—all standards are, o f course, ideals—or because to a certain extent they set up selffulfilling

prophesies—all

value judgments

share

this

limitation—but because I believe that they are essentially in error. W h i l e the attainment o f genitality and the openness toward unambivalent object love have been features of some satisfying

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and significant lives, there are many g o o d lives, including some o f the greatest and most fulfilling, that were not lived by individuals whose psychosexual organization was heterosexual-genital or whose major commitment was to unambivalent object love.

2

As you can see, I am fighting two orthodoxies. T h e one that decrees that every cure rests on the analysis of the Oedipus complex; the other that legislates that every cure rests on the analysis o f the depressions and rages of earliest infancy. A n d , as you can also see, I am fighting them not on the basis of considerations that spurn idealistic perfectionism in therapy and advocate the need for compromise. I am by no means belittling such considerations, I might add, as concerns the daily work o f the psychoanalytic practitioner. I am fully acknowledging, in other words, that situations are encountered—though

not as

-As 1 said before, all value judgments are to a certain extent self-fulfilling prophesies, a n d o u r p r o c e d u r e , i.e., o u r positing the reliable continuousness a n d cohesion o f the tension arc o f the self as the yardstick with which to measure health, is n o exception. In other words, we claim the validity of o u r evaluative standards and then apply this yardstick to data that are themselves correlated to the values o f which the yardstick is composed. There is no doubt that we are d o i n g this. But there is also n o d o u b t that in questions o f health a n d cure the choice of an axiomatically posited set o f values must be m a d e . There are, h o w ever, two important arguments that can be raised in support o f o u r a p p r o a c h . The first is that o u r value system is based on a claim that rests on empirical data which can be either p r o v e d o r disproved by observation. 'The claim in question is that h u m a n beings may have the experience o f leading or, toward the e n d o f their life, o f having led, meaningful, joyful, fulfilling lives despite the absence o f pleasure and despite the presence o f physical and psychological (including psychoneurotic) suffering; or—stated in the obverse—that h u m a n beings may have the experience o f leading, or o f having led, meaningless, joyless, emptv lives despite their success in obtaining pleasures and despite the absence of physical a n d psychological pain. The second argument in support o f o u r a p proach is that, given the validity o f o u r judgment concerning life, i.e., having accepted the definition o f a desirable human existence as sketched out in the foregoing, w e may still investigate, a n d be a d d u c i n g empirical data to p r o v e or disprove, the claim that the presence o f an essentially cohesive self, the existence o f an energic continuum between ambitions a n d ideals, is the sine qua non of the capacity to lead a fulfilling life in accordance with the values outlined before. It is certainly possible, for e x a m p l e , that we might in the future discover certain specific discontinuities in the self that are not in the way o f a fulfilling life—a U n d i n g that would necessitate a revision of o u r theory.

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frequently as some believe; i.e., I tend to be on the side of courage here and find that, with caution and patience, it is r e w a r d e d by success—in which, in disorders that are in principle analyzable, analyst and analysand will decide, and rightly so, to let sleeping dogs lie—even though the decision means that the analysis remains incomplete, that areas will be avoided that would have to be activated and examined in o r d e r to heal the essential defect in the self. But these issues are irrelevant in the present context—and they w e r e similarly irrelevant in the context in which I contemplated them in The Restoration of the Self. T h e basis on which my therapeutic conclusions rest is not expediency, however laudable in instances carefully selected by the seasoned clinician, but a new definition o f the essence o f the self and a new conceptualization of the d e v e l o p m e n t of this structure. I am writing a letter, not a book. I will, therefore, in o r d e r to remain within reasonable bounds, take the risk of appearing pedantic and give you a schematic survey o f the

therapeutic

possibilities vis-ä-vis each o f the three genetic-structurally defined classes o f disorders, the psychoses, the narcissistic personality disturbances, the classical transference neuroses, in which the functional freedom of the self is impaired. 1. In the psychoses—including those covertly psychotic personality organizations (central hollowness, but a well-developed peripheral layer of defensive structures) for which I reserve the term borderline states—a nuclear self has not been shaped in early development. A l t h o u g h my analytic experience with such patients is not extensive, I have reached the conclusion that the psychoanalytic situation does not bring about the long-term activation o f the central chaos o f the self within a workable transference that would be the precondition for setting into motion the processes that would lead to the creation, de novo, o f a nuclear self in these cases. I n o r d e r to lead to a causal cure, the therapeutic process would have to penetrate beneath the organized layers—the defensive structures—of the patient's self and permit

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the p r o l o n g e d reexperience o f oscillations between prepsychological chaos and the security p r o v i d e d by primitive m e r g e r with an archaic selfobject. It is certainly imaginable that, even in adult life, the repeated experience o f optimal frustration in an archaic homeostatic selfobject environment brought about in the analytic situation would lead, like in earliest infancy, to the birth o f a nuclear self. I cannot imagine, h o w e v e r , that an individual would submit himself to the dissolution o f the defensive structures which have protected him for a lifetime and face the unspeakable anxieties o f p r o l o n g e d prepsychological chaos. I am aware o f the fact that I may be simply describing my personal limits as a psychoanalyst and thus my acceptance o f the existence o f psychoses and borderline conditions. ( I am a relativist here: by these two terms I refer to prepsychological chaotic states to which the empathic instrument cannot penetrate.) But be that as it may, from what I have c o m e to know via clinical experience, the analytic dissolution o f a self that has f o r m e d around a persisting central hollowness cannot be achieved, even with cases w h e r e this central hollowness is experienced as painful by a would-be analysand—perhaps, as I implied before, because I feel that I would not be able to maintain a reliable empathic bond with the patient when, at the end o f his j o u r n e y toward the basic transference, he must tolerate the protracted experience o f prepsychological chaos and must, and not just temporarily but for long periods, b o r r o w the analyst's personality organization in o r d e r to survive. T h e fact that the therapist cannot accompany the patient into the lands o f prepsychological chaos does not mean, however, that he cannot be o f help to him. While no nuclear self is created by the therapy, the patient's use o f the therapist as a selfobject on organized psychological levels leads to the build-up o f new and, especially, to the firming o f already existing defensive structures. T h e patient, furthermore, will learn how to manage these defensive structures to his best advantage. 2. In the narcissistic personality disturbances, in contradis-

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719

tinction to the psychoses and borderline states, the outlines o f a specific nuclear self have been established in early d e v e l o p ment—the structuralization o f the pattern o f the self has, however, remained incomplete, with the result that the self reacts with temporary breakup o r enfeeblement to narcissistic injuries. By contrast to the psychoses, the psychoanalytic situation does here constitute a matrix in which the defects in the structure of the self—even severe defects that lead to the temporary appearance o f serious, quasi-psychotic symptoms—are filled in via the reactivation o f the needs for narcissistic sustenance (by mirroring; by the opportunity to m e r g e with an ideal) that had been frustrated in childhood. 3. Finally, we can say that in the structural neuroses a nuclear self has become m o r e or less firmly established. But it is unable to live out its creative-productive potential because its energies are absorbed by childhood conflicts (the Oedipus c o m p l e x ) and it cannot, therefore, realize the p r o g r a m of action that is determined by its nuclear ambitions, talents, and ideals. T h e psychoanalytic situation in these cases becomes the milieu in which the unresolved conflicts o f childhood are reactivated in the transference, are worked through and ultimately settled, with the result that the self can now turn to its essential goals. I would at this point like to interrupt my reflections about my therapeutic attitude vis-a-vis the psychoses, the narcissistic personality disorders, and the transference neuroses and make a few comments concerning the statement made above that "in the structural neuroses a nuclear self has become m o r e or less firmly established." H o w , it may be asked, does this assertion j i b e with the theory (Kohut, 1977, p p . 246-248) that the normal oedipal phase is not pathogenic or, in the obverse, that the pathogenic Oedipus complex that we uncover as we analyze a classical transference neurosis is a disintegration product, i.e., that w e must assume the presence of a noncohesive or at least of an enfeebled self. Put still differently, it is our task to reconcile two

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contradictory findings: ( I ) that the self in true oedipal neuroses (with regard to /w^wdotransference neuroses see Kohut, 1972, p p . 624-628) is cohesive and firm and only secondarily impoverished because o f its persistent entanglement with the oedipal imagoes; and ( 2 ) that the self in oedipal neuroses is fragmented and weak because only for a fragmenting and weak self, unsupported by the oedipal selfobjects, would the experiences o f the oedipal phase lead to the intense sexual and aggressive responses which w e uncover in these cases. Will this paradox be resolved by our ultimately reaching the conclusion that true transference neuroses in the classical sense d o not exist, that the classical hysterias, phobias, and the phobic nucleus o f compulsion neuroses are in fact only variants o f narcissistic personality disorders? I d o not think so. I rather believe that the answer to the puzzle will have to c o m e , on the one hand, from a m o r e exact differentiation between those self weaknesses that lead to the drive phenomena encountered in narcissistic personality disorders and those that lead to the intensification and isolation o f drives that underlie the classical oedipal neuroses and, on the other hand, from a m o r e exact differentiation—beyond statements, in other words, that refer only to the different stages in the d e v e l o p m e n t o f the child at which they occur—between those selfobject failures that lead to narcissistic personality disorders and those that lead to oedipal neuroses. W e d o not yet have clear-cut answers to these questions and only further empirical data—obtained during the analyses o f classical cases o f transference neuroses by observers familiar with the psychology of the self—will p r o v i d e us with answers here. A t this point I can d o no m o r e than give voice to my impression that the changes in the self in classical neuroses are not only in general less severe than those in the narcissistic personality disorders but that they are also qualitatively different. C o u l d it be that this qualitative difference is due to the fact that the empathy failure from the side o f the selfobjects o f childhood was different in the t w o

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classes o f psychopathology? T h a t (as suggested in Kohut, 1977, pp. 267-280) w e are seeing the differentiating result of, on the one hand, the distance and understimulating behavior from the side o f the selfobjects o f children who will later suffer

from

narcissistic personality disorders and, on the other hand, the overcloseness and overstimulating behavior from the side of the selfobjects o f children w h o will later suffer from classical transference neuroses? I f this should indeed p r o v e to be the case, then w e could say that, after an eighty-year-long detour, w e are returning

to Freud's original seduction

theory—though, of

course, now not in the form in which Freud had entertained it. T h e seduction that we have in mind now relates not to overt sexual activities o f the adult selfobjects—although such behavior would, o f course, be included—but to the selfobjects' unempathic responses to fragments (sexual and aggressive) o f the child's oedipal self, instead o f empathic ones to its totality (the child's affection and assertiveness). A f t e r the preceding digression concerning the assessment o f the oedipal neuroses in the light o f the psychology o f the self, I am now returning to the preceding topic, the outline of my therapeutic attitude vis-ä-vis the psychoses, the narcissistic personality disorders, and the transference neuroses. I presented this outline in the main because I wanted to clarify my therapeutic strategy with regard to these disorders. But I also h o p e that these therapeutic considerations will have prepared the soil for some general remarks about the self in health and in disease. I h o p e , for e x a m p l e , to turn to particulars, that it will not be difficult to see against the background o f these therapeutic considerations that I differentiate sharply between, on the one hand, the description o f the shape and content o f the self—of the many possible shapes and contents that characterize the selves of different individuals—and, on the other hand, the assessment o f its firmness and of the d e g r e e of its freedom to carry out its intrinsic p r o g r a m o f action. T h e specific shape and content of

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a nuclear self, whether in a case o f narcissistic personality disorder, o f conflict neurosis, or in psychological health, are never the result o f only wholesome experiences. O n the contrary, so far as w e can j u d g e , early d e v e l o p m e n t is never free o f traumas. T h e outcome o f psychic development, however, is not determined only by the relative frequency and severity o f traumas but by the ability of the self—sometimes in the face o f frequent and serious traumatizations—to establish the energic continuum which I consider to be its essence and to free itself from infantile conflicts. A n d I must stress, in the specific context of the misunderstanding that I want to clear up through this communication, that the successful outcome o f early d e v e l o p m e n t is often accounted for by the capacity of the self in statu nascendi to respond to certain traumatic frustrations

o f its developmental

needs with a r e n e w e d and vigorous search for new solutions. T h i s search continues until, in the narcissistic personality disturbances, in the structural neuroses, and in psychic normality, the outlines o f a cohesive self, i.e., o f a workable energic continuum, have indeed e m e r g e d . T r u e , in the narcissistic personality disorders this process does not lead to a secure consolidation and the structure whose shape is already determined must now be strengthened.'' T r u e , in the classical conflict neuroses

the

nuclear self, while firmly consolidated, remains yet enslaved by unfinished tasks that i m p e d e its f r e e d o m and it must through analysis be enabled to solve them in o r d e r to be free. But, and this is the crucial issue, it is not possible to reactivate traumatic situations o f infancy and childhood to which the self had already responded constructively during its early development; and, f ur'The rare instances, if any, in which there may be m o r e than one shape in which the self can ultimately he consolidated through analysis d o not contradict my assertion that the self o f patients with narcissistic personality disorder has achieved a definite shape. I f such instances d o indeed occur, they are not examples o f the creation o f a nuclear self de novo. T h a t the reconsolidated self may ultimately express its p r o g r a m by either one or another action pattern is d u e to the fact that these potentialities had been almost evenly balanced before analysis. (See the discussion o f this issue in The Restoration, p p . 262-266.)

