The Search for the Self, Volume 3: Selected Writings of Heinz Kohut: 1978-1981

Citation preview

THE SEARCH FOR THE SELF volume

3

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

3

Edited by

Paul H. Ornstein

First published by International Universities Press in 1990 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: 978-1-85575-879-7 www.karnacbooks.com

Contents VOLUME 3 Preface

vii

Introduction: T h e Unfolding and Coml>letion of Heinz Kohut's Paradigm of Psychoanalysis 1. Introspection and Empathy: Further 'I'houghts About Their Role in Psychoanalysis (1 968) 2. O n Leadership (1969-70) 3. O n Courage (early 1970s) 4. From the Analysis of Mr. R. (early 1970s) 5. Originality and Repetition in Science (1975) 6. Reflections on the Occasion of Jean Piaget's Eightieth Birthday (1976) 7. Self' Psychology and the Sciences of Man (1978) 8. Reflections on A ~ Z ~ ( L ~1nC Srlf P . F P.\yrl~olo,qy (1978 [ 19801) 9. T h e Disorders of the Self and 'l'heir -Treatment: An Outline (Kohut and Wolf, 1978) 10. Introductory Remarks t o the Panel on "Self Psychology and the Sciences of Man" (1978)

VOLUME

4

1 1. 'The 71'wo Allalyses of Mr. Z.(1979) 12. Four Basic Concepts in Self Psychology (197C)) 13. Kemarks on Receiving the William A . Schonfeld Distinguished Service Award (1979 [1980])

vi

CONTENTS

14. Remarks on the Panel on "The Bipolar Self" (1979 [198lI) 15. Greetings ( 1 980 [l983]) 16. Selected Problenis in Self Psychological 'l'heory (1980 [1983]) 17. O n Empathy (1981) 18. Introspection, Empathy, and the Semicircle of' Mental Health (1981 [1982]) 19. Letters 1978 20. Letters 1979 2 1. Letters 1980 22. Letters 1981 References Index to the Complete Works of' Heinz Kohut prepared by Douglas Detrick, Ph.D.

Preface

Volurnes 1 and 2 of The Search for the Self encompass Heinz Kohut's selected writings and letters from 1950 to 1978. Volumes 3 and 4 continue with the further collection of his selected writings and letters (published as well as previously unpublished) from 1978 until his untimely death in 1981. 'Two previously written essays (1968, 1975) were withheld from publication at the time of' the earlier collection, and it required the passage of time to persuade Heinz Kohut to release them for these additional volumes. Three other essays (1969-70; early 1970s; 1978), at that time still unfinished and originally meant for a larger monograph, are also included here. (These have since then been edited with an introduction by Charles B. Strozier under the title: Self P.?ycllology and the Humanztzes: Reflectzons on a New P y choanulytic Approach, published by W . W. Norton & Company, New York, London, and lifted out of that collection with permission.) One other, brief reflection on Piaget was omitted from the previous collection and is included here (Kohut, 1976). Volume 4 contains an Index to all of Heinz Kohut's published works, prepared with great skill and devotion by Douglas Detrick, Ph.D. This new collection could and should have been in print for some time. It was originally conceived while Heinz Kohut was still alive arid at work with undiminished vigor and creativity. This was to be another interim collection, with the expectation

...

Vlll

PREFACE

that a great deal Inore was to come. I n part, this undue delay in publication was occasioried by my at first irresistible desire after Heinz Kohut's death to introduce this new collection with a comprehensive retrospective survey and appraisal of'the entire corpus of his writings and not sirnply with a continuation of the "guided tour" offered as an introduction to the first two volumes. 'The completion of such a task-I soon realized-would have further delayed publication. And now, nearly a decade after his death, such a task demands a separate and monograph-length treatment. 111 fact, gauged by the responses to the earlier volurnes, a guided tour through these additional writings still appears to be an appropriate way to introduce them. For me it is also a proper prelude to a subsequent survey and critical assessment of self' psychology, the scientific legacy of Heiriz Kohut, frorn a current perspective. I am deeply indebted to Mrs. Elizabeth Kohut filr her inexhaustible patience and the invaluable help she offered in many different ways in the selection and preparation of papers fbr these new volunies.

Introduction The Unfolding and Completion of Heinr Kohut's Paradigm of Psychoanalysis

Paul H . Ornstein

A worshipful attitude toward established explanatory systems-toward the polished accuracy of their definitions ancl the flawless consistency of'their theories-becomes confining in the history of science-as do, indeed, man's analogous commitments in all human history. Ideuls are guidrs, ?lot god.\. Kohut (1977, p. 3 12, italics aclcled) For those who have followed the evolution of Heinz Kohut's work from its inception, even a preliminary survey of the landscape of his writings from 1978 through 1981-a niere four years and some of it under tlie shadow of death-reveals the magnitude of'the continuing unfolding and the further clinicaltheol-etical expansion of his recently proposed paradigrn of' self' psychology. Those of us who witnessed his post-Restoration years at close range were impressed with the fact that he entered this new phase of his work with a lot more to say than what he had energy and time to write about; that his rnind was still continually active, his immersion in his clinical work ancl his pen-

2

PAUL H.ORNSTEIN

chant for theorizing undiminished, his creativity and his courage to use it unabated. He could not keep u p fast enough with the many ideas his clinical experiences, his readings, his cor-respelldence, and his interchanges with his friends and colleagues still generated. He would often say to me, in the midst of' physical pain: "But I still have ideas! As long as I can think and have ideas, it's worth it" to live. He lived according to his often expressed conviction that psychoanalysis had barely scratched the surface of what was still to be discovered in depth psychology and he had invested all of his remaining energies in this endeavor to the very last moment of his life.

I shall resume my "guided tour" through the works of Kohut's "fourth period" (1978-XI)exactly where it hat1 been interrupted, at the end of the "third period" (1966-77). Kohut had just puhlished The Restoration of the Self(1977) in which he moveti from a self psychology in the narrower sense (in which the self was conceived as the content of the mind, a set of self representations o r imagoes within each of its agencies) to a self psychology in the broader sense (in which the self' was a supraordinate, bipolar configuration, conceived as being at the center of the psychological universe).' In this work Kohut presented the outlines and many of the essential details of' his new paradigm of the psychology of the self in the broader sense, and explicated once again his epistemology and his niethod as its underpinnings. H e focused his attention on demonstrating the clinical necessity of 'At this point Kohut still rnair~tainetlthe con~plementaryrelation of the two theories. Many of his critics had taken him to task For this, coriveniently ti~rgettir~g that after the first paradigm change in psychoanalysis (horn id psychology to ego psychology--or from the topographic- theory to the strucu~raltlleory) analysts retained the two paradigms side by side for quite some time, relinquishing thc fi~rmeronly gratlually, as the latter expanded and became more consolidatetl. I t was Kol~ut,the clinically pragmatic theorist-not the arm-chair theorist-who proposed the complementarity of the two theories, until conrpclling clinic;~l findings would necessitate hu-ther revisions.

INTRODUCTION

3

the introduction of his second psychology of the self, with the bipolar self as its centerpiece.' Kohut clearly stated that a lot more of the clinical and theoretical details were to be filled in subsequently and the explanatory as well as the therapeutic power of the new paradigm was to be further tested in the crucible of his own ongoing clinical experience as well as in those of his co-workers and the wider group of practicing analysts and other mental health professionals. H e himself progressed in that direction during his remaining years, and it is this progress which is at the center of' the present exploration. The Re.~torationof thu Self(1977), with the preceding "Remarks about the Formation of the Self" (1974), constituted the fifth contribution at a series of remarkable nodal points in Kohut's work (Diagrams 3 and 4). This work is the new foundation of what is elaborated in Kohut's "fourth and final period" (Diagram 4). T h e three lines of thought Kohut pursued from 1950 to 1959 (applied analysis; the psychoeconomic point of view; method, clinical theory, and metapsychology) culminated at the first nodal point in his epoch-making essay on "Introspection, Empathy, and Psychoanalysis: An Examination of the Relation between Mode of Observation and ?'heoryW(1959, Diagram 1). It ~0111pleted the "first period" of his work and immediately opened the "second period," in that it enhanced the formulation of his ideas regarding applied analysis in "Beyond the Bounds of the Basic Rule" (1960), the essay at the second nodal point; as well as his grand synthesis of' psychoanalytic theories in "C:oncepts a11d Theories of Psychoanalysis" (with Seitz, 1963), at the third nodal point (Diagram 2). From here on smaller works lead to the completion of this "second period" and to the opening u p of the decisive and revolutionary "third period," which begins with the work on narcissism ("Forms and Transformations of ' I t is not my intention t o describe extensively these innovations here, since I have already highlighted them at the end of the f i r s t tour (see vol. I , pp. 99106).

(Diagram 1)

Book Review: The Anow and the Lyre (1955) 1957

Book Review: Beethovenand his Nephew (1954) 1955

Book Review: The Haunting Melody (1953) 1955

Book Rev~ew: Psychoanalyse de la Musique (1951) 1952

'\

i

I I I I I I I I I I I I I I

t

I

I I

I

\ \

INTROSPECTION, EMPATHY AND PSYCHOA (1957) 1959

'\

F i r s Nodal Point

1

Childhood Experiences and Creallve Imagination 1959

A Note on Beallng Fantasies 1957

llptpn

The Function of the Analyst In the Therapeutic Process 1951

S E C O N D LINE O F THOUGHT THE PSYCHOECONOMIC POINT OF VIEW

Observat!ons on the Psycholog~cal Funcltons of Music 1957

On the Enjoyment of Listening to Music 1950

Death in Venice (1950) 1957

FIRST L l N E O F THOUGHT APPLIED PSYCHOANALYSIS

The First Period (1950-1959) Emerging Synthesis and the Thrust Towards A Method

0 ' 0 0

0' 0

I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I

I

An Unusual Oral Symplon Complex 1959

&&Adkam Looking Over the Shoulder 1958 Se~denberg

!&I Some Comments on the Origin of the Influencing Machine 1957

The Role of the Counterphob~cMechanism in Addiction 1956

Srasz

Gauett

Modern Casework 1956

Egraphical Screen 1954

of Physicians II tion 1953

I I Natural Science and I Humanism in the Educa-

THIRD LINE O F THOUGHT METHOD. CLINICAL THEORY AND METAPSYCHOLOGY

I

'

(Diagram 2)

The Analys~sof Charactel 1966

SLfLkd

Autonomy and Integration: Outgoing President's Address 1965

Values and Objectives: lnmming President's Address 1964

Symposium on Fantasy: Some Problems of a Metapsychological Formulation of FantaSy. Concluding Remarks by Chairman. 1963

Some Aspens of the Relation Between Neurotic Pathology in Childhood and

.mud

Some Additional 'Day Res~dues'of "The Speciman Dream of Psychoanalysis.' 1966

Schur

The Terminationof Training Analysis: A Comparison of Viewpoints 1964

Phyllis Greenacre--A Tribute 1964

Symposium on Fantasy: lntroduciory Remarks by Chairman 1963

The Psychoanalytic Curriculum 1962

btes

OF PSYCHOANALYSIS

Third Nodal Point

The Unmnsdous Fantasy

--------------- -- ------------

The Second Period (14601966) AdvanceSinClinical,Theoreticaland Applied Psychoanalysis

Nlederland

0

Further Data and Documents in the Schreber case 1960

THE OF THE BASIC RULE

Second Nodal Point

CTION. EMPATHY AND PSYCHOANALYSIS

First Nodal Point

Psychoanalysis in

1973

(Diagram 3)

The Future of Psychoanalysis 1973

The Psychoanalyst i n the Community of Scholars 1973

1. Forms and Transformations of Narcissism (1966) 2. The Psychoanalytic Treatment of Narcissistic Personality Disorders, Outline of A Systematic Approach. 3. The Analysis of The Self (1971) 4. Thoughts on Narcissism and Narcissistic Rage

Discussions01 Drs. E.S. Wolf. J.E. Gedo, and D.M. Tenan's Paper 'On The Adolescam Process (1972)

Creativeness. Charisma, G r w p Psychology. Reflections on Freud's Self-Analysis 1973

1 as a Transformationof hSelf.'

1

The Self: A Contributionlo its Place in Theory and Technique 1970

Scientific Activities of the American Psychoanalytic Association: An inquiry 1969

4

The Restoration Of The Self

Prelace to J.V. Scheidt's Monograph: QU Letter to the AMor ~n:Lehriahre by Tilmann Moser. Suhhamp. Frankfurt 1974 Fifth Nodal Point

mDer 7 -

a Troubled World

A Note on Female Sexuality 1975

1970

as a Driving Force in Psychoanalysis

Narassismas a Res~stanoeand

Peace Prize. 1969: Laudation (Alexander M i e r l ~ c h ) 1969

The Evaluation of Appl~cants Psychoanalyiic.Train~ng 1968

Fourth Nodal Point

I

The Third Period (1966-1977) Breakthrough on Narcissism-TheOpening ot New Vistas

t

The Restoration Of The Self 1977

Fifth Nodal Point

\

I

(Diagram 4)

Four Basic Concepts In Self Psychology (1979)

I

I

1979 (1981)

1981 (1984)

How Does Analysis Cure?

Slxth Nodal Point

1981 (1984)

1

introspection, Empathy and The Semi-Cirde of Mental Health

1981

Selected Problems in Self Psychology Theory 1980 (1983) On Empathy (Berkeley)

Remarks on Receivingthe W.A. SchonfeldAward 1979 (1980)

I

in Self Psychology (1978)

Remarks on the panel on "The Bipolar Self"

1979

The Analysis of Mr. 2.

1978

The Disorders of the Self and Their Treatment

The Fourth Period (1976-1981) ConsolidsHon of Method and Theory; Advances in Clinical and Applied Psychoanalysis

/

I

8

PAUL H. ORNSTEIN

Narcissism," 1966; "'I'he I'sychoanalytic .l'reatrnent of Narcissistic Personality Disorder-s," 1968; 7 ' 1 ~A1inly.si.s of' thp S ~ l f ;197 1 ); and ends with the first presentation of the new paradigm ot'selt' psychology, which clearly transcends nat-cissisrn anti its entire theoretical context (drive psychology ernbedded in an ego psychology). It also leads him to ahandon the language of classical metapsychology, which n o longer suited him for the expression of' his clinical insights and theories, in Thp RP.s~oT.(L!~oI~ of' t l t ~S ~ l f (1977) (see Diagrams 3 and 4). .17his work closes the "third periotl" and at once opens the "fourth periotl," which is the territory traversed here. I simply note its significant lantlrnarks ant1 two nodal points,:' as the explicit goal of the guided tour (Diagram 4). In this territory are clearly marked and well-pavet1 mail) I-oads through which we shall travel, as well as many itntr-aveled side trails of only hinted-at or not fi~llyelaboratetl get-111sof' itleas, to which I shall only point but not take thetn up in detail.

Con \olzdatzon cq Mpthod (I tld Tlwory: F~rrthprA ~ Z ) N IP\L (111 Clrri~calPcythoclrinIy\r\

Kohlit himself tlelineated what he cor1side1-ed the most significant rnethoclologicd advance of T / , PR~.slo~nliori (1sycholocp

Let us briefly look at the method, the clinical process, and the concepts and theories that are introduced in Thr Reslorcltior~, so as to be able to discern what further expansions and advances took place between 1978 and 1981-from Thr Krstor-ation of'tliv Self at the beginning of this period, to Hozu 11oe.s Anul~sisCure? at the sixth nodal point at which Kohut's own work ended. Method. It bears repeating (without further elaboration or recounting of the details) that the issue of the psychoanalytic method has been central t o Kohut's contributions throughout all periods of his work. In Theliestorution he spells out his updated view both from an epistemological and a clinical vantage point. Kohut saw Freud as the embodiment of a classical nineteenthcentury scientist, who made a "clear distinction between observerand observedw-a distinction which is "the expression in theoretical terms of the ideal of scientitic objectivity" (1977, p. 67). From this perspective Kohut appreciated the fact that "Freud took the ultimate step that could still be taken by 'objective' science: he investigated the inner life of man, including-and especially-his own. But-and here lies the crucial issue-he gazed at man's inner life with the objectivity of an external observer, i.e., from the viewpoint that the scientist of his day had

INTRODUCTION

11

perfected vis-A-vis man's external surroundings, in the biological sciences and, above all, in physics" (ibid.). It is this stance of the external observer within psychoanalysis that Kohut drastically modified and it was "the intertwining of empathic data gathering and theorizing" (p. xiv) that put its characteristic stamp on all of his work, especially on the study of narcissism and self psychology. In fact, we can only grasp the full meaning and value of Kohut's contributions, if we can recognize that it was his systeniatic application of the empathic-introspective mode of observation, coupled with his brand of theorizing, that brought forth-that necessitated-his new constructs and theories." Freud's extrospective observer's stance easily led to highly abstract, experience-distant theories. Kohut's introspective-empathic observer's stance just as easily led to more immediately relevant, experience-near theories. T h e lesson is that en~pathicallyderived data do lead to such exper-ience-near theories and that such theories then guide us further to make more precise empathic observations. This is, clearly, not a linear, but a circular process, whose beginning step has thus far eluded identification. Whatever the origin of this beginning step-the grasp of a new configuration or meaning-might be,' "the theories of an empirical science are derived from generalizations and abstractions that refer to the data of observation. In psychoanalysis they are derived from the data obtained by introspection and empathy" (1977, p. 93). Kohut reasserts here his earlier definition of the psychoan"See in this connection Kohut's description of his own goals anti [nethods in his clinical researches, as he compares and contrasts them with those of'others (see chap. 5, this vol.). 'It is highly instructive in this regard to reread carefully KO~LII'S views o n the nature o f scientific thought and cliscovery when both "revolutionizing ncw technique" and "revolutionizing new theory" are simz~itn~~~orrsly involved in the evolution of human thought. Anlong other things he states that "the essencecreating first step . . . seems to lie outside the realm of causal sequences-we are unable to account for it with o u r present rneans of logical or psychological explanation" (1977, p. 302).

12

PAUL H. ORNSTEIN

alytic method as the "prolonged empathic immersion into the patient's t o k ~~.sychologirrrl l state" (p. 102). He distinguishes thereby his particular use of empathy horn being only a sometime-present, auxiliary contribution to the psychoanalyst's clinical a])proach. For Kohut, it is a .sirre quo, ~lou-at the center of the method; it is prolonged and it involves the patient's total psychological state, not only a momentary contact with single, isolated aspects of that state. He does not speak of'a fu~lclamentally different kind of empathy, however, t h a ~ lclo other contemporary analysts, although his definition of empathy as "vicariol~s introspection," in which the cognitive and affective elements are joined, might be viewed as settirig it apart f'l-om some other prevalent notions of empathy. Kohut's conception does liberate empathy fro111 many of' its obscure and mystical connotations, in spite of criticisms to the contrary, which he felt were basetl o n some serious misunclerstandi11gs (chaps. 1 and 17). He was accused of having opted for an unscientific "introspectionism" (illstead of adhering to Freud's scientific method of observation), in that he stressed-as his critic read it-that there was n o cliffkrence betweeri psychoanalysis on the one hand, anti the illtrospectionism of introspective psychology and introspective philosophy. In a thoughtf~llextension of his 1959 ideas (which he previously witlilield from publication), Kohut shows clearly and unam1)iguously how he combines empathic data gathering with theoretical elabor-ations of them. 'I'his combination separates him decisively t'rom pure "introspectionism." His clear-ly expressed view in 1959, that "free association" ancl "defense analysis" have made inti-ospection and vicar-ious introspectioti available for scientific use, had cer-tainly put arnple distance between hinl and the unscientific introspectionists. 'I'llis shoultl have been obvious to his critics. '1.0 be certain that he will be better understood this time, Kohut offered an instructive example (in the for-m of a thought experiment) with and without the explicit use of (vicarious) introspection, to illustrate the dif-

INTRODUCTION

13

ference and to show (a) the indispensable necessity for the use of introspection for- psychoanalytic data gathering; ant1 (b) the indispensable necessity for the use of introspectively gathered data for more accurate and useful theoretical formulations.' One more word about empathy in this context: Kohut had never claimed that self-psychologically informed psychoanalysts were either more empathic or that they used a different kind of empathy. H e only claimed that they used empathy in a more sustained, more systematic and deliberate manner as their central tool of psychoanalysis; and that their use of empathy led them to different-experience-near-theories. These, in turn, guided and enhanced their use of empathy, which he amply illustrated in the thought experiment just referred to." In examining the nature of evidence in psychoanalysis extensively, he further detailed the nature of empathy and the manner in which it is used: "Valid scientific research in psychoanalysis is . . . possible because ( 1 ) the empathic understanding of the experiences of other human beings is as basic an endowment of man as is vision, hearing, touch, taste and smell;"' arid (2) psychoanalysis can deal with the obstacles that stand in the way of empathic cornprehension" just as other sciences have learned to cieal with the obstacles that stood in the way of mastering the use of the observational tools-sensory organs, in"l'here is no substitute for the reader's in~nlersionill the step-by-step comparative analysis Kohut presents in his discussion of' Freud's notion ofdepressior~ as a consequence of aggression turned inwartl. Kohut retraces Freud's presu~ned thought experiment in one of' his own and rlemonstrates the strikingly difkl-ent resitlts of' the approach that uses empathic immersion as its method (chap. 1 , this vol.). "These issues are tlloroughly discussed in Kohnr (1984, pp. 172- 19 1 ). l"?'liis claim is now ~llatlemuch more plausible and is closer to being- s u b stantiated; see brothers ( I 989). ll~l'liis rcf'ers to Kollut's view (1959) that Freud's 1-net11odol'"I'ree associatio~~" ;111d"defense analysis" made empathy ;~vail;~ble for scientific use. But he never clainled that empathy always led to accul-ale results. T o the contrary, he was aware of its pote~ltialpittalls ant1 insisted that the rcsults had to be checketi for their accuracy and validity with the methods available to us to scrl~tinizeany hypothesis, irrespective of the means by whict~it was arrived at.

14

PAUL H. ORNSTEIN

cluding their extension and refinement through instruments-they employed" (p. 144). Clinical process. By demonstrating his method and theorizing on a well-selected clinical problem involving the termination phase of the analysis of Mr. M., Kohut (1977, pp. 1-62) loosened the rigidity of ingrained, but clinically not well-substantiated, ideas regarding termination. A careful, microscopic analysis of some crucial moments in this treatment process serves as the clinical entry poirit into the far-ranging conceptual and theoretical changes that follow. Kohut presents the clinical problem and asks: How can we tell when an analysis is completed? H e then elaborates on the dilemma of the assessment of the analytic results and asks: How far did the analysis penetrate into the core psychopathology and what signifies its resolution? H e answers these questions in a closely reasoned tour de fbrce, which cannot be reproduced here; it needs to be read in the original. ly altered their significance and meaning and i~ltimatelycodetermined the outcome of each phase. T h e analytic task appeared to be the same in both phases: to aid Mr. Z. to detach hirriself from his preoedipal or archaic selfobject-mother. T h e manner in which this was to be achieved, however, was very different. But, while the first approach evoked a great deal of iatrogenically intensified resistance and rage, the second approach minimized both. It evoked, instead, intense anxiety (here understoocl as "disintegration anxiety") whenever Mr. Z.felt his merger ties to his mother threatened. In the first phase of the first analysis the detaclirnent f i o m the preoedipal mother was to be brought about by achieving insight into the defensive nature of the attachment via confrontations and interpretations-a task at which the first analysis essentially failed-and aiding the remobilization of' Mr. Z.'s Oedipus complex. In the first phase of the second analysis the detachment progressed well because Kohut now recognized that what Mr. Z. presented was a selfobject transference chat had to be allowed to unfold, flourish, and then be worked tliroi~gh.Its working through strengthened the cohesiveness of' Mr. %.'sself, , ant1 consolidate its inso that he dared to search f i ~ r discover, dependence. This led to a progressive decrease of his disintegration anxiety and finally permitted the remobilization, full

INTRODUCTION

67

unfolding, arid working through of his idealizing transference-a task at which the second analysis succeeded. In the first analysis it was an "innocuous phrase" introducing Kohut's usual defense interpretation in reference to Mr. Z.'s "i~isatiablenarcissistic demands" that led to the decisive shift in his attitude and behavior. The phrase Kohut used expressed understanding and appreciation for Mr. Z.'s reaction which exerted an unexpected calming influence on him and led to the significant advance into the second phase of the first analysis. This experience was followed by the engagement of Mr. Z.'s core psychopathology in the transference. It appeared then as if' a more or less adequate detachment fi-om the preoedipal mother permitted a necessary shift toward the mobilization of Mr. Z.'s deeply repressed oedipal conflicts with his father. These, along with a further detachment from the mother, constituted the second phase of the first analysis. In the second analysis, it was Kohut's changed view of the nature of Mr. Z.'s demands and rages; the view that he reinstated a replica of his early experiences with his mother, i.e., a genuine transference, rather than merely the defenses against it, that created a different attitude and climate and also led to a different assessment of the origins and nature of Mr. Z.'s problems. This difference ultimately made previously unavailable or simply overlooked aspects of Mr. Z.'s relation to his mother accessible for further exploration and also permitted a working through of this merger transference which then led to a more genuine and more complete detachment of Mr. Z. from his archaic selfobject-mother. T h e second phase of the first analysis requires little comment. Kohut detailed its process as fully in conformity with the traditional approach and in bringing to light all that one would expect to find in an analysis that focuses on the patient's Oedipus complex as the central core of the patient's psychopathology. What interests us here is the fact that after a more profound

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PAUL H. ORNSTEIN

and more successful detachment from his mother by the end o f the first phase of' his second analysis, Mr. Z. had once again moved on to rernobilize his unresolved issues with his father. We rnight justifiably claim that the empirical data are essentially the sarne here, too, as they were in the second phase of the first analysis: the primal scene, infantile masturbation, and the accompanying masochistic fantasies, etc. Their rneaning and significance, however, in the context of Mr. Z.'s search for an idealizable father who is independent of the enslaving mothel-, were drastically dif'ferent. Nothing expresses this difference more sharply than the I-einterpretation of the drearn of the father's return with the gift-wrapped packages. In the drearn Mr. Z.shuts the door to keep the father out; not in order to keep his oedipal rival froni reentering and threatening him-as it was first understood-but in order to protect himself from being overwtielrned by receiving all at once "the nlasculine substance" he had longed for all his life-as it was finally t~ntferstood o n the basis of additional associations and the overall context of what the second analysis brought to light. Although Kohut focused in his clinical report primarily o n the impact of his changed theories on the treatment process, he co~lldnot help but include (in sufficient detail and with sufficient emphasis) the changes in his attitude toward Mr. Z. and his psychopathology, ancl the changes in the ernotional atmosphere of the analysis, both of which were the direct results of these changes in theory. C:ould the salutary results of the second analysis have been brought about, many asked, had Kohut not been so "harsh" and "confrontative"; if he had not so consistently "attacked" Mr. Z.'s defenses in the first analysis? O r , if he had paid more attention to Mr. Z.'s conflicts with his preoedipal mother and focused less on the oedipal Father? s pp. 84Kohut himself responded to these q ~ ~ e s t i o n(1984, 91) and recognized some of the countertransferelice elements that tilay have contributeci to the particular analytic stance he

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69

took in the first analysis. His final answer, however, is quite compelling. We can readily agree with him after we put his protocol under the high power lense of our critical inquiry. Granted, a less harsh, less confrontative, and less "consistently attacking" interpretive approach might in many ways have been more successful. But the theories guiding and limiting the interpretive focus either to the oedipal o r even to preoedipal driverelated issues would have grasped neither Mr. Z.'s archaic selfobject ties to his mother, nor Mr. Z.'s lifelong yearning for a strong and independent father (which was a precondition for him to establish his own independent, cohesive, harmonious, and vital self). Another important issue clainls our attention here-the role and function of empathy in the two analyses. Was Kohut less empathic with Mr. Z. in the first analysis than he was in the second one? This question, too, has been raised and answered before, but not yet adequately investigated. We should ask: what evidence d o we find in the written report that Kohut was unernpathic, less empathic, or only adequately empathic in the first analysis? And what evidence d o we find for a greater degree of empathy in the second analysis? If we wish to avoid the pitfalls of quantification, we should simply ask what d o we take as evidence for the presence or absence of empathy in any particular analytic approach? Empathy as a value-neutral psychoanalytic mode of observation is taken for granted by many, with the idea that there is no other possible way of exploring inner experiences "directly"-hence, every analyst uses empathy, whether he acknowledges it o r not. This claim is far from substantiated. In fact, the opposite might be true, if' we subjected random clinical reports in the literature o f t h e last thirty years to a close scrutiny. Thinking and feeling oneself into the patient's experiences (via vicarious introspection) would have to be evident in the account. analysts give of their experiences with patients. T h e process of

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that vicarious introspection itself (as it operates in relation to the understanding of the patient's communications and the analyst's grasp of the patient's experiences) might, o r might not, appear in a given clinical report. When it does appear-as in focusing on the microprocesses of an analysis-its presence makes our inclependerit assessment of the analyst's approach rrluch easier. When it does not appear-as in focusing on other than microscopic process issues-its absence makes o u r independent assessment much more difficult. But the interventions themselves should in any case reflect whether or not they were offered to the patient from the empathic vantage point, whatever the actual source of t h e analyst's d a t a might be. Based o n this criterion-whether Kohut garnered his analytic data in the first analysis via vicarious introspection or not-none of his verbal interventions (save one) appears to have been offered from the empathic vantage point. In other words, it is possible-at least theoretically-to observe and collect the data in an analysis enipathically and then formulate an understanding and explanation that is not in keeping with the patient's perspective and is therefore contradicted or denied by him. This contributes to iatrogenically intensified resistances, as was the case in the first analysis of Mr. Z. As one evidence we may cite the fact that Koli~~t's report of the first analysis contained only one example of an "empathic understanding" communicated to Mr. Z., when he said: "Of course, it hurts when one is not given what one assurnes to be one's due." Kohut considered this then an "innocuous and insignificant phrase," and not only underestimated its impact, but became i ~ ~ c r e d u l o uand s could not see the validity of Mr. Z.'s sut~jectiveexperience. We may rightly assume, therefore, that he was not then syste~naticallye~riployingthe two-step "basic therapeutic unit" of understanding and explaining in his work. Although there may have been other, similarly isolated, remarks made in that first analysis-it is almost impossible to conduct an

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analysis without them-they appear not to have been a r-egular part of the first analysis. It may well have been the case, as Kohut himself recognized it later on, that his inner struggle against his innovative formulations was aided by his strict adherence to the demands of classical theory and its correlated technique, which was therefore somewhat exaggerated in its application. As another evidence we may cite the many confroritations and interpretations, none of which appears to speak to MI-.Z.'s experiences from his own vantage point. They are analytic explanations (correct u p to a point, but certainly not encompassing enough in retrospect) that were not preceded by the clear evidence of experience-near empathic understanding. Hence these interventions do not give us an opportunity to retrace and independently assess Kohut's understanding of Mr. Z.'s experiences that led to his firmly offered interpretations. In stark contrast, the second analysis portrays an attitudinal change, a less austere atmosphere, and a readiness to focus on Mr. Z.'s subjective experiences, consonant with and perhaps even prescribed by the new understanding of the nature of psychopathology and cure. There can be no objection to Kohut's emphasis on the significance of his new theories for the second analysis of Mr. Z. (and hence for all analyses), even while we insist on the fundamental and intrinsic importance of the correlated attitude, emotional responsiveness, and the ensuing analytic atmosphere which he himself describes. In fact, it is this changed attitude, responsiveness, and atmosphere that enable the meaningful application of the two-step "basic therapeutic unit" (understanding and explaining). In turn, it is these verbal interventions-based on empathy (in data-gathering) and on assuming the empathic vantage point (in formulating and cornmunicating one's understanding and explanations)-that also help create the proper- conditions for their effectiveness. In keeping with his broader goal Kohut does not offer us the primary data of his intermediate vicarious introspection. But his inter-

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ventions, nevertheless, reveal unmistakably that empathy has informed his fbrniulations anti that he systernatically applies his ~ ~ n d e r s t a n d i nt og reach his explanations and to present them to Mr. Z. from the enipathic vantage point. We may conclude that it was not only (or even mainly) Kotiut's countertransference that created the atmospliere of' the first analysis. It was to a great exterit based on theory. Ancl the changes in the second analysis, including the absence of' the earlier countertransference, were to a great extent also based o n the new theories. But these theories alone, without the systematic application of the empathic rnode of observation, arid especially without cornmunicating them from the eriipathic vantage point, would have greatly deprived the interventions based o n the new theories of their full ef'f'ectiveness. 3. A middle-ugtd lr~uiver.Kohut ( 1084, pp. 1 16-15 1) presents this lengthy clinical vignette with the explicit goal of demonstrating his views or1 defenses and resistances as surnnied 111) above. However, the report contains a number of'other important general contributions to o u r understanc-ling of the clinical process, hence some of these shoulcl be singled out for a f'ew brief comments. Although this particular analysis was conclucted entirely along the principles of self psychology, to make his points clear, Kohut analyzes the empirical data of this case stucly both from the traditional and fi-om the self-psychological perspective, as had become his habit. Thus he confirms a number of the conclusions he reached in the analyses of Mr. Z. aricl in his otherprior works. O f course, here, in his effort to arialyze his lawyer patient's defenses and resistances also from an ego-psychological vantage point, he ends u p becorning speculative--even if quite instructive ancl fully in tune with theory-based expect;itions-since ego psychology was not his guiding theory in the actual concluct of this analysis. Kohut then has this to say about speculative interpretations: "But, as every analyst knows, our conclusions

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are not the result of our intellectual ability to create coherent and meaningful configurations via the skillful manipulation of the innumerable single data we collect; rather, they are the result of our capacity to postpone closures, to apply closures tentatively, to observe the analysand's reactions to our (tentative) interpretations, and to consider as great a variety of explantions as possible. When these strictures are followed, the trend of the total living analytic process as informed by our cohesive understanding of the patient's total personality and our in-tuneness with the decisive experiences of his life ultimately begins to tell us an understandable story" (p. 125). This overall, "understandable story" is paramount. The socalled defenses and resistances-the isolated details and "mechanisn1sv-have to fit into this broader picture of the patient's personality and psychopathology. Kohut painstakingly demonstrates how he reconstructs "the vicissitudes of the self, in order to show that, without this knowledge, we cannot acquire an appreciation of the significance of the 'defenses' in [the lawyer patient's] personality structure and the 'resistances' that lie mobilized in psychoanalytic treatment" (p. 1213). H e exemplifies the careful overall reconstruction of the development of the self first, along with the parents' personalities and their impact on the patient's self development. He includes the dominant influences of the patient's childhood-both the development-thwarting and the development-enhancing influences. Only after that, says Kohut, can we fully appreciate the function and significance o f t h e particular defenses and resistances. T h e details make sense only as they fit into the whole. It is the systematic application of this overriding principle that guided Kohut to eschew speculation in favor of the prolonged empathic immersion in the data arid to conclude-.just as he did in the second analysis of Mr. Z.-that instead of a pathological Oedipus complex, a profound longing for a strong and idealizable father was at the deepest root of the patient's psychopathology.