LETTERS 1981

723

thermore, even if their revival w e r e feasible, no e n d would be served by bringing it about. W e have thus, at the end, once m o r e and for the last time, returned to the specific issue with regard to individual psychotherapy that p r o m p t e d me to write this letter and, since I want to be sure to be understood this time I will state once m o r e , explicitly, that those traumatic aspects o f its early selfobjects from which the nuclear self was able to withdraw successfully during its d e v e l o p m e n t are not revived in the narcissistic transference. T h e y cannot be revived because the d e v e l o p i n g self had turned away from them and, by shifting to different sources o f structure formation—the formation o f compensatory structures—has no need for them a n y m o r e . T h e task o f analysis in many instances o f self pathology is, therefore, the strengthening o f the compensatory structures that had been acquired in early life. Perhaps I should also underline here the fact that every self, not only in the narcissistic personality disorders but also in the structural neuroses and in health, consists to a greater or lesser extent of compensatory structures. T h e r e is not one kind o f healthy self—there are many kinds. A n d there is no single analytic road toward a cure—there are many, d e p e n d i n g o n the specific obstacle that stands in the way o f the specific health potential o f a specific analysand. T h e healthy self, that much we can say, will be predominantly composed of either primary o r compensatory structures—defensive structures, although never absent, will be at a minimum. But while we are on firm g r o u n d with regard to the claim that the most creative-productive selves are characterized by a relative paucity of defensive structures, we are less certain with regard to the evaluation o f the most desirable ratio between primary and compensatory structures. J u d g i n g on the basis of impressions gleaned from observing p e o p l e w h o seemed to me to be especially able to live life fully and joyfully, I have c o m e to assume that a self characterized by the predominance of compensatory structures constitutes the

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most frequent matrix o f the capacity to live a meaningful, productive life. O r , stated in different terms, it is my impression, that the most productive and creative lives are lived by those who, despite high degrees o f traumatization in childhood, w e r e able to acquire new structures by finding new routes toward inner completeness. Many o f the questions touched upon in this communication are, o f course, still in need o f a g o o d deal o f further study—both in the direction o f defining the life-contents that can be agreed upon as constituting health, as well as in the direction o f defining the composition o f those selves that ultimately lead the most fulfilling lives. Even in the face o f these uncertainties, however, I believe that w e can state with some assurance that it is not a measure o f pathology but rather a sign o f resourcefulness and health when a self—nondefensively—demonstrates in the transference that it had turned away from hopeless frustrations in early d e v e l o p m e n t and had found new paths. T o push such a self in therapy toward areas from which it has already severed connections in early life is not only pointless because this m o v e cannot genuinely succeed, it is also a gross misunderstanding o f the patient by the therapist w h o , by forcing the analysand to fit into his particular bed o f Procrustes—be it the Oedipus c o m p l e x , the paranoid-depressive position, the trauma o f birth, or whatever else it may be—puts obstacles into the patient's path toward recovery.

1981 Dear M o r t : T h a n k you for sending me a copy o f your conference paper. I h o p e that, after I have taken care o f a large backlog o f undone work, I will be able to undertake a careful study o f your approach to the integration o f the three selves that you differentiate. A n d I will give you my reactions afterwards if I have something new to say. A t the m o m e n t it is still not easy for m e to think myself

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into a position that maintains that the subjective, the objective, and the reconstructed selves are essentially different o n e from the other and that the task o f integrating them should, therefore, be o p p o s e d not only by difficulties in the realm o f cognition but also by emotional resistances, as, I believe, you feel. F r o m the viewpoint o f my o w n position, the position o f the empathic observer w h o immerses himself protractedly into the field o f his observation—a position, I might add, to which I first committed myself in 1959—the subjective, the objective, and the reconstructed selves are different aspects o f the same configuration. W h e n an analysand observes his inner life, when analyst and analysand observe the inner life o f the analysand's childhood as it is reactivated in the transference, they are e m p l o y i n g the introspective-empathic m o d e o f perception and will have n o trouble in grasping the essential unitariness o f the configurations they perceive. A n d the same holds true for the empathic observation o f the behavior o f children. It is impossible to grasp anything o f psychological significance about

other

human

beings—however different they may be from us because they are younger, older, o f different cultures, etc.—without the successful e m p l o y m e n t o f the empathic-introspective m o d e o f observation. Per se, therefore, the gap between the data obtained from the empathic observation o f children and those obtained from the observation o f adults via introspection (analysand) o r empathy (analyst) should not be big enough to interfere seriously with the integration o f these data. A s a matter o f fact, I believe that, given training in empathy and commitment to its conscientious and p r o l o n g e d employment, the area o f fruitful research is potentially a very broad o n e , indeed. T h u s , in my introductory remarks to the symposium on applied analysis at our

recent

conference I expressed the opinion that self psychology can now even "come to the defense o f analysis outside the clinical setting by pointing out that the scrutiny o f an unrolling life, if viewed as the struggles o f the self to realize its nuclear pattern, can

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furnish data that may be as significant and reliable as those obtained during therapeutic analysis." I have therefore no objection to, indeed, in principle, I welcome the integration o f the results o f the empathic observation o f one's own experiences (the subjective self, in your terms) with those o f the empathic observation o f the experiences o f others, whether these e x p e riences relate predominantly to the present (the objective self, as you call it) o r whether, via transferences, they constitute the reactivated experiences o f the past (the reconstructed self, according to your classification). A s I said earlier, such an integration should not be o p p o s e d by serious difficulties. H a v i n g given expression to my unambiguous

endorsement

o f a variety o f observational approaches in the investigation o f man's inner life—via the observer's introspection or via his e m pathic immersion into the manifestations o f the

transferences

in the analytic situation, via the empathic scrutiny o f children's behavior in "direct" child observation, via the empathic study o f man's works and deeds in the arena o f art and history—I must now spell out an important qualification o f my otherwise optimistic attitude. T h e fruitfulness o f all the aforementioned enterprises and e v e n the mere possibility o f their success d e p e n d on the various observers' ability to rid themselves o f the bias introduced by the (always covert) intrusion o f this or that specific value system. T h i s ability, I believe, they must share—however different their theoretical systems and approaches might otherwise be. Specifically, I cannot see at this point how one could g o about integrating ( 1 ) those configurations, on the one hand, that o n e perceives when one looks at the psychological field with the to m e erroneous preconception—a projection o f the traditional value system o f Western man dressed up in scientific garb—that man is born as a bundle o f drives which are then gradually tamed sufficiently, so that he can become independent from those w h o gratify these drives; with (2) those configurations, o n the other hand, that o n e perceives when—after shed-

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ding the above-mentioned bias—one looks at the psychological field with the to me m o r e nearly correct assumption that w e are studying not a step from m e r g e r to independence but sequences o f various self-selfobject configurations throughout the life-span o f the individual, from birth to death. With regard to these principles by which I o r d e r the data o f my observation I could certainly consider both empirical evidence and logical argument, presented in o r d e r to demonstrate that I am w r o n g in subscribing to them. O n e could anticipate, for example, that some critics might claim that, contrary to my view, psychological survival is possible outside a matrix o f selfobjects. A n d I would consider it indeed quite likely that some other critics will say that my basic assumption

(that

self-selfobjects relationships

must exist

throughout the whole span o f life) rests also—like the independence thesis which it opposes—on a nonscientific bias, albeit a different o n e from that on which the thesis o f the step from m e r g e r toward individuation is based. W h i l e I believe at this time that the seeming exceptions to the assumption o f the lifesustaining necessity o f selfobjects can be shown to rest on misleading evidence (e.g., because those w h o p r o f f e r it disregard the fact that the creation o f fantasied selfobjects is a capacity o f the healthy self), and while I maintain at this time that those potential critics o f my assumption o f the existence o f a permanent self-selfobject matrix w h o claim that I , too, am introducing a covert value system can be answered satisfactorily (e.g., by showing to them that self psychology does not introduce love either as a healing factor in its clinical application nor as an ethical force in its theories but that it simply acknowledges the selfs never ceasing need for an empathically responsive human matrix), I will in general acknowledge the fact that cogent evidence and convincing arguments could force m e to abandon these principles and replace them by others. I can, however, neither see how I could now or at any time in the future integrate the o r d e r i n g principles that I have adopted with others that are

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not only different but even antithetical to mine, nor can I see how the different configurations that e m e r g e when one observes the psychological field from the viewpoint o f antithetical ordering principles could lend themselves t o a fruitful integration. O n the other hand, however, I will stress it again, I feel that there are no insurmountable obstacles that stand in the way o f those like you, M o r t o n and Estelle, who work toward the integration o f the findings o f introspective-empathic child observers with the reconstructions o f the childhood self obtained from the observations o f the transferences during analysis—provided the principles by which the observers are g u i d e d are both sound and compatible with each other. I n d e e d , I would under these circumstances speak hardly o f the integration or synthesis o f findings but rather o f different contributions to a shared body o f knowledge. A n d finally, b e f o r e c o m i n g to the close o f my reflections, just one m o r e thought—a thought that, I add, I am presenting perhaps, I hope, unnecessarily in defense against an innuendo that I at times suspect in the minds even o f some of the most friendly critics o f self psychology, namely, in defense against the reproach that w e d o not want to face the findings of others because our opinions are set, because we d o not want to change our views. I believe that the present communication is an example for the capacity of self psychology to change, to develop—that far from considering it a closed and fixed system of thought, we believe that it is at its very beginning, that its continuously introduced changes are not a sign o f intrinsic insecurity and weakness but a testimony to o n g o i n g d e v e l o p m e n t , a proof of its vitality, of its far from exhausted potential. T h e specific change—and it is by no means an unimportant one—introduced in the present communication is the following. I used to think (see, for example, my statements in 1959) that there lay necessarily a decisively differentiating distance between the main focus o f attention o f analysis—the inner life o f

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man—and the main focus o f attention o f the direct observation o f man's behavior—the actions o f man. But I have c o m e to revise my view to some extent. Just as the analyst as an observer o f current dynamics and o f transferences may obtain many valuable insights concerning man's actions outside the psychoanalytic situation, so can the analyst as an observer o f man's behavior—and par excellence, for example, the psychoanalyst as an observer o f children's behavior—obtain many valuable insights about the inner life o f man. T h a t there exists a gap—a perhaps unbridgeable gap—between the conception o f the self o f the child outlined by some psychoanalytic observers o f children's behavior and interactions and the conception o f the self o f the child formulated by self-psychologically oriented observers o f the

transferences

o f adults is not due to the fact that one conception stems from the observation o f behavior, while the other stems from the observation of inner experiences, but to the differences in the basic conception o f the essence of man and of his life that guide these two groups o f observers. M y hope is thus not that I or others should ultimately learn how to integrate the findings of self psychology with those o f some o f the today's well-known child observers, h o w e v e r desirable in the abstract such a result might seem to be, but that we should become able to persuade some child observers to test our basic conceptions by allowing themselves to be guided by them as they carry out their research. I am convinced that they would then be able to see configurations that had previously escaped them, however sophisticated conscientious their work had been.

and

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T H E SEARCH FOR T H E SELF

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Index to the Complete Works of Heinz Kohut by Douglas W. Detrick, Ph.D.

T h e following is the list o f abbreviations o f each o f the volumes i n d e x e d in the order in which they are entered. I =

The Search for the Self, Vol. I, ed. Paul Ornstein, International Universities Press, 1978.

Κ =

The Kohut Seminars, ed. Miriam Elson, N o r t o n and C o . , 1985.

A =

The Analysis of the Self, International Universities Press, 1971.

II =

The Search for the Self, Vol. II, ed. Paul Ornstein, I n ternational Universities Press, 1978.

III =

The Search for the Self, Vol. Ill, e d . Paul Ornstein, International Universities Press, 1990.

R =

The Restoration of the Self, International

Universities

Press, 1977. Η =

Self Psychology and the Humanities, Section I I I , " C o n versations with Heinz Kohut," N o r t o n and C o . , 1987.

IV =

The Search for the Self, Vol. IV, ed. Paul Ornstein, I n ternational Universities Press, 1990.

C =

How Does Analysis Cure?, University o f Chicago Press, 1984.

741

743

INDEX

Λ . M r . . I: -4SI —IS4. A : 10. 57-73. 78. 84-85.

108.

170-173.

I «13.

240.28!). 1 1 : 0 4 9 . 6 5 2 . 8 1 1 » . R: 11». 125-127. 190 A . B . . Mr.. C: 225»4 "Abnormal

l'sviholngical

plagiarism as, K: 279-282 post-hypnotic

suggestion,

K:

201-204 repetition. K: 202-208

Health."

somnambulism as. K: 204 termination. I I : 720

I l l : 153

in therapy. K: 200. A : 155-100

A b r a h a m . K.: 303 Abstinence (Analytic). 1: 349. K: 253. A:

impulsivity vs.. K: 207. 209-271

197. 291. I I : 874. 877.

899-900

Action. Κ: 201-207. A : 155-158. R: 210. Srr also Atting O u t alloplaslic

Abslraclion(s). I : 178. 180-181. 198. 207. 209. 221. 222. 227. 230.

a n d autoplastic.

A:

150-157 asocial. Λ : 155-150, 158. 191

317. 342. 458. K: 55. 274. A :

as thought. K: 209

3 9 » . I l l : 80. 88. R: 93. I V :

athletics. A : 99. I 13, 119. 140. 259

448. 049. C : 5. 190

defined. K: 201-202. 204

A c a d e m i c F r e e d o m . I V : 010-017

"ego's potential lor." I: 495

A c c a d e m i a ( M i c h a c l a n g c l o ) . R: 2 8 9 »

frantic. A : 119.234

Accident proncness, I: 444»—445»

heightened. A : 128-129

Acculturation. R: 98

psvchologv of, I: 208

Achievement. C:

tension-drawing. 1: 213. A : 248

188-191. Sir also

Suet ess t οι ι Hit ι over, K : 284 p r i d e in, C : 188-191 Acoustic T h r e a t . I: 140-141. 153. 158

thought a n d . A : 158. 228 Action-thought. A : 7. 144. I I : 890. I l l : 132». R: 30—37.30»—37». 42-44 creativity a n d , R: 3 0 » . 37. 300

A c r o p h o b i a . A : 145». I I : 893

Freud's cases as. R: 3 0 »

A c t i n g out, I : 4 9 1 . 498. K : 257-259.

scientific advance a n d . R: 3 0 » .

200-279.283-284.280-287. 295. A : 155-108, 191, 192.

299-300 w o r k i n g t h r o u g h o f exhibitionism.

2 2 2 - 2 2 9 . 235. 273. I l l : 100,

R: 3 8 - 4 0

184. 191. R: 33. ( 1 : 7 2 - 7 4 . 7 5 .

Active technique. A : 101—104

108. .SVc also Action-Thought;

Activity (vs. passivity), I I : 7 8 5 « . Sec

Enactment

also Action

action vs.. Κ: 201-277. 287

Actor(s). K: 203

allopJastic. A : 150-157

Actual neurosis. I: 215, 240, 249

as communication. A : 228-229

A d a p t a t i o n . 1: 197-198. 2 1 0 - 2 1 7 .

creativity. K: 273-275

415,410-417.428. K : 4 . 6 - 7 .

defined, K: 200-203, 205-208

8. 14. 15. 1 7 . 3 2 . 2 0 4 - 2 0 5 . A :

drive control a n d , K: 257

144. 148, 211, 227. I l l : 124.

endopsychic, K: 200-202. 208-209

158.

g r a n d i o s e self a n d . A : 155-157

2 7 9 - 2 8 1 . I V : 521, 532. 549.

guiltless. K: 2 9 5 - 2 9 0

207.

553. C : 113

hysteria a n d . K : 203-205

alloplastic, K: 217

hysterical. A : 157, 158

defensive. I: 407

284,

280.

R:

744

INDEX

expanded inner life as, K: 308-30!)

acceptance of, A : 264

hallucination as. 15-16

o f analyst. A : 138-142

to extreme situation, K: 7, 15—16 to future, K: 297-280

ovcrstimulaling, A : 262-263, 265 Adolescence, 1: 201, 225, 248, 249,

A d a p t i v e point o f view, I: 310. I l l :

500. K: 12.32, 151, 194,201,

» I M . 92. 9 7 » . I V : 547, 5 4 7 » .

2 2 8 - 2 2 9 . 2 4 6 , 252-253, 305.

C : 114

A : 4 3 - 4 4 , 55, 70. 119, 139.

Addiction(s),

201-203.

261, 321-323. I I : 623-624,

224-225. 247. 339. 450. K:

0 5 9 - 6 6 2 . I l l : 136, 185-186.

126,

1:

172.

131-132,

169-170.

186». 307. 310. R: I I . 131.

267-268, 269, 295. A : 46.

I V : 471-473, 503-504. 646.

5 1 - 5 2 . 69, 72. 85. I I : 713,

676. C : 13. 120,

8 1 5 . 8 1 6 . 845-848. 895-896.

159-168

I l l : 371. R: 7 3 « , 193. 197«.

acting out of. K: 260

C:

archaic self in, K: 305

11. M i l . 162, 2 1 5 » 1 9 .

215»20 addict's

155-156,

as alterego. I I : 661. R: 42-44, 47

c h i l d h o o d . A : 46. 11:

ambitions, 1: 437 creativity, 1:311

846-850 to analyst. I: 247. A : 46, 51-52. R:

dating. K: 228 death interest in, I: 121

25 chronic. R: 7 3 »

delinquents. A : 161-164

as counlerphobic. 1: 201-203

depression. I I : 662. R: 272

creativity as. I: 450

early-. K: 215.305. R: 199. I V : 398

in everyone, C : 27

fragmentation. H : 259

intensity of. K: 124

fragmentation, fear of, I I : 660-062 H a m l e t s . I l l : 173

interpretation in. A : 72-73 like behavior, I I : 556, 789, 815-817 mother's, K: 295 perversion as a n . R: 127. 199.218 secondary e g o changes in, K: 123, 131

homosexuality in. A : 69-70, 119» hyperidealistic, R: 5 - 6 idealization in. K: 201. A : 138-139. 261 ideals. I: 437. R: 6

to people. K: 118-119, 121, 123 "Addiction to one's o w n kind of mental h e a l t h . ' C : 163, 165-166

late-, K: 2 0 1 , 3 0 5 - 3 0 6 love experience o f schizophrenic, A : 76-77

"Adhesiveness o f libido," 1: 224

nuclear self, I I : 660-4561

A d l e r i a n psychology, K: 248. A : 83

oedipal phase a n d , K : 305

self psychology a n d , I I : 901-903

O e d i p u s C o m p l e x , I I : 662

A d m i r a t i o n , I: 197,434, 4 3 5 » - 4 3 6 » ,

p e e r relationships. I I : 661

440. 478,484, 494, 495-496.

pre-, K: 289

K : 2 7 , 246. 296. A : 2 1 » , 100,

p r o l o n g e d . A : 162

139-140,

145.

147.

152,

promiscuity in, K: 267-268

159-161. 176, 182.257.301.

sexualization. A : 119»

I I : 804, 820, 822. I l l : 133.

slum-dwelling, R: 129-131

R: 171-172.205. H : 249. I V :

therapy with. Κ: 158-159

409, 485. C : 50, 146

as transition to adulthood, K: 151,

745

INDEX

305-300

defenses, part of,

child in, K: 23

developmental

A d u l t o m o r p h i s n i . A : 38, 220 Anxiety;

See

I I : 899.

R:

deprivation a n d . I I : 521 Depletion:

Depression;Joy; Rage; Shame Affection.

line,

120-121

Aesthetics, R: 70-71 Affect.

R: 83-84. 90.

Ill

Aclull

I: 370-371. R: I I I . Η :

250. I V : 503. C : 12. 14. 10.

I-'reud's theory of, K: 54 g r o u p s a n d , I I : 531. R: 129-131 mature, I I : 643-644, 652. 899 narcissism

24. 30

a n d . A : xv,

18. I I :

634-636

Affective disorder. A : 18». R: 89. C :

negative transference, R: 115

2 8 - 3 3 . See also Depression;

nondestructive. R: 120-121

Overstimulation

object differentiation a n d . A : 214

A g a p e . I: 250

O e d i p a l object a n d . A : 41

A g e a p p r o p r i a t e behavior. See Phase-

primary. I: 180-181 psychopalhology a n d . C : 137-138

A p p r o p r i a t e Behavior

r a g e vs.. I I : 522. (536. 646-649.

A g e o f reason. I I : 714 A g g r e s s i o n , I: 123, 212. 227. 2 2 7 » ,

899. C : 53. 137-138

249. 352-354. 303, 365-3(5«.

regression of. 111:11(5-117

3 7 0 - 3 7 1 . 385. 3 9 2 . 4 7 2 . 4 7 3 ,

self p s y c h o l o g i c a l

509. K : 160. 161. 26(5, 274. 308.

A : 18-19. 27. 39.

52.

214. I I : 519, 521-522. 539.

view of,

II:

634-657. R: 111-131. C : 137-140 social

6 3 4 - 6 3 6 . 043-644. I l l : 89,

reforms

r e g a r d i n g , R:

130-131

104, 124, 270. 361. R: 8 « . 89.

sublimation of, I: 278

90-92.

turned against self. I I I : 89-90, 95.

111-125,

128-131.

1(52-163. 227, 231,259-2(50. H : 231. 257, 2(55. I V : 504. 553. 558. 570. 592. 600. C : 11-12. 53. 84, 90. 91,

96, 100. 186 two types. C : 137-138 Aggression-guilt evele, I I : (537. R:

137,

259-2(50

158. 208. 2 1 3 » 3 . See also A s -

A g i n g , I: 184. I I : 821-822

sertive:

A g o r a p h o b i a . I l l : 333-338. ('.: 28-33,

Narcissistic

Rage;

Rage-

2 1 5 » 18, 2 1 5 » 19, 215,;20

absence of. K: 289

biological factors, C : 32

Alexander's ideas regarding, I I :

calming structures defective, C : 30

(537

deepest layer of. C : 30

anal. R: 1(53

maternal selfobject. role of. C: 30

analytic artifact. R: 9 0 - 9 1 . 255

"most general statement

assertiveness ami, R: 116, 121. C :

Oedipus Complex in. I I I : 333-334.

137-138

C: 2 8 - 2 9

behavioristic a p p r o a c h , R: 120 biological a p p r o a c h . I I : 634.

regard-

ing," C: 31-32

archaic grandiose self, I I : 643

paternal selfobject, role of, C : 30 R:

120. 128 classical theory and. R: 1 1 1-114

preoedipal elements, C: 2 8 - 2 9 sell

psychological

view of.

333-338. C : 2 9 - 3 3

Ill:

746

INDEX

traditional view of. H i : 333-335.

122-123, 134, 102, 189, 194,

C: 2 8 - 2 9

204. 221. 249-253, 270-273.

Ahal-Kxperieucc. A : 316. R: 168-109

275.317.321.111:247. R: 44.

A i c h h o r n . A u g u s t , I: 131-133. R: xx.

C : 193-199. 200

2()8H

m e r g e r . I l l : 380

(lcliiK|itcnts.

therapy

with.

I:

Altruism. I I : (519. K: 6. 9. I l l : 124 A m b i e n c e (Analytic), R: 2 5 2 - 2 0 1 . C :

495-496. A : l ( i l - 1 6 4 genius of. I: 132

27. 28. 36-37. 08. 75, 8 1 - 9 1 .

Aim-inhibited liehavior, K: 252-253. 257. 2 6 «

107-108, 149-150. 2 1 5 » 16 self psychology relaxed. G: 81-82,

Alcoholic. K: 126 Alexander.

Kran/..

84. 9 ( M 1 I 1: 387-388. I I :

Ambition(s),

629. R: 0 9 - 7 3 . 307. C : 78 "corrective emotional

I:

143,

295,

435,

4 3 7 - 4 3 8 . 4 4 0 - 4 4 1 , 4 4 5 » . 446.

experience."

472».

11:629, 752. 877. C : 78

478.

495.

A : 27,

113-114, 141. 151. 175. 181»,

critique of, I V : 547-550. 701

192-195, 251. 258, 299. I I :

drive theory of, R: 09-73

620. 647, 828-829. I l l : 103.

ideas r e g a r d i n g aggression a n d

107. 120. 155. 202, 267. 292,

shame. I I : 637

295, 302. 385, 391. R: 4. 10.

obituary, I : 3 8 7 - 3 8 «

49, 5 3 - 5 4 . 63. 82-83,

"not analytic theorist." R: 307

174. 177. 179. 180. 182, 192.

A l e x a n d e r the Great. H : 231 (Carroll,

Alitr-i>i-Wendent. H : 262 "independent recipient o f impressions." I l l : 363. I V : 451, 454 leading zone of. K: 146-147 love strengthens, C : 53

distortion, R: 192-193

"narcissism" a n d , 1: 429. A : xiii-xvi

d r a i n e d by action. K: 27

non-acceptance of, K: 229

"dynamic" of. I I : 586-587. C : 4-5,

nondichotomized sector. A : 185.

96

U : 558. R: 2 1 0 - 2 1 1 . 2 1 3

early stages. K: 31-47. 305 e g o functions a n d . A : 80. 119-120,

nonhuman.