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Since defense resistances in the analysis are frequently related to the patient's aggression toward the analyst and the analytic task, Kohut makes a small but significant side trip into another brief clinical vignette to expand further on his views on aggression and narcissistic rage and on his clinical approach to them. This excursion deserves closer scrutiny in its own right, but also because these remarks are a direct response to some of the critics who claim that self psychology overlooks or even suppresses aggression and rage in the clinical situation. Kohut shows us that this criticism is unwarranted and is very far from the facts. "As a matter of fact, as far as my own recent clinical experiences are concerned, I have witnessed much more intense-and genuinely experienced!-aggression in my analysands than when I was working within the conceptual framework of traditional analysis" (p. 137). Kohut holds on to his earlier differentiation between "aggressions directed at objects" (who stand in the way of cherished goals) and those directed at selfobjects (who have darrlaged the self). T h e former cease when the goal is achieved-and here is an important point: "they do not produce psychopathology." And in childhood these "do not become the nucleus of psychoneuroses" (p. 138). Aggression in the form of narcissistic rage, however, "cannot be satisfied via successful action against the offender-the injury lingers and so does the narcissistic rage." When it occurs in childhood, however, it plays a "significant role in the genesis of self pathology" (p. 138). Kegardirlg object-directed aggression, Kohut said, "We rarely have occasion to 'interpret' the presence of object-directed aggressiveness: the conflicts evoked by this type of aggression (e.g., guilt or an unstable equilibrium between currents of fondness and anger) are not constitutive of psychopathology, however severe they might be, but part and parcel of normal human experience. T h e role of narcissistic rage, however, is keenly appreciated by the self-psychologically informed psychoanalyst" (p. 138).

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Kohut then describes the clinical vignette in which his analysand experienced a killing wish-a narcissistic rage-much more intensely than he ever had before. In the first analysis, conducted along traditional lines, he talked a lot about it but never experienced it "deeply and fully." T h e clinical approach in response to which this could occur in this patient's second analysis with Kohut is of interest here. It occurred in connection with a dream. "The dream in question had taken place in a city block not far from my office. T h e patient observed a frail nlan walking along the block that led to a broad boulevard where a statue of a husky, muscular, proud warrior on horseback stood. As the patient watched the man walking along slowly, unsteadily, and weakly, he noticed that the man was not real but some kind of a straw doll. Overcome with anger, the patient plunged a knife several times into the straw doll man. T o his anlazement-there was no evidence of guilt or horror about the deed in the dream-thick red blood flowed out between the straw" (p. 138). T h e patient recalled many similar dreams from his first analysis. His first analyst, after listening to the patient's associations, always "interpreted oedipal hostility against the father (i.e., the wish to belittle him and kill him) and encouraged the patient to get in touch with these emotions, especially in the transference." The patient felt frustrated; he saw the incontrovertible evidence but could not feel the genuine wish to kill the analyst. He was aware of "only moderate conscious anger at the analyst for not being able to help him" (p. 139). How did Kohut proceed to enable the patient to have a genuine experience of his killing wish? This is how Kohut gives us the patient's own explanation (which is so instructive that it merits full quotation): "I had never referred to his anger, never confronted him with the murderous intent depicted in the dream, and never talked about defenses against enlotions that would have to be experienced in order to tnake the insight psy-

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chologically valid, genuine, and meaningful, as his filrnler analyst had done. Instead, against all his expectations that my response to the dream would parallel the response of the former analyst, I had on the whole listened quietly for several sessiolis to the niaterial that emerged after the drearn, partly via direct associations to the dream elements and partly in seeming independence from the drearn. And when I finally responded, 1 focused neither on the drearn in isolation nor on the specific aggressive act depicted in the dream nor on the specific niurderous wish supposedly harbored and against which he defended himself by splitting off his emotions. What I concentrated on in my interpretation, according to his memory, was his disappointment in having a weak father, both in his childhood ant1 now in the transference (it was my physical frailty that the straw doll exhibited). It was in response to rny interpretation-that in the analysis he was still trying to get to a strong father (the statue of' the man on horseback) and that he was disappointed and frustrated because I was not such a father-that he began to talk not only about the srnall event in the hour preceding the dream that triggered the dream but also about his early life" (p. 139). 'Fhe reconstruction of the relevant genetic experiences followetl. 71'l~eseextended and buttressed the above interpretation. But the lesson for- us is in Kohut's approach as tlepicted and contrasted by the patient himself. ~ Among the 4. T h e woman patient "zoith the gellie jlz t h bottle." fitrther expansions of concepts and theories during the foul-th period (not mentioned earlier under that heading) a special place should be accorded the new proposition that the "alterego" or "twinship transference" reflects a separate o r tiistinct line of selfobject development (Kohut, 1'384, pp. 189-207). Kohut's recognition that alongside the mirroring selfot>jectancl the idealizing selfoh-ject t h e r e is a n "alterego" o r "twinship selfobject"-whose (silent) presence arid essential a I'k 1 eness are necessary tor the unfolding of innate skills and talents--does

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have clinical as well as theoretical significance. This change in the classification of selfobject transferences calls attention to the f'act that there are surely more selfobject configurations to be discovered. This new conception leads to a more precise recognition of phase-specific basic developmental needs; these in turn also lead to a more precise recognition of the specific thwarted needs remobilized in the transference, which then favorably influences the conduct of individual analyses. Kohut had already been quite familiar with the alterego or twinship transference configuration as a part of the mirror transference and had also known its normal equivalent as the "transference of creativity" (1976). But the clinical experience which sharpened his perception for alterego or twinship needs, as separate from and alongside mirroring and idealizing needs, was the analysis of a woman patient who finally revealed her fintasieti conversations with a captive "genie in the bottle" as her way of coping with profound lorieliness in her childhood and often since then. I t was in connection with Kohut's announcement of an upcoming long summer vacation that the patient's unusual way of dealing wth her loneliness became evident and led to her sharing this secret, of which she was greatly ashamed. 'The profound shame and the resistance to sharing it had to do with the fact that she resorted to conversations with the genie occasionally even now. Having finally shared it brought with it much relief. From the circun~stancesand timing of this conimunication Kohut thought that he was the genie in the bottle, kept there in the patient's captivity. He considered it "a transference revival of the maneuver in latency that followed the loss of the sustenance of her grandparents, in particular, of her beloved paternal grandmother" (1984, pp. 195-196). The patient calmly but firnily rejected this idea anti claimed that both "then and now the captive was a little girl, a twin, someone just like herself and yet not herself to whom she could talk, who kept her company and made it possible for her to survive the hours of

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loneliness when she felt that n o one other than her companion in the bottle cared for her" (p. 196). Kohut could then see the sharp contrast between this patient's expressed needs and the often noisy demands for mirroring acceptance and affirmation of other patients in the transference. This patient did not ask fbr- affirming admiration o r echoing but "was sustained simply by the presence of someone she knew was sufficiently like her to understand her and to be unclerstood by her" (p. 196). Kohut thought he now also understood the patient's long silences better. But what gives this configuration the status of a separate developmental line? At this point the manner in which Kohut proceeds to establish the validity of a third line of development for the alterego o r twinship selfotject reveals an important and far-reaching principle, a principle that must guide us in searching for new selfobject configurations. Kohut elaborates on the fact that "the genie in the bottle" was obviously a regressive, pathological manifestation. What was its normal developmerltal precursor? This emerged in a memory with an everyday image, yet rather poignantly depicting the meaning and significance Kohut was searching for. T h e patient recalled an experience of "being in her grandmother's kitchen (perhaps at the age offour) while her grandmother kneaded dough, and she too silently kneaded dough o n a little table next the big one on which her grandmother worked" (p. 197). But this memory, if it depicted an alterego or twinship need during the years of four to six, would not yet justify the assumption of a separate developmental line. It would then still necessitate our viewing these needs as phase-appropriate within the developmental line of the mirroring selfobject. T h e clinical impression, however, that analogous experiences are present from earlier and later periods, i.e., throughout life--on the existence of which Kohut elaborates in some detail, and in relation to which he asks for more empirical research-justify his con-

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sidering alterego or twinship needs "as one of the [three] major selfobject needs of man," hence also justifying his new classification. A general theory of p.sychoa~zalyticcure. 'I'he four clinical vignettes just discussed (along with all of his previously published and unpublished clinical experiences) served Kohut in reformulating and advancing his theory of psychoanalytic cure as presented in How Does Analysis Cure? (1984). T h e center piece of this presentation, toward which all other key issues he touches on in this book converge, is his new formulation of a general theory of psychoanalytic cure. He details the curative process in the psychoneuroses according to traditional theory-with an extension of his previous reformulation of the pathogenesis and the nature of the psychopathology in the psychoneuroses; he details the curative process in the various self disorders; and then proceeds to offer a view of psychoanalytic cure whose validity, he claims, ranges across and encompasses all major psychoanalytic approaches. It is a brief glance at this general theory that should conclude this guided tour. T o complete his overarching basic paradigm of self psychology Kohut needed to provide a comprehensive theory of cure which would explain previous treatment successes. In other words, to show the increased explanatory power of self psychology, he had to offer a theory of cure that would explain those successes, irrespective of the theory that guided the analyst's technique. It is with the aid of a simple but evocative clinical vignette, derived from a Kleinian perspective-which Kohut then also interprets from an ego-psychological as well as a selfpsychological vantage point-that he marshals his ideas for the formulation of his general theory. In a severely truncated fbrrn these are some of the many, carefully articulated, and closely reasoned steps through which Kohut arrives at his general theory. In focusing on the specific verbal content of each possible interpretation of his clinical vi-

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gnette (guided by each analyst's hvored theory) Kohut finds all of them faulty without further clinical evidence. Yet on a particular, emotionally significant level, he finds all of them potentially communicating-each in his o w n idiosyncratic language-their understanding of the patient's immediate experience. This proper in-tuneness with and understanding of' the affect-laden experiences of the patient are expressed by the analyst in his general attitude and tone of voice, quite apart from the specific explanatory content of the interpretation. With this view of what is "correct" even in an otherwise faulty, premature, o r simply "inexact" interpretation, Kohut focuses on what is right in it. H e thereby drastically revised Glover's notion (1931) of "inexact interpretations" which exert a powerful, nonspecific, suggestive influence and lead thereby to pseudosuccesses. Kohut recognizes instead the therapeutic power of "understancling" alone, even before it is followed by the accurate explanation which further anchors and consolidates the therapeutic impact. In other words, only the proper application of' the two steps leads to analytic cure. Hence, Kohut considers (1) understanding and (2) explaining as the two steps of the basic therapeutic unit, in which the content of the interpretation rnay be inaccurate on the level of explaining but simultaneously very much to the point on the level of understanding. Countless repetition of these two steps during the course of analysis constitutes-and has always constituted-the essence of' the psychoanalytic approach. However, the first step of understanding was previously not given its proper place and importance in the curative process. I t was overshadowecl by Glover's erroneous emphasis on suggestion as the operative principle in all inexact o r erroneous interpretations. It should now be clear that the earlier, more o r less "officially" disregarded step of' understariding contributed to the cure in those instances where the necessary accurate explanations were not yet available during the evolution of psychoanalysis.

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Kohut further underlines the importance o f t h e first step of understanding by detailing what it consists of and what its infantile precursors are. This is how he summarizes his lengthy exposition: "But I think the significance of the sequence I have just described-(I) reactivation of need (in conflict neuroses: a wish); (2) nonresponse by the selfobject (in conflict neuroses: by the object); (3) reestablishrrlent of a bond of empathy between self and selfobject (in conflict neuroses: between self and object)--cannot be overestimated with reference to both normal development in childhood and the movement toward cure in psychoanalysis" (p. 103). It is Kohut's view that psychoanalysis has always accomplished its curative processes through these three substeps of step one (understanding) of the two step "basic therapeutic unit" and it still does so in analyses conducted along self-psychological lines. Thus, only the content of step two, that of explaining, is fundamentally different because it is to be based on the theories of self psychology. This scaled-down or modest claim gains added importance if we recognize that Kohut's emphasis includes the idea that beyond cognitive accuracy in d y n a m i c a n d g e n e t i c terms-important as such accuracy is-interpretations have to provide a bond of human understanding in a deep en~otional sense, otherwise cognitive accuracy has little or n o therapeutic impact. Kohut's own work ended here. H e would be pleased to see his last book regarded as a significant landmark in the completion of his basic paradigm. This work is at an important nodal point-the sixth (and last) in Kohut's work-for the further evolution of self psychology. H e would be pleased because most of his former students and later collaborators and even a broader group of psychoanalysts and mental health professionals consider How Does Analysis Cure? as in many ways advancing and completing the formulation of the self psychology paradigm,

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along with further demonstrating some of its clinical consequences. He would be particularly pleased to know that many of his tentatively formulated ideas are seriously corlsiclered and debated. Kohut's final treatise is thus a richly textured, worthy platform from which to move on and carry the work further.

Introspection and Empathy: Further Thoughts About Their Role in Psychoanalysis (1968)

A path leads from identification by way of imitation to empathy, that is, to the comprehension of the mechanism by means of which we are enabled to take u p any attitude at all towards another mental life. (Freud, 192 1, p. 1 10) This paper, as Kohut explicitly inciicates, was written in its present torn1 as a first draft during the summer of 1968, in response to the Presidential Address to the American Psychoarlalytic Association o n May 12, 1968, by Charles Brenner, but remained unpublished. It survived as an "uncompleted" manuscript in that Kohut dictated a first draft of it-as was his usual custom-which was then transcribed triple-spaced, so that he could add to, delete frorn, and revise the text. (This sequence would ordinarily be repeated urltil he felt satisfied that the paper was ready for publication.) T h e present paper survived with ,just one revision retyped. Thus this second version was no longer f u r t l ~ e rrefineci-not even proofread-hence it is not considered here as "completed" with Kohut's usual care. Koh~rtmade it cleat- that he undertook tlic writing o f this paper reluctantly, since h c never liked to engage in polemics. 'I'his may be one reason why he abandoned it. Another one may well have been that the topic was constantly in the forefront of his attention, and he expectctl to continue t o write about it more in connection with the emerging new clinical data anti his new conceptualizations-whicll, in fact, he did-rather than merely rework it in relation to criticisms of' his earlier fornlulations. This paper also demonstrates, however, that Kohut was always affected by his critics and ultimately responded to thern-directly o r indirectly, but mainly nonpolemically-through the systematic continuation of' his clinical arid theoretical work.

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[Freud] discovered that it is just as possible to obtain new knowledge through the scientific ordering of the data of introspection as it is through the utilization of the data of external perception derived from observation and experiment . . . by simply viewing the iritrospected material from a new vantage point Freud created a system of psychology; this system contains [not only ascertained facts but also] a number of hypotheses; but the same situation prevails also in the natural sciences . . . thanks to psychoanalysis we now possess the systematic knowledge concerning a series of data which had been neglected by the natural sciences-[analysis] demonstrates to us the influence of internal forces, which can only be discovered through introspection. (Ferenczi, 1 9 2 t h p. 3) My remarks constitute an addendurn to a paper, "Introspection and Empathy," originally presented more than teri years ago (Congress of the International Psychoarialytic Association, Paris, 1957 and at the Twentieth Anniversary Meeting, Institute for Psychoanalysis, Chicago, Nov. 16, 1957, subsequently published in 195Y), although 1 d o not like the back and forth of' polemics in science and believe that scientific findings and opinions should with rare exceptions be presented on their own merit without the need to engage in polemics with opponents-always a fruitless enterprise. At any rate, has anyone ever persuadecl an opponent that he was wrong? I must admit that these pages would not have seen the light of day had I not encountered a quite surprising reaction to my essay. Charles Brenner (1968) writes as follows: Indeed, even among psychoanalysts, the traditional stricture against the study of such subjective phenomena as those with which psychoanalysts deal has inclined some (Kohut, 1959) to the opinion that there is a basic distinction to be made between psychoanalysis and other natural scierices precisely

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because introspection plays a role in the former and not in the latter. I am not convinced of the correctness of this assertion. There is a vitally important difference between the approach of a psychoanalyst to these data on the one hand, and of an introspective psychologist or philosopher on the other. 'I'he latter is concerned with his own thoughts and feelings, the former is concerned with the thoughts and feelings of another, who reports them to him. I was surprised by the implication of these statements that I had made the erroneously conceived assertion that there is a basic distinction to be made between analysis and other natural sciences because analysis employs introspection and that, apparently, this error is due to a neglect of the difference between the approach of the analyst and the approach of the introspective psychologist or philosopher. There are differences, of course, and the n~ethodologyof a science defines to some extent the limits of the field that can be investigated and the nature of the data that are obtained. It is thus obvious that an examination of a tissue by biochemical means will lead to data that are basically different from those obtained with the aid of a microscope. If we wish to stress differences, we may say that biochetnistry is basically different from histology; if we wish to stress similarities, we will point to the integration of the results achieved by both methods, etc.-it all depends on the context in which the two approaches are compared. I made indeed such comparisons between psychoanalysis (which uses empathy as an essential constituent in the data-gathering step of its investigation) and other approaches (e.g., the biological or sociological approach) which either do not use empathy at all o r do not use it to the same extent as does analysis. Thus I introduced the comparison between the concept of dependence in psychoanalysis with the same concept as used by biologists and sociologists with the following statement: "Some

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concepts used by psychoarialysts are not abstractions founded on introspective observation o r empathic introspection I ~ u tare derived from data obtained through other methods of observation. Such concepts must be compared with the theoretical abstractions based on psychoanalytic observations; they are, however, not identical with them." In general, I tried as best I could to avoid black or white statements in my essay and attempted to demonstrate the relativity of such lnethodological distirictions, pointing in this context in particular to the continuuni of lessening use of empathy ("vicarious introspection") as the observed becomes more and more dissimilar to the observer. There is therefore a high degree of empathy when we observe people of our own culture, lesselempathy with people from a different background, still less with animals, hardly existing with plants, and nonexisting with inanimate objects. T h e same holds true when we try to grasp ar-chaic mental states. Here, too, I said that the reliability o f empathy declines the more dissiniilar the observed is from the observer; and our ability to formulate the archaic mental processes in terms that are near to introspection and to empathically reconstructed experiences becomes thus more and niore uncertain, a fact which leads us properly to formulate our statements concerning these early states in different terms. There is no question, however, about the existence of a basic difference between the approach of a psychoanalyst to the data of introspection and empathy and that of an introspectionist, psychologist, or philosopher to the data of his introspective observation. As I stressed in my 1959 essay: Introspection and empathy play thus a role in all psychological understanding; Breuer and Freud, however, werepnr excellence pioneers in the scientijk use of introspection and empathy. T h e emphasis on the specific refinements of introspection (i.e., free association and analysis of' resistances); the epoch-making discovery of a hitherto unknown kind of

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inner experience that emerges only with the aid of these specific techniques of introspection (i.e., the discovery of the unconscious); and the scope of new understanding of normal and abnormal psychological phenomena has tended to obscure the fact that the first step was the introduction of the consistent use of introspection and empathy as the observational tools of a new science. Free association and resistance analysis, the principal techniques of psychoanalysis, have freed introspective observations from previously unrecognized distortions (rationalizations). There is, thus, no question that the introduction of free association and resistance analysis (with the resulting acknowledgment of the distorting influences of an active unconscious) specifically determines the value of psychoanalytic observation. T h e recognition of this value does, however, not contradict the recognition that free association and resistance analysis are yet to be considered as auxiliary instruments, employed in the service of the introspective and empathic method of observation [p. 2 1 11. T h e essential difference between analysis and introspectionism is not that the analyst takes a more detached observational stance supported by empathy, while in introspectionalisn~the observer gives himself wholly over to the introspective activity. T h e introspectionalist does not necessarily have to be undisciplined, and the analyst may well give himself over temporarily to a full empathic absorption in the mental state of his analysand without yet losing the capacity to return to a subsequent cool scrutiny of the experience which he had thus allowed to resonate in him. The essential difference lies not in the empathic or introspective step of data collection but in the subsequent working over of the material. All sciences that have gone beyond the most rudimentary state of primary data collection have to formulate the general statements about their subject matter in terms that are at a distance from the experienced observation-and psy. . choanalysis with its specific theory (metapsychology) is no ex-

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ception: the data which it collects with the aid of empathic observations are only a first step; the scientific result is attained by an ordering of the data with the aid of a specific conceptual framework and a specific system of symbolic notations which are relevant to the nature of the enipathically perceived subject matter. In contrast to the scientific psychoanalyst, the thinking of the pure intr-ospectionist remains either too near to the direct data of observation (it remains in essence descriptive) or-1u.s extrern~~s SP touchent-it makes a vast jump from the directly 01)served experience to the highest levels of (e.g., philosophical) generalization. Analysis, too, formulates, of course, broad theorems that lie at a great distance from the directly observed experience, but these most general statements are linked to the data of direct observation by intermediary sets of' theories (see Waelder, 1962). In summary then: in psychoanalysis empathic observation is an instrument in the service of an empirical science; in pure introspectionism it is not. 'The essential intent of my 1959 paper was, therefore, not to assert, as Brenner implies, that there is no difference between psychoanalysis, on the one hand, arid the introspectionisni of introspective psychology and introspective philosophy, on the other; and not, as Rrenner claims, to assert "that there is a basic distinction to be made between psychoanalysis and other natural sciences." O n the contrary, I wanted to demonstrate that the neglect of the proper use of empathy and the tiisavowal of the fact that it is being used (when indeed it is used because it t ~ ~ u s t be used) leads to arialysis becoming less scientific; i.e., it leads not only to a general coarsening of' o u r scientific forniulatioris but also to specific "inaccuracies, omissions, and errors" (Kohut, 1959, p. 2 12). This is not the place to demonstrate in detail the specific defects which come about when the role of' introspection arid empathy in the data-collecting step of psychoanalysis is disregarded. T h e substarice of the 1959 essay was indeed concerned

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with the task of furnishing these details and the reader is referred to this paper. In a later paper I supplied a similar set of interrelated examples (Kohut, 1966) concerning the limits ofthe self and cornpared the difference between the psychoanalytic concept of object love with the sociopsychological concept of object relations. By showing, in other words, the depth of meaning that accrues to us when we, as we do as psychoanalysts, rely confidently on introspection and empathy as the instruments with which we collect our primary data, I demonstrated, I believe, by inescapable implication, the great coarsening of meaning and the errors in judgment that arose when depthpsychological statements concerning these experiences are made without the unashamedly acknowledged reliance of the observer on empathy when he scrutinizes the psychic life of man (1966, p. 429). Again, I wish to avoid extreme statements, and I do not claim that in our science all new insights must necessarily be achieved with the aid of, or even on the basis of, empathic observation. Once a science has accumulated a vast set of data and has derived appropriate theoretical concepts and formulations from them, the mere manipulation of the theories and concepts themselves, bypassing all the activities that are engaged in primary observation (i.e., in our case, the use of empathy and introspection) will sometimes yield substantial results. T h e formulation, for example, that depression rests on--or, as I would say, that some of the sytnptorns of a certain group of depressions are fueled by-the pressure of unexpressed and, therefore, inward-directed aggression may conceivably have been achieved by thought experiment, i.e, via the appropriate manipulation of concepts and that it was not derived more directly (i.e., as a next step) from the data of empathic observation. I an1 suggesting the possibility, in other words, that Freud's "Mourning and Melancholia" theories were originally not formulated on (1) the empathic observation of the presence of

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marginal rage, and (2) on the empathic observation of this rage as it shifted its aim from the object to the self. Yet, as I must add immediately, while it is quite thinkable that Freud arrived at this hypothesis about the nature of depression while outside the clinical setting, i.e., while not actively engaged in the use of' empathy, the relevant thought experimentation itself he is likely to have undertaken, included an imagined subject toward which the thought experiment extended his empathy. Analytic theory, I should like to add, even experience-distant theory should, while appropriately general and abstract, still never become mechanistic. And many of the formulations of traditional psychoanalytic metapsychology (as I tried to demonstrate in my 1959 essay) a r e indeed in full harmony with the specific data-collecting attitude (empathy) of the analytic investigator. I am convinced of the fact that, without arriving at any clear reformulation of' the traditionally conceived forces (drives) that fuel an engine (the structures of a mental apparatus) to perform its functions (psychic mechanisms), many clinicians d o indeed take the aforementioned step and d o not burden their analysands with mechanistic interpretations. But I cannot express rnyself with the same (at least preponderantly confident) manner on the issues with regard to modern depth-psychological investigators who, more and more, it seems to me, are confusing the distorted formulations of traditional theory with psychic reality and are thus unable to discover anything new. I myself hope some day to turn to the considerable task of a systematic reformulation ot' theory (to take that "one step" that I spoke of above). But for the present I will retain the traditional framework and during the forthcoming years undertake to present some clinical discoveries in a systematic way, trusting my ability (and the analogous ability of my professional colleagues) to make this step in approximation in order to ensure that not only my clinical findings but also my experience-near clinical formulations (which establish the interrelationship and significance of the new data)

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remain intrinsically compatible with the fact that they belong into the field of inner experience that is accessible to us only via introspection and empathy. There cannot be any doubt that, up to now at least, the deepest insights into human nature in health and disease have been derived more or less directly via the scrutiny of primary data collection via empathy and introspection, and I believe that, at least in the foreseeable future, no other road is open to the depth psychologist who wishes to penetrate further into the as yet unknown and unexplored regions of the human mind. Nothing, so far, as I at least hold firmly to be true, has been discovered in our field-and I should stress that I arn using the term "discovered" advisedly-that was not derived more or less directly from depth-psychological observation, i.e., that was not derived from data obtained via empathy and introspection.' And, however mechanistic and old-fashioned traditional metapsychology may be, however great even its distorting influence on our perception, it is still in harmony with the depth psychologist's basic observational stance-his introspective-empathic outlook. It was created, after all, in an atmosphere of empathy, i.e., Freud's clinical work and introspection, Freud's 1. When I said above that 1 an1 using the term "discovered" advisedly, I had arnong other considerations particularly in mind that 1 was excluding here two major contributions to o u r field-the first one much maligned, the second one, the list of somewhat unthinkingly, as 1 would judge, widely accepted-from major discoveries in depth psychology, even though 1 myself have the greatest admiration and respect for each of them. But I cannot assign them to the class of discoveries because, as far as 1 can imagine, they were not derived more o r less directly from primary data but by rr~ethodsthat trar~scerldeclthe scope of empathic observations-the first o n the one end of the spectrum, the second O I I the other. Specifically, then, 1 am excluding here Freud's (1920) biolo@m/ theories about Eros and Thanatos which 1 take to be the result of biological philosophizing (analogous to Haeckel's similar under~akings)and Hartmann's (19SSa)introduction of an adaptational point of view which I take to be the result of sociopsychological reasoning. 'l'he first is, as far as I can judge, and despite Ferenczi's attempt to show other-wise, not well grounded in the clinical field. T h e second, although it may have clinical usefulness and certainty relevant to clinical data is not a depth-psychological discovery, even as theory, because unlike the other "points of view" of metapsychology, it refers nlore to what goes on between people rather than in the process active in the psyche itself.

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self-analysis, or, to say the least, it is compatible with it. My nonirlclusion here of the "adaptive point of view" is not prompted by any considerations concerning the time of its introduction (which one rnight call neoclassical rather than classical) but by the realization that it does indeed not belong into the traditional introspective-empathic framework of analysis and, like Erikson's (1950) concept of "identity," tries to take u p an ambiguous position in a never-never land at the borders between depth psychology and social psychology. Thus I believe that for the time being, i.e., until a new metapsychology can be s devised which, whatever its improven~ents(of shecidinb ~ t mechanistic formulations and freeing itself from the other features that restrict the depth psychologist's vision and even distort his perception), will, like traditional metapsychology, be derived from and remain in harmony with the psychoanalyst's basic observational stance, we should retain the old theories and c o n t i n ~ ~ e to pour o ~ l new r wine into the old bottles. T h e task oftransferring them later into a new set of theoretical containers should not be all too difficult. Like Anna Freud (see her Signlund Freud Lecture in New York, 1968), therefore, I am strongly in favor of not disregarding our theoretical framework, i.e., in particular not to shift o u r primary focus from the individual and his motivations to the tensions that exist between individuals, between the individual and society, and the like. No one c o ~ ~ deny l d the importance of sociocultural psychology and the need to investigate this field that demands research with observational and conceptual-theoretical tools adapted to this field. But the depth psychologist first has his own contribution to make, and the still open roads into this largely unexplored field allow us to anticipate discoveries that stagger the imagination. T h e choice of the basic theoretical viewpoint (or of the multiplicity of viewpoints) which the psychological observer makes, depends, I am convinced, not only on the dispassionate assessment of the merit of the particular position that he has chosen, '

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but on his enlotiorla1 commitment to it. I t is easy t o see, for example, that--once a choice has been made and the major contribution of a worker or of a group of workers have been ordered in accordance with a specific basic theoretical stance-a position that has been adhered to for an extended period will not be easily abandoned o r exchanged for another one, it' new findings should indeed warrant such a change.' Sonletimes theoretical positions are espoused, and then clung to, not only because of their intrinsic positive merit but also for negative reasons, in defense against another position. Such a choice by opposition is especially important to examine in the full light of day when it is not justified by any intrinsic flaw of the position against which one fights but is based on a dimly felt distaste that is then, secondarily, rationalized. I arn discussing this matter here not in order to make a general point concerning the history of ideas, however true the point made may be, but because I believe that the particular opposition to the acknowledgment of the significant tjct that understanding through empathy is the central data-collecting method of psychoanalysis is not due to any serious disagreement about the indeed undeniable truth that analysts investigate the inner life of man and that empathy (Freud, 1921) and introspection (Ferenczi, 1928a) allow him to do so, but to a vaguely felt disconlfort that wishes to free analysis of any suspicion of engaging in nonscientific philosophical introspectionism or sentimentalizing compassion+ften confused with empathy-leading in therapeutic application to a "cure through love"; all these are 2. Freud's flexibility in this respect, his ability to replace an olcl theoretical position when he initiated the shift from icl to ego psychology, from the basic model of a dichotimized mind to that of the ego-id sequence becomes the more admirable when one contenlplates the number of pioneering contributions made on the basis of the first theoretical position. He was, nevertheless, able to alter his basic theoretical tfamcwol-k significantly when new fields of exploration warranted such a change. 1 must only add here that, without the loss of;cn iota of my admiration for Freud's resilient creativity in the early IY20s, 1 would keep the question open whether Freud would have been able to accept the new Iramework had another researcher advanced it rather than he himself.