I I : 7 1 9 - 7 2 1 . C:

18,

200

128. 132. I I : 586-588. R:

not k n o w a b l c . I V : 449

158

nucleii of. I I : 746-748. 758. A : 29,

e n f e e b l e d . See Enfceblement

118

"essence not knowablc." R: 310-311

object-love a n d , C : 52

"expansion of,"

"organizing center o f ego's activi-

I: 429, 456. A :

326-327.11:676.682.683, 705. 9 2 5 - 9 2 6 "eve as central o r g a n . " I I : 881. R: 113//

ties," A : 120. I I : 587 pathological certainty r e g a r d i n g , I I : 825-827. R: 188» perception, center of. A : 76. (.': 99

false-. I l l : 225

"personality" vs. I I : 578

Freud's concept of. K : 79

prototype o f specific

forms, I I :

829

INDEX

624

224» 1

as a psychic structure, I I : 585. C :

childhood

99

memories

and, C:

159-160

reassembled. H : 239

o f F r e u d , I: 423-425. I I : 793-794,

reassembling, K: 24

794».

reflective.

822-823

H: 23«

sell-cure, second

developmental

attempt.

See

"Second

Chance" R: 311

mental health a n d . C : 154-155, 224»1,22'4»5 Hope Self destructiveness. H : 220

of

structures.

R:

174-178 sociocultural

Self esteem. I: 344. 413. 438.

478,

4 8 2 , 4 8 4 . 4 8 5 - 4 8 8 , 4 9 5 , 503.

shape of, C : 42

K: 44, 49, 61-76, 80, influences,

R:

207-280. C : 59-01 "Second

See also

156,

163. 228-229, 297-309. A : 1 8 . 2 0 - 2 1 . 6 8 . 7 1 - 7 2 . 8 6 . 92,

striving to complete development, C : 4.

813.

Self confidence, I I : 557. C : 9. See also

"sense o f self." A : 119. 210-212. separation

804-808.

95.

119.

139,

140.

151,

179-180, 192. 232. 312. I I :

Chance"

5 3 0 - 5 3 1 , 561. 645. 791. 826,

"structure" of. C : 9 9 - 1 0 0

893. H I : 272. 360. R: 5. 16,

as supraortlinatc configuration,

49. 55. 57. 94. 9 6 - 9 8 .

112,

112»-113».

191.

I I : 756. R: 97 theories, variety of. I I I : 225-227 threatened bv its o w n actions. A : 128. I I : 818. 921

130.

150.

I V : 479. C : 5 3 . 6 7 . 6 9 , 7 7 , 9 2 , 147. 177, 2 1 4 » 1 I baby's. K: 33-35

three perspectives, I V : 724-726

childhood games a n d . K: 4 9 - 5 0

time-axis of. K: 50

child's. H I : 133

true. I l l : 225

e g o defect a n d . K: 267-268

"two basic psychological

func-

tions." R: 171

empathy a n d . K : 203-221 external source of. A : 17

tvpes of. R: 186-187, 311. C: 44, 203

first-born children, K: 229-230 formation of, K: 31—46

unitary, theorv of, I I I : 134-135, 161-163

in g r o u p , I I : 530-531 heightened. A : 107-108. 174.299,

untreated part as stimulus. R: 176» variety of. I l l : 161-162. 265. R: 186

313 h u m o r a n d . K: 74 hydrotherapy a n d , K: 48. 59

visual axis of, I I : 881-882

idealized super-ego a n d . K: 41-42

weakness of. I V : 513

ideals a n d . K: 79. 297-305

"when" questions. R: 178-179

illness (physical). K: 2. 247-249

Sell-analvsis. 1: 188-190. 209-210, 313.419,421-422.405-400, 504. A : 283, 318-319. I l l : 92. C :

154-156,

163. 170.

100-162,

190, 209,

217//1,

impotence a n d . K: 141 low. A : 185. 198, 241-246. R: 5, 16, 102. 196,220 "Mankind's w o u n d e d , " I: 344. I I : 548,689. 842. C: 54.5(5-59

830

INDEX

mirroring Γ mother and. K: 38-351

737-739,769,788,790,790«,

need to control others, I I : 645

810, 824, 846, 8 4 9 . 8 8 9 , 896.

o r g a n inferiority a n d , K: 248

I l l : 99. 133, 209. 235, 246,

physical symptoms and, K: 133-154

272, 306-310, 3 2 4 - 3 2 6 . 3 2 9 ,

psychic economy a n d . K: 49

3 3 5 - 3 3 8 , 344. R: xiii, 9-12,

realistic.

A : 107-108.

141. 175,

188. 199 regulation of. K: 6 1 - 7 6 . 113-132. 297. A : 2 0 - 2 2 . 245. 252 schizophrenic regression a n d . K: sexual

16, 23. 3 1 « , 32, 40. 42. 61, 8 1 , 87, 89, 171-172. 187«, 237,

100.

125-126,

179«. 185-186,

188«.275.H:219,235, 256-257.

262. I V :

45

454-457,478-480,499-503,

intercourse a n d , K: 145,

513, 5 7 3 - 5 7 7 . 6 3 6 , 6 6 9 - 6 7 4 , 704. C : 1, 5 - 6 . 2 6 , 4 9 . 5 2 . 6 5 ,

151

115. 154-155. 170, 173, 185,

social pathology a n d . K: 37 in structural neurosis. A : 21

186, 192. 1 9 7 . 2 1 2 « 1 . 2 1 3 « 2 ,

success a n d , K : 27

213H5.217»1.2I8«2,219H6, 223M1 1 . 2 2 4 « 1 . 2 2 7 » 10

s u d d e n stimulation of, K: 48

archaic. A : 33, 42, 4 5 - 4 7 , 90. 93,

s u p e r e g o a n d . A : 62 swings in. R: 55. 57. 94

134. 186, 190.208.11:554,

temperature a n d , K: 48

643«. C: 1.5-6.26,49,52,

tension states a n d . K: 47

65. 115, 154-155, 170. 173,

two factors r e g a r d i n g . A : 109-110

185. 186, 192. 1 9 7 , 2 1 2 » 1 ,

unstable. I I : 561. 893

213»2.

urination a n d , K: 141, 147-148,

2I8»2.

213«5,

217»*I,

219»6. 223» 1 I ,

2 2 4 « I , 2 2 7 » 10

163

"body & m i n d " analogv. A : 3 3 . 9 0 ,

vulnerable. I: 482-484. A : 57 Self-experience

115.271»

"automation." K: 107

continuity providing, H : 235-237

disturbed. A : 80. 210

creation as. K: 277

Self expression. R: 57. 224. See also Creativity

creativity a n d , I V : 575 cultural, I V : 5 0 2 . 0 5 1 . C : 194.203, 2 2 0 « 11

f o u n l a i n h c a d of. R: 53 Self-hate. 111:95

d e f i n e d . A : xiv, 3. 26-27, 33, 90. 11:889. I l l : 361. R: 84. Η :

Self healing. I: 169. 239. 252. Her also "Second Chance"

217.

I V : 454-457,

494,

495, 041. 670-671

Self image. A : 125. 131. 132

developmental lines of, I: 479-499.

archaic. A : 210. 245-246 disturbance of. A : 2 0 9 - 2 1 0

11:766-768.111:362-363. C : 198-206

"Selfishness." C : 143 Self niutilation, A : 27. I I : 632-033

discardable, R: 44

Self-nuclei, stage of, K: 44

early loss of, K: 41

Selfobject. I : 3 7 3 « . Κ : 11. 27-28, 50,

essential to h u m a n existence, C : 4 8 , 5 0 , 190. 193

58, 229. 304. A : xiv. 3 - 6 , 19, 21.25.30.32,44.92,97-KM), 163-164.

I I : 552.

558,

failure

of.

See

Knfeeblement;

Fragmentation

831

INDEX

lantasicd. I V : 573. 727

178.217». 229,246.272-273,

female. R: 179. 179»

298.

a function. Η : 235. I V : 454-457,

372-373, 382-384.

494

346-350,

360-362, R: xiii,

xiv, 28. 136, 149-150, 173»,

functional absence of, R: 155«

262. 268. H : 235, 259. I V :

functions reconcretized, R: Iß, 33

460-463, 465.494,499-501,

general definition, C : 49

5 0 8 » , 5 7 4 . 7 1 2 - 7 1 5 . C : 4.44,

g r o u p vs individual. H : 235-236,

66, 07. 70, 77, 90. 104, 136, 154, 166, 174. 183-198. 201,

237 lifelong need. I l l : 307. 309-310,

204-207, 2 1 6 » 1 , 2 1 9 » 7 . Srr

320,343. I V : 479.499-504,

also A l t e r e g o Transference;

645-640.

Idealizing

648-050.

054-

055. 002. 673, 701. 709.

through

"mature selfobject resonance," C : 2I8»6

cure, necessary for, C : 7 0 - 7 1 , 84 Freud's ideas a n d . C : 2 1 6 » !

need f o r . R: 1 8 7 » - 1 8 8 »

maintained bv defect. I V : 712-713.

n o n h u m a n . R: 55-57 "object" a n d . A : 3 . 2 0 - 2 1 H : 230. C : 5.

C : 4. 192. 201 14, 43,

07-08. 71.212»4 as "oxvgen." I l l : 236. 306. 388. Η : 257.

classification of, C : 201-205 defined. I V : 400-463. 465

misperccivcd, C : 26

222.

Transference;

Transference; Mir-

ror Transference; W o r k i n g

727 male. R: 179»

oedipal.

Merger

I V : 478. 491.

646. 651. 662. 701. C : 47.

positive. I I I : 299 remobilizcd thwarted need, I V : 470.

500,

639.

696,

712-713. C : 84. 104. 192. 201.202 "spontaneous." A : 53. I V : 713-714.

77 precursor o f psychic structure. A : 4 9 - 5 1 . R: 83. C : 7 I . 100

C . 4. 201 technique. I V : 632-633

prestructural. A : 90. 96

three g r o u p s . C : 192-193, 198

psychic functions a n d . C : 100

thwarted developmental needs. I l l : 273

search lor. I l l : 3 2 5 . 3 4 4 specific definition, C: 49

undiscovered, C : 209

specific life tasks, role in. C: 194 in structural neurosis, R: 32. ('.: 14-16, 22-27, 213»2 transitional.

A : 18, 25, 28, 33,

3 7 - 3 9 . C : 100

Sell observation. I : 209, 217. 232, 3 4 1 » . A : 2. 7. 27. 3 9 » . 315 in d r e a m . I : 341 » - 3 4 2 » grandiose self. A : 305. K: 244.303 S e l f p a t h o l o g y . I I : 580. 7 3 7 - 7 3 8 ,

visual imagery a n d , ('.: 70 Selfobject. cultural. H : 225, 234-237, 254-255, 261. C: 220» 11

779.

845-840.

Ill:

179,

248-249, 2 5 8 - 2 5 9 . 3 2 9 - 3 3 3 , 3 3 7 - 3 3 8 . 362-381. R: 2-5.

artist, H : 217, 219. 239

H : 218. I V : 452. 402-403,

historian. H : 217

501.500, 5 1 3 . 5 2 1 . C : 53.70,

Selfobject transference, K: 223. A : 53-259.

I I : 558.

I l l : 159,

102. also

1 ) 3 . 205. 214» 15. SnNarcissistic

Behavior

832

INDEX

Disorder: sonality

Narcissistic

disorder:

Per-

Psycho-

pathology

baby, view of, C : 208, 212nl basic premise of. I l l : 235. 387-388 brief clinical example, I I I : 272-273

aggression in. C : 137-138

in "broad sense," R: xv. 2 0 7 « , 228,

behavior vs fantasy, R: 193-198 classified. I I : » 2 6 » . R: 191-199. C :

262.311 child

8-11

observation

and.

Ill:

302-310. I V : 495

diffuse, R: 152

complementary. I I : 937. R: xv. 77,

etiology of. I l l : 302. 366-370 frequency of. I l l : 297, 299-300,

93-98,'206, 223-224, 284 cultural (actors in, R: 269-290. C :

329-332. I V : 504 gross childhood

61-63

events a n d . A :

"discovered depression o f adult in

79-80. 247-248, 253-256. I I : 791. R: 186-191

child." Η : 215-216 e g o psychology vs, R: 69-83.93-94,

healthv. .SVc Menial Health

128-129. 2 2 4 - 2 2 5 ,

o f Hitler, I I I : 258

C: 27.41—42,54,65,76-77,

late. 11: 898

8 1 . 9 5 , 112-115. 208

mild a n d circumscribed, I I : 580 mixed

forms.

emphasis, shift in, I V : 4 7 5 - 4 8 1 ,

A : 154-155. I I :

624-628. R: 225

520. C : 54. 8 7 . 2 1 6 » ! "essential therapeutic conclusion."

"now m o r e common," R: 268-279, 290-291

C: 4 future directed. I l l : 236-237. 390.

O e d i p u s complex in, I I : 897-898. R: 220-239. C : 24-27 primary.

I V : 453.481 future of. I I : 937-938. I l l : 353.