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acceptable, indeed hardly debatable, attitudes which would indeed be at variance with the overall outlook of analysis as a scientific psychology. But instead of repeating here the theoretical position that I clearly outlined in 1959, without, in other words, enlarging here again on the stepwise process which leads from empathic factfinding to explanation, I will in the following attempt to illustrate with the aicl of a concrete example-a thought experinirnt- dernonstrating how empathy pervades the processes by which the explanation of the primary data, perceived via empathy, is ultimately achieved in our science, and how its use tnay bring about that mixture of subtlety of understanding, nuanced formulation, and faithfulness to actual human experience, while yet rigorously maintaining the high degree of theoretical clarity that has always characterized psychoanalysis at its best. The thought experiment which 1 will attempt to describe-and it may well be that some colleagues will be able to compare it to analogous performances of' their own-concerns the psychoanalytic understanding anti explanation of the genesis of depression. In order to ease communication, let us imagine that in the following I am addressing a class of students-a device that allows me to talk about the well-known and the well-established, without the danger of offending the reader and without the need to explain every time why I have to introduce material that in and of itself already belongs to the storehouse of the analyst's knowledge but now takes on a novel role within a context that is new. Although I must, of necessity, present my thought processes in a much abbreviated form, I will proceed rnethodically, step by step. In depression, according to Freud (1917), aggressions that had been turned outward have changed direction and are now turned against the self. And although a regular sequential unrolling of experiences-(1) impulse to external aggression; (2) inner o r outer obstacles to the employment of aggression in this

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way; (3) appearance of self-belittlement and self-hate--can be discerned with the aid of the observer's empathic immersion into the experience of the analysand (or introspectively, if an analyst can observe this set of experiences in himself), the old objection to the validity of aposf hoc ergopropter hoc conclusion could-and, in fact, should-still be raised. Empathy, so far, has only allowed the observer to grasp the content of a sequential process; it has not yet supplied that understanding of the process in its totality that could provide a proof of psychic causality via an empathic grasp of the accompanying emotions and thus of the underlying motivations that bring about the ultimate result. Clearly, I am here artificially isolating and separating processes that, in their actual employment by an experienced analytic observer, are used either si~nultaneouslyor in such rapidly alternating successions that they appear to be of one piece. Still my looking at them in isolation is done for heuristic purposes and needs no excuse. I will, therefore, add now that our understanding of a patient's experiences on the way to depression is not restricted to the previously enumerated contents-impulse, obstacle, self-hate-but that it is decisively enriched by our ernpathic grasp of certain emotions which, while they are often perceived as an accompaniment of and reaction to the ideational content of the inner experience and are thus perceived separately (by analysand and analyst) are in fBct equally important constituents each of the total psychic configurations that the patient experiences on the road lo getting depressed. In view of the fact that in the context of my present purposes I am dealing here only with a side issue, I will restrict myself to illustrate my meaning by referring to a single emotion occurring at one of the junctures of the aforementioned sequence of experience: the anxiety which is an intrinsic constituent of the perception of what I so pallidly referred to as the experience of an obstacle. I am certain that I need not elaborte here: the analysand via the introspective grasp of his own anxiety arid the

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analyst via the empathic grasp of the patient's experience as it is reported to him-and, of course, in many instances, even long before it has been reported to him-now understands a moment of inner life much better than befbre, in particular in its motivational context. I need mention only such catchwords as fear and retreat vis-a-vis a stronger rival, discouragenlent and retreat vis-a-vis a competitor with greater skills, fear and retreat vis-avis an unsolvable ambivalence or guilt conflict that interferes with successful action, and the like. But we must go further still. Both the aggression that ultimately ends in depression and the specific discouragement associated with depression are characterized by certain specific qualities; in order to make the correct theoretical fi~rmulation, a number of f'urther exploratory steps, involving the participation of a new set of empathic processes, will have to be taken. First of all we will recognize that the aggression which precedes and (later) underlies the depression is primitive and that it has a nagging quality. Often, fbr example, we encounter dreams during the early phases of depression, the associations to which lead us to canriibalistic preoccupations. And sometimes, not very rarely, in fact, the open portrayal of' self-devouring tendencies in the manifest dreams at the beginning of some analyses will tell us that a depression will later on have to be faced. T h e observer will thus grasp (via his empathy) that the patient's aggression belongs to an oral-sadistic experiential world and that once the aggression has turned against the self, the nature of the self-belittling, self-destroying tendency will still be oral-sadistic. H e will then be ready to follow the analysarld when h e begins to reveal a particular weak spot in his personality-a structural flaw ihat stems from early expcriences surrounding the feeding and weaning stages of his development, with rage at a frustrating (nonresponsive, nonempathic) mothel- image o r breast, and the like. But we must go further still-beyond the empathically grasp-

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able primitiveness and lack of neutralization" o f t h e rage and of its oral-sadistic nature-and must try to comprehend, on experience-near and or1 experience-distant levels, the crucial fact that the rage has turned from the imago of the object arid is now directed against the imago of'the self. Arid here, too, as was the case with regard to the previous steps that 1 described, cognitive processes that lead to empathic understanding and cogrlitive processes that lead to theoretical explanation rnust be activated and put to use, and there must be cooperatiori belween them-abstract reasoning, basing itself on the results of empathic observation, guiding empathic observation and being guidecl by it-in order to achieve optimal scientific results. I will, in the following, alterupt to broaden and deepen our comprehension of the state of depression beyond the compre3. As an aside which, at the same time is also not irrelevant i l l the present context, I will say here that 1 consider Hartmann's (1950) tern1 (and concept) of "r~eutralization"to be a n especially felicitous one. By contrast to his tet-nr (;c~ltl concept) o f "atlaptation"-however great its usefulness ant1 how eve^. wrlcome to those psychoarialysts who believe that analysis will overconle its isolation ic~rd be accepted as an equal by scierrces (e.g., sociology, employing thc statistical rnethoc1)-the creation of' bridging concepts toward sociology such as "adaptation" (Hartmann) and "identity" (Erikson) leads to the partial abancloninent of' the basic stance o f the tlepth psychologist who rrstricts himself to the i~~vt.atigations of thc inner litc of man. 'l'he concept of "neutr;~Iization." however. remains firmly within the area of' the ~,sychologyofco~nplexrnental states, i.e., within the area that is operl to investigation only via introspection a~rclen~pathy. .I'rue, the term itself'evokes a chenric;il imagery, but that is a harnlless a~rtl.at any rate, traclitionally permissible proceclul-e. (We d o not bla~ncphysicists folthe use of the anthropoinorphic term encl-gy referring originally to the 1abot.s of man and wc clo not believe that an eosinophilic leukocyte "loves" cosin because of the rranlc by which it is referred to.) T h e concept, however, is fully co~np;rtihle with the total field into which it helongs and an aspect of' which it explains. I t is a generalization, of' course; i t . , it lacks all the qualilies of'evoking tllc vivitlness o f dil-ectly introspected (or empathized with) inner experience. Yet arr ~ ~ n b r o k e n path, however long, leads to the direct experience-a specific replica illnstrating the general principle can be tlirectly perceived as we scan our inner life and distinguish between raw hatl-ed and slight dislike, between intense love arid a touch of'aff'ection ancl the like. I will end this aside by pleacling, as 1 have clone many times betore, the cause o f a psychology of man's inner litc, that is, in and by itself., a fully acceptable science that need r ~ oimitate t the extrospec-tivescierrces. ant1 its own ways of' but must create its ow11 neth hot lo logical instrunrenta~-iun~ cstablishing the correctness and accuracy o f its findings.

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hension achieved thus far; i.e., beyond the grasp of the dynamics of the situation (the reversal of the direction of the destructive drive) and of its genetic determinants (the regression to orali~y and, in particular, to oral sadism). And I will undertake this task not only in order to make a contribution to our increasing comprehension of the depressive state, however worthy an enterprise this may be in and of itself, but, in the present context, mainly so that I can demonstrate with the aid of an account of a specific thought experiment how the two ahrementioned cognitive processes-(1) understanding, i.e., observations via introspection and empathy; and (2) explanation, i.e., the fitting in of the observed-understood data into an experience-distant theoretical context-must cooperate (in a relationship of neutrality) in order to achieve a valuable scientific formulation. I will begin my thought experiment by positing a relatively experience-near hypothesis. Specifically, I will show that the niood that is characteristic for a depression is most closely understood via empathy with a baby o r small child that has suffered a severe frustration at a particular, clearly circumscribed stage of psychic development, i.e., at the very moment when its cognitive development has just tentatively allowed it to recognize that the breast-mother is separate, that it is not under the child's absolute control (not as much, that is, under the child's control as is the control which adults expect to exert over their own bodies and minds), but that the breast-mother has a greater degree of independence vis-A-vis its needs. It is the moment, in other words, when it has tentatively begun to dawn on the child that the control over the breast-mother object is not direct anymore but indirect, via calling, pleading, etc. Here again I will leave out the intermediate steps of the belief in the magic of the call which holds sway before the co~nprehensionof the fact that the call is the carrier of a message is gradually established (Ferenczi, 1913). If we now let our theoretical knowledge about developn~entalsteps concerning self-object separation and o u r empathic imagination co-

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operate, we will come to the central conclusion that the baby's or small child's oral frustration brings about two results: ( 1 ) it causes an upsurge of intense oral-sadistic rage; and (2) it undoes the tentative acceptance of the separateness of the object, a developmental forward move that has been made (a) on the basis of the increasing maturity of the child's cognitive apparatus and (b) in consequence of the encouraging experience that the object's responsiveness to the needs of the child-guided by its reasonably accurate empathic perception of these needs-is reliable and can be counted on. T h e inability of the object to respond appropriately to the need of the child-an inability of traumatic degree, (usually one clue to chronically defective empathic perception) or the extreme fickleness of its responses (usually d u e to the object's idiosyncratically distorted empathy)-which does not allow the baby to master the situation via its predictability, causes, therefore, not only a primitivization of'the rage but also a regression that involves the child's cognitive ability. Specifically, the tentatively achieved distinction between self and object is lost, the two separate cognitive configurations merge again into a single, more primitive one, and thus the rage is diffusely directed against this primitive selfobject structure-before object and subject are separated-in the terms of the adult observer whose empathy is not informed by the considerations that I now adduced: this rage is now directed against the self. I could at this point round out my thought experiment and complete my explanatory account of the psychic processes that make up depression. I would have to attempt to do this with the aid o f a detailed comparison between the processes that bring about the undoing of the barely established separation between the imago of the self and the parent imago which we discussed in the foregoing and the analogous processes that we encounter at a much later developmental stage with regard to the introjection ofthe narcissistically cathected parent imago as superego.

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Here we see the undoing not of cognitive separation of what should be experienced as two units but in the reverse direction, t l ~ eseparation under stress, of a barely established constituent of' the personality which is now again experienced as an aspect of the parent imago. But in view of the fact that I am not dealing hcre with the theory of depression but used my contribution to it only to demonstrate the role of empathy in our work, I will not pursue this topic any further. Suffice it to say that the role of the superego arid what Freud (1917) called "object-choice by identification" have now been demonstrated to fall into an empathically graspable context which gives substance to the, depthpsychologically speaking, rather insubstantial formulation that depression is clue to aggression turned against itself-a statement that without the support of'the results of the empathic thought. experiment that I described remains essentially on a descriptive level because it has severed its relationship to the empathically observed data. Once more, and for the last time, then let me make clear that the fbregoing thought experiment was presented not primarily as a contribution to the theory of depression, but in order to serve as an illustrative example of the cooperation ol'empathic processes with nonempathic ones as theoretical explanations are striven for and reached by psychoanalysis, i.e., by the depth-psychological science of complex mental states. Onc final question remains: have I in the foregoing pages succeeded in demonstrating convincingly that the accusation of introspectionism-mystical and philosophical, i.e., by clear innuendo: unscientific-which has been raised against my contributions of 1959 rests on the complete misreading of'the theories I advanced at that tirne? I would be inclined to give, and with the fullest confidence, an affirmative answer to my question, were it not, for the disconcerting fact that I am unable to u n derstand how my primary intentions-as already unmistakably defined in the subtitle of the 1959 essay, namely, that I was offering an epistemological contribution--could have been dis-

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regarded by a critic in the first place. Still, whatever the factors that entered into the critic's misreading-perhaps to stress an in and of itself' important point he had been wanting to make and finding my paper as providing a convenient peg on which to hang his valuable thesis-I hope that the preceding effort was not wasted. While I n~yselfcannot see how a clear statement concerning the interrelationship between the basic data-gathering outlook of a science and the kind of theory that it must create can raise suspicions and misgivings, the occurrence of just such a reaction does give one food for thought. And I am sure that the debate about this issue is by no means closed. At any rate, I hope that in the present small contribution 1 did not succumb to the temptation of engaging in the usual fruitless I am right, you are wrong kind of debate but that 1 succeeded in using a criticisrri as a spur for a further positive contribution, however modest it may be.

On Leadership (1969-70)

T h e years I devoted to organizational tasks in psychoanalysis' have made me more keenly aware of the role of narcissism in the public realm: as a spur for constructive planning and collaborative action, if integrated with and subordinated to social and cultural purposes; and as a source of sterile dissension and destructive conflict, if in the service of unneutralized ambition or of rationalized rage. For an analyst to report his observations concerning the role of narcissism in his own field, especially about its destructive influences, is, however, hardly appropriate within the framework of a n objective scientific communication. He would lay himself open to the suspicion that he is grinding his own axe under the guise of pursuing a dispassionate technical This paper was first published in Se1fP.ychology and the Humanitir.r: Kejlrcl~or~.\ on a New Psychoanalytic Approach, by Heinz Kohut, edited with an introtluction by Charles H. Strozier, Norton, 1985, pp. 51-72. It is reprinted here with pernlissiorr. '[Editor's note: For many years Kohut helped provide curricular arid institutional leadership i r ~the Chicago Institute for Psychoanalysis. He also served on a number of important committees of the An~ericanPsychoanalytic Association, and in 1964 served as President of that organization. "On Leadership," written in the late 196Os, came at a tirne when he was shifting his attention away from organizational tasks and toward research and writing in what he came to call self psychology. This essay, as indicated in the Prethce ofthis book, was first P cq the Srlf(197 1 ) . However, conceived as the final chapter of his book, T ~Analysir for reasons that are not entirely clear, Kohut decided not to include it i r ~the final version of' his manuscript.]

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investigation and, even if he could perform the feat of truly setting aside personal bias, his conclusions would hardly carry conviction. I would therefore restrict myself to restating the view which I expressed in 1964 (p. 392), that a "reacliness for attitudes of mutual disrespect arid contempt among colleagues. . . reflects perhaps the fact that we have not yet been able to push o u r explorations of the infantile roots of narcissism as f i r as those of infantile object-directed libiclinal and aggressive attitudes." It' this view is correct, the immediate blame woulcl tend to be clirected against the training analyses which we are conductirig fi)r not securing the asce~~dancy of the ego over the narcissism of the future psychoanalyst. Rut even if the insight gained in their training analyses could be reliecl uporl to determine the future conduct of analysts, the fault lies not predornina~itly with the technical shortcomings in the management of training analysts o r by their rnore careflrl instruction. It is d u e instead to the lacunae which exist in o u r basic knowledge concerning narcissism, this important, yet still insufficiently explored, sector of our field. Freud (1937) regarcled uritamable aggression as the primary cause of' human destructiveness and suffering. Wheri he discussed a concrete example of the irrational antagonism which one analyst (probably Sandor E'erenczi) had developed agair~st another (Freud), he put the blame on the i~icompletenessof the work done in the training analysis. He felt the analysand's aggressions, embedded in the negative transference, either had r ~ o t manifested themselves suf'ficiently o r had not been recognized and understood. 'l'o be aware of the contribution of narcissis~n to disunity and destructive conflict does not, of course, deny the presence of an aggressive drive, that is, of an innate biological propensity to attack and to destroy. T h e depth psychologist, however, must not resign hinlself solely to the pessimistic recog~iitionof' irreducible psychobiological drives. It is surely part of his task to study the complete interaction between drive,

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psychic structures, and the environment. But he must also study narcissism, which sometimes is able to harness aggression to constructive purposes, while a t other times serves as the vehicle for the most destructive activities of which nian is capable. Michael Kohlhaas by Kleist and M o b Dick by Melville demonstrate the enormity and relentlessness of the rage which may ensue subsequent to the shameful experience of a narcissistic injury in the narcissistically vulnerable individual. In the clinical setting in particular, every seasoned therapist will search for the specific affront that was experienced by a narcissistic patient who shows signs of prolonged anger during the anlysis. In the social field (including psychoanalysis), an often quite narrowly circulnscribed narcissistic in-jury tui-11s a former friend into a malicious enemy who spends all his intellectual and emotional energies carrying out a vendetta against a group o r a profession, much as he may rationalize his behavior and justify his purposes by adducing other motivations. O n e of the difficulties of a psychoanalytic explanation of historical events (and other social phenomena) is the colnplexity of the interplay of various groups in producing social o r historical action. 'The apparently passive tolerance in larger groups of the takeover of leadership and initiative by smaller groups may actually be more active than meets the eye. Thus, small pathological, o r otherwise highly special and unusual, aberrant groups rnay be "passively" permitted to assume leadership in order to reach a goal which the majority may wish to disown yet also to reach. For example, people motivated by "normal" competitiveness and jealousy may tolerate the merciless killing of the competitor by a paranoid group which, after it has done its work, is itself condenlned and removed from the social scene. These considerations not only are relevant with regard to the explanation of specific social phenomena, like the behavior of the German masses, the powerful Socialist Party, the Army, o r the Church toward the Nazis before, during, and ofter the Nazi re-

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gime in Germany, but also point the way to a promising direction of remedial social action by psychology. The paranoid or otherwise aberrant minority is "incurable" by insight. T h e hope for "social therapy," however, is that it will raise the awareness of other groups concerning their motivation and their use of the minority for their own unconscious p ~ r p o s e s . ~ Take, for example, the role which narcissistic injury may have played in Hitler's unending destructiveness. After his failure to transform narcissistic tensions in art, Hitler appears to have lapsed into a period of lonely brooding and hypochondriacal preoccupation, from which he emerged with the conviction that the Jews had invaded the body of Germany and had to be eradi ~ a t e dIt. ~is paradoxical on first sight that wounds suffered from an attack on an individual's most private psychological possessions, his grandiose fantasies, should produce vast social consequences. It seems that in certain narcissistic types the fluidity of the borders of the self not only leads to great narcissistic vulnerability with the tendency to perceive impersonal and accidental occurrences as personal slights, but also produces a specific sensitive perception of similar motivations in others and with it the ability to manipulate them. Narcissistic leader figures of this type experience the social surroundings as a part of themselves. 'I'he mere fact that other groups, nationalities, or races are different from themselves and do not react as they expect ?[[Editor's note: In the original manuscript Kohut had this entile paragraph as a long tootnote. It seemed significant enough to include it in the text of the paper itself. However, at the end of Kohut's original footnote he had in brackets the following cryptic note to himself: "Elaborate here with reference to Bracher-a bow to Bracher. yet insistence on the pervasive influence of' psychological factors." T h e "Bracher" book Kohut is referring to in this obscure g, Folgrn. note is Karl Dietrich Bracher. Die deu,lscht I)iktntu~.:E n / ~ l r l ~ u nStruktur, clrs NaliormlsozicllismzwLoiism (1970), which Kohut had been reading carefully in the period just prior to writing this paper.] "Editor's note: At this point in the ~nanuscript,Kohut refers to Heiden (IYJti) and to Bullock (1964). In the margin of the ma nu scrip^ Kohut wrote the t'ollowing note to himself "But insert here Hitler's dread of regular work in this period, i.e., his absolute commitnler~tnot to be deflected from some vaguely sensed destiny."]

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then1 to react is a deep personal affront, a frightening, inimical disturbance of their solipsistic universe. T h e situation can only be remedied by wiping out those who dare to be different. Yet the same perception of the social scene makes such a leader sensitive to the perception of emotional identities. He can discover similar snlall or dormant motivations in others, which he uses skillfully by identifying with them and bringing about an identification with him. He melts them into his personality so to speak and brings them and their actions under his control as if they were his limbs, his thoughts, and his actions. Freud demonstrated (1921) that identification with the leader's ego ideal creates group cohesiveness, mutual identification, and diminution of aggression between the members of the group. Such groups are, I believe, held together through a bond of idealizing love and are capable of constructive action. The groups which are formed around the personality of a paranoid leader, however, are not tied together by the convergence of their idealizing love, by an ego ideal held in common. They are principally united by their sharing of an archaic narcissistic conception of the world that must destroy those who are different and by the identity of their grandiose fantasies embodied in their leader. They are held together by a common grandiose self. T o say that constructive groups, such as Freud had in mind, converge in their purposes through a shared ego ideal, while destructive forces, such as those of twentieth-century fascism, have coalesced by dint of the magnetism of a shared grandiose self is largely correct but inexact. Constructive groups may well hold certain ambitions in common and the heightened self-esteem which the individual derives from feeling himself at one with a group with whose sense of power and pleasurable display of self-confidence he identifies is by no means incompatible with self-control, civilized behavior, and creative purpose. Mixtures of identification of the aini-inhibited derivatives of the pre-

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structural omnipotent object and the grandiose self are undoubtedly present in all viable and prociuctive groups. 'l'his would include small teams of individuals working toward limited political, mercantile, or scientific tasks to large nations and populations who want to improve the territory in which they live and to leave a better world for their children. What decides the cultural value of the group is not the predominance of one of the narcissistic structures over the other (based as it were on the biased value judgment that ideals are mot-ally superior to ambitions) but the relative archaism or maturity of these configurations and the relative degree of ego dominance over them. I t is nevertheless true that the most cult.ure-destroying forms of mass behavior-e.g., of those masses under the sway of the dictatorships of our century-emanated from groups which were predominantly amalgamatecl by the identity with the archaic grandiose self. Even here there are undoubtedly exceptions. Individual menibers of these groups relate to the leader in mystical religious devotion, betraying the presence of archaic forms of the omtlipotent object; others use overt idealization as a cover of their reactivated archaic power-grandiosity; and still others rriobilize truly idealizing cathexes. Yet the bulk of mass movements form themselves around shared archaic grandiosity after the previously existing aim-inhibited and ego-contr-ollecl shared form of self-confidence (national prestige) and the previously existing aim-inhibited anti ego-controlled communal ego ideal (religious values) have been destroyed or debased. T h e overwhelming quality of the forces which have formed the destructive nationalistic movements of this century and the power and efficacy of their vengeful actions must thus, I believe, be understood as the result of the narcissistic bond established between the personality of the leader and the psychological tensions of ttie masses. Certain charismatic leaders appear to have been exposed to narcissistic deprivations in early childhood that prevented the gradual modification of their grandiose self and

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its integration with the reality ego, thus depriving this structure of one of its most important constituents. Since it is through the reality ego that a person's relationships with others are mediated, the defectiveness of this structure-experienced as alternate states of grandiosity and inferiority-leads at first to severe degrees of social isolation. One might say that the presence of the unmodified grandiose substructure interferes with the ability to acknowledge the existence of other individuals as independent centers of initiative and thus to perceive them as separate from himself and as distinguishable one from the other. What differentiates the leader, however, from others who suffer from interpersonally crippling personality disorders is the fact that, while his capacity to perceive and distinguish individuals and to relate to them as a friend and companion is impaired, the leader develops a heightened sensitivity to the anonymous group and its motivations and is able to relate to it intensely. T h e socially impoverishing tendency to perceive people as types and cliches rather than as individuals, which is found so frequently in the narcissistically fixated,'' is compensated for by a heightened grasp of the unconscious and preconscious tension states, o f t h e fantasies, wishes, and fears of the group. It should not be forgotten, however, that this power of the gifted leader can be effectively engaged only in the area in which the fantasies and wishes of the masses are like his own. He is completely unable to understand groups that are different from his own, and he fails to understand even his own group when it begins to be motivated by strivings which d o not spring from the grandiose fantasies that they hold in common with him. T h e leader's inability to perceive and to understand human reactions beyond 'See in Kohut (1071, p. 150) the examples of'patic~ltG. who told me that all his playniates had known Iris name while he had not known tht.irs, and that of patient H . who as 21 child had the fantasy that all people were his servants. Both of thcsc patients were as adults quite lacking in the capacity to l~nclcrstandothers as indivitluals, ancl both harbored strong group prejudices and were in general inclined toward thinking of people in rerrns o f typcs and cliches.

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a certain range is not recognized by him as a limitation, even though it is a serious shortcoming that often contributes to his ultimate downfall. He declares as contemptible motivations and attitudes which are not identical with his own. T h u s he develops along with his great understanding of the masses a steadily increasing contempt for them. Hitler identified intensely with the German people as long as they shared his ambitions but became contemptuous of them when they did not completely fall in line with h i n ~ . ~ ' T h e unconscious fantasies of the group's grandiose self, expressed in the transference upon the image of an appropriate leader figure, thus can play at times a crucial role in its cohesion. T h e leader of such a group is not primarily the focal point of shared values, as Freud suggested, but self-righteously expresses the group's ambitions and extols its greatness and power. Along with the various political, social, and economic factors that account for the irresistible attractions which nationalistic movements are able to exert at certain historical junctures, there is thus a psychological one. At certain historical moments there exists a widespread painful awareness of narcissistic imbalance in large segments of a country's population. Shame propensity and readiness for rage are ubiquitous. Individuals seek to melt into the body of a powerful nation (as symbolized by a grandiose leader) to cure their shame and provide them with a feeling of enormous strength, to which they react with relief and triumph. Old fantasies of omnipotence seem suddenly ro have become reality; all are proclaiming the invincible strength of the nation, and he who dares to question the omnipotence of the group and the omniscence of its leader is an outcast, an enemy, a traitor. But how d o the psychological conditions arise which make whole populations susceptible to the lure of' the omnipotent leader? What accounts for the widespread feeling of narcissistic $[Editor's note: I n the nlari~rsrriptKohut refers at this point to Hitter's tablc talk (Tiscligrspruch~,sce Hitler, 1941-44). T h e suggestion in the manuscript is that Kohut intended to elaborate further o n that reference.]

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defect and the passionate desire for its relief through the restoration of a feeling of heightened self-esteem and power? T h e answer to this question has been sought by some in psychological factors which influence the childhood experiences of a whole generation in such a way as to produce a specific vulnerability to subsequent historical events. Wangh (1964), for example, believes that the group of young adults who flocked to the banner of National Socialism in the early thirties were particularly vulnerable to the traumata inflicted by the severe economic depression which existed at that period because their fathers' absence in the war during the early years of their lives had sharpened their Oedipus con~plexupon their fathers' return, had increased their readiness to experience anxiety because of their mothers' anxiety during their fathers' absence, and had in general interfered with the stability of their superego and sense of identity. Wangh's interesting speculation deserves greater attention than I am able to give it in the present context. I will only mention that, on the basis of my clinical experience with narcissistic personality disturbances, I would lay the main stress on different factors as possibly contributing to a predisposition to join the Nazi movement in the group examined by Wangh. I would emphasize that the child retains the image of an omnipotent father because, in the absence of the father, he lacks the opportu~lity for the gradual discovery of' the father's shortcomings." The childhood circumstances, furthermore, which Wangh describes contain also the following relevant element. The father's return, after a boy had ruled the roost for a number of years, ends with traumatic suddenness the child's prolonged state of grandiosity, with the usual deleterious result that, on the one hand, the unmodified grandiose self lives on in a split-off and/or repressed position, while, on the other hand, realistic self-esteem receives no nutriment from the depth of the personality. The Analyszs ofthe Self, pp. 82-84.

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'The con~plexityof historical developments appears to surpass the limits of the human mind. One sympathizes with the wish of some historians to restrict themselves to the dispassionate and objective recording of events, rather than searching for the explanatory factors that may even potentially lead to the anticipation of historical destiny. Yet who is more familiar than the depth psychologist with the unending complexities of objective factors? And who else has discoverec-1that a seemingly unmanageable wealth of detail can become intelligible, show recognizable patterns, and lead to predictability and increased control? With all the acknowledged limitations of his science, the depth psychologist is indeed able to achieve a degree of conceptual mastery over his field because, in coll~ctinghis data, he makes use o f t h e fact that the observing instrument is attuned to the field which it o1)serves; in other words, he employs introspection and empathy (Kohut, 1959). Can the field of history be observed in an analogous way? Is history man-made o r d o we here see fbrces at work which shape man's destiny beyond what would hc psychologically graspable and explainable? It would seem reasonable to work under the assumption that there must at least be aspects of history which are potentially intelligible when approached with the aid of'the insights oftiepth psychology, independent of the fact that forces which are beyond psychology where drives, biological development, anci the circle of life and death are givens to which the psyche reacts but which can neither be explained psychologically nor influenced by psychological means. It is enough that we recognize the limits of psychology and learn to know the areas where we can only modify, transform, mitigate what is a nonpsychological given a n d even those areas where we must resign ourselves LO achieve no more than contemplation and resignation that there exist powers which are beyond human influence. With regard to the specific topic which I intend to use as a proving ground for the explanatory power of the concept of the

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regression within the narcissistic sector of' the personality-the rise of' destructive aggression in Hitler's Germany-the problen~s of' finding explanations are staggering for both the depth psychologist and the historian. Karl Dietrich Bracher, fbr example, has written an instructive book on the subject matter under scrutiny, a treatise which not only brings home the complexity of factors arid the intricacy of their interrelationship but which clarifies like nothing else that I have seen the uncanny effectiveness of the total machinery of destruction through an organization of states within states which permitted remnants of the old to carry on a complex organized pseudo life, while the unspeakable was going on. How the driving forces of' Hitler's absolute convictions pushed things inexorably forward while the surviving civilized fragments of older regimes could manage not to see o r to disavow the significance of what they saw, all this becomes much more understandable-also psychologically!--aftei one has studied Bracher's opus. Yet, what are the etiological collclusions of this monumental achievement? Bracher deemphasizes the explanatory value even of the "results of the historical and sociological observations" and, in this context, does not even mention psychological factors which are, after all, ubiquitous. Instead he stresses the crucial importance of the "immediate process of the take-over of power (by the Nazis) under the novel conditions of our era." While, as a depth psychologist, I am by no means willing to throw in the sponge, I will admit that the emphasis which Bracher lays on the processes which led to the Nazi take-over of power in 1933 leads indeed to extremely illunlinating results. Among other things, it helps us understand the increased paralysis of the democratic and constitutional forces toward the pseudolegal tactics of a determined minority. But must one really rule out the contributions of depth psychology here? Could our control over man's historical fate not be increased through psychoanalytic understanding? Not, of

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course, at the very moment when the dynamics of historical development grind inexorably toward the next immediate stage (as at the time of Hitler's take-over from the helplessly reluctant conservative forces of Paul von Hindenburg and Franz von Papen and with the passive tolerance of the still huge and powerful Social Democratic party), but through long-term shifts which are produced by influencing the psychological propensities of populations. What are the possible approaches to the understanding of group phenomena by which psychoanalysis might contribute something useful? I will mention a few, rather unsystematically, only to show the variety, before I offer my own. First of all we can expand on broad impressions about the power of psychobiological forces and apply them, beyond the individual whose depth-psychoiogical study has led to these impressions, to mankind as a whole. This was, of course, Freud's purpose in his studies of culture, in particular, in Civilization and Its Ilisconlents (1930). It seems to me that the very breadth and depth of such insights into man's nature set also the limits of' their usefulness. Just as no psychoanalyst would approach the average clinical problem by talking about the strength of the given drive equipment and the flimsiness of the forces of the ego, so also there are limits to the application of the insights of psychoanalysis to the phenomena in history. Both on the stage of individual therapy and in the arena of history we recognize that the power of psychobiologically given factors will set limits to what can be achieved through insight and through efforts which are based on insight. But the insight which we will strive to obtain will not be concerning the most general area of the overpowering strength of the primitive forces of nature in human life but concerning specific details of drive elaboration ant1 drive control which must be patiently observed with the aid of' the analytic instrument. Wangh's attempts to explain the readiness of a specific age

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stratum in the German population to embrace National Socialism is an example of such a study. It is an undertaking that deserves respect, independent of whether it can be proven that the fact of belonging to a temporarily fatherless generation during the First World War is indeed an ascertainable crucial variable in the nexus of the crucial historical events. K. K. Eissler (1963) has furnished the paradigm of yet another depth-psychological approach to the understanding of historical events. He suggested that the history of groups (nations) could be studied as if it were the psychological history of an individual, and he courageously undertook to apply to large groups certain psychological correlations which have proven their explanatory value in the understanding of the individual's mind and of the individual's behavioral propensities. He thus believes that nations can suffer traumas in their early history (parallel to the childhood trauma of the life of an individual). As a consequence of such childhood traumas, repressions can take place, and as a further consequence of the repressions, symptoms, tendencies to irrational acts, to special characterological sensitivities, etc., can develop, just as in the formation of the personality of the individual human being. Ultinlately Eissler expresses his belief that, as the uncovering of the repressed through psychoanalytic interpretation enables the individual patient to shed former symptoms and inhibitions and to control former tendencies toward certain rigid reaction patterns, so also with groups and nations. He thus argues that Freud's Moses and Monotheism (1938), by uncovering the communal unconscious oedipal guilt of the Jews, acted like a successful interpretation and permitted the Jews to establish a homeland in Israel. I am well aware of the danger of one-sidedness and of the loss of a balanced scientific perspective and I know that this danger becomes especially great in areas where a multiplicity of factors participates in the production of the phenomena which

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we attempt to explain. Under such circ~unstancesit is tempting to lift one set of factors from the whole intricate pattern of causes, to declare that it is primary and fundaniental arid t o assign a secondary and subsidiary role to other influences. ' f h e depth psychologist, in particular, who day in and day out observes the manifestations of the enormous power of unconscious motivations, will naturally be inclined to look upon unconscio~~s psychic factors as the decisive, essential, and only valid forces in the life of individuals and of groups. This terrlptation to espouse a narrow attitude of biased one-sidedness toward the explanatory power of depth-psychological insights the psychoanalyst must, of' course, resist. And he must forever keep in mind as he employs the methodological skills and the insights which he has obtained in the long years of patient observation and study of the individual on what a precarious path he is now trying to advance. Extreme caution is indeed justified in such an undertaking, despite the pressing need for insightful psychological contributions to man's role in history, lest we discredit not only ourselves but o u r science. Yet, realistic caution must not become cowardice-and the risks must be taken. In the analysis of narcissistic personality disturbances, I have repeatedly observed a specific, well-circumscribed psychological chain of events. T h e frustration of a patient's higher forms of narcissistic satisfaction leads to regression along both axes of the grandiose self and the omnipotent selfobject.' But there is also regressive development in aggression from higher levels of' controlled aggression that are mobilized in support of a person's ambitions and of his wish fbr acclaim and success to that specific form of regression experienced in a specifically regressive perception of the environment that I have called narcissistic rage. This regression, especially when it is prolonged, leads to a variety of' untoward and potentially dangerous consequences in the life of the individual. it also seems to be a factor of the gravest 'See the Analysis oj'thr Sulf(197 I ) , especially diagram 2, p. 97.