I l l : 363. 364-366. R:

191-193. C : 8 - 1 0

R: 98 health focus. I l l : 263

primary vs secondary factors, C : 53-54, 114, 197-198

not a humanity. I I I : 2 7 2 « , 275 insulin, like discovery of, I V : 477

rich vs p o o r . H : 224-225

integration with other schools, H I :

secondary. I l l : 363. R: 191-192.

2 8 1 - 2 8 3 , 286. 3 0 0 - 3 1 0 .

(i: 10—11

IV:477

silent. I l l : 250

not interpersonal. I V : 641

spatial disorientation, R: 154-155

monotonous(?). I V : 505-507

structural neurosis as. H i : 337-338

"more

syndromes. I I I : 370-375 wide variety, I V : 513 psychology.

I I : 848,

r e l a x e d " therapists,

C:

81-82. 84.90-91 in "narrow sense." R: xv, 2 0 7 » ,

Self preservation. A : 158. CI: 143 Self

284.

850,

227. 2 3 2 - 2 3 3 . 2 6 1 , 3 1 0 need for. R: xvii-xix. 63-139

923-924,926-927,935-938.

new dimension of, I I : 935-936

R: xiii. xxi. 93-94. H : 225,

nomenclature change. R: xiii—xiv.

254-256 ambience in. 11:683.111: 287-288.

C: 114-115, 193 normality, view of, C: 208

R: 252-253. 2 5 7 - 2 6 1 . C :

obstacles to progress in. I l l : 278

221«1

optimisticC-). H : 221-222

"artist's anticipation of." R: 285-290

originale-). I l l : 2 2 4 - 2 2 9

833

INDEX

physics, analogous to, R: 3 I M - 3 2 M .

from archaic to mature, C: 49-50,

C: 36 questions

185

(unanswered),

K:

"birth until death," C : 47, 49-50,

178-179. C: 10-11. 100-

190, 193. 199,208. 21 3M2,

101

217MI.218M6 c h a n g i n g forms of, I V : 645-650,

reiiication in. I l l : 3 6 5 »

727

resistance to. C: 6 1 - 6 3 seduction theory. C : 1 1-12

definition. C : 5 1 - 5 2

a science. I l l : 271M-272H, 275

earliest stage. C : 49

"shift in technique a n d theory." C :

empathic path between, C: 65-67,

86

103. 104

social action of. I l l : 266-267

an "inner experience," C : 50

social engineering and. R: 129—130

sectional, C : 49

sociology a n d , H : 228

three major, C : 194. 201

summarized.

III:

306-308,

359-385. I V : 478-481.709 time, a p p r o a c h to. I I I : 236-237, 389-390,

392M.

IV:

4 5 3 - 4 5 4 . 480 ical correlation, R: xxii traditional psychoanalysis,

com-

parison,

I I I : 236-237,

278-287.

291-292.

296-

3 1 0 . 3 6 1 , 3 8 9 - 3 9 2 . R: 6 9 93-94.

108-110.

I V : 462,

5 0 7 - 5 1 3 , 686-687. C : 113, 222M2 interpretation of. I V : 5 0 8 - 5 0 9 , 511-512 selfobject in, I V : 462

128-129.

Self-stimulation, R: 5. See also Addic-

IV: 478-

tion: D e f e n s i v e S t r u c t u r e ;

505-506.

592-593.

C: 2 7 , 4 1 - 4 2 , 5 4 , 6 5 . 7 6 - 7 7 . 8 1 . 9 5 . 112-115.208 "truth-value" of. I I : 924 "two self psychologies," R: xiv, xv values of.

d r e a m . I l l : 298-299. R:

105.

284.

224-225. 481.

Self-soothing, K: 126-127 Sell-state. K: 86 Self-state

time needed b e f o r e inter-theoret-

83,

variety of. C: 220M 11 "wholesome processes," C: 70

I I I : 390M.

I V : 522,

6 5 4 - 6 5 5 , 6 9 6 , 701,716M Self realization. I I : 755. 759. R: 40. See also N u c l e a r P r o g r a m Self representation, A : xv, 185, 241, 246. I I : 585 contradictory, A : xv. I I : 585 Self-selfobject (unit). I I I : 307, 325, 329. H : 230, 235. I V : 480, 4 9 1 , 4 9 8 . 573. 645-646, 667, 6 6 9 - 6 7 4 , 727. C : 49-53, 70, 77, 93, 152, 166. 219H6. See also Self: Selfobject

Masturbation "Semicircle o f m e n i a l health, I V : 561-565 Senility. K: 15 Separation,

K : 4 9 . 57,

101. I V :

570-574, 628 from analyst. A : 10. 9 1 - 9 4 . 95M, 98. KM), 127, 131, 158-159, 233,

243-244,

246,

2 5 1 - 2 5 2 . 271M. 313-314. R: 153. 170 interpretation o f impact of. A : 92-94,

98.

158-159,

2 5 2 - 2 5 3 . 314 from parent. A : 82-84. R: 154-155, 200-208 reactions to. A : 9 2 - 9 3 . 98. 127, 131, 1 5 8 , 2 5 1 - 2 5 2 , 3 1 3 . R:

834

INDEX

153. 155. Kill. Ki5. I / O

e g o enslaved by. A : 09

Separation anxiety. I: 411. A : 111)

exhibitionism. I l l : 215)-220

"Separat ion-in d i v i d u a l ion,"

o f guilt. I V : 404

A:

2151-220

hysterical. K: 163

in everyone, C : 27

Serenity. I l l : 330 Servants, R: 2 7 0 »

interpretation in. A : 7 2 - 7 3

Settembrini. I: 1251

"isolated symbols." R: 172-173

Sexual abuse. K: 257. I V : 405. 430

o f narcissistic defect. A : 69-73. R:

Sexual drive. K: 02. 100-101

171-173. 201

autonomous. Κ: 141. See also Drive Sexuality. I: 123. 125-120. 103-104,

in narcissistic personality disorder, A : 5 M 0 . 98-99

225-228. 2 3 5 . 3 2 5 . 3 5 2 - 3 5 4 ,

to oneself, K: 102

381. 383. I I : 015). 788-785».

psvehoeconomic

H : 254. I V : 400. C : 5. 7. 11.

function

of. A :

72

14, 24. 27. 43. 84, 5)0. 158,

in psychosis. A : 9-10

197.219»«

sublimation of. A : 100

adolescent. A : 119. I I : 062

o f s u p e r e g o . I: 437

disturbances in. A : 23, 126-127

o f transference. A : 10. 234.

female. I I : 783-792 hypocrisy toward, I I : 620

voyeurism. K: 158

incestuous. I I : 662 infantile. I: 221, 226. 245). 308, 352-354. A : 145. I I : 754. H:

230.

IV:

401,

4 2 5 M - 4 2 « M . 493. 090

precursors. A : 25 488.

K:

16, 2 3 , 4 7 . 6 3 , 70-71,98-5)5), 117, 119», 121. 130-131. 108, 183. 184. 220-227. 229. 285), 321.

I I : 556.

789,

808-805), 810-811,811 » . 8 2 2 , 845-847.

878,

895.

Ill:

2151-220, 371. R: 5,0. 10. 74, 120, 101. 171-173, 199.201, 2 1 7 » . 217-218.222,272-273, 284-285. I V : 427. 439-440, 690. C : 11.27,85) child's, R: 2 7 1 - 2 7 2 Don [uanism. A : 119». R: 15)3-198, 15)4»

I I I : 375) I V : 074-077

S h a m e . I: 428, 438. 439. 441-443,

162-163. 220. 258. A : 5t-10,

300,

I I : 781. 859-861. I l l : 171, 175. 242-243. R: 288. 288».

Romeo and Juliet,

"sadistically-tinged," I: 315 103.

Shakespeare. William. A : 235-237.

Passionate Pilgrim,

potency. I: 125)-130

I:

Sexual p e r f o r m a n c e , K: 133-152

I V : 675-677

lack o f interest in. A : 23

Sexualization.

R:

2I7M-218»

4 4 1 » . 487, 490-491. K: 82, 120. 231. A : 20-21. 64. 07, 95. 136-137. 144.

148-149.

150, 153. 163. 180-182. 184.

191. 213. 231, 282. 25)3, 299. I I : 550. 634. 637. 734. 763, 773. 785. 802. I l l : 105. 110,

117. 220. 378. 384. R: 77, 195), 241. H : 253. I V : 397. 409,

420.

C : 72.

120-121.

123. 143-144. 195 chronic inferiority feelings vs. I I : 057» defective bodv-part a n d . I I : 030, 032 exhibitionism

a n d . A : 181». I I :

630, 656

INDEX

835 A r e a of. H : 218

/««.ν//ην a n d . A : 230-232 grandiosity a n d . A : 148-150. 181«

Skin, temperature regulation. A : 6 4 «

mctapsychology of, 11: 655

Skyscraper. 11: 9 1 7 - 9 1 8

parapraxis a n d . I I : 550

Slaves (Michaelangclo), R: 2 8 9 «

shaine-proueness.

Sleep.

A : 181«. I I :

1: 142. 214. 224-225. 253, 3 3 8 . 3 5 0 . Κ : 125-126. A : 46,

638-630. 643 "shanic-signals." A : 181«. 11:655

173, 245. C : 19-20 disturbance of.

suicide a n d . A : 181«

Κ: 125-126. A :

17:4-174.233-234. R: 159,

withdrawal a n d . I I : 637 Shyness. K: 87. I l l : 220

159«, 168. C : 19-20. .See

Sihling(s).

also Insomnia

oldest. K: 220-230

fantasy. 1: 315

youngesi. K : 2 8 8 - 2 8 »

as joyful, C: 19

Sibling, birth of. A : 113.196.247-248,

learned. K: 125 Slips-of-t he-tongue, K: 260. 262. C :

253-254. C : 118 Sibling rivalry. I: 263-264. 362. A :

113. See also Parapraxis

113. I I : 556.558. C: 117-120,

Slums. H : 224-225

138. 140, 142-143. 147. 148

"Small beginnings . . . . " I I : 517-519

o f psychoanalyst. A : 113-114

Smelling, A : 99

resistance a n d . C : 117-120

as defensive structure. A : 99

sick ν* healthy children. K : 249

o f other humans. C : 200

"Sieve in depth." K: 160-164. 166, 169. 265. 274-275

Social action. I l l : 266-267

creativity a n d . K: 164. 274-275 Silence. K : 66

Social activism. I I : 86:4-865. R: 129 Social anxiety, 11: 879. .SVc also Shame

o f analyst. A : 89. 277. 286. I I : 899-900

Social injustice. I I : 520 Socialism. K: 9

at concert beginning. I: 150

Social milieu. H : 224 Social planning. H I : 121

threatening, I: 142-143 Sylvie ami lirumi

. S W A ( C a r r o l l ) . I: 298

(Carroll). 1: 298

Social psychology. I : 216. 217. 393,

Simplissicimus. H : 240

400. 42θ! 4 4 3 « . 447. 464. A :

Singing. I: 243

32, 51. I I : 566. 636. 8 6 3 « ,

Single

863-865. I l l : 92. 2 0 9 - 2 1 1 .

b o d ν parts, focus o n . I I : 744-745, 754-756. 760. .SVc also Hypochondriasis

R: 84 "Social therapv," I I I : 106

Sisyphus (Canuis). I I : 751

Social w o r k . I: 195-200

Sixth C o m m a n d m e n t . C : 2 I 7 « 3

Society. .SVc also C u l t u r e

Skill(s), 1: 4 7 2 « . I l l : 265. 267. 290,

"anonymous equals." I I : 567

295, 344. R: 49. 63. 83. 177.

mental health of. 111:247

I V : 443. 452, 459. 594. 634,

sibling oriented. I I : 567

713. C : 4. .SVc also

Talents;

Intermediate Areas o f Skills a n d Talents acquired in m e r g e r , R: 216 Skills a n d Talents. .SVc Skills. 'Talents

Society Without

the Father (Milscher-

lich). 11:567. 571 Sociology, I: 215-216, 222-223. A : 114. 254. I I : 544. 8 2 8 « . I l l : 327. 340. R: 232, 270. 277.

836

INDEX Η : 228. I V : 532, 549, 571

o f science. I I I . 327 Sociopathy, I : 488. I V : 577. See also Delinquency Socrates, I : 116. TV: 550. C : 147, 225»8

Sterba, Edith a n d Richard, I: 276-277 "Sticks a n d stones . . . ," I I : 712 Stimulant. I : 148 Stimulus barrier, I : 272. K : 190,270. A : 46. 47, 173 Stone, L e o , C : 107

Solitary confinement, K: 15

Strachey. James, C : 107

"Solitary resisters," C : 76

Stravinsky. Igor, I: 151-152, 167-168.

Solzhenitsyn. Α . . I I : 718 Somnabulism. K: 264 Sooth(ing), I : 245. A : 46, 51. I I : 846. I l l : 236. 272. C : 17. 20. 31, 65 Sophocles, I I I : 175. R: 288« Soul. I I : 6 8 6 » S o u n d , I : 140-141. 144. 15». See also Noise earliest ( e a r of, I : 143-144 infant threatened. I : 141-142,237

R: 288. H : 268 Stress. I: 108, 139,183, 197-198,227 reaction to, C : 2 I 8 « 0 Structural conflict. I : 224. 310. ,SVialso Conllict Structural defect, 1:481-483. See also Primary Defect Structuralization, A : 45, 282. See also Structure Building Structural model, I : 309-313. 361, 363-373.