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impact when it takes place in the group. This is especially true in one of history's most destructive agents-the nation. T h e most malignant human propensities are ~nobilizedin support of nationalistic narcissistic rage. Nothing satisfies its fury, neither the achievement of limited advantages nor the negotiation of compromises, however favorable-not even victory itself is enough. T h e defect from which the enraged person suffers is an internal one. T h e offender is experienced as a foreign body in an archaic world that must be populated only by obedient selfobjects. He regards the offender's mere otherness as an interf'erence with his own omnipotent control of a narcissistically experienced world. Curiously enough, closer scrutiny always reveals that the enraged person harbors only a vague concept of' "the enemy," who, in the logic of primary process thinking, is replaceable. T h e goal remains the total extinction of' an enemy, who is experienced as absolute at each moment in time. No appeal to reason o r pity can interfere with this goal, because there is no capacity to be empathic with the enemy, to see a fellow human in him. Narcissistic blows are unavoidable and the propensity to respond to them with rage is ubiquitous. 'Ihe question, then, is what historical circumstances will provoke a large part of the nation (like the Germans under the Nazis) to develop increased narcissistic vulnerability and become susceptible, on the one hand, to undertake a supraindividual, nationally organized vendetta of merciless persecution, genocide, war, and destruction and, on the other hand, to pursue a vision of total control over the world? It is likely that many factors must converge to produce such a result. T h e presence, fbr example, o f a gifted pathological leader or the absence of a gifted nonpathological leader might well decisively influence the course of events. Yet historical crisis influences group regression, independent of a leader's influence, in a variety of ways. There is a first stage of painful increase in narcissistic tension with propensity toward shame, hypochon-

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dria, and depression. This is followed by a regressive movement in the narcissistic realm, manifested partly in the sector of the idealized omnipotent parent imago and partly in the sector of the grandiose self. T h e first line of regression leads to such manifestations as inclinations toward vague mystical religiosity (the following of sects at the fringe of true religion, for example) and the search for an external embodiment of the omnipotent selfobject into whom one can merge. T h e second line of' regression leads to the reinforcement of archaic grandiosity, attitudes of intolerant certainty, arrogance, and the extolling of an external embodiment of the grandiose self in the nation. Ultimately the stage is set for the coalescence of both tendencies. T h e individual finds triumphant relief from the narcissistic tension as his grandiose self expands into the powerf~ilgroup and as the leader becomes the omnipotent selfobject with whom the individual merges. It goes almost without saying that the loss of national prestige after the defeat in the First World War deprived many individual Germans of a great deal of pride in their self-group (the group established on the basis of a grandiose self held in common). There was in addition the loss of self-esteem for untold millions from unemployment, currency inflation, and decreased social standing for the civil service and for other large parts of the middle class. Like the individual patient whose needs for acclaim is not responded to, the potential for regression in the area of the grandiose self must have increased strongly for many Cermans in the years after the First World War. Some parts of the population-organized, class-conscious workers and certain groups of intellectuals (some of them Jews)-attained new pride in themselves. Yet for the rest, in primary process logic, it seemed the victors had taken narcissistic gratifications from them. Furthermore, the traumatically rapid devaluation of both Christian and traditional tribal values (as embodied in and held by the aristocratic officer caste) contributed strongly to the narcissistic

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regressions, in particular toward archaic forms o f t h e grandiose self and toward archaic forms of rage. There were many, of course, within Germany who were able to maintain themselves despite the current of regression which, with apparently irresistible power, sucked in people from all walks of life: aristocrats like Claus Schenk von Stauffenberg; professional soldiers like Henning Tresckow; Socialists like Julius Leber; members of the clergy such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer among the Protestants and Alfred Delp among the Catholics; and finally such moving examples of inner independence and political resistance as the simple farmer Franz Jaggerstatter and those noble students, Hans and Sophie Scholl. It is not easy to be dispassionate here. T h e inclination is strong to restrict oneself to staying within the limits of a morally buttressed rejection of the evil leaders and their followers and an affectionate and admiring response to the martyrs who died for their convictions. But the depth psychologist knows the task which is assigned to him, and this knowledge must help him transcend these limits. Even in the arena of historical action-and perhaps especially here-he must not only judge but also examine, understand, explain. H e will envy, but he must not share the philosopher's attitude exemplified by Martin Buber ( 1 96 1 , p. 67), who in accepting the Frankfurt Peace Prize said this about the Nazi evildoers: "I am sharing only in appearance the dimensions of human existence with those who have participated in those misdeeds." If the depth psychologist is to make a contribution to the understanding of man's role in history and his control over his des~iny,then he must try to extend his empathic observation not only to the victims but also to the persecutors, not only to the martyrs but also to their torturers. H e must discover the human, all-too-human, whether in the normal (as measured by traditional standards) o r in the psychopathological, in the good o r in the evil. Furthermore, he must not focus only on the historically

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distant past. There, it is true, our emotional involvement declines, but so also does our empathic attunernent. 'l'he depth psychologist must overcome his reluctance and direct his empathic attention to that more recent past in which he is still deeply involved. Who were those who severed their forriler commitments and joined the new source of power and pride? T h e backbone of the Nazi party-and also the main source of the new German elite-was the lowest stratum of the middle classes: people who on the whole had few values to love but who were driven by the tension of untransformed exhibitionism and unformulated arnbitions. Some of the older generation realized, of' course, the extent to which the traditional value system had been undermined and tried to appeal to their sons. But the darnage had been done and the appeal was weak or came too late. A touching letter of Joseph Goebbels (1 897- 1945) from his father (Manvell and Fraenkel, 1960, pp. 14-15) may be presented as an example of these psychological tensions. The then 22-yearold Goebbels, a Catholic by birth, had written to his father that he was increasingly moving away from religion. T o this the father replied on November 9, 1919: "I may assume that you have not yet lost [your faith]. . . but that you are tormented by doubts . . . no-one, especially no young person, is ever. . . spared such doubts; . . . there is no victory without a struggle. Hence, to make this a reason for keeping away from the Holy Sacrament is a grievous error; for who would claim at all times to have approached the 'Table of the Lord with the childlike pure heart Thus father Coebbels tried of his very first Holy Comn~union."~ in vain to persuade his son to retain the traditional religious values of the family. But neither he nor many others of the older "Iam here quoting only briefly I'rorn t';~tlierGoebbels' long ant1 persuasive letter. 'That there existed a very intensc relationship between Goebbels and his father can be clearly declucted even from this single document. Hut we are ;I( this point Li~cusingon data 01 individual biography only insofar as they arc illustrative of the historical current.

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generation were successful in this aim. T h e devaluation of the established religions, the fall of the monarchy, the defeat of' Gel-many, the rise of the working classes, the loss of prestige, and the internal devaluation of the aristocracy and the officer class-all combined to weaken traditional shared ideals. Narcissistic tensions rose and narcissistic regression ensued. Personal and sociocultural f'actors were, of course, inextricably intertwined. Goebbels' deformity and his unhappy love affairs at the time of the quoted correspondence with his father, for example, undoubtedly contributed to the severe psychological crisis which he then experienced and which nearly drove him to suicide less than a year later. Thus Goebbels closed his "Last Will" of October 1 , 1920, with the words: "I part without regret from a life that has become for me no better than an inferno." But it is not only the personal and idiosyncratic that can account for widespread shifts in attitudes. Psychologically significant changes in the sociocultural arena absorb the personal. Psychoanalysis itself as a fbrm of individual psychotherapy is not likely to reach sufficient numbers of the population to influence broad sociopolitical attitudes and historical tendencies. Nevertheless, psychoanalytic insights that are applicable to the relevant sociocultural f'actors may yet have a chance of increasing our control over the destructive forces of history, which have played greater havoc with humanity than all of nature's floods and plagues. An understanding of the need to supply values that are within the reach of large numbers of the population, for example, as well as to provide a framework within which the prestige needs of the average man can find a modicum of fulfillment, may become as important for the constructively thinking statesman, political leader, or public administrators of the future as, let us say, his grounding in economics or in the design of organizational schemes. Many of those in Germany who could no longer maintain their narcissistic equilibrium were ready to see in Hitler and in

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the National Socialist party a chance fbr the deployment of the narcissism of the archaic grandiose self to which they had regressed. This was possible because Hitler's programs, though clearly promising the fulfillment of the crudest narcissistic aims of power and domination, were yet disguised, however thinly, as a system of ideals. In other words, the Nazi propagandists and the framers of the Nazi ideology (like the obscurantist Hans Kosenberg) claimed that they were motivated by the highest ideals. 'The very frenzy, however, with which the leader figure was extolled, the emphasis on his absolute power and his omniscience, betrayed that he was not a sytnbol fbr values but that he represented a concretization of the grandiose self of the masses. T h e negative image o f t h e "international Jew" (and to a lesser extent the related images of international Jewish communisni, international Jewish Christianity, and international Jewish democracy) reflected the poverty of lovable ideals in Nazism. T h e "vulgarized Darwinism" which was called upon t o justify the extermination of fellow men was, apart from being wrong, not a beloved ideal but a delinquent ego's attempt to justify its misdeeds. A repeated feeling of narcissistic triumph carne when victory seemed to confirm the grandiosity of the coniniunal narcissistic self. However, the unavoidable knowledge of the unprecedented persecution of the helpless was denied. As Alexander and Margaret Mitscherlich (1967) have clarified, the fact that the misdeeds were committed in a state of sociul rcprr.ssion is clear evidence that the social ego failed to live u p to cherished ideals and yielded instead to the combined pressures of narcissistic urges and the seduction of a n external force posing as an ego ideal. It should be mentioned that the prolonged lassitude of the powers outside of' Germany, especially their self-deceiving Sailure to acknowledge the seriousness of' the Nazi threat, was accompanied by the same uncertainty about the traditional values

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which had paralyzed a potential opposition in Germany itself. It was only under the threat of an invasion and occupation that England realized fully its love for its endangered traditional values and turned to an inspired and articulate leader who symbolized and expressed them (Glover, 1940). The United States, too, again, under the leadership of an articulate man who stood for traditional values, began to realize the similarity of its ideals to those of Britain and supported the fight against the enemy of humanitarianism. The remobilization of values made these nations willing to fight for their survival and inspired individuals to give their lives for a cause which had not become imbued with their own narcissism in the form of their idealizing love. T h e rational ego is indispensable for the individual and the group during times of quiet and solid progress. However, under circumstances when civilization is threatened by those who are driven by the vengefulness of offended unmodified fantasies of grandeur, rationality alone is all too often ineffectual. '"l'he voice of the intellect is soft but persistent," Freud (1927a, p. 5 3 ) said, but unaided and alone it cannot stem the tide of irrationality during periods of crisis. T h e rational purposes of the autonomous ego lack the courage-inspiring quality needed for heroic action. Rationality must be amalgamated within a vital system of idealized values, and it must draw strength and courage and achieve the capacity to take risks, even the willingness to die, from the supraindividual narcissism of the ego ideal. When pitted against the forces of narcissistic rage, our more imnlediate-and not unreasonable-hope must be that the union of those held together by the identity of their cherished ideals is stronger than the union of those held together by the identity of their archaic ambitions. Only then can the conditions be recreated in which the persistence of the voice of the intellect again has a chance to assert itself. It is a strange and puzzling fact that after nearly two thousand years in which generation after generation has been exposed,

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from childhood on, to the teaching of the loftiest ethical system of altruism, Western man is capable of unspeakable cruelty and of total disregard for the fate of' his fellow man. Can the failures of Christianity be fully explained by the tenacity of the aggressive drives? Can we assuage our doubts by the belief that the excesses of the twentieth-century Western man are only the last revolt of selfishness, cruelty, and lack of concern before final pacification is accepted and the ultimate victory of object love is won? Analysts have learned some important lessons in the therapy of the individual about the limits of interpretation. Change requires time. T h e psyche, it seems, must consolidate each gain before another is undertaken, with the aid of a process which we call "working through." If this psychoeconomic element is disregarded and the psyche is instead exposed to demands for rapid changes, a surface adaptation will take place. 'The newly established function, although impressively strong at the moment, can only be maintained with continued effort and with the support of the therapist. It will therefore be brittle and easily swept aside when the therapist withdraws his support or under the pressure of changed circumstances. In the therapy of narcissistic personalities, a carefully paced analytic procedure leads to the improvement of the total functioning of the personalily through the transformation of the narcissism into ideals, humor, wisdom, creativity, and empathy. Could the relative failure of Christianity to produce a reliable civilizing eff'ect on Western man be understood in analogy to the results of overambitious individual therapy? Is the sudden appearance of barbarity after periods of a seemingly secure cultural equilibrium con~parable to the sudden reappearance of old symptoms and impulses which we encounter in those patients (or in their children) who have made psychological surface adaptations, either under the insidious pressure of the therapist's premature interpretations o r in consequence of his undisguised educational exhortations? I'he psychological demands which Christian ethics have made upon

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Western man may very well be considered as excessive, or at least as traumatically premature. In essence, Christian ethics are not satisfied with the ego's domination over the grandiose self and with the integration of its demands with the interest and goals of the ego; Christianity insists on the complete neutralization of the grandiose self and of the egotistical purposes of the personality. "If you love only those who love you," Jesus preaches in the Sermon on the Mount (Luke 6, New English Bible, 1961), "what credit is that to you? . . . if you do good only to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you?" What clearer contrast could be imagined between the manifestation of the grandiose self, which are to be rejected, and the fullest object love, which must be attained, than that drawn so beautifully by Paul in his First Letter to the Corinthians ( 1 : 13): "I may speak in tongues of men or of angels," Paul writes, "but if I arn without love, I am a sounding gong or a clanging cymbal. . . . Love is patient; love is kind and envies no one. Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude; never selfish, nor quick to take offense. Love keeps no score of wrongs; does not gloat over other men's sins, but delights in the truth. There is nothing love cannot face." T h e survival of Western man, and perhaps of mankind altogether, will in all likelihood be neither safeguarded by "the voice of the intellect" alone, that great utopian hope of the Enlightenment and Rationalism of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; nor will it be secured through the influence of the teachings of the orthodox religions. Will a new religion arise which is capable of fortifying man's love for its old and new ideals? The transformation of narcissism into the spirit of religiosity, i.e., the tradition-bound communal amalgamation of nonrational elements to man's systems of values, has often been capable of inspiring people to the heroic deeds on which at crucial junctures survival always depends. Could it be that a new, rational religion might arise, an as yet uncreated system of nlys-

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tical rationality which could take the place of the religions of the past? Undoubtedly such a religion would initially have no appeal for the masses, but new religions are at first probably always only for the few (or even only for one?) who, thus inspired, are subsequently able to inspire others. There are, even in our tirne, instances of heroic men of constructive political action who have achieved a transformation of their narcissism into a contentless, inspiring personal religion. Is this the type which humanity will have to produce in greater numbers in order to survive? Dag Hammarskjold (1964, p. vii), an example of this type, describes his contentless mysticism in the following words: "Faith is a state of mind and of the soul . . . the language of religion is [only] a set of formulas which register a basic religious experience." I am not advocating the conversion of psychoanalysts. Our circumscribed contribution to civilization rests squarely or1 our capacity to keep our heads clear and not to be swept away-not even by a constructive mysticism. Yet, having assessed the darigerous historical situation, it behooves us to survey the existing highly differentiated personality types and to attempt to ascertain which ones among thern give promise to serve as leaders or prototypes in mankind's struggle to overcome the destructive propensities of untransformed narcissism. Mankind cannot take two developn~entalsteps at once, and to expect from it the capacity to transform riarcissis~ninto object love, or to achieve rational control over its unmodified narcissism, betrays an underestimation of the tenacity of narcissistic fixation and of the intensity of the destructive forces that car1 be loosed by narcissistic rage. However, when the rneans for destroying all life on earth is available, the control of man's destructive propensities in general, and of those most dangerous ones emanating from his unmodified narcissism in particular, will have to be effected without delay. Is there any hope? Keason would suggest that the chances are slim. The transformation of narcissism into ideals arld ra-

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tional purposes can hardly be achieved by large numbers. There is only a limited possibility for an expansion of the human capacity for humor, acceptance of transience, wisdom, creativity, and empathic understanding. Yet it is possible that we are misjudging the difficulty on the basis of our experiences with individual therapy. Humanity as a whole may have resources available for which no parallel appears in psychoanalytic practice. Not all of humanity needs to change, but an outstanding leader who has achieved a new internal solution may sweep along the rest. Amalgamation with mystical modes of thinking may support drive control and rationality. And, last but not least, a new form of psychic equilibrium may arise in the psychological field under the impact of supreme danger, which corresponds to the occurrence of a mutation in the biological field. T o speak of the possibility of a new, original, creative, and effective solution to the problem of the disposal of the forces of unmodified narcissism may seem like pinning one's hopes on the appearance of a miracle. Yet, is it not conceivable that a new and higher form of narcissism might arise? Is it not conceivable that the frequency of neurosis in modern man is a pathological forerunner on the way toward a creative solution of the seeming impasse of the narcissistic demand? No one knows the answers to these questions. But I do believe that the psychological solution to the ultimate problem of narcissistic destructiveness will not be found in a simple assertion of normality. T h e normal and adapted may be pleasant, lucky people who suffer little and are no great bother to others. But what is called psychic normality is often a sterile balance. Each case of psychopathology, on the other hand, is not only an individual maladaption, but also an instance of the attempt to find a new solution to man's psychological problems. At the very end of Kleist's essay "On the Marionette Theatre," the dancer makes a statement which comes close to the preceding speculation by bringing irito proximity the problerns o f the schiz-

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ophrenic (who is loving his self and fears he has been a lifeless puppet) with an evolutionary solution. "When consciousness as it were has reached its utmost extension," he says, "then harmony is recovered." And he continues, "Human beauty is greatest when it is unconscious o r has infinite consciousness-in the puppet or in God." "l'hat means," the author asks, "that we have to eat again of the tree of knowledge to become innocent once more?" "Yes," replies the dancer, "that is the last chapter of the history of the world."

On Courage (early 1970s)

As the depth psychologist surveys the currents of history he will inevitably have to confront the question of human behavior during periods of crisis. In particular he will have to face the task of defining the psychological constellation which allows an exceptional few to oppose the pressures exerted o n them and to remain faithful to their ideals and to themselves, while all the others, the multitudes, change their ideals and swirn with the current. What allows (or compels) some people to face death and even suffer it, rather than give u p the openly professed loyalty to their ideals, to bear "witness" in traditional religious terniinology? In what consists the courage of those who, though outnumbered o r alone, will yet maintain their self and their ideals? Some forms of courage need no explanation. Many people will act courageously when they have no choice, for example, as members of militant groups which insist o n conformity o r when they are fighting for their biological survival. 'The problem which has to be solved concerns those whose loyalty to the continuity 'l'his paper was first published in Selffsycl~ologyand tllr Humcrniliec: K r f l ~ c l i o i r s on u Neru Psychoannlytir Approach, by Heinz Kohut, edited with an intr-otluctiorr by (:hat-les R. Strozier. New York: Norton, 1985, pp. 5-50. I t is reprintctl hcrc with permission. "Eclitor's notes" refer to those ill the original.

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of self and ideals becomes more important than biological survival, when, to paraphrase Alexander Mitscherlich (1963), the consistency of the structure of'the ego enables a person to remain true to his goals and ideals, despite intimidation from without and within. Courage can be defined as the ability to brave death and to tolerate destruction rather than to betray the nucleus of one's psychological being, that is, one's ideals. There are genetic, dynamic, and structural aspects of such fbrtitude, as well as certain auxiliary devices which the psyche employs in order to maintain its resolve. T h e psychological study of courage in history is not a simple matter. When we scrutinize the personalities and the he11avio1of unusually courageous people, of those who as solitary martyrs uphold apparently hopeless and useless convictions, there is the possibility that we are dealing with mentally deranged individuals. I have no doubt that there are instarices in which severely disturbed individuals, whose assessment of reality has been overpowered by psychotic illness, will drift into the role of political, ideological, o r religious martyrdom. Such individuals will often be given conspicuous punishment by an established regime and will attain in the long run the halo of sanctity. 'They will then be solemnly celebrated by a grateful posterity. Such figures, whatever their degree of psychological illness, may serve the curious role of scapegoats or enemies of the people for those in powerand of martyrs and heroes for the powerless opposition. Analogously, at certain historicaljunctures, as the Mitscherlichs have pointed out (1967), society will choose irrational leaders to take the responsibility for carrying out purposes for which responsibility can then be again disowned after the leader has disappeared. We tend to judge the wish for survival as paramount in the normal individual, especially when his behavior serves no practical end and leads to death. But the typical representative of historical heroism and martyrdom is not to be judged as nec-

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essarily pathological when assessed from a depth-psychological point of view, even though there may be the temporary presence of sorne grossly abnormal features in his thoughts and behavior and despite the apparently unrealistic nature of his actions. One striking characteristic of unusi~allycourageous individuals is that at certain critical moments or stages of their lives they create imagery concerning an all-powerful figure on whom to lean for support. This idealized figure may he a personified god or a prototypical historical figure or a charismatic person who is living in the present. The spectrum of such falsification of reality, employed in the service of establishing a couragesupporting relationship to an idealized figure, extends from (a) temporary delusions and hallucinations, via (b) grossly aggrandizing distortions in the evaluation of people who in reality have only ordinary and moderate endowment, to (c) an illusional, concretizing, vivid idealization of truly inspiring personages who are either temporally or spatially remote from the hero who, however, in his fantasy, will feel that he is deriving concrete support from leaning on them. T o the first group of falsifications or courage-supporting mechanisms belong experiences such as hearing the voice of God or seeing visions in which God appears as the hero. Such nlessages that the courageous individual receives are delivered from the supernatural powers with the aid of supposedly meaningful but, in fact, accidental occurrences. Some of these experiences are tradition-bound and standardized, like "the call" from a personified God heard at a specific time and place by those ernbarking on a career as missionaries. A good example of the second type of falsification of reality engaged in by heroic people is the intense, unrealistic idealization of the physical, mental, or ~noralpowers of people who in reality possess only ordinary, moderate endowment: I call this phenomenon the "transference of creativity." A genius, frightened by the boldness of his pioneering discoveries and yearning to relieve

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his loneliness, creates for hirnself the figment of a vastly overestimated figure on whom he leans temporarily but whom lie discards (i.e., from whom he withdraws his idealization) after his essential work has been achieved. During the transference of' creativity itself, the genius projects his own mental powers onto someone else. H e assigns his discoveries temporarily to that other person and feels humble toward and dependent upon this ideali ~ e dprotector, riientor, and judge, who is in essence his own creation . I In some of these examples (especially in those involving the relationship to hallucinated god figures) it may, on superficial scrutiny, seem difficult to draw a clear-cut line of demarcation with the psychoses. 1 will return to the topic ofthis differentiation later on when discussing certain individuals-specific examples of heroism and martyrdom-in whom such pseudopsychotic features can indeed he found.' But the third type of falsification of reality, in which courage is supported through a leaning o n o r a merger with inspiring prototypical figures, does not generally raise serious doubts about the sanity of those who cling to these bonds, even though with this group one may occasionally encounter experiences of hallucinatory vividness and temporary delusionlike distortions. It is not difficult to recognize that all these falsifications of 'See i l l this context my reference ( f i r Ar~crlysz.,of' I ~ SPY, P 197 1, pp. 3 16 fT. [and "C:reativcness, Charislna, (;roup I'sychology," 19761) to the rclntionship of' Freud to Fliess and the general tliscussior~ of the fact that certain paranoicl personalities with their absolute conviction of being right lend ~lienlselvesto being used temporarily as overvaluecl, idealized figures. Certain paradigmatic cxlxrirnenrs of great pioneering scientists may be consiciercd as related phenomena i r this ~ context. l'hese experiments, although unrepeatable in the fi)rm in which they are first ciescribed, are appropriate illustrations of some law ol' nature newly discovered by the genius. They are, however, not ordinary exlxrinients (designed to fac:ilitatc discovery, or to prove a theory) Out I-ather tllc exlwession of the genius' creative, concretistir thinking. which-4urillg peak moments of his 11rentalactivit y-make hirn conl'use action with thought, persuatlc him that he has seen and ~nanipulatedit1 physical reality w h a ~i l l [ruth he has seen only with his mental eyc. ?In this context see also the report of Miller (1962) concerning the experiences of ~x)liticalprisoners in Hungarian jails.

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reality, which are so dramatic at certain critical tinies in the lives of courageous individuals, are variations on the single theme of regression in the cleveloprnental line of a specific narcissistic configuration, that of the idealized, omnipotent selfobject. It is my in~pression,however, that in many instances of great heroism it is not an intensely cathected value system alone which is the primary motivation for the courageous thought o r deed. As I will try to show, this motivation arises from the entire nuclpar .self of' the individual and not from his values alone. 'The reconcretization of the ego ideal, however-that is, its (regressive) transformation into an omnipotent selfbbject-becomes temporarily necessary as an auxiliary means by which the fulfillment of the nuclear self' can be attained despite the most severe anxieties of dissolution to which man will expose himself voluntarily. .l'he pseudo delusions and pseudo hallucinations of the hero are, therefi~re,created in response to a temporary great need; they occur as the outgrowth of conditions which resemble those of early childhood when, because of the psychological incompleteness which prevails at that stage, the young child's self-esteem regulation depends almost exclusively on the presence of selfobjects who admire the child o r who allow the child to merge into their idealized perfection. Under certain anxiety-provoking conditions, then, the archaic need for support becomes so great that the omnipotent object will, regressively, arise out of the ego ideal and be again as it was once in early life, experienced as an archaic, prestructural, external power. T h u s it may happen that a n i n d i v i d u a l a t t h e very peak o f psychological independence-when he lives in fjct more actively arid expresses the goals of his nuclear self more completely than the average human being can ever hope to do--believes that he has no initiative and feels 11imself"lived" by influences frorn outside himselE T h e brave anti-Nazi farmer, Franz Jiigerstatter, for example, who uncompromisingly went to the guillotine rather than take u p arnis for the evil forces of Nazi Germany, stated it thus (Zahn,

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1964, p. 128): "If God had not given me t h e . . . strength even to die for my faith . . . I , too, woultl . . . be doirig the same [i.e., compromise with the Nazis] a s . . . other Catholics." It seems apparent that courage cannot be easily explained as the personification and concretization of the ego ideal. Nor does the hero simply n~obilizeirrational imagery and beliefs to support his rational, nonpathological pursuits. So what then prompts him to move forward, despite intimidation from within and without? He is compelled to proceed on his lonely road, even if it means his individual destruction, because he must shape the pattern of' his life-his thoughts, deeds, and attitudes-in accordance with the design of his nuclear self. But what is this nuclear self for which I claini such an irriportant place in psychological health and disease?' It is that continuum in time, that cohesive configuration in depth, which we experience as the "I" of our perceptions, thoughts, and actions. There are those who would postulate that a self-thr self-is the center of our being from which all initiative springs and where all experiences end. I , however, d o not agree for the following two reasons: (1) T o posit a single self as the central agency of the psyche (Levin, 1969; Schafer, 1973b) leads toward an elegant, simple theory of the mind, but also toward an unwarranted deemphasis of the importance of the unconscious. And (2) this definition of the self is not derived from psychoarialytic material but fi-om conscious experience. T h e decision to assign to a single self the most central position in the psyche is not-at least not at the present stage of' psychoanalysis-forced on us by the necessity to accomrnodate specific data obtained through psychoanalytic observation, but it is made by choice in order to fashion a rounded and cohesive theory of thought, '{See Kohut (1971, pp. 179-186), Li>r a clinical contribution to this topic, i.e., the discussion of the different dynan~icsignificance of the overt grandiosiry tlisplayed by a specific patient's (vertically split-off) peripheral self, o n the one hand, ar~tithe unlnet tleniands of a hidden (repressed) but centl.al, i.e., nuclear, sell', o n the other hand.

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perception, and action. T h e concept of a unitary, central self is an axiom introduced into analysis from the outside. There is, however, a second approach to the conceptualization of the self. Although it does not lead immediately to a theory of the mind which is as elegant and cohesive as the first, it has my vote. 1 prefer to define the self as an abstraction derived from psychoanalytic clinical experience, not excluding psychoanalytically sophisticated observation outside the clinical setting. I consider the self as a potentially observable content of the mind." If we choose this approach we will recognize the simultaneous existence of different and even contradictory selves in the same person, of selves with various degrees of stability and of various degrees of importance. There are conscious, preconscious, and unconscious selves; there are selves in the ego, the id, and the superego; and we may discover in some of our patients incompatible selves, side by side, in the same psychic agency. Among these selves, however, there exists one which is most centrally located in the psyche, one which is experienced by the individual as the basic one, and which is most resistant to change. I like to call this self the nuclear self. It is composed of derivatives of the grandiose self (i.e., of the central self-assertive goals, purposes, and ambitions) and of derivatives of the idealized parent imago (i.e., of the central idealized values). The nuclear self is thus that unconscious, preconscious, and conscious sector in id, ego, and superego which contains not only the individual's most enduring values and ideals but also his most deeply anchored goals, purposes, and ambitions. T h e nuclear self; however, is not immutable. The task of tnodifying and even of transforming it is repeatedly imposed on us throughout life under the influence of new internal and ex'See in this context my discussion (Kohut, 1959, p. 206) of our right t o drfitie "the Preconscio~isand the Unconscious as psychological structures not only because we approach them with irltrospective intention, but also because we consider them within a framework of' introspected or potentially introspected experience."

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ternal factors. T h e modifiability of the nuclear self-at certain developmental junctures like adolescence and old age o r under the influence of crucial environniental changes-is not a sign of' disease and must not, in and of' itself, be evaluated as a psychological o r moral defect. O n the other hand, we may ,justifiably deplore some behavior as the manifestation of a psychological shortcoming and of moral infirmity-like the actions and attitudes of those who quickly and opportunistically adjust their convictions under the influence of external pressures. Such behavior does not involve an alteration of the nuclear self but represents merely an adaptation on he psychological surface. In such individuals the nuclear self ceases to participate in the overt attitudes and actions and becomes progressively isolated and is finally repressed o r ciisavowed. T h e psychological outcome, which is unfortunately more o r less characteristic of the psychological makeup of the majority of adults, is not an individual striving toward a creative solution of his conflicts concerning the redefinition of his basic anlbitions and values but a person who, despite his smoothly adaptive surface behavior, experiences a sense o f inner shallowness and who gives to others an impression of artificiality. T h e heroic individual's nuclear self is, therefore, not necessarily characterized by its itnrnutability. As a matter o f fact, the hero's willingness to die sornetimes comes about as a result of a creative change in his nuclear self', a change by virtue of which he gets out of step with the goals, ambitions, and values of his environment. T h e capacity of the nuclear self to i~riclergo changes, whether they take place slowly o r occur abruptly (as in mystical experiences of illumination), is fully compatible with that firmness of' attitude so characteristic of courage. Almost all heroic individuals face grave crises while they are still on the road to reaching the ultimate decision that they will remain faithful to their selves, whatever the cost. They are generally not beset by fear of the consequences they will suffer as

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a result of their actions. They seem unafraid of isolation, social ostracism, o r punishment. T h e crisis of courage is rather one of extreme narcissistic imbalance. They feel deeply frustrated, because inner and outer obstacles stand in the way of that total devotion to the central self which alone promises them the inner peace of narcissistic equilibrium. Winston Churchill's nuclear self, for example, seems to have crystallized around derivatives of the grandiose self. For one thing, one of the most common, specific, ideational elaborations of the grandiose self, namely, a flying fantasy, was active in him. He had a compelling need to be entrapped in order to prove his ability to escape, that is, to fly off.Vurthermore, his personality appears in general much less characterized by devotion to lofty ideals than by the conviction that he possessed unconquerable power. 'I'hus he communicated effectively. His addresses to the nation and to the world, which did so much to strengthen the will to resist during the darkest moments of our century, were not in the main appeals to high ideals but, in their most effective aspects, expressions of his belief in the surpassing strength of those who defended civilization against the forces of evil. Finally, side by side with the awe-inspiring manifestations of his strength, courage, and independence there remained in him a touch of the infantile-perhaps a residuum of the grandiosity of' the oral phase-in the forrn of a childlike enjoyment of being catered to and of exhibiting his physical and mental attributes for admiration. Thus with Churchill, as is undoubtedly true fbr many other great leaders, it was the grandiose self and not the derivatives of the idealized inlago which was the most important ingredient in a composition of his nuclear self. Be that as it may, we can discern in Churchill a clear progression from a state of narcissistic imbalance to one of narcissistic equilibrium. H e experienced a sense of great inner calm '[Editor's note: Kohut also talks about Churchill in his essay, "Forms ant1 Transformations of Narcissism" ( 1 966, p. 443 f.).]

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and relief when he became Prime Mirlister (Churchill, 1959, p. 227). It seems a state of narcissistic equilibrium established itself when he had the opportunity to live out again, in ultimate fulfillment, the deepest purposes of his self. He could then reenact in the arena of the whole world the apotheosis of a grandiose fantasy he retained from childhood: that of gaining freeclorn from encirclement by blissfully soaring into the air. In the decisions and actions of many other heroic individuals, however, the values of the nuclear self, rather than the subjectbound grandiosity, supply the decisive motive power for heroism. In the Austrian peasant Franz Jggerstatter, for example, it was clearly a set of religious ideals which led him to decide not to serve in the Gerrnan army. His own touching account explains the long psychological road he had to travel from his initial moral challenge at the time of the invasion of Austria by the Nazis in 1938 to his final decision to accept death. H e rejected all the compromises that were offered to him, especially that of noncombatant service in the Gerrnan army, and calmly and "serenely"-the term often used by martyr-heroes or by those who observe them-went to the guillotine in 1943 rather than betray his Christian values. T h e intensity with which Jagerstgtter resporldetl to the original challenge is illustrated by a dream which he recorded later. (It is certainly significant that this unsophisticated farmer not only remembered the dream, but that he recorded it. He must have realized that the content of this dream-including his own interpretation of it-dealt with events of psychological importance.) Here is Jagerstatter's account of his dream in free translation (Zahn, 1964, p. 212): Right at the beginning I want to describe a brief experience during a summer night in 1938. First I lay awake almost until midnight even though I was not ill; but then I must have fallen asleep for a while because I was shown a beautiful railroad train which circled around a mountain. Not only

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the grownups but even the children streamed toward this train and it was almost impossible to hold them back. I hate to tell how very few of the grownups there were who resisted being carried along by this occasion. But then I heard a voice which spoke to me and said: This train is going to hell. Jagerstatter reflected on the meaning of this dream. Ultimately he came to the conclusion that it depicted the Nazi invasion. It showed how everybody was jumping on the bandwagon, but that the movement which everybody joined was evil and that they all would be led to their utter destruction. It is my impression that we are not dealing here with a dream in the full psychoanalytic sense of the word, that is, with a psychic phenomenon in which the preconscious concerns are merely the carriers for the true motivators of the dream, the dreamer's infantile wishes and conflicts. It seems instead that the dream is a thought sequence occurring during an altered state of consciousness, expressed through visual and auditory experiences of near-hallucinatory vividness. We are thus dealing with a phenomenon in which, in a reversal of the usual direction, it is the secondary process which pulls up the primary process and enlists it in its s e r v i c e . ~ u c han occurrence is evidence of a person's concentrated attention to an all-important task, that he is focusing all of his available energies upon a conflict or decision of the gravest importance. Indeed, such experiences testify to the fact that an individual is directly confronting an inner task of such magnitude that the vast majority of people would automatically avoid it, would sanely sidestep the tragic decision, and--expressed in the imagary of Jagerstatter's dream-would run along with the crowd. Phenomena such as Jagerstatter's dream of the summer of 1938 are therefore not manifestations "The psychic activity described here is related to the one which creates the "dreams f'rotn above" (Freud, 1929) and to the processes to which Ernst Kris (1036) referred to as "regression in the service of'the ego." Silberer's "functional phenomenon" (1909) also overlaps the area under consideration.

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of psychological failure but, despite the unmistakable presence of archaic features, of a peak perforniance. T h e mental activity involved here strains the psychic apparatus to the utmost, without, however, doing it permanent damage. We should not refer to such phenomena in terms that stress the irnperftctions o f t h e perfbrmance. We should instead give them a name which acknowledges that a hard task is joined by the depth of a psyche. We might thereii~respeak of such psychic activities as "hypercathected crisis thir~king."~ Jiigerstitter was not the only Catholic in the St. Radegund of 1938 who realized that his religious values were in conflict with the total loyalty demanded by the Nazis; nor was he the only one who felt that his homeland had been taken over by a power which was inimical to certain of its basic traditions. Still, whatever the content of the values and traditions of those who, despite initial reservations, joined the near-unanimous majol-ity, their psychological equip~nentdid not allow the111to set the core of their selves against the overwhelming presence of the opposing values and traditions of the Nazi movement. 'The remarkable psychological quality that individuals like Jiigerstatter possess is their capacity not to withdraw from an inner conflict of extraordinary proportions. Their conflict concerns the perfbrmance of certain interrelated tasks. They must identify their nuclear self, resist their tendency to disown it, and ultimately resolve to shape their attitudes and actions in accortiance with the basic design of' the nuclear self, despite inner doubts and external threats and seductions. Some details in the performance of' these tasks may seem regressive. But such details are either the ~~navoitiable vibrations of the psychological rnachirlery as it strains under the intense demands made on it o r are in fact supportive maneuvers, which remain unscrutinized because the psyche's energies are 7[E(litor'snote: 1 1 1 Freud's early psychological writings, cathexis refers to he charge of affective energy attac.hec1 to a given ideational context. A rough translation of "hypercathexis" would therefore he "supercharge" or, cvcn hecr, "illter~se."]

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totally committed to the central, creative effort. Thus Jagerstatter's dream contains details in which his resistant self seems to be supported by an external superior power ("I was shown a beautiful train. . . . I heard a voice which spoke to me and said . . ."). But in the long run Jagerstatter not only became clear about the meaning of his conflict and could think about it rationally, but also began the painful process of testing the appropriateness of his conclusions and plans by eliciting the opinions of those whom he considered to be his mentors and spiritual guides, those traditional agents of realism and morality. Such heroic individuals are therefore not psychotic. Nor are the hallucinations and delusional commands which the hero experiences as the motivators of his courageous actions and attitudes and manifestations of a dissolution of the self. T h e true motivator which propels the hero toward the heroic deed is his nuclear self; the hallucinated commands are merely temporary auxiliary mechanisms, secondarily created to serve the purposes of the hero. In support of this claim I will discuss three features of' some heroic individuals which place them clearly outside the realm of psychosis. T h e three features are: the presence of a fine sense of humor; the ability to respond to others with subtle empathy; and, generally at the time when the ultimate heroic decision has been reached and the agonizing consequences have to be faced, the suffusion of the personality with a profound sense of inner peace and serenity-a mental state akin to wisdom. This is something which never fails to impress the observer, including even persecutors, torturers, and executioners.' Heroes, in other "Iwill not here elaborate the reasons for niy view that these features indicate the presence of a psychological state which is in certain respects the opposite of schizophrenic psychosis. SuSfice it to say that we are dealing here with nianikstations of the highest degree of mastery in the realm of' narcissism (see the discussion of humor. empathy, and wisdom in Kohut, 1966 and 1971). 'l'har is, cve are dealing with the very opposite of schizophrenic psychosis, a disorder which is determined by the disintegration o f the patient's self and by a lasting regression of his narcissism (see Kohut, 197 1, in particular. p. 6ff.). It certainly

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words, achieve a high order of development in the narcissistic sector of their personality, and this developmental achievement is maintained during the decisive heroic period of their lives. My examples of heroism are anti-Nazis who were active during the Second World War. They include the Austrian farmer, Franz Jiigerstatter, and Hans and Sophie Scholl, who were two of the heroes of the Student Conspiracy in Munich in 1943. Specifically, I will discuss the presence of a sense of humor in Jigerstiitter, of a high degree of empathy in Hans Scholl, and of serenity as a ubiquitous phenomenon present in all of these heroes but most noticeably manifested (and self-interpreted through a decisive dream) in Sophie Scholl. Finally, I will attempt to show the difference between two classes of heroes: those which I am discussing at this point-I will call them for simplicity's sake the martyr-heroes-and those (exemplified in Nazi Germany by individuals belonging to such groups as the so-called Kreisauer Kreis slid to the Oster-Canaris-Stauffenberg Circle) to whom I will refer as the rational resisters. T h e presence of a genuine sense of humor constitutes one reliable indication that there is no severe impairment in the narcissistic sector of the personality. I t speaks in particular against the existence of, or even against the propensity for, a psychosis. Genuine humor can be achieved only when primitive forms of grandiosity have been relinquished-whether the grandiosity had previously been bound to the subject's grandiose self or had been focused on an idealized (aggrandized) selfobject. A paranoiac's coldly arrogant superiority and the hostile certainty of his own conviction about the powerful persecutor's inimical intentions are the very antithesis of a healthy humorous attitude toward the realistic limitations of oneself and of those one aclgives fi)od for thought, however, that there shoulcl be at least a superticial resemblance between tile behavior of individuals who are pa~adign~atic of the highest sublimations of narcissisrn and those in whom the narcissistic sector o f the per-sonality has l~rokcndown. Mercier (1781-88) expressed it sugges~ively in his farnous phrase: "1.es extremes se touchent."

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mires. It bears repeating that to be humorous is not the same as to be self-belittling or to be lacking in enthusiasm. Humor is fully compatible with a secure sense of self-esteem or with a warm devotion to values and ideals. It is, of course, true that there are times, outside of mental illness, when the serious, nonhumorous pursuit of the purposes of the self and a serious, nonhumorous devotion to ideals may be demanded of us. But when an individual has earnestly resolved to live in accordance with the central purposes of the self and in harmony with the highest idealized value and still preserve a sense of modesty and proportion, then we will feel that he has achieved a high degree of healthy mastery in the narcissistic sector of his personality. We can be certain that the core of his personality is sane and that the inner forces which propelled him toward heroic activity were not based on delusions when his ability to respond with humor is preserved in the face of the utmost sacrifices that man can make as he remains faithful to his nuclear self. This was indeed the psychological state which prevailed in Franz Jagerstatter when he faced execution. Jagerstatter's letters to his wife from the prisons in which he was kept from March 2, 1943, until he was executed five months later on August 9, are a moving testimony to his modesty, his sense of proportion, arid his humor. He was neither self-belittling nor sarcastic, and he never lost his heroic resolve to suffer death rather than to compromise with evil. Jagerstatter's total correspondence should be studied by those who want to experience the full human resonance of his communications. Here a few samples will have to suffice. In a letter written on March 19, Jagerstatter ernpathically imagines the strain which his imprisonment and the villagers' reactions to his anti-Nazi and antiwar stand must have imposed on his wife. He sympathizes with her concerning the amount of work that she now has to d o because he is away. But then he adds, tongue in cheek (Zahn, p. 66): "I think it would be good for us occasionally to trade places for a week; such a rest would

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be good for you." Or, on April 4 he comments, with a touch of wry humor, about the food in prison (Zahn, p. 68): "Of course, you can easily understand," he writes, "that we are not getting fat on this diet; but that is not essential either, for they have not locked us in here in order to fatten us up." T h e Scholls provide further evidence that many martyr heroes give evidence of a high degree of sublinlation in the narcissistic sector. 'These two young Munich students were both executed on February 2, 1943: Hans Scholl was 22 at the time of his death and his sister Sophie Scholl was 19.' As a student of medicine Hans Scholl was released from regular military duties, but from time to time he was subject to active service on the front. At the beginning of one of these periods of service, o n the way to the Russian front, the train which transported his company stopped at a small station in Poland. There he saw a line of women and young girls bent over doing heavy labor at the railroad tracks. T h e women haci the yellow star of David affixed to their garments. Hans jumped from the train and walked toward the women. T h e first in the row as he approached them was an emaciated young girl. He noticed her slender hands and her intelligent, beautiful face, which seemed to express unspeakable sorrow. He tried to think of something that he could give her. He remembered that he had his "K-ration" with him-a mixture of chocolates, raisins, and nuts-and he stuck it into her pocket. T h e girl threw it back g[Editor's note: Hans and Sophie Scholl were two of the student leaders of a social resistance movement in Munich university called the White Rose. Formed in the spring of 1942, the White Rose launched its rebellion against the lies of the Nazi regime on February 18, 1943. 'l'housands of leaflets were distributed and appeals to fight against Hitler were postcd on walls and at the entrance to Munich university. T h e members of the group were quickly arrested and executed. At the university there was n o protest and professors ant1 students (lid not even petition for the pardon of the members of the White Rose. Kohut had clearly been reading of the student resistance movement when he was writing this paper; in a footnote he refers to Christian Petry, Sturlrntrrz nufs Srhnfilt (1968) and to the moving account by a surviving sister, Inge Scholl, llir rucirtc Rose (1953).]

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at him, with a harried but proud gesture. Hans smiled at her warmly and said, "I would so much have liked to give you a little pleasure." He bent down, picked a daisy, laid it upon the food package, and put the gift at her feet. Then he ran fix the train which had begun to move. From the train window he saw the girl once more, standing u p straight, looking after him. The white daisy was in her hair. T h e journey of the true martyr hero leads him increasingly toward clarity concerning the essence of his nuclear self. The beginning of this journey may be marked by a shocklike recognition, which is often experienced as a revelation, i.e., as coming from outside. T h e revelation may occur at a time when some change of the external or internal milieu (including a basic alteration of the nuclear self) brings about a psychological disequilibrium. Suddenly there exists now a gap between the kind of behavior which would be in harmony with the self and the kind of behavior that is dictated by the demands of the environment. Once the martyr hero has become aware of his nuclear self (and of the inner and outer conflict situations to which he is brought by its demands), he can find no rest. At first it may seem that he is primarily afraid ofthe social consequences which he would have to face if he lived in conformity with the basic patterns of the nuclear self. His uneasiness, however, is in the main not due to the fear of the external forces which might oppose him; rather, his tensions are a manifestation of the fact that he is in a severe narcissistic disequilibrium until he has achieved the complete unification of his personality under the leadership of the nuclear self. As soon as the ultimate step in this direction is made and the ultimate decision has been reached (whether it be Churchill's becoming prime minister or Jagerstatter's resolve not to accept any further compromises with the demands of the Nazi war machine), the hero experiences a sense of relief and of inner peacefulness and serenity. These feelings are manifestations of the narcissistic balance which has come through

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the establishment of a state of complete harmony between the nuclear self and the rest of the personality. In many of the tnartyr-heroes, it is the set of central values and ideals, the heir to the archaic idealized object, which decisively defines the nuclear self.1° Thus, the ultimate state of narcissistic balance in such people blends the personality with the central values of the self. When such an identification has been achieved, the martyr-hero has a sense of profound inner peace (narcissistic equilibrium) and even the experience of conscious pleasure that his ideals and his total personality have now becon~e one. T h e general psychological setting in which these emotions occur is one of calmness and clarity. We see neither the fuzzy mysticism which characterizes certain regressive swings in narcissistic personality disturbances nor, of course, the anxious anti bizarre mental state surrounding the delusional contacts with a bizarre god and with other distorted omnipotent figures which we encounter in the psychotic." "'In the present context it may be mentionetl again that the martyr-l~ero's first awareness of the nuclear self' in those instances where this central structure is mainly defined by the I~ero'side;ilized values, comes to him frequently in the form of a pseudo projection: the central set of his values becomes regressively transferred into the (prestructural) archaic omnipotent se1fbbjec.t from wllicll it had once originated. 'I'his archaic selfobject is then experienced as being o11 the outside. It makes its appearance in the form of a "call" or of other maniIestations of a seemingly external power which shows the hero the road he nlust take, etc. It tollows that heroic indivicluals in wllom the nucle;~rself is mot-t. defined by the derivatives from the s~~bjecl-bound sector of inlintile narcissis~ll than by the clerivatives of the archaic onlnipotent o1,jrcl (Cllurchill may serve as an example of such a constcllation) will not be likely to have the experience of receiving a "call" from an archaic iclealized tigure at the crucial moment when they begin their irreversible journey in the direction which is dictated by their nuclear self but will experience an upsurge of inner power and certainty which propels them toward their goal. "See in this context Kohut (1!)71), in particular diagram I o n p. 9 and the discussion of the regression in thc realm of the omnipotent object o n pp. 6-10, T h e regression goes from ( I ) ideals, values, anti admired figures, via (2) the upsurge of mystical religious Ieelings in the narcissistic personality disturbances, t o (3) the experience of the powerful persecutor in the psychoses. I t might bc ;tdcled here, which indeetl goes without saying, that-after the lasting disintegration of the idealized selfobject has taken place (a process which constitutes the essence of schizophrenic psychoses)-the omnipotent ot>ject is reconstituted

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T h e most beautiful illustration of the essence of the experience of inner peace and serenity which the martyr hero achieves in the end is poignantly contained in the last dream of Sophie Scholl. It occurred during the night which preceded her execution. Sophie Scholl's drearn should be compared with the dream of Jagerstatter. Jigerstatter's dream portrays the state of the psyche at the beginning of the martyr hero's road: It shows the first response of the psyche to the demands of the nuclear self, the first stirrings of recognition regarding the difficult road which lies ahead. Sophie Scholl's dream portrays the state of the psyche at the end of the martyr-hero's road: it shows how the total personality is being given over to the essential sectors of the nuclear self, to the hero's idealized values. Here is the account of Sophie Scholl's last dream." After she had been aroused from her sleep to face the day of her execution, she told the following dream to her cellmate. In the dream, she said, it was a sunny day, "and I carried a child, dressed in a long white-garment, to be baptized. T h e path to the church led up a steep mountain; but I held the child firmly and securely. Suddenly there was a crevasse gaping in front of me. I had barely enough time to deposit the child on the far side of it, which I in the psychoses in two forms: either as a bizarrely hostile persecutor (e.g., the influencing machine, etc.) o r as a bizarre power (e.g., the personified sun, etc.) which, nonhostilely, infuses strength or vitality into the psychotic patient. "[Editor's note: Kohut notes that his free translation of the drcam fi)llows Inge Scholl's report in Dic u~eisseRose, 1953.1 In the true martyr-heroes such dreams are not part of a system of denials (e.g., the denial of having failecl in their realistic pursuit; the denial of the reality of the imminent destruction of the self), but an expression of the triumph o f t h e nuclear self. T h e physiological signs of glowing health, in particular the vascular suffusion of the skin and of the visible mucous membranes (see the description of Sophie Scholl's appearance during the last day of her life), are strong supports fi)r this assessment of the martyr's psychological state. Sophie Scholl's dream, as was true forJagcrstatter's, is. therefore, a "dream from above." T h e contributions from the unconscious. in other words, while surely of interest, d o not determine the dream. and their uncovering would not give us the clrearn's essential meaning. It follows that we arc, in such instances, not dependent on the free associations of the dreamer but can trust the dreamer's, generally unambiguously given, own explanation. In this context note lily earlier. discussion on p. 140 o f Jigerstatter's drearn anci of the phenomenon wliicti I called "hyperrattiectetl crisis thinking."

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managed to d o safely-then I fell into the depths." After Sophie had told her dream she immediately explained its meaning to her companion. The child, she said, is our leading idea ("unsere IdeeV)-it will live on and make its way to fulfillment despite obstacles ("wird sich durchsetzen"). Her behavior during the rest of the day (she was executed in the afternoon) testifies to the total absorption of her personality by her idealized values. Everything that is reported about her is in harmony with a sense of total narcissistic balance. She was calm and peaceful throughout the day. Her skin was glowing and fresh, her face radiant, with an expression of "wonderous triumph." Her lips were of a deep glowing red. She went to her execution without a trace of fear.

Normality and Rational Resisters

The contrast between the martyr-heroes and the resisters is great. In most cases we can more easily empathize with the rational resisters. It is nevertheless extraordinarily difficult to characterize them psychologically. First of all it must be admitted that normality is often a (almost unfathomably) complex state-more complex at any rate than those forms of pathology which rest on regression and prin~itivization.Secondly, a consideration which is correlated to the preceding point, the actions of the individuals in this group are predominantly determined not by demands which emanate from the depth of their nuclear selves (although this basic aspect of their personalities, especially the code of their superegos, is of considerable importance), but by the decisions of their autonomous or dominant egos. Such persons will, therefore, be realistic in their assessment of the social reality which they want to influence through their actions in their evaluation of the means at their disposal. T h e actioris which the rational resister will undertake in order to achieve his social and political ends will thus be shaped by the cognitive

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processes of his ego. Unlike the martyr-hero, he is not likely to achieve that unswerving resolve to pursue his aims at all costs, which is so true of those propelled by their nuclear selves. T h e rational resisters are generally of greater interest to the student of historical, political, and social events than to the depth psychologist. The impact of their successes and failures tends to exert a greater influence on the currents of actual events than the deeds of the politically often inexperienced and naive martyr-heroes who, at least for a considerable span of time after their martyrdom, appear to have hardly been noticed and whose self-sacrificing attitudes and acts are covered over by the noisy incidents of the day. It might, therefore, be assumed that the depth-psychological assessment of the rational resisters holds little promise and that we should instead examine the greater or lesser realism of their plans and the effectiveness of their actions-in other words, their influence on the course of the crucial events of the times. Nevertheless, I believe the psychology of the rational resisters-of individuals, in other words, who may in fact become significant actors on the historical stage-lies clearly within the purview of the depth psychologists. Although rational resisters can surely be differentiated from the martyr-heroes, their personality organization is hardly uniform. As stated before, they all share one feature: their decisions and actions-whatever their deeper motivation-are predominantly determined by the cognitive functions of their ego. Members of the German resistance came from areas as diverse as politics, religion, and the military. Some were uncertain, cautious, hesitant, and emotionally anemic in their conspiratorial pursuits. Others were driven by a greater inner fire and were more willing to disregard risks, most of all von Stauffenberg, the actual leader of the famous conspiracy against Hitler and the courageous human instrument who himself, on July 20, 1944, deposited the briefcase with explosives next to the Fuhrer. They were more certain that they had to act against the prevailing evil, whatever the consequences.

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One could group rational resisters on a sliding scale in terms of the greater and lesser autonomy of their ego. On one end of the scale we would find those individuals in whom one could assume that the psychological surface has made itself independent of the psychological depth and in whom the ego is thus not only the arbiter of the means and ends of their actions but also the matrix of their motivations. On the other end of the scale we find those in whom the psychological surface, as judged by their behavior, appears to be in broad contact with the psychological depth. In this group, as was true in the first, the ego is not the autonomous source of the motivations. The ego is here in its decisive activities guided by the deeply anchored pattern of the nuclear self and is drawing its power from it. One would assume that those resisters whose actions emanate from the autonomous ego would be ineffective because of the lack of vigor of their motivations in situations, demanding total commitment. In contrast, one would assume that the second group, i.e., those in whom the psychological depth and surface form an unbroken continuum, constitute the greatest potential threat to a totalitarian regime. In the specific case of the resistance activities in the Third Reich, it was indeed this group which came nearest to carrying out a successful coup. And it was only due to a few unforeseeable, accidental occurrences that von Stauffenberg's plan failed and that the conspirators had to suffer a horrible tortured death at the hands of the Nazis. T o make clear statements about a significant correlation between the psychological structure of certain individuals and their potential influence on the events of history leads us into a new and essentially uninvestigated territory. There is no need, however, to feel unduly apologetic concerning this step, because there is no claim whatever that a comprehensive understanding of man's behavior on the stage of history has been achieved, not even with regard to the explanation of the narrowly circumscribed topic concerning the effect of a few unusual individuals.

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But I do believe that this approach will enable us to ask further meaningful questions and plot the direction of promising further investigations. For example, it would be interesting to know a great deal more about the interplay of early trauma and trauma mastery in the narcissistic realm and how this tends, in combination with the appropriate biological endowment, to produce the unusually firm nuclear self. In making such proposals, however, it must be admitted that we have entered an area which has traditionally been considered as lying outside the scope of the psychoanalytic investigator: the treacherous ground governed by our evaluative judgments of normality and abnormality, of psychological health and disease. These are difficulties, however, which I will simply sidestep in the present context. I have attempted to advance psychological evidence in support of the proposition that the behavior of some of the resisters discussed in the preceding part of this study constitutes psychological health-should we speak here of ahnormal psychological health?-and I will not burden my investigation with considerations regarding the propriety of introducing normative factors into the realm of a scientific investigation. What had to be faced, however, was the disconcerting question whether the courageous deeds of the bravest of the resisters might not have rested on the bizarre basis of a covert psychosis, whether the courage of the heroes, the titanic strength of their nuclear self, was not a manifestation of a severe narcissistic regression leading to a breakdown of the self and to the replacement of the self by a delusional structure which then, accidentally as it were, had led them to the fearless performance of those deeds in the political and social arena for which we now pay them our respect. As can be gleaned from my examination of the personality organization of the martyr-heroes and of the rational resisters, 1 am not concerned with the question whether there are indeed exan~plesof heroic individuals whose nuclear self disintegrated

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and was replaced by a delusional substitute that directed their action on the stage of history. I have no reliable evidence at my disposal to give a definitive answer to this question, but I think that such instances d o indeed exist-and probably not in small numbers. Among the saints and the heroes of history are some who, when examined with the penetrating instruments of modern depth psychology, would indeed be found to have been in essence impelled by delusional fbrce. Clinically, these individuals would most likely be diagnosed as covertly psychotic or considered "borderline cases," for their cold, unswerving strength rests on a nonhuman, psychotic nuclear self. Here, too, is a promising area for investigations of historical figures by depth-psychological means. But it is an area which, in the context of the present considerations, I can safely leave on the side. I am not denying the possibility that there exist psychotic individuals who can influence both conten~porariesand posterity and thus leave their mark on history. But it was my intention to den~onstratethat there are some, at least among the martyrheroes (i.e., a group made u p of individuals whose mental health is most likely to be questioned and who will be most suspected of being not only mentally unstable but in essence psychotic), who are in possession of a firm nuclear self, whose unusual behavior, far from being unwholesome and pitiable, is in fact powerful and exemplary. These are people whom we can admire without hesitation and whom we might wish to emulate within the limits of o u r own strength. I believe that I have been able to adduce sufficient evidence concerning the personality of the touching Austrian f'arnler Jagerstatter arid of Hans and Sophie Scholl, the two young people who were leaders of the student conspiracy in Munich, to feel certain that their firmness of' purpose did not emanate from a psychotic structure but from a strongly cathected, powerful, and cohesive self. Jagerstatter's wry humor during his imprisonment, Hans Scholl's subtle empathy with a suffering human being, Sophie Scholl's serenity,

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her glowing narcissistic equilibrium even as she was confronted with death-all these features argue forcefully on the side of the conclusion that we are dealing, in these instances at least, with individuals who were enabled to maintain their heroic attitudes by virtue of the strength of the healthy narcissistic foundation of the personality.

The Nuclear Se y'

I hope that the exa~ninationof courageous individuals, of heroic figures of history, has taken us some distance along the way toward the clarification of the position of the nuclear self in the human personality and of its function in the life of the individual. But there is still a great deal that may seem to have remained unclear. One might argue, for example, that the definition of a r rests on a kind of' circular reasoning. We posthe n ~ ~ c l e self tulate that the nuclear self occupies the most central position in the personality and that other selves occupy positions which are more peripheral or more superficial in relation to the central one and, by implication at least, are less genuine. On the other hand, we conclude that the self which ultimately determines the admirable actions of the martyr-heroes is the nuclear self, because only the genuine, structurally most centrally located self could have such a powerful positive influence on the personality. There is a logical fallacy here in first hypothesizing courage to be a central characteristic of the nuclear self and then proving the hypothesis by demonstrating the unswerving courage and persistence of some exceptional, saintlike persons whose attitudes and deeds we see as the manifestation of their nuclear selves. These are compelling argurnerits which cannot be disproved within the confines of a systetn of pure logic. But I do believe that the validity of the processes of fact-finding of empirical psychology can be gauged by these standards. First I would like

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to specify that, although my illustrative examples concerned cer-

tain individuals whose actions I personally happen to admire arid whose values and goals are similar to my own, my explanatory attempt concerns at this point o~llythe ability of the heroic individuals to perform their actions, not the ~ n o r a ol r social validity of their standards and goals. Secondly, steadfastness in the face of maximal threats and intimidations is not the only distinguishing and characteristic quality of the nuclear self. While I have 110 doubt that it is in general only the central self whicl-1 is likely to prove itself indomitable in the face of torture and death, there might be instances when a defensive stance, resting 011 an image of the self which is located in a peripheral or superficial area of the psyche, is kept u p for a long time and may in very exceptional cases be maintained even in the face of ultimate sacrifice. 'The gripping novel Jud S&s (1925) by Lion Feuchtwanger can perhaps be considered as a fictitious illustration of' S L I C ~ I2111 occurrence. Thus-to put the previous statements in a milder- form-while it may appear to be very likely that the solitary martyr-hero is living out the pattern of his most deeply anchored and most central self, we must search for criteria which apply not only in these extreme cases but also in less dra~natic ones. Indeed, as I have indicated earlier, there is at o u r disposal another set of data which lerids strorig support to our hypothesis. This supportive evidence is obtained through the psychological investigation of' a person's path toward the full dominance of his nuclear selt; through the scrutiny of the depth-psychological significance of the steps which lead to the final equilibriu~nat the point when the central narcissistic structure achieves its total victory and a ~ranquiljoy pervades the total personality. T h e careful empathic scrutiny of this last stage of quiet triumph in the face o f death will protect us in particular against resorting to a routine, nonspecific judgment, i.e., dispensing with the evidence obtained from the actual psychological manifestations of the martyr-hero's experiences and explaining the progressive

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course of his development directly in the terms of a biologizing drive psychology. T h e consummate peace achieved by the hero is, at least in certain instances, not the result of the instinctual gratification of a masochistic wish-the fulfilirnent of an expiatory death-wish (the victory of self-destructive aggressive strivi n g ~in the service of the superego, for examplei')-but the ultimate ascendancy of a firm and life-affirming self. It must be admitted furthermore that any judgment made outside of systematic therapeutic analysis concerning the question whether certain actions or attitudes of an individual are the manifestations of his nuclear self will, of necessity, remain open to some doubt.14 We do, however, not need to feel ashamed of our insecurity. I t is not due to the possibility that we might have fallen prey to faulty reasoning and circular definitions, but relates to the fact that we are dealing with data which we observe and assess within the framework of an empirical science. Our decision whether, in any given instance, we are seeing the manifestations of a peripheral or superficial self rnust therefore rest on the conscientious psychological scrutiny of the data at our disposal, work which is, as usual, a two-step procedure: ( I ) the careful collecting of the relevant empathically observed psychological data by a trained mind, and (2) the meaningful ordering of the data thus obtained by fitting them into a theoretical frarnework (i.e., psychoanalytic metapsychology) which is attuned to the nature of the subject matter. During psychoanalytic therapy, for example, the psychoanalyst would no more allow himself to decide definitely which of ':There were undoubtedly ir~stancesamong the martyr-heroes of the antiHitler resistance in which self-destructive torces played a role in the psychological makeup of the resister: e.g., in the form of'self-punitive activities, instigated by the superego as punishment f i x the rebellion-however justified-not . . . against a person-however evil he might be-who had come to stand in the father's stead. There are, for example, indications that, as a subsidiary cornponent at least, such a self-punitive factor rnay have been active in Hans Scholl or1 the crucial day of his apprehension. See Petry (1968). pp. 107-123. Ii[Editor's note: For a further discussion of problems ofapplietl a~lalysis,see Kohut (IYGO).]

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the various selves that a patient might present during the early stage of the treatment is the nuclear one than he would, at that stage, allow himself to make fixed judgments about the central and genetically determined childhood conflicts. 'To be sure, in each of these two areas a seasoned analyst's experiences with similar cases will elicit certain tentative expectations in him (on the basis of the assessment of early transference manifestations, for example); but he will not permit his perception of further material, containing evidence contrary to his first impressions, to be distorted by his earlier conjectures. I must stress again that the self which had at one time been the nuclear self does not necessarily retain the central position. Despite the fact, however, that a previous nuclear self has now become peripheral, its investigation is still important to us if we wish to understand the present nuclear self. Some of the qualities of a previous nuclear self may still live on within the present one. T h e analyst will, therefore, attempt to achieve the more or less complete tracing of a developmental line from early fbrms of the nuclear self-at any rate from preceding forn~s-towarcl the present one. T o give an illustration: T h e manifestations of certain aspects of a particular patient's15presenting self appeared to be clustered around his devotion to liberal political ideals and around his ambition to be the admired protector of the persecuted and powerless. In his childhood he had been brought up in a fundamentalist religious and politically conservative atmosphere. During analysis the question arose (stated here in very simplified terms) whether this patient's "liberal self' was a reaction formation and therefore a surface self (the outgrowth of a rebellious attitude toward parental pressure), or whether it was the per"While I have a specific patient in mind tiere (MI-.P., who is mentionetl in Kohut, 1971, 1972). 1 am not primarily giving a clinical tlescription at this point but am simply taking certain data from the clinical material referring to this case in order to illustrate a specific problem encountered in psychoanalytic practice.

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ceptible aspect of his nuclear self, i.e., ofthe present nuclear self as it had developed out of the childhood nuclear self.'" Only long-term, conscientious observation during analysis can provide us with the data on which we can base the answer to such a question. T o pursue further our clinical illustration, we will, for example, try to plumb the depths of our patient's "liberal self." In attempting to assess, however, whether a particular psychological structure indeed constitutes the nuclear self (or at least an aspect of it), we must base our decision neither on the criterion that the nuclear self ought to be in harmony with the rest of the personality nor on the idea that there should reign inner peace as soon as the patient has recognized his nuclear self. On the contrary, the analytic investigation of the nuclear self will almost always reveal inconsistencies between this structure and the rest of the psyche. Although these discoveries might create discomfort, they are likely to be beneficial in the long run, because the mobilization of psychological work through the increasing awareness of these inconsistencies and conflicts opens the way to creative resolutions. Changes in the personality may now take place.17 There is a possibility that the patient may relinquish certain goals which had not been in tune with the basic pattern of the nuclear self' '"ne could also formulate this alternative in the terms of (secondary) ego autonomy: one could ask, in other words, whether o r not certain ego functions which had originally been motivated by rebellion (to be specific: active attitudes+.g., to be helpful to the weak-acquired in defense against loathed o r feared passivity) had now become ego-syntonic and autonomous (secondary autonon~y).I am strongly inclined to think, however, that it is more appropriate (i.e., more in tune with the clinical facts, and more advantageous from the heuristic point of view) to conceptualize the norn~allyintegrated nuclear self not as occupying only a delimited portion within the ego but as forming a whole sector of the psyche in depth, specifically in that part of the psyche which L like to refer to as the area of progressive neutralization (Kohut and Seitz, 1963).I h e nuclear self is, therefore, a configuration which dips deeply into the unconscious during each of the several stages of its development. "[Editor's note: In the original, Kohut refers to the "~lonselfareas of the personality," which probably means the "nonnuclear self areas of the personality." However, in the context of the paragraph such an obscure distinction is more clearly expressed as one between the nuclear self and the total personality.]

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and thus alter his overt actions and attitudes. There niay also gradually occur a genuine transfbrniation of' the nuclear self. But despite everything there is finally the possibility that a harmonious and internally consistent personality cannot be achieved, and that some deep rents in the psychic structure must remain unmended. We will come back to the last-mentioned possibility shortly, when we turn to the depth-psychological assessment of tragedy. In the present context, however, it is important to repeat that the whole personality can hardly ever be expected to live in harmony with the nuclear self.l"I'he peripheral and surface selves are those of easy adaptation and comfortable consistency. The psychological question is not whether the psychic structure under consideration is in a state of conflict or of peace with the rest of the personality, but whether it is shallow or deep. T h e analytic examination of the nuclear self-in contrast to the examination of peripheral selves-leads always into the psychological depths and, as the deeper layers are gradually penetrated, to the discovery of the dynamically and genetically meaningful pattern. The clinical investigation of the nlari with the "liberal self," for example, revealed a plethora of conflicts and inconsistericies.lWevertheless, there is no doubt that the "liberal self' formed (an aspect of) the meaningful center of his being. His liberal convictions and the enthusiasm with which he had always supported liberal causes and followed liberal leaders were intense. When these goals and ideals were investigated in clepth during analysis, rebellious attitudes vis-%-vispersecutors and rage about being victimized made their appearance. These attitudes accounted for the rigidity of his beliefs anti for the fBriaticism with which he pursueti his political actions. l'hey also interfered occasionally with his ability to help the persecuted, InThe martyr-hero's ultimate serenity is, of c o ~ ~ r san e , exception to this rule. "'See, for example, the description o f this patienl's ambivalence toward those whose protagonist he wanted to be (Kohut, 1972, p. 638).

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because an old wish for revenge was at times lived out under the guise of helpfulness. T h e core of his "liberal self," however, the core of his wish to help the persecuted and disadvantaged, was deeply anchored in his personality. Its three major components had resulted from: (1) an early empathic identification with the humiliated and helpless because he, too, had felt humiliated and helpless as a child; (2) the effective (transmuting) internalization and partial integration of messianic religious ideals (not only held up to the child by the mother who, it seems, had remained in awe of her own messianic father, but also represented by the father who had indeed been a genuine idealized selfobject for the little boy); and (3) the partial integration of grandiose fantasies (to be his mother's protector and rescuer) to which his mother had responded with reasonably appropriate pleasure and pride in his early years. A full integration of these grandiose fantasies and archaic idealizations into the adult personality under the dominance of a realistic ego had not been achieved by the patient, and a number of opposing psychological attitudes (acquired, for example, under the impact of his mother's sadistic attacks on him when he wanted to make himself independent from her) interfered with the ability of this central sector of his personality to translate its pattern into consistent attitudes and actions. All these defects were confronted in the course of the analysis. They entered into the transference and became part of the working-through processes. At no time during the analysis, however, did the presence of these obstacles obliterate the patient's progressive political stance to reform our society and his self-concept as the champion of the oppressed. Neither the patient nor the analyst felt tetnpted to devalue the manifestations of these basic constituents of his personality and to see them as "mere" defensive activities, instituted in order to counteract his hostility, for example, or to overcompensate for infantile feelings of' helplessness.