374»,

384,

Space, cohesiveness in. A : 118

4 4 4 H - 4 4 5 » . A : 208. 111:319.

Space travel. H : 241

R: 22, 69. 74. 82. 98. I l l ,

Spartans.

H : 263-264

Spazierengehen, I : 109» "Special," A : 150. R: 200. 208. See also Perfection Speech, I : 243

112, 131, 135. 141, 145, 152, 209. 223. 303. H : 256. I V : 690, 696. C: 2 . 4 1 . 55, 95. See also Conflict; E g o Psychology Structural neurosis, I : 132, 163, 196,

affected. A : 67. 68. 97

199,

disorder of. I I : 6 5 ( ) » - 6 5 1 »

2 1 8 H - 2 1 9 » . 299, 369, 384,

mannerism, A : 68

4 0 7 , 4 4 3 , 4 9 2 . A : 4 , 6 , 18-24,

regression of. A : 67

31, 52, 8 6 - 8 9 . 9 4 - 9 5 ,

202.

215.

135.

Spenser, H e r b e r t , I : 136

554-556,559-560,882-883,

Sphincter control, I : 295

885. I l l : 127, 329. 222-227,

Sphincter moralitv, K: 104-105

381.

Spite, I I : 657

134-137, 142. 181-182. 183«,

Spitz, R.. I l l : 305. 307. I V : 701

223.226.238.243.256,257»,

"Split-off," H : 248. See also Horizon-

271-277. H : 230, 256. I V :

R:

207.

107,

Speer, A l b e r t . I I : 6 4 0 »

tal Split; Vertical Split

195,

217-219,

15,

246. I I :

31-33.

92,

495, 5 0 4 . 6 5 6 . 697. 719-722.

"Spoiled," K : 289. 295

C: 2 2 - 3 3 . 4 2 - 4 5 . 53-54. 68,

"Spoiling." R: 78. I V : 655-656

71,

Startle response, I : 139

106-107,

Stauffenberg von. I l l : 149

80. 9 1 . 98. 113,

101, 102,

159, 2 1 1 » 1 ,

216»3, 2 I 8 » 5 , 219»7. 220»8

Stealing, K : 2 9 5 - 2 9 6

aggression in. C : 137-138

Stephens, J., I I : 8 2 0 « - 8 2 1 »

analysis o f (six stages), C : 22-23

"Step forward," C : 185-190, 206-207

analyzability of, C : 10-12

837

INDEX

castration anxiety

in. A : 2 0 . C :

13-16, 22, 24-27

C:

224-240.

5,

10-12,

22-26

chronic resistance in. A : 9 4

self weakness in, C : 1 1

countertransference with. A : 2 6 6

separation, reaction to, A : 9 1 - 9 2

as creative solution. I l l : 1 2 7

stages in analysis, C : 2 2 - 2 3

curative process. A : 9 4 - 9 6 , 1 0 0 ,

termination,

143. 284.

1 9 6 . R: 3 1 - 3 3 . 1 3 4 ,

C:

348

clanger situations in. A : 2 0 - 2 1 drives in. I : 1 6 3 . C : 1 1 genesis of. A : 1 9 . R: 2 6 9 , 2 7 1 - 2 7 7 .

music a n d , I: 2 3 9 Structure, I: 2 1 9 , 2 2 5 , 3 7 0 - 3 7 1 , 4 7 8 , 481,

24-27

in genius, I : 2 7 3

4 9 2 . 4 9 8 . K:

160-161.

A: 6 6 - 6 7 . 7 3 , 1 1 0 - 1 1 1

grandiose self a n d . A : 1 4 3 - 1 4 4 , 156.

Structural point o f view, I : 3 6 0 , 363-373

yet "full life." R: 2 4 1 - 2 4 2 . 2 8 1 - 2 8 2 13-16,

A: 94,

15

as "transference p h e n o m e n o n , " I:

102, 1 0 6

c u r e of. H : 2 1 8

C:

I: 4 2 4 - 4 2 5 . R:

94».

defective, A : 4 6 , 1 1 0 - 1 1 1 . R: 2 - 4 , 89

204

idealization in. A : 5 4 - 5 5 ,

74-78

idealizing transference. A : 7 4 - 7 5 ,

defined. K: 9 5 . 1 6 0 - 1 6 1 different forms of, A : 1 9 « , 1 8 7 goal-setting, R: 1 9 5

77

microstructural changes. R: 3 2 - 3 3

maturational given, R: 2 0

mixed forms. I I : 6 2 5 - 6 2 8 . R: 2 2 5

pre-oedipal. A : 1 8 6 - 1 8 8

m o r e k n o w l e d g e needed about, C :

temporary, R: 3 9 tension-regulating. A : 6 6 - 6 7 . R:

11

narcissistic personality disorders, compared 74-78,

to. A : 1 8 - 2 4 ,

94-100,

207, 217,

275,280,282.291.297.11: 627.

882-883

nuclear self in, C : 1 0 , 4 3 oedipal stage in, C : 2 1 9 « 8 . .SVC also Oedipus Complex -oriented theory, I: 1 6 1 overstimulated child, R: 2 7 3 - 2 7 6 , 276«

11.89

"vulnerability o f new," A : 6 0 See also Compensatory Structure; Defensive Structure Structure (Psychic), I I I : 1 0 5 . I V : 456,691

Structure building, K: 7 5 , 9 3 - 1 0 4 , 109.124-125

S t r u c t u r e f o r m a t i o n ( b u i l d i n g ) , 1: K: 7 5 . 9 3 - 1 0 4 ,

433-434.506. 109,

124-125.

A:

projection in, A : 2 1 7

64-65,

reality in, I: 1 6 1

1 0 0 - 1 0 1 . 105, 108.

49-51,

72. 74. 79.

II:

82-83,

165-168,

resistances. A : 9 4 . I I : 5 5 9 - 5 6 0

186,

555,

557,

self-esteem in. A : 2 0 - 2 1

867. 869. 896. 902, 904,

928.

197, 287.

selfobjects in, R: 3 2

Ill:

selfobject failure and, I V : 5 6 5 - 5 6 6 ,

30-31.33-48,72,86-87.

self pathology vs. R : 1 3 5 - 1 3 7 ,

452.

712.

70-72.

224-240

psychological

123,

259-560. IV: 4 3 0 , 4 3 0 « , 442,

656,719-721

self

3 6 7 . R: 1 6 ,

349-350.

view of, R :

131,

C:

4, 16, 6 7 , 6 9 ,

77-78.

96.

98-109,

1 5 3 ,160, 1 6 9 - 1 7 0 , 1 7 2 ,

838

INDEX

206-207. See also T r a n s m u t -

615. 625. 632-634. 642. I l l : 216. R: 241. I V : 535

ing Internalization adult vs child. C : 71-73. 77-78, 101. 110

ol g r o u p , H : 229 thoughts of, I V : 400, 535

concretized in "acting out," R:

Sullivanian school. A : 281 Superego,

313-48

I : 168, 184, 229, 310,

failure a n d , C : 16

363-364,

in structural neurosis, A : 196-197.

433-434, 440-443.

366-307,

429, 442»,

4 4 5 » , 456.478-480.483-484.

R: 3 2 - 3 3 . C : 106-109 Student mental health center. K: 153

K: 4 1 - 4 2 . 78. 9 8 - 1 0 3 . 234,

Sluilies on Hysteria ( B r e u e r et al.). I I :

258. 288. A : x i v - x v , 28, 39, 4 1 - 4 2 , 50. 51. 60. 7 0 . 9 4 - 9 5 ,

527 Subjectivity. R: 29-30. See also Mys-

110-111, 140, 175. 181-182, 181»,

ticism

1 8 6 - 1 8 7 . 213. 232,

110.

298-299. I I : 584, 588, 647,

125-127, 130. 143. 160.235,

652. 655. 755, 802, 814-815,

257. 278. 283. 288. 311, 385,

837. I l l : 9 9 - 1 0 1 . 111. 135,

Sublimation,

I:

108-109.

K:

148, 165. 166. 169. 170. 197.

161-166. 234. A : 15. 08,

R: 41, 102. 112. 132. 101,

100-101.

209, 226-227. 232. 241. 243.

418.

420-421. 110.

493. 131.

136,

144-145, 248.257. 312-315.

I V : 5 1 8 » . 558. C : 1 4 - 1 5 . 4 1 ,

I I : 032. 705. 759, 808-811,

5 5 . 6 0 , 7 1 - 7 2 . 155,156,224»2

81 1H. 821-822.856.111:238,

anxiety regarding, C : 14

278, 296-297. 392. R: 9. 45,

a p p r o v i n g functions, I: 367. K:

78. 80. 98,

116,

128-129,

130, 261. H : 222. I V : 634, 649. C : 12. 32. 44. 2 1 9 » 0 artistic. A : 312-318. 11: 808-811,

103. A : 48. I I : 647 attacking e g o . R: 90 child's. I I : 6 5 1 » . 755 child's lie a n d . I : 4 3 3 - 4 3 4 . C :

8 1 3 » , 821-822 b r e a k d o w n of, I: 125. A : 315. I I : 821-822

K: 258. 267. 289. A : 110-111

technical error with. 1: 420-421 Sub specie aeteniilatis.

71-72 defect.

I : 455

Success. K: 240

e g o . conllict with mobilized. A : 78 ego-ideal a n d , I: 434, 440-443 e g o vs., I l l : 169

disappointment in. K: 240 drains self. K: 27

establishment of. A : 3 9 , 4 1 , 4 3 - 4 4 . I I I : 99-101

guilt over. K: 82

"gnvissriMiiigst," R: 102

Success, realistic. A : 149-151

h u m a n features of. A : 50

Suggestion. I: 200. 403, 414. 420. A :

idealized.

222-223.

R: 3 0 » . 2 8 3 » .

I: 433-434.

442-443.

433»,

459, 478. K:

304-305. I V : 093. C : 93. 97.

9 8 - 9 9 . A : 4 0 - 4 3 , 53-54,

102. 1 5 3 - 1 5 4 . 2 2 l » 3 . .SVr «/.v«

74, 7 0 - 7 7 , 7 9 , 8 4 . 9 6 . 105,

Compliance Suicide, I : 108, 119. 122. 128-129. K: 155. A : 65. 157. 181». II:

140,

175. 181-182, 213,

232, 298-299 idealized

parental

imago. A :

839

INDEX

2 9 8 - 2 9 9 . C : 71

262. I V : 571, 696, 702. 708.

identification with. I I I : 169

C : 4 7 , 5 2 , 188

insufficiently idealized, A : 4 8 - 4 9 , 55,

6 1 - 6 2 . 84,

110-111.

155. I I : 649

Sympathy. I l l : 311. R: 304. C : 158 S y m p t o m formation, H : 255 S y m p t o m ( s ) . K : 197, 237, 267

latency a n d . A : 4 4 - 4 5 . 4 8 - 4 9

acting out a n d , K: 2 6 2 - 2 7 1 . 287

lying a n d . A : 110-111

formation of. H : 255

o f messianic personality. I I : 8 2 8 «

hysterical. K: 262-263, 266-267

music a n d , I : 2 3 8 - 2 3 9

"see positive value," K: 168, 189

narcissism a n d , I: 429. A : 3 9 - 4 1 . I l l : 99

Syncretism, C: 190 Synthetic function. A : 53

narcissistic homeostasis. A : 181 nuclear p r o g r a m a n d , H : 265

T . M r . , I I I : 219-222

oedipal period a n d . K: 4 2 . 9 9 - 1 0 1

TabtKi. Η : 265

oedipal object a n d . A : 4 7 - 5 0

changes. Η : 265

omniscience of, I: 433-434

T a c t . I: 251. R: 7 2 , 9 2 . 2 5 9

"outside." K : 102

Tactile stimulation. A : 15, 117

parental influence o n . A : 43. 105.

T a d z i o . I: 114-119. 124-125,

C:

14-15

127,

128. I I : 822

patriarchal society a n d . R: 232 projection of. A : 7 5 - 7 8 . 121

perfection of, I: 115 T a l e n t ( s ) . I: 249, 4 7 2 » . A : 76. I I :

at p u b e r t y . K: 42, 252-253

801.111:344, 362. R: 4 0 , 4 1 ,

-resistance. A : 9 4 - 9 5

4 9 . 5 3 . 8 3 . 177-178,214-215,

severity of. A : 43. C:

14-15

284. I V : 443. 452. 634. 713.

s h a m e a n d . A : 181, 181»

C : 4 , 118. 168. See also Skills

shame-signals a n d . A : 181». I I : 655

l a s s o . I I : 910

structural conflict a n d . A : 110 unconscious aspect of. 1:218. 366. C : 60 "Superior withdrawal," C : 140

A: 7 Telepathy. I: 243 'Telescoped m e m o r y . K: 235—236

early latency. I l l : 170 I: 123.