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Many clinical complexities can also occur with the activation of unconscious guilt in the analysis. In most cases it is the analysand who insists repeatedly that certain genuine aspects of his nuclear self are merely defensive or, at any rate, that they originally arose in a defensive context. While the analyst must always listen carefully and consider the possible truth of the patient's assertions, he will-after he has convinced himself that it is the patient's current self-devaluation which is defensive and not those aspects of his personality which are at present under scrutiny-institute the only appropriate move at his disposal. H e will communicate to the patient his impression of the presence of unconscious guilt that may be a source of his self-devaluation (and of a "negative therapeutic reaction"). He will then sit back and observe the consequences of his interpretation as manifested by the patient's further associations. It should go without saying that there also exist many instances of socially commendable behavior of the patient as citizen which are in fact defensive moves during an analysis and serve the patient's acting out, e.g., to deflect some transference impulses from the analyst. Furthermore, in certain analyses even some well-integrated, valuable, and approvable activities autonomous ego activities, in other words-will temporarily give way during the therapeutic regression as infantile patterns are being reactivated in the transference. If the relinquishment of secondary autonomy is circumscribed and if it is actively undertaken by a patient's strong ego in the service of the ultimate goals of the analysis, there is no need to interfere with the temporary regression. T h e ego hnctions will return after the analysis of' the infantile genetic pattern has been completed and, as a matter of fact, will tend to be even stronger and less subject to regressive transformations than before.

Throughout this paper I have been trying to increase the understanding of the psychological significance of the self by il-

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luminating it-its position, its functions, its fate-from various points of view. It was with this goal in mind that I discussed such diverse examples as, on the one hand, the ascendancy of a historically paradigmatic nuclear self, the self of the martyr-hero, and, on the other hand, the vicissitudes of a self revealed in the clinical situation, which has no impact o n public life and no significance with regard to the events of history. I realize that the results of my efforts will not satisfy those whose primary aim is to achieve simple and elegant fbrrnulations in the psychological realm. My present examinations may have clarified certain aspects of the subject matter under scrutiny; they have, however, not led to elegant and simple statements of general validity. O n the contrary, it may be claimed with some justification that the variety of approaches to the problen~of the significance of the self in the personality increases-at least initially-not only the phenomenological coniplexity of the field but also the difficulty of framing appropriate theoretical formulations. I feel, however, that a formulation which puts the self into the center of the personality as the initiator of all actions and as the recipient of all impressions exacts too high a price. Instead of openness to new impressions, instead of the healthy capacity to experience surprise at seeing the unexpected, instead of the challenge of creating new theories as new data become available, the scientist who bases himself prematurely on comprehensive simple theories will find that they tend to become a hindrance to perceiving the new. It is like what happens when a believer, who has posited the god concept as the ultinlate explanation of reality, reaps the benefit of finding himself, with unscientific certainty, in a fully intelligible universe."' If we instead put o u r trust in empirical observation, using introspection and empathy as our tools, we will be open t o a bewildering increase in the complexity of the relevant phenom?"Seein this context, Freud's (l914b, p. 77) remark on "the dif.fe1-encebetween a speculative theory and a science erected on empiric;~linterpretation."

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ena. Instead of the single self of conscious experience, which has always been around, we will encounter a variety of incorigruous and inconsistent phenomena. We will see dif-ferent selves, each of them a lasting psychological configuration, each experienced as absolute and as the center of the personality, not only in dif'ferent agencies of the mind but also side by side within the same agency. We see these various selves fighting for ascendancy, one blocking out the other, forming compromises with each other, and acting inconsistently with each other at tlie same time. I n general, we will witness what appears to be an uneasy victory of one self over all the others. But we will also see that some individuals are more capable than others of tolerating the active, creative conflict of inconsistent selves, without having to resort to undue defensive maneuvers or to the achievement of a psychological synthesis at all costs. The discovery during analysis of various selves in the same individual is at times similar to the discovery of various configurations in the well-known experiments regarding various figure-ground configurations. At one moment the observer discerns one configuration which has cornplete validity and forrns a convincing Gestalt. Yet, after an inlperceptible shift in the focus of' the observer's attention, there appears another fully valid configuration which crowds out the first. There is an additional factor which has to be taken into account if our appropriate neutrality toward the niultiplicity of selves within the same personality is not to mislead us. It may be taken as a basic law that, within the realm of narcissism, the observing psyche tends to experience each mental content as absolute. This is true whether the mental content is observed with the aid of direct introspection or through vicarious introspection, i.e., via empathy. We experience each of the selves that is at any given moment in the focus of our observation as unique arid absolute. As a matter of fact it is a characteristic faculty of the healthy psyche that it will experience narcissistic conterit as

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unique, single, and absolute, even if it is simultaneously in the possession of data which should be expected to interfere with this experience. A healthy person's irlsightful knowledge that he harbors various selves is, therefore, not the same as the sense of fragmentation which is the essence of the schizophrenic e x p r i ence of multiple selves. T h e first is the result of an achievement of cognition, the second occurs in consequence of a lack in the capacity to imbue the relevant psychic configurations with a sufficient amount of narcissistic investment. We thus tend to believe in the absoluteness of our experiences. Yesterday's fashions (like yesterday's selves) look ludicrous, strange, and incomprehensible. A new style at first strikes us as foreign and unacceptable. But after we have come to know it the formerly strange, ludicrous, or repulsive is transformed: it shares now in that basic sense of absoluteness and perfection which every healthy person has retained in the storehouses of his experience, the grandiose self of childhood that survives in the depth of the personality. During the analysis the need for the ascendancy of one absolute self will bring about a (potentially creative) struggle among the contestants. "May the best self win" will be our hope. But which is the best? There are no foolproof criteria and no easy answers to this question. Nevertheless, the findings of depth psychology will open broader vistas on this problem than those which are accessible by conscious contemplation. There may be no objective standards which determine "the" best self; however, depth-psychological investigation may well lead us to a self which is deeper than the others, has more genuine genetic antecedents than the others, and, most importantly, is more completely the expression and continuation of the two great narcissistic configurations of early life: the grandiose self and the idealized parent imago. Indeed, if I should dare to offer a tentative definition of the nuclear self, I would say that it is the one which is derived from these two structures and draws its strength from them. I

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would have to add, however, that this self, as it strives to realize its ambitions and to live u p to its ideals, must have become integrated into the total personality. Specifically, it must have come under the domination o f t h e ego, since it is the task ofthis agency of the mind to integrate a person's psychologically rooted strivi n g ~with biological givens, on the one hand, and with the exigencies of the social environment and of the historical moment, on the other. I will thus define the nuclear self as a specific psychic configuration available to introspection and empathy. Psychic configurations which we call self are, as we know, the representation of mind and body, of mental and physical functions. 'They are experienced as being continuous in time, unitary and cohesive, and as possessing stable spatial dimensions. 'The nuclear self, however, is that speclfic self which fulfills two further conditions: (1) it is the self which is the carrier of the derivatives of the grandiose-exhibitionistic self (i.e., the potential executor of the goals, purposes, and ambitions which are in genetic-dynamic contact with the original aspirations of the grandiose-exhibitionistic self); and (2) it is the self which has set its sights on values and ideals which are the descendents of the idealized parent Imago. It is my firm conviction, based on considerable relevant clinical experience, that the analyst capable of focusing his attention on the nuclear self and its vicissitudes will be able to grasp an important dimension of human psychological life. And 1 am furthermore convinced that the analyst's attention to the self' is of great practical importance, that-stated in the negative-a neglect of this dimension of human life in the analytic situation is to the detriment of the ultimate well-being of the a~ialysand. When one suggests a viewpoint which deviates from the accuston~edone, it is best not t o become defensive but to trust that the test of clinical application will provide the necessary support. Still, in order to forestall unnecessary and unwarranted clashes

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of theoretical opinions, I will stress again that the analysis of the self must not be looked upon as a replacement of the traditionally emphasized analysis of the drives and of structural conflict but accepted as an additional approach, undertaken within the established framework of depth psychology. Traditionally we see our analysands-and those whom we scrutinize "beyond the bounds of the basic rule""-as beset by (structural) conflicts. Conflict solution is enhanced if the conflicts are raised into consciousness. T h e most important regulator of the psychological activities in the realm of conflicts is the pleasure principle (including, of course, its extension, the reality principle), and, on the whole, the most. important processes in this realm are the internalized conflicts between the (oedipal) drive-wishes of the id-ego, on the one hand, and the drive-curbing prohibitions of the superego, on the other hand. T h e psychological understanding of man as seen within the conceptual framework of the driveconflict approach of psychoanalysis is related to that traditional outlook on human problems which is evoked by such terms as guilt and restitution, sin and redemption, crime and punishment, arid the like. I will, despite the great variety of phenomena that are involved, characterize this whole outlook on hurnan psychology by saying that it focuses on guilty man. But there is another dimension of human existence which must be taken into account. I t is the fateful matter of whether one's nuclear self is able to express its basic patterns within the span of a lifetime. We are dealing here with psychic functions that are not regulated by the pleasurelreality principle but which are subject to forces "beyond the pleasure principle." I will once more disregard the great variety of' phenomena that are here involved and characterize this second outlook on human pskchology by saying that it focuses on trapc man. "[Editor's note: Kohut (1960) ref'erred to the psychoarlalytic intcrpretatior~ of' no~iclinicalmaterial as "beyond the bounds of the hasic rule."]

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Courage and Tragecly

Analysts, beginning with Freud, have felt strongly attracted by the mystery of tragedy, which they have explained largely in terms of a psychology of passions (drives), inner conflicts concerning these passions (structural conflicts), and punishment for transgressions motivated by passions (the victory of the self-punitive forces in the superego and the ascendancy of the death instinct). In this view of tragedy, which sees man as striving fbr happiness through love arid work, man comes to grief because he cannot niaster his unruly passions and must ultimately bow to the inevitable victory of the life-destructive fbrces as embodied in his aggressions, in his guilt, and in the inevitable end of his biological existence. A psychoanalytic psychology of the self is able to provide us with a fresh chance to comprehend tragedy. I will step directly in medic~sres and make lily central assertion: The art of the tragic-whether sung, told, or written as in the great epics; whether through music, on canvas, in stone, or on the stage-is concerned with man's attempt to live out the pattern of his nuclear self. And the tragic hero who is the protagonist of the great tragedies, which must be counted as among the most precious cultural possessions of mankind, is a man who, despite the breakdown of his physical and mental powers (e.g., Oedipus) and even despite his biological death (e.g., Hamlet), is triumphant because his nuclear self achieved an ascendancy which never will, indeed, which never can, be undone. Surrounded by the incessant flux of the human condition, confronted by the necessity of admitting the impermanence of all things dear to him, compelled finally to acknowledge the finiteness of individual existcnce not only in the abstract but also as it concerns his own beloved self, man comes closest to narcissistic fulfillnlent when he is able to realize the pattern of his most central self. The efhcement or the death of the tragic hero is thus not an incidental occurrence. Its essential meaning is not

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to be seen as punishment for a code-transgressing deed, which sets in motion the pattern of guilt and retribution. I t is instead a necessary component of the hero's achievement, for it is only in death that the hero's narcissistic fulfillment attains permanence. The survivors weep about the hero's fate, but the raised body of the hero as it is carried to the funeral pyre is not lamented as the remains of defeat would be. It is admired as the symbol of the hero's narcissistic triumph which, through his death, has now become absolute. Every individual has two courses open to him and every individual, in one way or another, follows both of them. In his ordinary day every man lives by the pleasure and reality principles: he is the man of work and love. But no man is excluded from participating in the tragic dimensions of life. No man, however apparently insignificant his self-fulfilling goals and the idealized aspirations of his nuclear self, is at all times fully absorbed by the toils of work and by the pursuit of time-limited pleasures. There will be periods, or at least moments, in the life of every man when he becomes aware, even if only dimly, of a yearning that does not relate to the attainment of the pleasurable discharge of drive-wishes but to the compelling urge to realize the deep-rooted design of his nuclear self. Man is propelled by both of these forces, and human life lacking either of them is incomplete. Society, too, needs tragic man. The tragic man senses the destiny of a people and of his potential role as it relates to this destiny. Ordinarily, leaders will be of the "work and love" type. In extraordinary times, however, in times of deep crisis, it will be a tragic man who will rise to lead and inspire a group whose deepest group self-the confluence of the nuclear selves, i.e., of the basic ambitions, goals, and ideals of the individuals who make up the group--has been threatened and needs to assert itself'. All art, including tragedy, is wish fulfillment. But our enjoyment of tragedy does not come from the pleasurable partici-

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pation in the victory of a drive (the death instinct). 'That would be analogous to our enjoyment of the pleasurable participation in the wish-fulfilling world conjured u p by the art o f t h e happy ending. Simple comedies please us through the vicarious enjoyment of fulfilled libidinal wishes. Other branches of the art of' the happy ending present us with artistically disguised denials of the reality of our limitations arid frustrations. There is a great variety of ways by which the art of the happy ending, through more o r less sophisticated means, is able to entertain the man of work and love. O u r en-joyment of these art forms is derived froin our temporary acceptance of the artistic assertion that a drive-wish has been fi~lfilledo r from the f'unctional analogue of' this process, the artistic denial of the pains and frustrations of' life. Tragedy, however, has another fi~nction:it gives the spcctator, reader, listener, or beholder the opportunity to experience, in temporary identification with the tragic hero, the unfolding, expansion, and triuniph of his own nuclear self. It is a significant (and largely unexplored) fhct that civilizetl man feels timid vis-a-vis the profound strivirigs of liis nuclear self and that his ego seems fragile when it is faced by its demands. Civilized marl has learned to work; he tries to obey the restrictions necessitated by communal life and yet, despite work and restrictions, he manages, directly and indirectly, to obtain a modicum of' fulfillment of his drive-wishes. But the fetters of communal living have curtailed his freedom to express liis deepest self even more than they have interfered with the opportunity to discharge his drives. Indeed, I believe that there are forces at work in this realm which are even more restrictive than the inhibiting precepts of civilized society. From the beginning of our awareness these forces have made us fearful of developing our self-expressive initiative and our creativeness. Perhaps from irifancy onward the unfolding of our central selves has evoked frightening envious anger, which is a rnanifest;ition of the wounded narcissism of those around us. T h e full assertion of

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o u r nuclear selves is thus for most of us beyorid the scope of our courage. We withdraw from o u r innermost goals and ideals, and we falsify and dilute thern. It is in this sphere then that the buffering of art allows us a tolerable experience of self-affirmation in the form of our participation in the self-expression of the tragic hero o n the stage. Great tragedy, as exemplified most tangibly in the tragic drama, is a repeatable, and thus a dosed, experience. It allows us, therefore, to participate in the emotional development of the tragic hero from doubt to decision and from dejection to triumph as his nuclear self attains realization and is made permanent through death. Paradoxically, the spectator, participating in the ultimate self-realization of the tragic hero, experiences his own self as more vigorous and cohesive than he ever can in his real life. 'The primary function of tragedy is thus not to supply us with wish-fulfilling daydreams in the area of our drives. 'This function is fulfilled by other forms of art which, for simplicity's sake, I have called the art of the happy ending. I t should go without saying that I intend no value judgment by this comparison. Not all tragedy is great art. As a matter of fact, in viewing tragedy one will often feel keenly the truth of the old statement that there is but a step fro111 the sublime to the ridiculous. Nor is wish-fulfilling art, that of the happy ending, by any means necessarily second rate in its formal execution and concerned with topics that are of no relevance to man. T o use a specific example: work and love man is also moral man. Nontragic art may, therefore, not only provide wish fulfillment to him through crudely direct drive satisfaction (such as is delivered by pulp magazines and peep-show movies) but also give him the narcissistic pleasure of identifying with the moral protagonist, of sharing in his victory over the forces of evil, and of feeling temporarily relieved of the tension between his own ego and superego. As he identifies with the personified superego o f t h e work of art in which he immerses himself, his ego will feel calm and virtuous. In the narcissistic

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sphere work-and-love man gleans from the art of the happy ending wish fulfillments like the childlike afficionados of the grandiose deeds of Superman, which are the direct descendents of ubiquitous fantasies emanating from the grandiose self of childhood (their admixture of oedipal features and o f simple morality places them in early latency) and he also, through the tales of gallantry, heroism, and honesty, attains a vicarious narcissistic wish fi~lfillrnentin the realm of his ideals and values. T h e ego of work-and-love man, the man of drives and structural conflicts, is, after all, exposed not just to the pressure of his drives. He also suffers from being exposed to the demands of his superego and from having to bow to the fBct that his control of the environment is incomplete. Thus wish fulfilln~entthrough the art of the happy ending can be achieved in a variety of ways and by appealing to diverse aspects of the personality. Neither sophisticated means, however, nor even the portrayal of higher goals make tragic art. Self-fulfillment is not necessarily moral, and true creativity-which, I believe, always requires the full participation of the nuclear self-is not necessarily a matter of conscientious work. T h e tragic hero may be moral in the usual sense of the word; our values and ideals may coincide with his. But he may also be a great sinner, a man who steps beyond the bounds of the morality of his times and his society. T h e question is not whether the hero is a sinner o r saint; the question is whether, in that segment of his life curve that is portrayed in the tragic drama or novel, the innermost pattern of the hero's self is struggling for expression and ultimately reaches its goal. T h e heroes of the novels of Dostoevsky, for example, are beset by unsolvable conflicts. They suffer, they fail. They may be sinners and cowards. Some are physically ill and many die. What then redeems them? In what way d o they give us that pleasure of a self-enhancing participation in another's experience which I tried to describe? It is the very perfection of the portrayal of these personalities which gives us this pleasure. All

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of Dostoevsky's figures, from Raskolnikov and Prince Myskhin to Smerdyakov attain firmness and permanence as they live through their tortured lives. Each of them is a self that will endure as long as tragic man is responsive to art, as long as there are men whose nuclear selves cannot ever find full expression, as long as there are men who gladly suffer the pressure of unfulfilled drives, the frustration of their wishes, and even the suffering of being torn by guilt, if only they could feel themselves as a firmly coherent unit which is able to experience the joys and sufferings of life in the full reality and firm cohesion of the self. In the tragic art of antiquity, in the epics and tragedies of Greece, the protagonists' fate, their life and death, their triumph and downfall, is starkly presented to the participating audience-painted, as it were, in the primary colors of emotionality. It is a decisive element of the tragic art of the Greeks, reflecting the tragic quality of their conception of life, that each individual fate, as it unrolls before the spectator, the listener, or the reader, appears to follow inexorably a predestined course. Even in death or in the total prostration of defeat we sense the fulfillment of the destiny of an innermost self. T h e outcries of the bereaved survivors are, therefore, at bottom the expression of profound admiration for the hero's achievement, and the moans of the defeated hero are unself-conscious and strong. T h e audience leaves the theater, the reader closes the tome containing the tragic epic, with a sense of (participating) prideful exaltation. T h e greatest tragic art of Western civilization of more recent centuries-from Shakespeare to O'Neill, from Dostoevsky to Melville-while in essence fulfilling the same functions as the tragic art of Greece, does not and cannot use the direct approach to the participating selves of modern audiences. Our selves have become too fragile. Even in art we cannot tolerate, as could the Greeks, the participation in the almost openly portrayed fulfillment of the pattern of the nuclear self of the tragic hero. We need the screen of' greater disguise. We need greater dosing,

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more refinement, a larger admixture of neutralizing reflection, and a plot which ratio~ializesthe hero's inner propulsion toward his triumphant downfall and transfigured death. It is only in the very greatest of the tragic works of modern time-Hamlet, for example, o r Moby Dirk-that the motor which drives the action toward its inevitable coriclusion lies, unrationalized, entirely within the hero. It is o u r timidity vis-a-vis the essence of the tragic, o u r wish not to recognize the inevitability of unl-olling fate, which accounts for the fact that we are trying to keep such art an emotional arm's length from o u r selves and that we are wont to consider it as not fully intelligible by declaring it mysterious. Disregarding anachronisms, I d o not believe, for example, that Hamlet's fate, as it slowly progresses toward his deed and death, would have been as mysterious for the Greeks as it has remained (or perhaps as it has increasingly become?) for modern man. By insisting that Hamlet is mysterious, modern man disavows the fact that he knows it is the hero's innermost self which strives toward its ascenclancy. T h e hero's death is not punishment for the deed but, in its essence, a part of the fulfillment. T h e curve of Hamlet's life, as portrayed in the play which has fascinated the best minds of modern depth psychology (horn Freucl [1900, pp. 264-2661 and Jones [1910, 19541 to Eissler [1971]), is therefore no rnore, but also no less, than modern ni;in's version of the road which the tragic hero has traveled from time immemorial, per a,spem utl astru, to his triumphant death. Hamlet's death is the triumphant fulfillment o f his reconstituteti nuclear self, and his weaknesses, hesitations, anti temporary failures are like the climber's toils ant1 sighs as he struggles to reach the peak. Horatio's touching final words ("goodnight, sweet prince") are not the adequate response to great achievement. They are a concession to the sentimer~tal needs of that part of the audience which cannot tolerate the identification with the triumph of undiluted heroic self-fulfill-

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ment. It is Fortinbras' last comniand ("let four captains bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage") which cannot tolerate the identification with the triumph of undiluted heroic self-fulfillment. It is Fortinbras' last command ("let four captains bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage") which contains the recognition of the greatness of Hamlet's life and which acknowledges the reality of the hero's self-fulfilling triumph. Hamlet, as I have noted elsewhere (Kohut, 1971, pp. 235237), has the tremendous task of first rebuilding his nuclear self and then realizing the transformed pattern of the new self. Hamlet's old self, that of his late adolescence, was an idealistic one which did not acknowledge the presence of evil in his world. H e had been a princely paradigm, beloved by the populace for the pureness of his idealism. T h e murder of his father, however, and the involvement (perhaps even complicity) of his mother in the crime demand from him the transformation of his whole world view. Faced with this staggering task, he attempts to deny the full reality of his recognition that the recent events give the lie to his idealistic outlook on the world. T h e recognition remains at first ego-alien; it is not he who has understood, it is the father's ghost who informs him of the horrible truth. T h e full force of recognition that the evil deed has been done is thus at first partly deflected; the inner recognition is disavowed, the information is reprqjected and experienced as a message received from the outside. It is only gradually that he learns to accept and integrate the f'act of the existence of the ultimate evil. T h e enornious task of rebuilding a new self that is structured in conibrmity with the changed world in which he now finds himself absorbs all his energies during most of the action of the play. It strains his psychic powers to the utmost, leading to a state of diffuse tensions of which his (pseudo)irisanity, his outbursts of rage, his sarcasm, and his seeming confusion are either direct manifestations o r indirect symptoms. T h e inner task, however, is eventually accomplished and his new disillusioned self is built. Hamlet

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admits to himself'that the world in which he lives, the world of the royal family, is evil. Once this inner work has been done, however, there is a remarkable but fully intelligible change in the play. Its focus shifts from Hamlet as a person to the unrolling of a multiplicity of actions. Although the pitch of action-tension is at its peak, the psychological tensions which u p to this point had absorbed the audience seem to evaporate; there is relief, even relaxed frolicking, as in the amusing scene with Osric in Act V, scene 2, which by its very lightness increases the tragic impact of the final events. It is as if the actors of the drama can now relax, as if' the anonymous power of destiny has taken over for them, moving them through predestined motions onward toward the predestined goals. It is at this point that Humlet, despite its psychological refinement, comes closest to the spirit, the simplicity, and directness of Greek tragedy. Following the unemotional steps of courtly etiquette, the duel is arranged and performed. With the gravity of an ancient religious ritual, the deed of revenge is done and like puppets in a puppet show the several characters of the play succumb, one after another. It is then that Hamlet, dying, comes to life again, surveys past and future and, in a final act of timelessness, gives his vote to Fortinbras as the man who is to fill his place. Hamlet dies, but his triumphant self-fulfillment ennobles the survivors, who can now go about the business of restoring the health of the state. It is illuminating to compare Hamlet, the greatest tragic drama of Christian civilization, with the tragedy of the life and death ofJesusof Nazareth, the Christ and Saviour of Western religious belief. Despite some striking overt differences in the two life spans, there is much similarity. Both heroes are idealistic and beloved adolescents; both face the evils of the world; both turn away from their mothers, although their mothers never cease to admire them; both appear to age rapidly as they are confronting the world of evil; both have their periods of doubt and

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despair; and both die in early manhood. In both cases their death coincides with the fulfillment of the deepest pattern of their nuclear selves, that is, in both instances seeming defeat is actually a narcissistic triumph. T h e hero's funeral which is ordered for Hamlet is, however, hardly more than a symbolic allusion to his triumph. The resurrection and ascension, symbolizing the full merger with the father ideal, is the glorified narcissistic triumph which permanently transforms the humiliated, suffering seeker into the god. Stripped of dogmatic belief and sentimentalizing additions, the story of gospels may, therefore, be regarded as a prototype of modern tragedy, as a link in that chain of the portrayals of Western tragic man which leads from Sophocles to Shakespeare to O'Neill, and from the Dying Persian in the 'Thermae Museum to Griinewald's Christ on the Cross to Picasso's Guernica. T h e Marys faint and cry; the Pharisees, the men of work and love and everyday morality, sneer at the hero; Pilate, the wielder of worldly power, will not interfere with the unrolling of the predestined life, despite his wife's dreams. The hero's friends detach themselves one by one in order to survive as death approaches. And then, after one last weakness and doubt, as in all great tragedy, there comes the final fulfillment and the ultimate consummation of the nuclear self of the hero. The rest-the mythological details of the moment of death, the empty tomb, the reappearances-is symbolism. These are secondary additions, yet they remain in meaningful symbolic contact with the essence of the story, for they tell in various ways of the hero's narcissistic triumph, of his immortal divinity. I know that one must not simplify the complexities of a powerful religious creation by separating one strand from the intricate web of the overall pattern. But it is indeed my conviction that the tragedy of man forms the very center of the stories told by the evangelists. T h e older tradition of the epic of the warrior hero has remained alive to serve as a paradigm for the proto-

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typical hero of' Western civilization. But the story of Jesus-the Judaic tale of a hero's loyalty even unto death, to the deepest pattern of his self-has influenced, in various ways, every Western hero, whether on the field of battle, in artistic and scientific faithfulness or, as described earlier, in the historically modest deeds of the, mostly unsung, Jagerstatters and Scholls.

Courage nnd

tile

Nuclear Self

T h e application of psychoanalytic findings in general needs no excuse if it is carried out with discretion. I am also certain that the psychology of the self is of special relevance in this context. Still, the question may, and perhaps should, be raised whether undertakings like the present one (specifically the preceding investigation of' martyrs and heroes and of the psychological significance of' tragedy) serve any practical purpose. Phrased differently, the question could be asked whether, by virtue of studies like the present one, man's influence over his inner and outer environment has been expanded, whether his self-control has become enhanced, and whether his autonomy and clorninance have been increased vis-a-vis the inner and outer forces which surround that area of choice arid decision to which he gives the riame of "I." I believe that a tentative answer to these questions can be given; at least I will attempt to make certain predictions. As far as the control of the external environment is concerned, it must be conceded with regret-at this point independent of the validity of my various specific findings-that my research into these matters must be considered as purely preliminary. These are preparatory reflections, in anticipation of the time when depth psychology and its scientifically revolutionary methotis and discoveries will be taken seriously not only in the area of the psychopathology of' the individual but also in the realm of action, i.e., in the arena of history, of politics, of social concerns. This

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time may not be far off; limited attempts to integrate undiluted depth psychology with other branches of the sciences of human behavior have already been made, though I must admit that the time has not yet come. Surprisingly enough, however, the first beneficiary of investigations of the present kind will be the clinical psychoanalyst, the therapist with individual patients. Freud (1910a) in his investigation of Leonardo da Vinci, for example, whatever the validity of some of the details of the historical reflections contained in his essay, employed his study as a vehicle to transmit to his colleagues a new understanding of the role of narcissism in a certain type of homosexuality. Using his analysis of the personality of Leonardo as an illustration, he communicated his simple, yet crucial, discovery that certain homosexuals are propelled toward a specific kind of love object by their libidinal fixation on a beloved childhood self which they could never relinquish. This great insight has so far opened new doors neither to the experts in art history nor to those in art criticism and the field of aesthetics; it has, however, given an important new understanding of a number of character types (not confined to instances of overt homosexuality) to the psychoanalytic clinician and psychiatrist, which has vastly increased the therapeutic leverage of certain specific interpretations and constructions in the clinical situation. T h e same can be claimed with regard to the present work, although I must, of course, await the verdict of those who will actually undertake to test it. What I have in mind here is not primarily the application of the findings which I have reported so far. These may, or may not, prove useful for others in individual analysis or in individual psychotherapy. T h e question whether one is courageous o r cowardly, for example, gives cause for concern to many analysands. And every analyst is familiar with the two phenomenological faces of the narcissistically vulnerable person's behavior: his tendency toward timidity, loss of'

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heart, and shrinking retreat, on the one hand, and toward boastfulness, arrogance, and provocative aggressiveness, on the other. I have no doubt that the findings contained in certain parts of the preceding examination (of the martyr-heroes, for example) will, directly and indirectly, be of tactical aid to the psychoanalyst when he tries to assist his patients by expanding their understanding of themselves and of their behavior as it relates to the problems of courage, caution, and fear. T h e study, for example, of the personalities of individuals who displayed unusual heroism under trying circumstances should protect the psychoanalytic psychotherapist from these two interrelated specific mistakes: (1) the error of trying to combat the patient's timid or provocative attitudes through exhortations or active moral pressure; and (2) the error of rejecting as resistance the analysand's (temporary and transitional) transference need for praise o r fbr identification with the idealized parent imago. 'The analyst's understanding that beneath both the lack of courage and the boastfulness lies the patient's essential pathology-the insecure cohesion of his self-will assist him in interpreting to the patient the meaning of his behavior, the dynamics of his need for identifications with idealized figures and for mirroring approval. T h e untierstantling of the essentials of the pathology will also direct the analyst's attention toward the crucial aspects of the patient's childhootl memories as they emerge in the transference. He will thus ultimately be able to make relevant genetic reconstructions concerning the origins of the basic psychopathology: the specific interactions between child and adult which interfered with the appropriate supply of narcissistic sustenance to the consolidating self through the availability of' mirroring-approving and idealizable selfobjects. Even more important, however, is the influence which the lessons derived from the study of historical man have on our outlook on the goal of analysis in general. It helps us determine, for example, whether the patient is suffering from the symptonis

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and character deformities which are due to narcissistic personality disorder or from those which are due to the pathological forms of structural conflict. Every man confronts a range of problems in the area of the continuing change, expansion, and development of his self, which is par excellencp the goal to which one might refer as the realization of the basic pattern of the nuclear self. It must not be deduced from the fact that I used extreme cases--certain martyred resisters and the paradigmatic tragic heroes created by the greatest poets of world literature-that the realization of the basic pattern of a person's nuclear self is an esoteric ideal only, unattainable to the average individual, and that an acknowledgment of its relevance as a possible therapeutic goal in analysis would therefore constitute an unrealistic burden to the average patient. On the contrary, there is good reason to believe that, appropriately conceived, a nlodicuin of self-realization lies well within the grasp of most individuals, and that to accept the limitations of this process facilitates the acquisition of a modicum of wisdom. But I will make first a perhaps surprising claim. I have come to the conclusion that the realization of the pattern of a person's nuclear self is to some extent independent of the degree of' an individual's psychopathology. Some individuals, despite the presence of the conflicts and symptonis of even severe forms of psychoneurosis, are leading fulfilling and significant lives. On the other hand, some individuals, despite the absence of neurosis, lead empty, shallow, and restricted existences." T h e fulfillment of the basic pattern of the nuclear self may be of personal significance only. As a matter of fact, I believe that even some of the socially most significant activities of the great actors on the historical and cultural stage are motivated more by certain deeply anchored, even idiosyncratic, psychic configurations than by a conscientious openness to the subtleties ofthe social situation 'See Grinker's description of homoclites (1962).

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and by a responsiveness to the needs of the historical moment. Be that as it may-and the etiological factors which account for great achievement are certainly multiple and varied-in the clinical situation, as it is experienced by the analyst in his daily practice, we must not expect that the patient will strive necessarily for objectively unusual achievements when he becomes able to define the aims of his nuclear ambitions and ideal^.^" Conclusion

Certain qualities and functions of the nuclear self, once this structure has been fully formed, cannot be comprehended unless the self is conceptualized as an independent, autonomous unit. There are other, broad areas of the personality outside the nuclear self. But once it has been laid down, the nuclear self strives to fulfill itself. It moves, from the time of its consolidation, toward the realization of its ambitions and ideals, which are the ultimate descendents of the child's grandiosity and exhibitionism and of his strivings to merge with an idealized selfobject. And if an individual succeeds in realizing the aims of his nuclear self', he can die without regret. He has achieved the fulfillment of'the tragic hero-not the painful death of guilty man who strives for pleasure-but a death which is "beyond the pleasure principle." Guilty man wants to achieve redemption and reform himself' and society. But an individual's deepest ambitions and ideals, once congealed to form the nucleus of his self, will drive and lead him with a force which, though hidden in most of' us by conflict, fear, and guilt, in its essence is independent of fear and guilt, of expiation and reform. Tragic man's death is not caused by guilt. It is not suicide, nor is it self-destructive. It is more 'YIEditor's note: At this point in the manuscript Kohut i~icludeda case history of nearly 6,000 words, that of Mr. R. It is being omitted because (a) it is o f marginal relevance to the tliscussion of courage; (b) Kohut himself iridicated t o me on July 16, 1981 that he questioned whether the case should he includecl: and (c) the case now appears in volume 3 of The Search for the Self:]

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closely related to a "death instinct" than is the striving toward death experienced by guilty man. T h e death attained by tragic man must not be conceived, in analogy to Freud's conception of' a psychobiological antagonism between Eros and Thanatos, as being in opposition to life. It is an integral part of the life curve of the self.

From the Analysis of Mr. R. (early 1970s)

Patient R., a German-born man in his middle thirties, was an economics instructor at a large Midwestern university; he was married and had three children (the oldest, a son, was in high school; the younger ones, girls, were still in grammar school). He started his analysis with a for him clearly atypical request. He expressed the wish to postpone the payment of the analytic fee for several months, even though the money for the customary payment schedule would be available. If I agreed to wait, however, he would in this way not only derive a small tax advantage, but would be financially less squeezed in view of the fact that he was planning to make a substantial down-payment on some lovely property in the Rocky Mountains where he eventually wanted to build a small summer house. I will not deny that I was at first tempted to reject the patient's request out of hand. Rationalizations, even reasons, for such a move could easily be found. Yet I also recognized that my tenKohut originally prepared this case report as a clinical illustration ti)r his essay " O n Courage" (early 1970s) which first appeared in Srlf Psycholo~ya n d the Hurnunilzrs: R~flrrlion.t opt n N r w P.cychoarmlytic Approach, by Heinz Kohut, edited with ari introductiott by Ciharles R . Strozier, New York: Norton, 1985, PI).5-59. '['his case report was ultimately omitted there. See p. 180, footnote 23, which indicates that Kohut himself' later considered i t more suitably placed in this volume.

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dency to reject the request was at least partly basecl on a narcissistic reaction from my side; 1 responded with anger to what I sensed to be the patient's wish fbr some narcissistic fulfillrnerit which would mean a curtailment and deprivation of my own in the narcissistic sphere. 1 was, however, able to obtain sufficient narcissistic gratification from the feeling of a modicum of mastery over a difficult analytic problem, and I responded by telling the patient (1) that I persollally had no objection to the delay in the payment o f t h e initial fees; and (2) that I could understancl the patient's wish to reap the realistic advantages which would indeed accrue to him in this way; but (3) that I thought that there might be more to this request than met the eye and that we hoped to learn its possible unconscious meaning during the course of the analysis. This analysis lies far behind me now and the distance from it allows me a good deal of objectivity. I can therefore say with conviction that I am glad that I had chosen the therapeutic course vis-A-vis the patient's request which I outlined. I d o not belong to those who feel that a single error of the analyst, in particular one committed hy him in the earliest phases of an analysis, will forever prevent analytic success. Errors can be remedied and later insights, coupled with human warmth, can go a long way toward undoing the damage inflicted by an early mistake. 1 have, therefore, little doubt that in the long run my patient would have reached the same (in my opinion, consiclerable) therapeutic success which was in fjct achieved after a number of years, even if I had obeyed the (in general quite appropriate) rule that the analyst must not permit "acting out" in the transference, in particular when the activity may concern the fulfillment of an important childhood wish. But ego dominance over a childhood need can be acquired by various routes and in this specific instance I feel certain that our difficult path was made more easily passable by my friendly (albeit to a certain extent noncommittal) acceptance of this analysand's request.

FROM THE ANALYSIS OF MR. R.

185

In order to understand the meaning of the episode (as now seen fiom the vantage point of being able to survey the whole course of the analysis and of' having attained a reasonably complete grasp of the patient's personality), I will first discuss certain surface aspects of the patient's character-features, by the way, which I had been able to discern already in my initial diagnostic contact with the patient. One of the most prominent qualities of the patient's characterological makeup was his straight-laced honesty, his uncompromising submission to a strict moral code of being "pure in thought, word, and deed." This attitude had been immutably in force ever since his adolescence. It was easily traceable to this period because it was then that it had crystallized around the precepts of a boy scout group to which he had devoted himself for a number of years with a good deal of fervor. It must have been my knowledge of this pervasive moral coloring of the patient's attitudes and conduct which alerted me from the beginning to be thoughtful and which made me especially sensitive to the possibility o f a deeply anchored need when he approached me, unexpectedly, in one ofthe earliest sessions of therapy, with a request which was clearly out of keeping with his i~sualhabits. There was, however, another feature of the request--or rather of the tone with which it was presented t.o me-which protected me against retreating toward a stance of formal analytic correctness. The ramifications of this feature are broad and its roots dipped deeply into the patient's total makeup. Clearly, if I was in tune with it so early in the analysis, it was due to a responsiveness of my unconscious rather than to that degree of cognitive mastery which would have allowed me to choose, in full awareness of the reasons, the course on which I indeed decided at that moment. T h e patient's conscientiousness, honesty, and strict morality were, as I came to see with increasing clarity, almost completely without joy for him. There were a few traces of that satisfying starry-eyed enthusiasm which charac-

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terizes the altruistic moral attitudes of many adolescent^,^ but on the whole, his ego performed the demands of his conscience with joyless, automatic obedience. One may say that the best perfbrniance in the rnoral sphere was, as it were, the neutral point of his scale of achievement-to reach it brought no joy; to fail, even in the slightest, called for bitter anger, either directed against himself, or (as was frequently the case) when he judged the shortcomings of others, in particular of those (especially his son) whorn he experienced as extensions of his self. 'The request for the postponement of the payment of the analytic fee, however, was, in contrast to his pervasive joylessness, presented with at least a trace of warrn affect, in particular when he mentioned the plot at the foot of the beautiful mountains which he had discovered during a trip about a year ago and which he seemed to have decided to buy si~nultaneouslywith (ancl apparently illterwoven with) the wish to undertake psychoanalytic treatment with me. T h e reader will remember that the present case is adduced not in order to add yet another clinical illustration to the by now considerable amount of evidence which I furnished in previous comniunications in support of iny theoretical and technical approach toward the problems of narcissism. Here 1 wish to show the specific role which the realization of the self-in particular the fulfillment of aspects of the nuclear self which occupy a central sector in the patient's psyche but which are of no importance, as measured by the objective standards of social or cultural achievement-arid the direction set by the longing fbr the realization of the nuclear self play in the context of a specific therapeutic analysis. I am, therefore, not attempting here to give a survey of the conlplexities of this patient's analysis, i.e., I am neither trying to discuss his structural contlicts now even the rnore general aspects of his narcissistic personality disturbance, "fhe overall itnpression which the patient made even o n first sight was clearly that o f a n adolescent-in the way in which he talked, nrovetl, lookccl, ancl (most clearly) in the way in which he tlresscd.

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187

but am primarily focusing my attention upor1 the task of tracing a specific theme: his yearning for the f'ulf'illment of a deeply anchored section of his nuclear self (in this case: a part of the grandiose self of childhood) in a realistic form that could be integrated with the reality ego. I n order to illuminate the importance of the specific line in the development of this patient's nuclear self which had been largely blocked already in childhood, but which had been tentatively remobilized in anticipation of the analysis, I will present some details of the childhood history which were of genetic relevance in this context. Before doing so, however, I will mention already at this point that the analysis of the developmental line of this sector of the patient's nuclear self-or, to be more exact: of the obstacles that stood in the way of its unfolding-formed, as I can judge in retrospect, one of the most significant, though by n o means the most conspicuous, threads in the complex web of the process of this analysis. T h e patient had been born in a middle-sized town in the northeastern part of Germany. His father had taught biology at the small local university; his mother had been a schoolteacher in the public schools. Although they were gentile, the family left Germany immediately after the Nazi takeover (mainly as the result of the urging and with the help of the father's older brother who had rnoved to the United States many years before and held a respected position at a large university in this country) because the father, who (though politically a right-winger) had been an outspoken anti-Nazi, was potentially endangered. Through the influence of his brother the father obtained employment in a small college which was located in a clreary ancl culturally deprived part of the country. 'l'he patient, who was little more than two years old at the time of this move, was the only child of his parents who had married rather late in their lives. I believe that their comparatively advanced age and, especially, their personality rnakeup constituted the most impor-

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tant etiological factors with regard to the patient's narcissistic personality disturbance, which was pervasive, based on rather early fixations, and which constituted a considerable hindrance to the enjoyment of his work, stood in the way of his creative potentials, and interfered with his capacity to relate warmly to the important people in his environment, in particular, I believe, to the oldest child, his son. 'The patient's mother was-as is so frequently the case in instances of narcissistic personality disturbances-a rather cold woman, ill at ease with herself (in particular with her own body) and incapable of relating with warmth and vigor to the infant boy, especially, as might be anticipated, as it concerned the boy's body. She herself lacked gracefulness and appeared to derive no pleasure from her body self. She did not know how to dress attractively and her gait (she always seemed to hurry, but she always lagged behind), the restricted range of her hcial expressions, her voice (which the patient remembered as tense and high-pitched)-in short, the overall impression made by her physical appearance was unappealing, even though there was nothing clear-ly ugly in either her bocly or in her facial features which would have accounted for this unfavorable impression. Concerning the relationship to her son, it was not that she did riot try. There is evidence that she attempted, "from above" as it were, to be a good and devoted rnother to the boy. Rut it was obviously her great sense of duty and her strict conscience which determined her behavior toward him, not any spontaneous instinctive response and joyful instinctual gratification. She must have realized that it would be better to dilute the relationship to her son because already when the boy was less than a year old, she went back to a part-time job as a teacher, an occupation which she continued to pursue from then on throughout her whole life. (After the family settled in the U.S.A., she supplemented the f'amily income by giving language lessons, not only in Germari but also in another European language in which she was quite proficient.)

FROM THE ANALYSIS OF MR. R.

189

Little more needs to be said about the patient's relationship with his mother in childhood except for the fact that they were obviously mutually frustrating to one another and had continuous serious quarrels. As is again such a frequent feature of the typical relationship of a narcissistically fixated parent to his (her) child: even though there was no happy narcissistic responsiveness from the side of the mother (and no evidence of budding object-libidinal ties), the mother felt increasingly possessive of the boy as h e grew u p and attacked him vengefully when he wanted to make himself independent from her. In later years, for example, she waited for him in tight-lipped anger and beat him unmercifully when he arrived after the time at which he had been told to return.' T h e patient's father, too, was a narcissistically fixated individual, but of a personality makeup which was in many ways almost the opposite of that of the patient's mother. While the mother's exhibitionism had become seriously blocked in her development, to the point that she could not respond with appropriate narcissistic pleasure and with pride to the exhibitionisnl of her son, the father had remained fixated on a largely unmodified and undisguised childlike exhibitionism which prevented him, in turn, from allowing the son to be in the center of attention and thus, as he seemed to have experienced it, to steal the limelight from him. On the contrary, he habitually made fun of the boy's attempts to show off his physical and mental capacities and tended to treat the child's exhibitionism in the physical and mental sphere with ridicule and outbursts of biting sarcasm. When I had gradually become able, after long periods of empathic listening, to form a mental image of the personalities of the patient's parents, of their severely restricted ability to respond to his narcissistic needs in childhood, and to the at'-I'his sitliarion is very similar to that which I described concerning patient P. and his son (Kohut, 1972).

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mosphere of gracelessness and lack of beauty which characterized their living style (including the dreary emptiness of their home), I began to wonder not so much why the patient was suffering from a fairly severe narcissistic personality disorder but rather why he was not even more disturbed than he had in fact become. I believe that I now know the answer to this question with reasonable certainty. T h e factors responsible for the positive aspect of my patient's development lay partially in certain redeeming features in the personalities of his parents and partly-perhaps largely-in the considerable inborn (specific) assets of the patient, i.e., in his congenital psychosonlatic equipment. Concerning those qualities of his parents which enhanced my patient's emotional development I must admit that I was able to discern them only comparatively late in the analysis. At the beginning the patient had to overcome a number of ingrained resistances before he could allow himself the recognition of his intense anger at the lack of wholesome empathy from the side of both parents to which he had been exposed in childhood. Gradually, however, somewhat later, during the main part of his analysis, the patient became more and more aware o f t h e degree to which his needs in the narcissistic realm had remained unresponded to, of the emotional vacuum and the loneliness in which he had grown up, and of the intense rage and the wish for sadistic revenge that he felt toward his parents with regard to the deprivations to which they had exposed him. It was his initial, and major, task in the analysis, therefore, to become able, against great resistances, to realize the intensity of his narcissistic demands and of'their phase-specific appropriateness with regard to the level of narcissistic regression which had become established in the transference. T h e resistances were at first on the more superficial, the structural, level experienced as guilt feelings. Later, more importantly, in the (deeper) narcissistic sphere

FROM THE ANALYSIS OF MR. R.

191

they were experienced as fear of the intrusion of bizarre grandiose ideas, of the pressure of hypochondriacal tensions, and, especially, in the form of a deep and nameless anxiety lest the remobilized narcissistic wishes would again be frustrated in the transference. In the major part of the treatment the patient dealt with these emotional tasks and the working-through processes, including the expression of his (at times acted-out) resentments, remained in the center of the analytic work for a long time. It was only after these experiences had been repeated many times, after he had become able to acknowledge the legitimacy of his wish for continuous perfect empathy, attention, and admiration from me, and after he had (still later) learned to accept his rightful need to turn toward me with the expectation of being given the opportunity to merge into me in admiring identification, that certain positive features of his unconscious parent inlagos began to emerge briefly. There is good reason to assume, fbr example, that his mother's relationship to him was a narcissistically more satisfying experience for both of them during the first few months of his life than could be achieved between them later on. It is of interest in this context to note that it was only after the working-through process had allowed the patient to feel diffusely accepted in a merger variety of the mirror transference that he remembered with some feeling that he had once come across a diary which his mother had kept during the first few rllonths of his life. T h e mother's notes furnished evidence not only for an unbelievable con~pulsives~rictnessof caretaking routines (feeding by an unmodifiable predetermined schedule, for example, despite his endless crying), but he could also discern, between the lines, that he mother was proud of having given birth to a handsome male child and that his birth had constituted the fulfillment of an old and deep wish. Those gratifications from his father which contributed to the fact that the patient's narcissistic fixations did not prevent (albeit

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insecure) establishment of his self came from two sources. There was, on the one hand, a clearly maternal element in his father's personality, or at least a quality fi-om which the son could derive gratifications in substitution for the self-confirming physical contact which his mother was unable to provide. Specifically, the father (perhaps in his turn in order to fulfill a need in the somatic-sexual sphere which was frustrated by his wife) allowed the boy to be physically close to him for prolonged stretches of time. While the father read the newspaper, for example, or while he listened for hours to the radio, he would permit the boy's cuddling u p close to him, under the condition that he would neither talk nor otherwise disturb him. A primitive narcissistic merger between the two bodies was thus achieved which gave a certain degree of gratification to the child. These self-confirrning pleasures, however, had only limited developmental potential of the narcissistic relationship between father and son since the elaboration (e.g., through caresses and words) was excluded. Still, the gratifications which the child derived when he merged himself into his strong father appeared to have given him some sense of narcissistic security-at least he remembered in the transference, with gratitude, the warmth of the father's body, the pleasant smells which exuded from it, and the peacefulness (i.e., the narcissistic equilibrium) which he had felt during these periods. But there were not only these primitive narcissistic gratifications which the boy obtained through wordless physical merger with his father. Although the father was unable to tolerate the boy's identificatory attempts," the father's showing off' and his occasionally skillful performances (he was a good storyteller, for example) could still be observed by the patient who "any rlarcissistically tixated parents cannot tolerate their children's identifications with them as if, by taking on the parent's persoriality, they would deprive the parent of something that they possess only insecurely. T h e parents, in other words, react not with the pride of seeing themselves reflected in the younger generation but with anger, as if something was being taken away fro111 them.

FROM THE ANALYSIS OF MR. R.

193

could use, at least secretly, what he saw in his father, i.e., as a crystallization point for fantasies concerning himself. It is, of course, in general, impossible--even in analysis-to make reliable estimates concernirlg the relative quantitative influence which various environmental and congenital factors exert on a child's growing personality. Still, I would like to give voice to the opinion that it was principally the favorable innate psychophysiological equipment of this patient which protected him against a psychological fixation on a more seriously regressive point of developnient than on the one which in fact came to determine the nature of his narcissistic personality disturbance. 'There were undoubtedly redeeming features in his pat-ents' personalities-the mother's reliable sense of duty; the father's Falstaffian enjoyment of himself-which furnished some psychological material to the buildup of the patient's self'. Yet, in the environmental atmosphere of his childhood, it was the negatives which had clearly the upper Iiand: he was, in essence, an (emotionally) unwanted child, with all the deleterious potential to the blocking o f t h e developmental potentialities which this situation engenders. It was to my mind an innate strength-a vigorous inborn propulsion toward the formation of a cohesive self and a stubborn resistance against its dissolution-which, from the beginning, opposed the regressive pull of the unfavorable environment. Even as an infant, when his hunger was not humanly responded to but when the parents stuck to an immutable feeding schedule, he never retreated and whimpered but he always expressed his anger loudly. "How the child cried!" was one of the rare (characteristically impersonal; and also completely unenipathic) later reminiscences of the parents about my patient's early life. T h e same remained true throughout his life; i.e., he never gave up completely, h e always put some pride in his excellent physique and in his incisive mental functions; and he always remained, even if only dimly, in touch with his needs and aspirations. H e always continued the search.

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There is little question, for example, that he was forever trying to find real parents, a real family, during his childhood. He intruded into different families, attempted to stay fbr their meals, did not want to leave and go horne. He never quite gave u p the search for emotional responsiveness; and the figures of emotionally responsive strangers, of a family from a different sociocultural background, yet consisting of friendly, warm, ancl accepting people, determined many of the most important iriterpersonal choices and direction-setting decisions throughout his life. What is most important, however, I believe, was his capacity to retreat upon himself, to the security of his own thought processes and to the enjoyment o f his own superior physique. There is no question, for example, that he had inherited his superior intellectual capacity from his parents who were both undoubtedly bright. Emotional factors, however, interfered seriously with the functional availability of his intellectual powers: his intellectual performance suffered not only from a clear-cut restriction of his creative freedom in the realm of mental activities, but it was also impaired by the distorting influence of a mild--or perhaps better: by the presence of a specific and circumscribed-disorder of thinking- which we became able to recognize, and could then illuminate with an ultimate vast increase of his creativity in the course of the analysis. Analytic case histories d o not usually dwell on the tletails of the intellectual development of our analysands. I believe, however, that this topic deserves o u r attention here not only because it specifically throws a good deal of light on a set of important assets of patient R, and on the role which his intellectual gifts played in protecting his self from serious disintegration, but also because of its general implications. 'Fhe analyzability of a specific mild thought disorder demonstrates that not all thought disorders lie, in principle, outside the realm of analytic accessibility and that their analysis-including in particular the investigation of specific genetic factors-is a potentially fruitful undertaking.

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I he patient's major pathological symptoms in the realm o f thought were: (1) his tendency toward ill-placed concreteness, to the point of the (albeit rarely occurring, and rationalized) confusion between symbol and object; and (2) his occasional tendency, especially striking in view of his in general overly severe demands for rigorous logic, to follow a seemingly logical line of thought toward a patently absurd conclusion. I cannot illustrate patient R.'s symptoms in this realm by presenting concrete examples. I did not note down the relevant incidents as they occurred during the flow of the analytic work and, for reasons of discretion, I cannot use various striking examples which I d o remember. Instead of trying to disguise and alter them sufficiently (an almost impossible task) I will, as illustration, use a specimen froni the analysis of another patient who suffered from a very similar circumscribed disorder of thinking. This man committed innumerable verbal blunders-so did patient R., but to a much lesser degree-which often lay at the borderline between a social faux pas committed due to his lack of empathy for the significance of a particular social situation and d u e to his inability to anticipate the meaning which his statements would evoke in those to whom they were addressed, and, on the other hand, the phenomenon to which one in general refers as malapropism. 'The thought disorder which formed the basis of his errors was frequently the confusion between a symbol and an object; or, in different terms, it consisted in the concretization of a symbol. It often produced the effect of an intentional joke, even though the patient had had n o intention of joking. O n the contrary, he was always deeply hurt by the hilarity which he produced and felt estranged from his surroundings after these incidents. T h e funniest example (if one can still consider it funny after realizing the degree of inner isolation which the sudden awareness of such a reversion to the primary process will engender in a person) that I encountered in the analysis of this patient was 7

7

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the following. Wanting to refer to the fact that an acquaintance of his adniired the woman whom he courted, he said "he has her sitting on a pedestool." Although I was almost overcome by the impulse to respond with laughter to the, as it seerned to me, extremely funny quality of a good pun, I had been sufficiently alerted by niany previous similar occurrences and was able to restrain rnyself~.' And when I investigated the meaning of the punlike phrase, I found out that the patient-he had a high academic degree and was widely read-had all his life heard the word "pedestal" of the metaphor as "pedestool," had not only always pronounced it in this way but had in fact imagined that certain people put others on high stools when they are "looking u p to then^."^' But I must return to patient K,and to the genetics and dynamics of the circun~scribedthought disorder which interfered with the full use of his considerable intellectual capacity. As can be anticipated from the data which I have already furnished, it was the emotional isolation in childhood which took its toll not only in the emotional but also in the cognitive realm of his development. Under favorable circumstances a child's intellectual performance (as are his other functions) is empathically reiIt is important Lor the analyst to realize how traumatic il is for an analysantl to be confronted with a verbal or behavioral blunder. 1'0 become aware of the mistake does not just constitute the ordinary narcissistic I~lowof' llali' n r to recognize a shortcoming in oneself'. 'l'hese i n c i d e n ~occur .~ al111os1always dur-ing a regressive swing in the narcissistic sector o f t h e personality and the malaprol~ism o r other verbal or behavioral I~unglingis usually presentetl with at least a grace of arrogance and stilted superiority which betrays the fact that the patient had taken on a position of regressive narcissistic superiority. (See in this context the diagram in Kohut, 197 1, 11. 97, in particular position 2A.) yI'he acknowleclgnient of the most bizarre aspect of' a "l)orderli~ie"thinking disorder such as the one presently tliscussed is nlost painful to the patient anel, when the patient shies away from it, n o pressure nlust be excrtcd on him, but the topic shotrlcl I)e dl-opped until it returns upon the initiative of the analysantl at a later periocl. It is the patient's initiative which, in fict, enables hirn to deal with this painf~iltopic since the narcissistic illjury of' having to face that he has given expression to a bizarre ancl socially isolating thought process is neutralizetl I)y the pride of' having the courage of unclertaking this e~notiorrallytrying jol, (see Kohut, 1972).

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sponded to by the adult environment which takes into account the child's age, the concrete information at his disposal, and similar factors. Even within the normal range, the ability of adults to respond with appropriate empathy to a child's performances varies-and there is surely no child whose narcissism is not occasionally jolted by the adults' mirth concerning the "cuteness" of a child's mental production when, in fact, the production may not have been "cute" and "funny" but, in view of the child's developmental level, extremely bright and thus admirable. Within a normal range, however, children survive these blows without harm and learn from them a first acceptance of the fact that judgments and evaluations are relative, that the observer's standpoint influences his view. When, however, as was indeed the case during patient R.'s early life, a child's performances will hardly ever find the appropriate empathic response, when the mother could not erljoy the manifestations of her child's superior intellectual equipment because of the restricted range of' her emotions and the narrowing strictness of her superego, and when the father ridiculed his son unmercifully for every attempt to exhibit the results of his thinking, then deleterious consequences are bound to occur." I he lack of appropriate admiring acceptance of a child's intellectual exhibitionism by his mother and the sarcastic ridicule of his intellectual achieveme~itsby his father led to a consequence which was very characteristic for my patient: his thinking processes stopped seeking overt expression, but they continued+ven in an intensified manner (i.e., hypercathected)-within himself. "While niy patient was bright, his intellect was not superlative. l ' h e not irrI'requent tendelicy of many indivicluals with surpassing intellects to show at least traces o l bi~arrenessin their thinking is, however, I believe-;irralogous to the situation described--due to the fact that they are set apart from early or1 by their urrusual gifts and may not be understootl by their environment. I'he resulting lack of appropriate mirroritig resporrses may then lead to an early isolation of their thinking and to bizarre o r at least highly icliosyncr;~ticmethods of'cognitiol~, i.e., to thinking processes which clid not have the benefit of that mixture of' pliase-appropriate admiraiiorr and criiicism which shapes the thought 1,rocesses of those with lesser gifts.

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I believe that niany features of his later mild thinking disorder can be explained by these circurnstances. His thinking was not dulled; it was a sign of his innate vigor-as was true in the sphere of other functions as well-that his mental activities continued despite external rejection. He was (and remained) a keen and careful observer, and he continued to attempt to figure out not only the meaning of what he saw but tried also to fit his observations into broader contexts on the basis of previous knowledge. It seenis to me that, within the limits of a child's experience, he n ~ u s have t done remarkably well, especially when it is taken into account that he was deprived of the wholesome give-and-take which occurs under favorable circumstances between child arltl parents in the sphere of the child's intellectual development. (Optimally we should expect the following sequence: intellectual performance; confirmation of the performance by the mirroring-approving adult; elaboration of the performance by the child; limited criticism by the adult; correction of the performance; renewed admiration and mirroring; etc.) Both the concretization of his thinking (it was mild but rather ingrained) arid the specific mixture of extreme logic and deviant conclusion (it occurred only occasionally), which characterized patient K.'s adult thinking disturbance, can, 1 believe, be largely explained on the basis of the specific circumstances which prevailed in his childhood. Both of the main features of his thought disturbance are the result of the isolation of his thinking processes in childhood, i.e., of their being deprived of the modulating influence which is provided by the empathic cooperation of mirroring and of idealized selfobjects. T h e qualities of mild concretization and extreme logic of patient R.'s thinking are closely related; they are as it were two sides of the same coin: they are both manifestations of the hypercathexis of the thought processes which had remained isolated within a self that had withdrawn from the developmental task of elaborating the increasingly mature stages of its relationship with the selfobject. O r , stated in the reverse,

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we rnay say that the pathological aspects of patient R.'s thinking processes can be accounted for by the fact that they were manifestations of the activities of archaic stages of his grandiose self and of archaic stages o f t h e idealized selfobject. Broadly speaking, the tendency toward the concretization of thought is probably best conceptualized in analogy to the metapsychology of hypochondria: it is due to a hypercathexis of thinking (analogous to the hypercathexis of somatic functions in hypochondria) when the selfobjects do not offer the modulating, diluting, and buffering opportunities through the realistic give-and-take between child and adult which, under normal circumstances, transforms the boundless, solipsistic grandiosity of the small child into enjoyable self-esteem and his boundless sense of being controlled by an omnipotent, perfect power into pleasurable enthusiasm and admiration. But hypercathexis of thinking (concretization and excessive emphasis on logic) was not the only pathological disturbances of' Mr. K.'s cognition. We must also account for the circumstance that, with all his logic, he would at times be unaware o f t h e fact that he had arrived at results which were grossly erroneous. In view of his high intelligence orie would have expected him to see his mistakes without difficulty and to correct them forthwith. T h e explanation for these occasionaly occurl-ing fallacies in his thinking should, I believe, take into account the following interrelated factors: (1) his tendency to disregard the complexity of reality, in particular the complexities of human responses; (2) his overestimation of the power of intellect per se; and (3) the intrusion of intensely idealized (yet overly concrete) goal.s-e.g., in the political donlain-which, in view of the absoluteness of their power over him, were clearly related to his fixation on archaic stages of the omnipotent selfobject. Since I believe that I should be satisfied at this point with having made the limited suggestion that certain disorders of thinking can become intelligible in their dynamic and genetic

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significance, I will not furt11e1-investigate the metapsychological details of these conditions at this point. I will, therefore, as I present now a concrete example-it concerns tlie patient's thinking processes from his chilclhood and the failure of the environment to respond appropriately to them-forego the attempt of furnishing an explanation in metapsychological terms and will leave it to the reader to fit the specific data into the general dynamic-genetic patterns which 1 outlined before. Although the patient was already in his (early) latency period at the point at which this particular episode took place (he was about seven years old), its recall by the patient during the analysis should I)c taken as being the "telescoped" niemory of analogous transactions of' much earlier (and, of course, also of later) periods in his childhood. Here is the episode, approximately as the patierit recalled it in tlie middle phase of his analysis of his thought disturbance. He had overheard a conversation about minorities between his parents-how they were disliked and how they, in turn, disliketl the nia-jority-arid the patient's father, who was in general inclined toward prejudiced views, expressed himself' rather pessimistically about the racial problem. 'The patient listened to tlie discussion with great interest, pondered the question as i t emerged from his parents' talk, had a sudden illumination, and, proutlly and excitedly, proposed to his parents that he thought that he had fbund the answer. He said that the essence of the impasse between races was their physical distribution. All the blacks lived together in large blocks, separated from the whites-a situation which, as he believed, suggested a simple solution. 'l'he big clumps in which the minorities lived had to be broken u p and the blacks had to be distributed evenly throughout the whole country. T h e chilcl's solution to the minority problem was a remarkable tour d e force. While for the adult who reali~esthe niultiplicity of factors involved in a broad social problem the flaws of

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the boy's suggestion, the new issues which it raises, and the many questions which it leaves unanswered, there is also no doubt that the simplification of the problem which the child presented to his parents was evidence of an already well-developed capacity toward abstract thinking. T h e solution which the child offered to his parents demonstrated, in particular, his ability to apply the knowledge which he had derived from observations in one field to questions concerning the causal interrelationships of phenomena in another field. H e had apparently grasped recently that the solution of small amounts of one substance, such as sugar, within the larger amounts of another substance, such as coffee, could be enhanced by distributing the clumps of the snlall substance, e.g., by stirring, and he applied his principle which is valid in the physical field to an, as he thought, analogous situation within the framework of society. T h e response of his parents, especially of his father, to this, for a child, remarkable intellectual feat was sarcastic, belittling rejection. Instead of acknowledging that the child's idea deserved attention, instead of praising him for having transferrecl an insight from one field to another, instead of these (or equivalent) wholesome responses from the side of the parents, there was nothing but total rejection in the form of mocking repetitions accompanied by loud laughter. I d o not wish to imply, of course, that the optimal parental response to the child's idea should have been unalloyed admiration. If, after expressing themselves positively at first, the parents would later, for example, have tried to explain that among the factors which govern the behavior of human beings there are many which differ from those which determine the transactions among material particles-such a qualified acceptance woulcl still have left the child with a sense of pride. Yet it would also have tended to correct the unrealistic aspects of his assessment of a cornplex situation. We might speculate, for example,

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that with regard to his adult thought pathology, a qualified parental acceptance of the child's attempt to exhibit his iritellectual functions would have specifically counteracted the development of the patient's later tendency toward concretistic thinking; and that it would have toned down his omnipotent idealism vis-a-vis the possibility of finding easy solutions for the formidable problems of our society. As it was, however, the parents' mocking derision deprived the child both of realistic, limited pride and of gradual learning. 'The patient increasingly kept his thoughts to hiniself while yet stubbornly insisting, in the privacy of his mind, on the correctness of his mode of thinking. In this way the patient was indeed able to I-etain the positive qualities of his thought processes (e.g., their internally consistent logic); and he accumulated, in addition, vast areas of norrnal thought through later learning. Occasionally, however--especially when he felt that his mental efforts had been rejected-the old modes of thinking with their archaic features would suddenly intrude as distubers from the past. But we must not lose track of the overall purpose of the presentation of this clinical discussion. What 1 am attempting to show is that patient K. was able, from early on, to retreat upon himself and thus to safeguard the core of his self-however deleterious the influences of the environment on the development of some of his basic psychological functions [night have been and however severely they might have blocked the development of a strong and cohesive self which could find pleasure in fulfilling its ambitions and in living up to its ideals. The intensity and pervasiveness of the unfavorable early atmosphere had of course not left patient K.'s personality undamaged. Yet, despite his tantrumlike angry outbursts, the narrowing of his empathy, and a degree of social isolation and a flattening in his capacity to en-joy his work, the core of his self had remained essentially intact and it never gave u p the hope for pleasurable

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fulfillment. It was, in other words, an innate strength, an innermost secure core of his self, which constituted his greatest asset in the emotional sphere. Although it had to develop in isolation from some of the beneficial give-and-take with the social surroundings, it found its own way and, relying on its inborn talents, tried to develop its own specific abilities. In the last analysis, it never abrogated its right to find a realistic place in a realistic world. It may seem to some like a poetic exaggeration, like an unscientific playing with symbols, when I now advance the claim that the patient's original demand for the postponement of the initial fees was the first sign of the healthy manifestations of this reactivated nuclear self. And yet, I am convinced that niy claim is justified. By asking my agreement with his request (i.e., in essence, by testing whether in my response to his request I could remain nonrejecting and friendly) he announced the goal of his analysis-the ascendancy of his right to find a place for himself, a place that belonged to him, which he owned and controlled, and in which he would be able to be as fully himself as was reasonable to expect within the limits of a favorable reality. T h e place in the nlountains symbolized and repeated those few conlparatively happy and secure times in his later childhood and adolescence when, especially during the summer vacation, he was away from the dreary house of his parents-and from the whole dreary community in which he grew up-and roamed, fishing and hunting, in the hilly and wooded landscape which, though at some distance from the town, was now open to him. It was during such hours in his childhood when he had been able to follow his own thoughts without interference (either alone o r in the more o r less silent company of another boy of his own age who, in essence, constituted a n alter ego for him at these times), when he had felt protected from the rejections, the coldness, the lack of empathy, and the ridicule of his parents; and when he strengthened his self by spinning out fantasies of ambitious success and of great idealistic pursuits.

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I might add here that the cooperation of a friendly older man-the analyst-in this development was undoubtedly a genetically important factor. Apart from his autonomous capacity to retreat upon himself and then to maintain his self and its rightful aspirations, he had-at least at certain crucial titnes-been able to enlist the aid of a male rnentor and helpmate as he tried to move toward self-fulfillment. 'The dim figure of a teacher in high school who apparently hat1 recognized the boy's gifts and took an interest in him emerged briefly on several occasions during the analysis as a link in the chain which led to me and to another present-day transference figure from whom he derived support during certain periods of the analysis and who (as 1 learned later by accident) continued his helpful interest even for a while after the analysis had ended. 'The significance which these relationships (with the present-day friend, with the analyst, and with the highschool teacher) had for the patient rested undoubtedly upon the favorable aspects of his early relationship to his father. His father had offered physical closeness to the child; he had allowed the boy to observe hirn in his adult pursuits;' and he and the boy had formed occasionally a team vis-a-vis the patient's mother when she was at her unempathic worst. T h e analysis, I might add here, was clearly a success. Not only did the patient feel that his personality had loosened LIP considerably and that he was much happier than before, but 1, too, had the impression that a broad and deep-going iniprovement had taken place in him: that fi-om a more or less joyless, rigidly conscientious individual who performed his duties properly but without much imagination, he had become a warmer-, 'The father tolerated the boy's physical presence, both clurirlg ~)rofi.ssional activities, e.g., while he was working in the biology laboratory prelxirir~gmaterial for his courses, and during leisure activities, e.g., while playing cards in the kiculty club. But there was an absolute, unconditional prohibition: thc boy was never allowecl to speak. He could ol~servc,he roultl even lean against the Father (e.g.,~ U I - i na gcard game), but there was the strictly enforced in,junction against speaking-unless he was askcd a qirestion by an aclult.