T a u s k . V . . theories of. I: 2 5 9 - 2 6 1 . T e c h n o l o g y . I I : 715. 723-724

S u p e r m a n , 111:170 Superstition.

T a l m u d . I I : 655M-656M

130.

" T e l e s c o p i n g o f genetically analoI I : 593,

593»

g o u s experiences." 1: 507. A : 3 9 . 5 3 - 5 4 , 56. 5 8 - 5 9 .

compulsive personality and, I: 123

85.

147, 154. 248. 292-294. I l l :

protecting creativity, I: 130

200. R: 14. I V : 4 2 1 . 4 4 1 , 7 1 4 .

o f T h o m a s M a n n , ί: 123. 130

C: 6

Supervision. I I : 710-712

Temperature. K: 48, 59

role o f science. I I : 7 1 1 »

regulation of. K : 59. A : 127

Survival

T e m p e r tantrum. I : 370. R: 28

biological. H : 259 Swift. Johnathan.

Tension. I: 149. 1 5 6 . 2 1 2 - 2 1 3 . 2 1 5 , I: 2 7 5 » .

290,

293-300, 303 Symbiosis, I: 173. K: 67. A : 114. H :

217, 237. 244-247. 355. A : 38. 126-130. 154. 193 narcissistic. A : 234-238. 244. 248,

840

INDEX

narcissistic personality d i s o r d e r ,

263. 283. 323-324

R: 2. 4. 33-34, 131-139

regulation of, I: 3 4 1 H - 3 4 2 H

p r e d e t e r m i n e d . R: 4 8 - 4 9 , 53

tolerance for. A : 64. 71. 263 Tension arc. I I I : 246. 267. 269, 292, 295. 344, 362, 363, 385. 391. R:

133,

178.

180, 243.

H:

218. I V : 453, 4 5 4 . 4 5 8 , 6 6 2 , 713,

7 1 6 » . C : 4-5.

43,

99,

2 1 1 « 1 . See also Energie C o n tinuum; N u c l e a r P r o g r a m

p r e m a t u r e , C : 3-4, 6, 223/i8 as "pressure device," I: 4 1 6 » . R: 175-176 primary defect a n d . R: 4,

15-1(5,

20. 33 psychoeconomics

of,

I:

410,

412-415

Tension gradient. R: 133. 180. 183

readiness for, R: 17-19

Tension regulation, K: 265-266

a n d reconcretization o f selfobject

T e r m i n a t i o n . I: 159-160, 409-422. A:

167-168.

I I : 53(5-537.

726-727, 807. 855, 893. I l l : 220-221.

321.

R:

1-64,

131-139. 140, 174-176. 183, 246.

IV: 409-410.

414,

4 3 6 - 4 3 9 , 4 4 2 - 4 4 5 . 511. C : 79, 2 0 9 - 2 1 0 . 213/iS. 2I8//2, 2 2 3 » 8 . See also C u r e "acting out" a n d . I I : 72(5-727. R: 3:5-34

transference, R: 16, 33 a n d reexternalization o f c o m p e n satory structure, R: 33—48 regression d u r i n g , I: 410. A : 9 4 » . R: 15-1(5 serialization d u r i n g . A : 10 in structural neurosis. A : 94, 9 4 » . I I : 726-727. R: 2. 15-16, 32-33, 132-133.183» o f training analysis. I: 409-422. I I : 732. 8 0 3 - 8 0 4

adaptalional task. R: 280-281

t r a u m a r e g a r d i n g , I: 416//—417»

analvsand's judgment r e g a r d i n g ,

two forms in narcissistic personality disorder, R: 33-34

R: 1 9 - 2 0 , 1 3 8 analvsand's wish for. R: 17-20

two varieties of. R: 15-20, 33-34

assessment of, R: 17-20

as value j u d g m e n t . I : 416-417

creativity «fler, creativity

wish for m o r e analysis a n d . I:

C : 218//3

during,

1: 3 1 2 .

A:

159-1(50

318-324. I I : 727-728,807.

Thalasxa (Eerenczi). 1: 173, 182

R: 37/1-38»

T h a n a t o s , I: 177-179, 181, 183.227.

criteria for. R: 4, 19-20. 53, 54, 134. 138-139, 183 d r e a m s a n d . R: 138 early phase of,

I: 4 2 0 - 4 2 1 . I V :

436-437 epigenetic sequence, R: 35. 37 ilight into health a n d . R: 2. 183 forced. I: 416«—417// "good." I I : 855 identification

a n d , A : 167-1(58,

238 incomplete, R: 183. 183// m o u r n i n g a n d . I I : 726-727

I l l : 9 1 . 9 8 » . 21(5. I V : 553. 559, 683. C : 148 Thayer, Α . , I: 277 Theater. A : 2 1 0 - 2 1 2 Theory. K: 3-4. I I : 891-892. R: (58. 77».

8 5 » . 93,

240-245. C:

1 12.

175-176.

209, See

also Experience-distant: Experience-near: Metapsychology; Psychoanalysis (Theory); Science always hypothetical, K: 3 choice by opposition. I I I : 93

841

INDEX

e x a g g e r a t e d in psychoanalysis. I I : 928

'Toilet

as "only" poetry, I I : 907

training,

I:

140.

406.

K:

104-108

necessary to observation. K: 3

Tolstoy, L . , I I : 515. 641//, 761-762

playfulness of. R: 206-207

H : 264

Death of Ivan llirh,

T h e r a p e u t i c alliance. K: 80. 199. A :

War and Peace. I V : 647 I: 121

3 0 - 3 1 , 89. 8 9 « , 95. 200-209,

Tonio Kröger,

292

"'fool a n d method pride (snobbishness)," 11:677.690-691,714,

T h e r a p e u t i c community, A : 223 T h i n k i n g . I: 213. 217. A : 158. 228.

self-fulfilling,

II:

T h o r e a u . H e n r y , K: 289 196//. R: 13-14,59.59//-60//, B o r d e r l i n e ; Delusion:

Psy-

chosis; Schizophrenia Thought experiment, H I : 8 9 - 9 0 , 9 4 ,

550,

696-698,

model,

I:

Thought-experimentation,

344»,

346-347,360-361,363.374//. 04, 95 Totalitarianism. I I : 593, 681.

I: 377.

I I : 745-746,

749//-750//, 754. C : 198 'Thought-transference, 1: 453 " T h r e e Blind Mice," I: 189 T i c ( s ) . K: 264, 273

714,

753, 915. 111:276. Η : 247 antipsvchological

attitude in. I I :

593 o f the future. I I : 7 6 0 » 'Traditional psychoanalysis,

100. 2 7 2 . 3 1 2

See

Ego

also

C : 81.

Psychology;

F r e u d , S. "crucial experiences" ignored, C : 22. 221 » 5 guilt-producing ambience. I l l : 287. I V : 555

T i m e . A : 118

incomplete, C : 75

axis o f self. A : 129. 130 F r e u d i a n . I V : 453-454, 480. 593 Proustian, I V : 453-454, 480 in self psychology,

IV:

R: 68. 131. 135. 303. C : 55,

I I I : 194-202,

149-149. C : 212//2. See also

129.

654-655,

'Topographic

Third Reich. C : 140. See also Nazi(s)

K: 69.

234.

700-704

regressed. A : 67 as trial-action, I I : 543

disorder,

221,

value system, I V : 521-522, 555.

544

Thought

H:

two shortcomings of, I V : 698-702

enacted. See A c t i o n - T h o u g h t intrinsically

773.

6 4 8 - 6 4 9 . C : 104, 167.225//9

See also Cognition as

" T o be o r not to be," C: 142

I V : 453-454,

480, 593-594 Time axis. K : 43. H : 220. 234-237 continuity o f self in, H : 216-217, 234, 236 e g o psychology vs self psychology, H : 215-216

"maturation

morality." H I : 308.

IV:416 moral system in disguise, I V : 698, 7 0 0 - 7 0 1 . C : 208 reserved ambience in, C : 149, 170 resistances to,

I I : 511-512. C:

55-58 self psychology

c o m p a r e d with,

I I I : 236-237,

278-287,

291-292, 300-310.

361,

f r a g m e n t e d , H : 217

3 8 9 - 3 9 2 . 391/1-392». I V :

pathology of, H : 220

4 7 7 - 4 8 0 . 555-559.

'Time-bound ideas, C : 58-61

593

592-

842

INDEX

lime,

a p p r o a c h to. I l l : 237,

termination

389-390, 3 9 2 » two shortcomings of, I V : 098-702 value system of. I l l : 308.321-324, 352.

I V : 521-522.

555.

654-655.

550,

696-698,

700-704 Tragedy.

I l l : 158,

of,

I: 409-422. I I :

732. 803 trauma in. I : 1 6 0 . 4 1 8 . 1 1 : 5 4 9 Training

analyst,

I I : 549,

803,

853-859. C : 169-170 selection of. I I : 8 5 4 - 8 5 9 traumatizing. I : 160. 418. I I : 549

166-170. 237,

390. I V : 561

Trance, I : 453. See also Hypnosis Transactional a p p r o a c h . I: 429. .SVc

Freud's view of. I l l : 166

also Interpersonal

function of. I l l : 168-176

Transference.

T r a g i c art. I l l : 166-170, 239-240, 391

I: 159-165.

197,

2 1 7 - 2 2 1 . 225, 260, 267-268, 275,281.313.347-351.348».

o f antigaity. I l l : 171, 174-175

356.

function of, I I I : 168-170

416»-417»,

"great," I I I : 169. 240

423-425.477-479.481-482.

m o d e r n . I l l : 171-172. 175 Tragic hero(s). I I I : 168-175.

368-369.

372, 420.

415, 421,

492. 495, 499-506. K: 235. 179,

180. 2 0 6 . 2 1 2 , 2 1 7 . 2 4 4

257. A : 18, 2 8 - 3 0 . 123. 248. 316-324. I I : 555, 557. 879.

Dosloevsky's. I l l : 170-171

895.

morality of. I l l : 170

226-227, 234. 293. 290. 391.

"Tragic M a n . " I I : 7 5 5 . 7 5 7 . 7 5 8 - 7 6 1 , 936.

I l l : 165. 206. 2 1 3 » .

Ill:

150,

192.

204.

R: 8. 17. 18. 22. 52. 0 0 - 0 2 . 70. 114. 115. 149. 160. 173.

2 1 2 - 2 1 7 , 2 1 8 . 242, 279-280,

173».

283.

253. 259. 260. 262. 278, 308.

286.

287.

3 9 1 . K:

132-133. 133». 206-207.224, 238-239, 243. H : 221. I V : 521.555.592. C: 45.207-208 classical psychology a n d . R: 206, 238. 239 death

of.

Ill:

215.

399-403.

219.

226.

428.

434-435.

IV:

4 6 1 - 4 0 2 . 4 7 0 . 484. 491-492. 4 9 4 - 4 9 0 . 514. 549. 5 9 3 . 0 3 6 . 696. 7 0 3 - 7 0 4 . 7 0 7 . 7 1 7 . 726.

180-181,

213.

215-217

728. 729. C : 4, 2 6 , 4 5 , 5 1 , 0 5 . 67. 97. 102. 110. 119-122.

guiltv m a n vs. R: 132. 206-207, 224. 238-239, 243 societal need for. I l l : 167 Training analysis, I : 160, 3 2 5 « - 3 2 6 « , 3 2 7 - 3 2 8 . 3 9 6 . 4 5 3 . 4 6 2 . 467. A:

H:

178. 195. 217. 225.

166-167. 304. 318-320.

I I : 5 9 6 - 5 9 9 . 731-733. 797, 8 0 3 - 8 0 4 . 859. C : 161-170

124.

138.

139.

142,

153,

159-160. 170, 186, 194. 208, 2I0»3.

2I8»4.

2 2 3 » 12.

2 2 7 » 10. See also Selfobject Transference acting out of. I l l : 184 analyzahility

a n d . A : 13-14. R:

193. C : 4 - 6

creativity d u e to, C : 168-169

"area of," I: 368-369, 371. A : 208

incomplete. I l l : 104. 2 9 0 « . 3 4 1 -

artifacts. A : 89

3 4 4 . C : 164,

165-167,

209-210 self-analvtic function a n d , C : 103

as "bondage." I : 496. A : 31, 164. I I : 807 in broad sense, I: 163. I V : 461—162,

843

INDEX

4 8 - 4 9 , 53. 178. 214-217.

494-495, 593 a b u f f e r , I: 491. A : 123. 191. 251 childhood experience, revival of, A : 52. 190. 219-220, 225. R: 173«. C : 2 2 - 2 3 , 159 childhood memories a n d . I V : 433

I V : 414. C : 6 - 7 "positive." A : 55, 77. 89. 205-208 a n d projective-inliqjective

mech-

anisms, A : 205 "reality." A : 211-212. I V : 418-419, 496-499. C : 25. 174

childhood m e m o r y vs, C: 159 "clicking into place." C : 178

regression a n d . A : 1 3 , 4 6 - 4 7

collateral. I V : 444-445

-repetition. I : 162, 220, 310«-31 I H .

compensatory structures a n d . R: 13. 14. 16-18, 33-48. C : 44

648.

I l l : 369. I V :

-resistance, 1: 162.164-165. A : 84,

concept of. A : 2 3 - 2 5 .

203-204,

206, 2 4 2 - 2 4 6 ,

248-249,

264. R: 173«

self-cure attempt, R:

185-191. C : 6 - 8

in delinquents. A : 161-164

sexualized, A : 10. R: 2 1 7 « - 2 1 8 « ,

development, o r d e r reversed. A : 2 5 7 - 2 5 8 . C : 22. 23

272-273 shift f r o m past to hcre-and-now,

diagnostic tool. I : 162-165. A : 23. I I : 879-880

C: 159 "spontaneous," I V : 713-714

"direct continuation o f earlv reality." I : 218-219. A : 190 "distortion," I V : 418-419. C : 26, 108. 174. 176. 182. 2 2 5 « 4 d r e a m s a n d . I : 268-269. A : 4-5.

s u p e r e g o a n d . A : 77-78 transitional p e r i o d , C : 68 Transference

of

316-317.

creativity. II:

A:

807-808,

814-815, 8 1 8 « . 819-820, 822-825. I l l : 131-132. 324.

R: 2 2 0 «

R: 4 6 « . H : 219. I V : 573,

enactment. R: 3:4-48. C : 20 to e x p e r i e n c e .

87, 291. 11:560 resistance to. A : 2 9 « o f second

-cure. I V : 423. 472

enactment

II:

414-415. C : 2 2 5 « 2 , 2 2 5 « 4

Ill:

347-348 Freud'sdefinition. I: 163.219-220, 347-348. A : 24, 242-243. R: 173«. C : 51

6 2 1 - 6 2 2 . 6 5 0 . C : 201 T r a n s f e r e n c e neuroses. .SVc Structural Neurosis Transience, I: 4 5 4 - 4 5 7 , 4 5 9 . A : 327. R: 182. I V : 470

"here a n d now." C : 67, 159

Transitional object. A : 3 3 « . 124. 275

id a n d . I: 163

Transitional p h e n o m e n a . C: 155

"inner experience," I V : 729

Transmuting internalization, I : 272,

in "narrow sense," I : 164-165

311, 358, 498-499. A : 2 8 « ,

negative. A : 319. R: 114. 115

48, 4 9 - 5 0 , 6 2 . 6 4 - 6 5 , 74. 79,

as "new edition," R: 173«

82-83,

nonliuinait quality, R." 160

165-168, 186. 229. 267. I I :

oedipal, C : 5, 67, 153

7 9 7 « . 928. 111:214.247.334.

100-101.

105. 108,

"past into present," C : 159

366-367. R: xiii. 4. 15. 16,

pathognomonic. A : 13. 86. 8 9 - 9 1 ,

3 0 - 3 2 , 48. 83. 8 5 - 8 8 . 123,

I I : 554 p r e d e t e r m i n e d . A : 164-165. R:

134. 173«, 1 8 8 « . 217. 218, 263. 270. H : 238. I V : 442.

844

INDEX

504. 513. 566. 689. 712. C : 4. 20. 30.

70. 71, 96.

o f overstimulation, I: 126,358.See

99,

also T r a u m a t i c State

100-103, 109. 154-155. 169,

parental response a n d , K: 247-248

206,

preoedipal, A : 47, 55

214ιι3, 217«1.

223«8.

.SVc also Optimal Frustration childhood vs analytic, C : 71

p r o l o n g e d severe, K: 15 sexual, R: 188-189

"depersonalizing," A : 5 0 - 5 1 .

C:

160

specific. A : 52 termination a n d , I: 4 1 6 » - 4 1 7 »

"foreign-protein" analogy. A : 49. I l l : 367. H : 23s! C : 100,

in therapy, K: 9 1 - 9 2 . 193 Traumatic neurosis, I : 139. 142,236.

160

R: 109

in structural neurosis. R: 30, 32-33

Traumatic state, I: 236, 509. K: 195,

three factors in. A : 4 9 - 5 0

270-271.

A:

110,

227,

Transsexual. I I : 7 8 4 » - 7 8 5 »

229-238, 278, 306. 321. I I :

T r a u m a , I: 139, 272-274. 356-358,

744, 932. R: 106-110.

119,

361.362,364,369.413,433»,

162-163. 162». I V : 439-440,

440.478.480-481.490.499,

518. C : 85. .SVc also Oversti-

500. 503.

K: 5, 49. 52. 57,

mulation;

103, 2 1 8 . 2 3 4 - 2 3 5 , 2 4 6 - 2 4 8 .

Imbalance

A : 11, 1 4 - 1 5 . 2 8 , 4 4 - 4 6 , 5 2 , 70,

79, 85,

137,

correct

277-281,

Psychoeconomic

interpretation

and, A :

232-235

289. I I : 555. 810. I l l : 111,

early in analysis. A : 230

151, 332. R: 25. 27. 88, 122,

e r r o n e o u s self-interpretation

126.

190,

260.

272.

IV:

722-724. C : 42, 43. 81. 83,

faux pas a n d , A : 230-232

101. 102. 107, 178. 181.203,

Hamlet's. A : 235-237. I l l : 173

204, 2 1 6 » 4 , 2 1 9 » 7 . 2 2 0 « 11

irascibility a n d . R: 161-163

in adolescence, K: 257-258

late in analysis, A : 232-235

anal-, I : 405-407

technique

with,

A:

o f birth, R: 101. C : 46

Treitschke, von, C : 40

complementary series a n d . A : 52

Trial.

developmental

phases a n d . A :

47-56 in earlv latency, I: 405-407 effect of, A : 43, 82 errors r e g a r d i n g , C: 6

231-232,

237-238

beating fantasy a n d , I: 263-264

creativity a n d , H : 259

of,

R: 106

The ( K a f k a ) , I I : 680. 681, 718. R: 287

T r i e b , I: 180 Tripartite

model.

.SVc S t r u c t u r a l

Model "Tristan and Isolde." ( W a g n e r ) . I: 155, 158

events, A : 65, 79-80, 82

Tristram Slumdy (Sterne). I V : 538-540

in latency, I: 405-406. A : 4:4-45,

T r i u m p h o f the will, H : 246

55 no m e m o r y of, A : 61. R: 2 4 - 2 9 "narcissistic," I: 478. A : 28. 66-67 nuclear self, development o f and, I I I : 151. I V : 722-724

"True believer. A : 106». See also Fanatic T r u s t , K: 65 distrust vs, K : 65 relativity of, I: 171-173

845

INDEX

" T r u t h a n d reality morality." I I : 676,

-defenses, I: 3 4 9 « , 363-365 defined, I I I : 135«

924. C : 54 T w i n , fantasy of, A : 115, 2 4 9 « . C:

motivation, K: 260-264 not only motivation. I l l : 116

196 T w i n s h i p experience, K: 66, 67, 70, 72.111:240. 307.379. R: 13.

as narcissistic injury, C : 5 4 - 5 5 "never a complete

rience

repressed, I : 220-221. 272, 282,

Twinship transference, I : 489, 491. A:

10. 114, 115.

122-125,

102. 175. 189. 191-192. 194, 204.

explanation,"

I I : 522

181. See also A l t e r e g o E x p e -

243,

250-252.

257,

356. 4 6 9 « timeless(?). I V : 705-706 U n d e r s t a n d i n g (Phase). I : 142. 488. K: 38, 39, 74. 189. 197-199.

270-273. R: 44. C : 193-199,

A:

206. See also A l t e r e g o T r a n s -

528-529, 6 8 4 , 6 9 5 , 702, 705,

ference

718.111:98, 271. R: 8 8 , 2 5 7 .

3 0 0 - 3 0 1 . I I : 522. 524,

creativity a n d . I I : 8 1 8 « - 8 1 9 « , 825

I V : 479, 658. C : 26, 37. 74,

"'Two chances" ( f o r health). K: 83.

7 8 . 9 4 - 9 5 , 9 8 . 102-106, 174, 176-177, 182-184. 186. 208,

,S>/' Second C h a n c e 'Two-step principle. See Basic T h e r -

209, 2 2 2 « 6 . See also Empathy; Basic T h e r a p e u t i c Unit

apeutic Unit T y p o l o g y , C : 202

analyst can't avoid errors, C : 69

T y p o l o g y , role of, I I I : 375-376

curative(?). C : 103-105 "long periods o f only . . . , " R: 88. C : 26, 105, 177

U . M r . . R: 24. 5 5 - 5 8 . 79. 189«. C :

optimal frustration a n d , K: 198

17-18 Unconscious. I : 160. 168, 169. 188,

"silent listener." C : 177

206, 2 0 8 , 2 1 7 . 2 2 5 , 240, 256,

three step sequence of, C: 103-104

264, 280, 283, 298, 309-318,

U n d e r s t a n d i n g - e x p l a i n i n g unit. 111:

342-346,348-353,356-357,

330. I V : 4 7 9 , 5 1 2 , 591

359, 360, 365. 3 8 1 - 3 8 5 . 4 2 1 ,

Understimulated self, I I I : 370-371

453, 501. K: 76. A : 54, 78,

Understimulation. R : 271-275. 277,

157, 244-245. 274. 289. I I :

286. C : 11, 2 1 2 « 3 . See also

5 2 1 - 5 2 2 , 730. I l l : 106, 116, 133,

184. R: 31, 3 6 « , 109,

135-137,

163,

184,

209,

210-211,217,218,251,252, 261, 265, 279. H : 235. 250. IV:

408,

694-697,

4 6 1 , 494,

690,

705. C : 4 5 . 50,

5 4 - 5 6 , 6 0 , 102, 111-113. 141, 145, 197 "an abscess," I V : 694-695. 699, 706. C : 112

Depiction U n d o i n g . I : 364. A : 231 U n i t e d States, I I I : 123 University academic freedom of, I V : 616-619 birth of, I I : 714 as center o f empathic social experiments, I I : 716-721 future function of, I I : 716 increasingly less relevant, I I : 716, 722-723, 724

analytic hypnosis a n d , H : 216

psychoanalysis a n d , I I : 685-724

as a continua. I : 384

values of, I I : 708

846

INDEX

h u m o r a n d . A : 324—325

" U n p l e a s u r e . " I : 244. 272 Unreality, feelings of. A : 6 8 - 6 9

idealized. A : 42. 105

U r e t h r a l character, K : 303

"knowledge," C : 147

Urination

need for. A : 71

as p e r f o r m a n c e . Κ: 141-142. 147

"outside." Κ : 1

pride in, K: 35. 141

"peak," H : 262

U p r i g h t posture. R: 1 1 2 » - 1 1 3 »

regression of, I I : 672-673

U t o p i a . I I : 5 4 2 . 6 1 9 . I l l : 125

religious, H : 261 sarcasm a n d lack of, 1: 459 science as, H : 2 2 0 - 2 2 1 ,

V . Miss, R: 5 8 - 6 2 . 220-222

247,

260-261

Vacation therapists. K: 92. A : 93-94. 9 5 » V a l u e j u d g m e n t . K: 4. 36, 41. 65. 1:

scientific, I I I : 274 self vs society. I I I : 274

427. A : 222. I V : 715. C: 7.

o f s u p e r e g o , I : 434, 480

58,211»1

o f traditional psychoanalysis. I I I :

circular, I V : 7 1 6 » . C : 7. 2 1 1 » 1 narcissism, against, K: 4 - 1 7

321-324! I V : 521-522 two fates of, I I : 675

Values, I : 184, 282. 359. 389. 392,

V a n G o g h . Vincent. C : 2 1 2 » 2

416-417,440, 454,458,464.

V e c t o r theory, R: 69

480. 484. A : 42. 6 1 - 6 3 , 72.

Vegetative disturbance. I: 215. A : 23

78. 105. 162-163, 165, 181,

Vendetta. I I : 657. I l l : 105. 117

184.

Verbalization. I : 188-189. 240-242.

324-325.

I I : 512,

672-676, 708. I l l : 120. 133, 237. 321-322. R: 64.

198,

202. 207. H : 221. 261-262, 265. I V : 5 7 3 . 7 1 5 . C : 58-59. 77,

147-148.

167. 2 1 7 » 3 ,

221 » 4 . 2 2 4 « 2 . See also Ideals adolescence a n d , K: 257 changeable, K: 103. I l l : 267. H : 235,

241. 262. 265. I V :

522

Vertical split, I: 4 1 6 » . A : 7 9 » , 83, 108,

123.

144.

147.

151,

176-186, 191, 198.240-242. I I : 555, 558-559. 629. 6 4 8 » , 878-879.

Ill:

175-176.

205.

377.

R:

207-209,

2 1 0 - 2 1 1 , 2 1 1 » . I V : 440-441. G: 60. 66, 71. .SY