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more empathic, and open person who could allow himself enjoyments even when they were not tied to idealistic aims. His overall mental functioning, furthermore, had also become freer and more creative. His family life improved considerably toward the end of the analysis and his social life, too, expanded and deepened noticeably. Finally, as I learned recently by accident (but from a fully reliable source), his academic work has taken a remarkable leap forward. Both as a teacher as well as a contributor to his specific field, his performance became clearly superior. Although I myself am unable to judge the quality of his work-not only because of the incompleteness of the information which I received in this respect, but also because the area of his expertise is beyond my own intellectual grasp--I was told that he has continued to make substantial contributions to his field, that he is becoming recognized as an asset at the faculty of his department, and that he was promoted to the highest rank in the faculty hierarchy. Clearly these are objectively valid criteria during a period when universities are forced to hold back with appointments which move their hculties into a higher salary bracket. But be all this as it may: in presenting certain features of patient R.'s analysis I did not, as I announced already at the beginning, intend to give a complete or even rounded account of the analytic process in the treatment of a narcissistic personality disorder. I wanted mainly to demonstrate that the analyst's awareness of the importance of the analysand's striving for the ascendancy of his nuclear self is often beneficiary because it isolates and highlights an important specific current in the overall flow of the analytic process. And it seems to me that, in many instances, the analytic observation and investigation of this specific current, and the patient's ego's eventual mastery over it, may turn out to be of crucial importance with regard to therapeutic success or failure. Finally, I also hope that, by presenting a by no means unusual

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clinical example, I have at least supported a claim-ven if a single instance will not prove it-which I had made a number of times during the examination of the psychology of certain individuals in the historical arena and of the psychoanalytic significance of the tragic hero. It is my conviction that the consitlerations which apply in these exalted fields are also valid with regard to Every Man. Stated in different words: our interest in the fate of the nuclear self is of the greatest practical importance in the clinical field, and that, specifically, o u r earlier considerations about the heroic individual and the hero of tragedy apply especially with regard to Every Man when he happens to seek the help of the psychoanalyst. T o state my claim most concisely: the analysis of structural conflict ameliorates the suffering of Guilty Man; the analysis of narcissism, however, i.e., the analysis of the self, ameliorates the suffering of Tragic Man. And Tragic Man, as well as Guilty Man, resides indeed in all of us. But now I will put the specific aside and will turn to more general reflections which, on first sight at least, may well appear to be not only speculative but even metaphysical. I feel, nevertheless, that I must attempt to fit the previously stated consitlerations ahout Tragic Man and Guilty Man into a wider, yet, as I hope, still solidly grounded, theoretical framework. I begin by stating my main hypothesis as well as the major premise on which it is based. (1) My hypothesis is this: the full range of psychic phenomena can neither be adequately understood by viewing them exclusively as events occurring within a field of interacting, relatively open systems which react to external stin~uli-let us call this node of conceptualization the vending-rnachzne model-nor by viewing them exclusively as the manifestations of the activities of relatively closed systems which are activated from within-let us call this rnode of conceptualization the coiled-spnng o r wound-clock model-but (in analogy to Bohr's principle of cornplelnentarity concerning the conceptualization of matter both as particles and as waves) they require

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consideration from both points of view. (2) My major premise is this: (a) All psychological phenomena-including man's actions and other modes of behavior which are accessible to an observer's sensory perception-can be most meaningfully examined through the employment of introspection andlor vicarious introspectiori, i.e., empathy; and certain psychological phenomena-the contents of man's inner life-can only be examined in this way.' (b) Using the introspective-empathic approach (which, in the psychoanalytic clinical situation as well as in psychoanalytic research, is now for the first time in the history of science systematically employed as a scientific instrument), we can discern many psychic phenomena which become explainable when they are viewed as the manifestations of a mental apparatus that is conceived as reacting to stimuli coming from without-the model of the vending machine-but there exist also other aspects of psychic life which become explainable when they are viewed as the manifestations of a mental apparatus that is conceived as activated froni within-the model of the coiled spring o r wound clock. I am aware of the fact that it is dangerous to support one's argument by analogies. I think, nevertheless, that it should be noted that the assessment of the physical world, made from the vantage point of modern nonpsychological science, requires the same duality of approaches for which I am arguing with regard to the domain of introspective-empathic depth psychology, i.e., psychoanalysis. Broad aspects of' the behavior of some complex physical and of' most complex biological entities within the universe can be explained most comprehensively when they are conceived as being the actions and interactions of systems which are freely interacting with the environment. 'I'he whole universe, however, is conceived by the modern physicist as a system which has a potentially determinable beginning and a potentially deHForevidence adduced in s u p p o r t of this claim see K o h u t (1959), in particular

pp. 205-2 12.

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terminable end. Modern physics, in other words, has freed itself, even in its theory, from the mathematical idealization of the world-specifically it has relinquished the erroneous notion that infinity, in particular the concept of infinite time and space, has relevance with regard to the actual, empirically observable world. There is not only an absolute zero point of temperature in reality (even though one can, mathematically, subtract further "degrees" beyond it); there is not only an absolute maximum point of speed (even though one can, mathematically, add further miles per second beyond it, i.e., beyond the speed of light); but it has now also become evident that real time anti real space (empirical time and empirical space, in contrast to mathematical time and geometric space) are similarly finite. T h e total universe is thus conceived as a system beginning at a given time with a given amount of energy in a given distribution, and moving toward an end to be reached at a determinate time when the given amount of energy has spent itself, i.e., when it has become distributed i r such a way that no more energy gradients are lef't. It seems to me that the elucidation of the psychological universe which we observe with the aid of introspection and empathy is facilitated if we accept the fact that we must examine it against the background of two basically different theoretical models, just as we d o in the physical and biological sciences within the nonpsychological field. Man's psyche conceived as an information-gathering, information-processing, acting and reacting apparatus, i.e., man's psyche conceived as a machine which reacts to signals from the environment, fjcilitates the comprehension of a vast number of psychic phenomena. Specifically, the use of this model helps us to understand in a systematic way, on the one end of the spectrum of developmental phenomena, the interaction between environmental forces anti congenital equipment, and, on the other end of this spectrum, the interaction of' the mature psychic structures with the environment. Expressed in different terms, one might say that this model is

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2 09

adapted to facilitate the explanation of psychic life to the extent that it is dominated by the pleasure principle, i.e., of psychic life to the extent that it strives with the aid of pain-pleasure signals-including those, it must be stressed, which are activated by the established, abiding structures of the mind, i.e., the signals of anxiety and guilt-to attain a (temporary) state of honleostasis or equilibrium. In order to explain certain other introspectively observed aspects of psychological life, however-in particular, the self to the extent that it has become a center of independent initiative; the self, to the extent to which it has become a central structure which is capable of making active choices and decisions; the self, in other words, to the extent to which it is endowed with a "free willn-a conceptualization of the psyche as activated from within is required. I will approach the problem from yet another direction. Psychoanalysis (i.e., the basic psychological theory of psychoanalysis as established by Freud) has often been reproached for supposedly claiming, to the detriment of its concepts and formulations, that the mind is a closed system. Viewed broadly, I consider this reproach as unjustified. Analysis does not disregard the openness of' man's mind to the influences of the environment-witness, for example, the important role which analysis attributes to the influences of the experiences of early life (the relationship with either narcissistically cathected selfobjects or the relationship with objects cathected with object libido) with regard to the formation of the personality and with regard to the later action and reaction propensity of the individual. True, psychoanalytic theory, in conformity with the basic introspective-empathic observational stance of this science, is not a field theory describing its observations in terms of an observer who, equidistant from the interacting or transacting parties, "occupies an imaginary point o ~ ~ t s i dofe the experiencing individual" (Kohut, 197 1, p. 2 19, n.). Quite the contrary holds true: the core area of psychoanalytic metapsychology "is defined by the position of the observer who

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occupies an imaginary point inside the individual with whose introspection he empathically identifies (vicarious introspection)" (Kohut, 1.c.). It is one thing, however, to recogriize that the analyst prefers a system of theoretical formulations (analytic metapsychology) which accommodates the data of his empirical observations without strain to a system of theoretical formulations (the field theory of the social sciences) which is adapted to a different mode of observation; it is quite another thing to exaggerate this preference into an inimical contraposition. 'I'lie very opposite is, in fact, the case: it is the cooperation between the introspective-empathic scieritists (the psychoanalyst) and the observer of the social field (such as the analytically informed observer of the behavior of children o r the analytically informeti observer of man's behavior in the arena of history) which is most fruitful for scientific progress, but not the insistence that the observations of the one discipline must be fitted into the theoretical mold of the other. T h e analyst is, therefore, not only fully aware of the broad explanatory scope of field theories which focus on the interactions of individuals but he can even accept the usefulness of theories which see man's mind as a computer receiving an input of information determining its reactions (especially when the computer envisioned is a sophisticated type, capable of indeterminate responses, i.e., capable of probability responses rather than being narrowly chained to the fetters of simple cause-and-effect sequences). These models, however, which focus primarily on energic processes between psychobiological units, d o not facilitate the analyst's thinking about the phenomena to be explained by him within his own field of' observation (e.g., the phenomena which he observes in the clinical situation) and, furthermore, they d o not lend themselves to the formulation of unsolved questions which set up creative tensions in the depth-psychological researcher which lead to new ernpathic closures and thus to further scientific progress in empathic-introspective psychology. And most importantly, finally,

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21 1

these models, even the most sophisticated ones, do not accommodate certain central, introspectively observable data which are of crucial significance for the understanding of an essential aspect of man, namely, man's experience of his free will, his experience of a self as a center of independent initiative, of a self capable of making choices and decisions. At this point, however, a possible objection to my argument must be confronted. Am I not overstressing conscious experience here-man's conscious experience of his ability to make active choices and decisions, and to initiate actions-to the detriment of the recognition of an unpleasant truth, namely, that man is no more than the observer of determinate psychic processes within himself over which he exerts no control? I believe that, within certain limits (see Kohut, 1973), Freud was correct when he claimed that one of the strongest motivations for the rejection of psychoanalysis was its discovery that man was not the master even of his own mind, that there were large areas of mental life which were unconscious. Does not my emphasis on the self as a center of independent initiative run counter to Freud's great discovery of' the existence of complex, meaningful mental activities--outside man's awareness and beyond his control? Should not Freud's great discovery rather be seen as fjvoring the modern conceptualizations of the mind as a complex thinking machine-an intricate machine capable of being educated through the input of information; capable, on the basis of' learning (i.e., "programming"), of responding to new situations in a great variety of ways, including even in the form of indeterminate responses, i.e., of responses which follow the laws of probability? Or, to put these questions in still another way: might the experience of the self as an independent center of initiative not be a delusion; might it not be based on a narcissistic bias (derived from still unrelinquished omnipotence fantasies), analogous to the delusion of an all-pervading consciousness which Freud was able to dissolve?

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I do not think so. 1 am basing my conviction ( 1 ) not only on the direct positive evidence of inner experience, (2) not only on the supportive evidence supplied by other observable psychological phenomena (cf. my discussion of the significance of the behavior of the solitary martyred resisters in Nazi Gerniany arid of the significance of the tragic hero in drama), and (:3) on certain analogies which can be drawn with certain aspects of nonpsychological reality (cf. the preceding discussion of the conceptualizations of modern nonpsychological science with regard to the observable world), (4) but also on the unmistakable evidence of detailed, persistent, clinical observation. T h e more deeply an analysis penetrates, the more clearly the analysancl recognizes the essence of those deepest of his ambitions and ideals which make u p his nuclear self, the narcissistic center of his personality, the more vivid and real becomes the analysand's experience of being able to choose and to decide," the more certain he feels of possessing access to the capacity of exercising his "free will"-whether he chooses to live in accordance with the demands of the reality-pleasure principle and, regretfully, curbs the expression of a part of his true self (as most of us do), or whether he chooses to transcencl the reality-pleasure principle (i.e., to live "beyond the pleasure principle") and disregarding even his cherished body self, i.e., his need for biological survival, strives toward that fulfillment of his nuclear self which, in the symbolism of religion, is celebrated as saintliness and as eternal life."' The conclusion is, therefore, inescapable that certain qualities and functions of the self, once this structure has been fully formed, cannot be comprehended unless the self is conceptualized as an independent, autonomous unit, despite the fact that there are other, broad areas of the personality, outside the (nuclear) self, which must be conceived as interacting with the en5 e e appendix to this chapter. "'For an early discussion of this problem area, written at a time when the concept of a nuclear self, the carrier of the individual's deepcst ambitions and ideals, hacl not been fornlulated, see Kohut (1959). in particulal. pp. 229-232.

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vil-o~~riient, in a give-and-take relationship that is gover~ieclby the signals of the pleasure principle, and despite the f'act that the early environment of the chilcl (the child's selfi)l?jects)makes decisive contributions to the fbnns and contents of the self. Once the nuclear self has been laid down, however, it strives-in analogy to the totality of' the nonpsychological universe-to fulfill its life-curve. It moves, fi-orn the time of its consolidation (its birth) toward the realization of its ambitions and ideals, i.e., toward the realization of the aims of the structures which are the ultimate descendants of the child's grandiosity and exhibitionism and o f the child's striving to merge with an idealized selfbbject. And if an individual succeeds in realizing the aims of his nuclear self', he can die without regret: he has achieved the fulfillment o f t h e tragic hero-not the painful death of Guilty Man who strives fi)r pleasure but a death which is "beyond the pleasure principle." Expressed on a different level, orie might say that both the conception of man as educable and as improvable-traclitio~ially considered as the optimistic conception of man (man who seeks pleasure but experiences guilt; guilty man who seeks redemption in order to achieve again a pleasurable existence)-and the conception of man as being governed by self-contained, inner- laws of development and function-traditionally considered as the pessimistic concept of man (man who seeks the joy of self-fulfillment but fails; tragic man who reaches f~ilfillment and dies)-have validity. Neither one of these two principles which govern man's psychic life" is adequate to explain man's tniritl and its functions, man's personality and his behavior, in particular when the observations arlcf insights o f the introspective"'fhe tlistinc~ionrnacle here is betrvccrr (;uilty Man a~lcl.l'~agicMan; betwecn, on the one harld, nlan striving toward inner (nloral) r e d e ~ ~ ~ p tand/or i o r ~ social ref0rn1 and, on the other hand, tlisregartli~ignot o ~ l l ydiscon~lort~ L I so~netimes I also guilt, Illan striving towarcl thc rcaliz;~tionof his nuclear self'. .l'his tlistinctio~~ is related to, but hy no means identical with. Freud's dualistic conception th;it man's psychic life is reg~llatetlnot only by the pleasure principle hut that it also obeys laws which are "beyond the pleasure principle." i.e.. that riian is propellctl towarcl death.

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empathic depth psychologist are taken into consideration. T h e self can be altered by new transmuting internalizations, and, in the attempt to control his destiny, man can learn and can apply his reasonableness-"the voice of the intellect is a soft one, but it does not rest till it has gained a hearing" (Freud, 1927a, p. 53). Guilty Man wants to achieve redemption and he attempts to reform himself and his society. But there is also another aspect of man. Once his self has crystallized, it pursues inexorably one single end: it strives, beyond the pleasure principle, to fulfill itself. An individual's deepest ambitions and ideals, once congealed to form the nucleus of his self, will drive and lead hirn with a force which, though in most of' us hidden by conflict, fear, and guilt, is in its essence independent of fear and guilt, of' expiation and reform. Man's need, therefore, to move toward the realization of his deepest ambitions and ideals will, as I mentioned earlier, allow him even to tolerate torture and to accept death-witness the lonely martyrs of history, witness the hero of true tragedy in drama, witness the great incarnations of Tragic Man in the myths of organized religion. T h e depth psychologist needs no excuse if he decides that a dualistic approach is required in order to explain the full range of phenornena which are under his scrutiny. Yet, as I stated before, he can take comfbrt from the fact that he is here proceeding along the same two routes as the physicist and the biologist. 'The physicist and the biologist explore and explain innumerable phenomena by a conceptual approach which studies sequences of interactions (governed by the laws of causality and probability) between the physical and biological units which are under their scrutiny. But they can also abandon the interactional approach and are then able to recognize patterned sequences of strivings toward aims which are-or have become-autonomous: the birth-life-death cycle not only of' the total universe but also of certain specific units within it. A plant interacts with the rays of the sun, with the gravitational pull of

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the earth, with the nourishment which it receives via absorption through its roots. But, as an individual, it strives also toward the realization of its prefbrrned image: to be a rose, to be a tree. Sirnilariy with man who, although possessing broad segments of his personality which interact with his biological and social environment, which allow him to process data and to act and react in response to them, has also another, deeply anchored sector of his personality-a self, the convergence of his ambitions and ideals, i.e., of the descendants of the grandiose self and the idealized parent imago of his early life. This self, if fully developed (and liberated from its internal or external shackles), is truly a center of independent initiative, striving to fulfill its essence: to flower, to realize itself-and then to die. I am aware of the fact that these considerations rnay be judged by some to be n o more than philosophical speculations-to be accepted or rejected, admired or despised, in harmony with aesthetic or moral preferences. But I submit that such a judgment is in error. 'The self, its behavior and purposes and goals, is open to scientific scrutiny through the methods of the introspective-empathic depth psychologist. 'The depth psychologist has learned to differentiate between the joy of self-fulfillment and the sensual pleasure which accompanies the gratification of drives, and between the mortification caused by the enfeeblement or the breakup of the self and the pain man suffers when the satisfaction of his biological needs and their derivatives is frustrated. Depth psychology must now indeed pursue the investigation of the destiny of the self, must plunlb the depth of Tragic Man, with the same rigor with which it has pursued the investigation of Guilty Man, i.e., the investigation of the drives and of the apparatuses which become their executive organs and of the psychic agencies which curb them. Guilty Man wants to redeem himself, then he can live and find pleasure in life. Tragic Man strives to experience the joy of realizing himself, his ambitions and ideals-then he can die. f~~lfilled.

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Guilt then, to my mind, is not the servant o f a death instinct, an expression of a striving toward dissolution, even when it brings about the clinical syndrome of (guilty) depression, even when it leads through suicide to death. Self-destructive behavior as we know it clinically (including suicide) is not "beyond the pleasure principle." Whether an inclividual's yearning for death is the means to the end of bringing about expiation and of' gaining redemption o r whether it is meant to permit his escape from unbearable internal conflict o r externally imposed tension, torture, and fear, it is, in each case, motivated by consitlerations which belong to the psychic area that is regulated by the signals of the pleasure principle. 'Tragic Man's death, on the other hand, is not caused by guilt, is not a suicide, is not self-destructive. I t is more closely related to a "death instinct" than is the striving toward death experienced by Guilty Man. Still, the death attained by Tragic Man must not be conceived, in analogy to Freud's conception of a psychobiological antagonism between Eros ant1 'Thanatos, as being in opposition to life-it is an integral part of' the life-curve of the self. 'I'o be specific: Tragic Man relates to the realization of his nuclear self in these two ways. (1) He may be forced to turn away, despairingly, from any further attempts at self-f~llfillment, experiencing a psychological state of utter discouragenient with regard to his ability ever to realize his deepest atnbitions ant1 ideals, experier~cirlga state beyond hope, and empty, guiltless depression which in general does not bring about suicide but rather a psychological death in the fbrm of the continuation of a mere biological existence without meaning, the existence of' a dehumanized, biological machine.lV(2) He may reach a death "l'hesc considcmtions are o f great clinical relevance. I Ilave, thr example, reanalyzetl several incliviclu;tls whose lnajor disturbance, appar-rntly a cllronic work inhibition, had been left unrelieved by a previous analysis. 1 was able to aid them considerably o n the basis of'this crucial shift of ti,cus. In the previous analysis the essential causative I'actor was helicved t o be a s t r u c t ~ ~ rconflict, al e.g.. a n unconscious clcath-wish against the oetlip;tl rival was assumetl to have lecl to the inlril~itionof' the ~ ~ a t i e n tstriving 's fin success because, i n pri~naryproccss logic, succcss, the oultloing of tlle oetlipal rival, is the equivalc~ltof' murtler. 111

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which in fact is part of the fulfillment of his nuclear self-either dramatically, as in the case of the hero and saint, at the peak of self-fulfillment, or undramatically, as in the case of the ending of a n ordinary creative and fulfilling life. 'The depth psychologist, however, even though he should be aware of the importance of the developmental vicissitudes and o f t h e strivings o f the self, must not take a partisan position-particularly where he functions as a clinician-in the conflicts between the demands which emanate from the striving to obtain the joy of self-fulfillment and those which emanate the new ;un;~lysis,howevct-, wlten the psychological material was allowed to ~ ~ t ~ f o l ( l t'reely, a different psychological causation emerged. It could be seen that the p;ttient's lack ol'aml)itiot~(andlor his lack of zest in pursuing his ideals) was not t l ~ t eto a n active unconscious conllict, hut it was based on a hroacl ;ind deep, yet specific decatliexis of. tlic srlf leading not only to a severe diminution of the push of' the patient's ambitions allti of the pull of his ideals but also to a passivity 01' the executive apl)at.atus oftlie ego vis-h-vis the remaining dem;~ndsol'his n~rclear srlf. ' f h e precipitating events in atlult life which usher in such working tlist~rr1)atices emerge often with great clarity: they are generally extel-nal occurrences (professional disal>poirlttnctits: the death or withdrawal of a sul>portingfigure; etr.) which rtorn~:tllv migltt 111-ingabout tetnporary depression artd discouragcnlent but not the protracted inability of these patients to turn again toward the pursuit of the goals of acl~ievemetltand success. I t is otlly the relevant genetic material from chiltlhootl (as it emerges in the narcissistic transference) which explair~sthe severity 01' the self-depletion of these patients and thus their withtlmwal f'ron~work ;mtl success. .I'lie adult setback had been exl,eriencetl by tlre patient ;is the repetition of'certain specitic, ct-ucial experiences early in lik when the consolitlation of his self, particularly after a newly established tentative firming of this conliguration, had been dealt a severe blow, leacling to a chronic weakness in this important psychological sector. In pursuing these aspects o f t h e patiet~t'spersonality tlte rnctnories of repetitive periods of'apparently cot~tentless tlepression emergc-tlepressiot~s which led already it1 cl~ilclltoodto prolongc(1 ~):issivity,lack of' ~esrtitlncssin playing and (later) leal-t~it~g, arltl tlic likc. I.ack of parental response to the rhiltl ; ~ n dhis achieve~ncntsdue, c.g., to depression or etnotiottal tlattlrss ft.orii the side 01' tlie tilother ancllor, e.g., tlie withdr;~wal by the tather o r t l ~ elilther's lack ol' sell-confidence o r liis active ritlicule of the chilcl: these ;ire tlic genetically irnpot-(ant rhiltlhootl experict~ceswhich predisImse the patietlt to react with a chronic decathcxis of his self wlieri the narcissistic I);~lattceof liis ad1111life sulfers a serious hlow. T h e working-througli process conccrnit~gthe narcissistic transl'e~.encein which the ~ui;rlystis cxl)cricncccl as the traumatic paretlt (c.g., as the tlepresscd tnother or the unavailable tither), the increasing recognition of the relationship I>ctwcel~ tlie ups ;~nclclowns in the ;inalysat~d'sability to work, ant1 tlie virissitudes ot his perception 0 1 the analyst's l'itnction as a selfOpject, these are the steps by which the gradual att~cliot-ation o l the work clist~trhanccis reaclietl.

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from the wish to obtain the pleasure of drive gratification. Marl is beset by conflicts and inhibitions not only in the area of his ambitions and ideals but also in the area of his search for drive gratification. He must learn to be realistic about the limitations imposed on him by reality in both fields. And he must be permitted to choose his road according to his own predilections, whether it leads him toward the attempt to satisfy his biological demands and their derivatives or toward the attempt to reach the goals which he has formed in harmony with the derivatives of the exhibitionism and the greatness fantasies of his childhood. Still, insofar as man's self' is the target of its interest, it is the task of depth psychology to observe and explain the formation and maturation of this structure, its healthy states and its diseases, and to investigate the factors which enhance and those which prevent its joyful unfolding, just as it has done in the past with regard to the factors which enhance and those which prevent and inhibit the optimal functioning of man's pleasure-seeking drives. Only by the acceptance of both sectors of man's psychological existence, separately and in their interplay, will psychoanalysis be a psychology of man in all his dirne~lsionsand complexities; only by addressing itself to Guilty and 'Tragic Man will psychoanalysis assist marl optimally to plot his course, whether toward individual enjoyment or toward participation in social reform; whether towarcl individual creativity or toward the merger with the assertiveness of a group with whom he identifies o r with the power of an extraindividual idea which he has espoused.

When, towarcl the end of his life, Freud surveyed the efficacy of psychoanalytic therapy, he identified as one of its limits the incapacity of male patients to accept a subordinate position toward another male. Psychological means, Freud felt, were pow-

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erless here since the biological bedrock which underlies the psychological field had been reached at this point (Freud, 1937, pp. 252-253). 1 must here disregard the conceptual difficulties (see, however, Kohut, 1959; in particular, p. 206) which result from Freud's juxtaposition of two concrete "fields" when it is in fact the same, in its essence unknowable, reality that is examined by two different approaches. With regard to clinical experience, however, I believe that I can state here that a modification of Freud's assessment is now warranted, even though I am not able to quantify its extent, namely, whether an increased elasticity of male patients in this respect (i.e., a lessening of their stereotyped "masculine protest" of which Freud spoke) can now be achieved in a large number of formerly inaccessible cases or only in a few. I am speaking of the fact that the systematic analysis o f t h e self leads now sometimes to a significant firming in this structure, and thus to psychological resilience through the shedding of stereotyped rage and "masculine protest," where formerly, when the analytic focus was restricted to object-instinctual (oedipal) dynamisms, an unmodifiable bedrock seemed to have been reached. T o give a clinical illustration of my meaning. In the course of his analysis patient T., a junior business executive in his late thirties became increasingly aware of the fact that the healthy exhibitionism of his childhood (concerning both his physical and his mental functions) had been frustrated by the emotional flatness of his mother and by the fact that his father was largely unavailable. Three symptoms of his adult personality were related to this genetically rooted frustration of his exhibitionistic needs: (1) attacks of rage, leading even to physical violence, when his demands for a response to his exhibitionistic needs were frustrated, specifically when he felt that his opinions and the expression of his intentions were not listened to, e.g., by his wife o r by his children; (2) an encapsulated enclave of perverse fantasies concerning gross genital exhibitionism with ensuing erno-

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tional control over the excited, i.e., fascinated, fe~iialeonlooker (this symptorn became distinctly conscious only during the analysis; shame about it hat1 kept it split off anci tlisavowed bet'ore the treatment); and (3), most importantly, there existed a pathological defect of his personality of'the presence of which, despite its pervasive interference with his social functioning (inclutling his work), the patient had remained unaware-indeed, the patient began to recognize its manitestations only when, late in the analysis, in consequence of the analytic work, they began to evaporate. 'l'he feature in question was shyness, lack of assertiveness, coupled with a seeming indifference toward being pushecl into the background by his more assertive surroundings. I will not go into the details of the working-through process in tllis analysis; in the present context I will tiisregard in particulal. the connect.ion which could be established between his isolated attacks of rage and his exhibitionistic fantasies, on the one hand, and his inability to act with calm and secure self-assertiveness, on the other hand. Instead I will fbcus on a dream which occurred towarcl the end of his analysis (at a time wlicn the possibility of planning fhr a termination was first considered by him) because it illustrates the tact that, in this case at least, the systematic analysis of the patient's narcissistic needs led to results which would not have been achieved-with the impression that an unalterable bedrock was now reached-tiaci the f'ocus of the analysis been detlected to other areas. In the dream (session 669) the patient was in an under-ground area, intending t o go through sorne passageway which woultl lead him to another area, perhaps an unciergrountl parking lot, from which he would ultimately reach some street-level outside. He was not absolutely certain of his way but thought that he should proceed via a particular path. A man behind him, sorne friend o r companion, said that the patient was going in the wrong direction, that this was riot the way to get out. T h e patient, however, thought that he was right and went on his way, only

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22 1

to find himself, after walking through different dool-s and passages, at the spot fiom which he had departed, recognizing that his companion hacl been right. He, therefore, decided to fbllow the friend's advice and to try it his way. I will here not discuss in detail the obvious possibilities of' meanings which will immediately arise in the mind of' every experienced psychoanalyst-such as those concerning the patient's inner- uncertainty whether the analytic work was sufficiently done to warrant the return from the netherland of the ~~nconscious to the daylight of reality or those concerning the significance of the disagreement between patient and analyst with regard to the focus of the psychological route to be taken in the terminal phase. And, of course, I also did not disregard the possibility that the emotional calmness of the dreani, in particular the calmness which accompanied first the patient's decision to d o it his own way, and later the calmness with which he decided to try the way which the analyst suggested, might only be a cover and disguise for an underlying attitude of rebellion and rage. T h e unexpected focus of the dreani which emerged, to my surprise, with increasing clarity as the session proceeded, lay not in the remaining conflicts (which the patient acknowledged and for the clarification of which he felt that some limited time was indeed still needed) but in the (not fully, yet already quite reliably established) feeling of a consolidated self which not only was able to assert itself without rebellion but which-and here lies the real proof of its consolidation-enablecl the patient to change his mind, to listen to advice, to accept an experienced man's counsel, without feeling degradecl, i.e., specifically without feeling slighted about the rejection suffered in the realm of the exhibitionistic aspects of the derivatives of his old convictions concerning his mental powers. A series of associations concerning recent events in which he was indeed able not only to accept having been wrong but also to learn from another person, proved without doubt that he felt that he was

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reaching an inner firmness which allowed him to acknowledge another man's superiority in this or that specific context without fteling insufferably shamed and beconling enraged, without feeling himself forced into a position of' castrated passivity.

Originality and Repetition in Science (1975)

As I told you the other day, dear Dr. L., I had read your recent essay (in which you pursued the task of comparing my theories with those of another contributor to the psychology of the self) with great interest, had nothing to add to your careful study, had learned a great deal frorn it, and was grateful to you fbr the time, devotion, and intelligence hat you had given to this endeavor. You did exactly what you had to do: you chose a number of concepts and formulations from the work of the author whose contributions you had undertaken to compare with mine; specifically: you chose those concepts and formulations that were defined with sufficient clarity to lend themselves to being compared; you then set these concepts and forrnulatior~sside by side with the analogous ones that you could cull from the contributions to the psychology of the self that I had made; and, ultimately, you contracted the members of these pairs and appraised their relative value. Needless to say, I was glad not only about the fact that I came out ahead in this comparison but also about your decision that, contrary to the opinion of some critics of my work, I could not have interspersed the exposition of my ideas with those o f others (who have made contributions to the psyA nole in I-esporrse lo lhc cssay "A C:ornparison of Somc Aspec~sot thc .I'heories of Kohut and Wirlnicott," I)y Norman Litowitz.

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chology of the self' fi-om different vantage points) without becoming hopelessly elitangled in a thicket of similar, overlapping, analogous, o r identical terms which however did not carry the same meaning and were not employed as a part of the same conceptual system. As far as the specfic coniparison is concerned which you chose as the sul~jectmatter f'or your study, I have, as 1 already mentioned initially, nothing to say that could add anything of substance to the results of your scholarly labors. But your essay rekindles in me a nurnber of reactions, and it provides me with the opportunity to give expression to a nunil~erof thoughts which I have in the past preferred to keep to myself There is little clout>t that the area that has become known in recent years as the psychology of the self has, in general, been widely discussed in the psychoanalytic, psychiatric, and psychological professional coniniunities; and the particular contributions to this field which were made by me have also aroused a good deal of interest.' Various reviewers of my work have in this context wondered about the place in scientific development which my work occupies; and they have tried to fit it into a nurnber of preexisting molds. It is, in general, not appropriate f'or the person who niakes a scientific contribution to express himself with regard to the question whether his research can claim originality; but since a number of reviewers have voicetl the opinion that my work fits clearly into the one or another already established scientific pattern, I think that I should be permitted to voice my own opinion with regard to some aspects of this problenl--especially in view of the fact (1) that various critics have seen my work as a part of, a repetition of, o r a continuation of' the most diverse, contrasting, and mutually exclusive previous patterns; arid (2) that their opinions are usually 'See in this context the study "Kccent Discoveries irl I'sycl~oar~alysis"by Hofling ant1 Meyrrs (1072).

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presented in support of a skeptical attitude concerning the value of my contributions. Let me begin my consideration of this complex topic by stating that many of the terms and concepts that play a role in my work can indeed be encountered in previous writings. T h e literature on the fringes of scientific psychology, in particular-and the literature which lies beyond the borders of science-is full of references to such concepts as self-expression, self-realization, the activities of the person's "true" self, etc. Herman Hesse, for example, a literary disciple of .Jung, described the search for the true self in his writings (e.g., in his novel Steppenwolf) even before he turned (with J u n g ) to Indian philosophy. And one could surely adduce many other illustrations of vaguely conceived and, especially, of artistically alli~dedto concepts of a self and its unfolding. Such contributions rnay not only be beautiful, but they may also coritain much that is true. Still, they are obviously not science in the sense in which we understand depth psychology to be science. Turning now to the field that belorigs (at least historically) to depth psychology, the best known formulation relating to our subject matter may be C. G. Jung's antithesis of the per:so~rc~ (the "mask," i.e., the "false self") and the c~nima(the "real" person, i.e., the "true self'). Alfred Adler's concept of a person's "lil'eline," too, belongs into this context: it can be interpreted, I believe, as referring to the unfolding of an individual's "true self'." O n e can find, in addition, a number of casual remarks, inside and outside of the at times ill-defined borders of scientific depth psychology, about the phenomena of self-fragmentation ancl about the sequence of the break-up and the reassemblage of the self. I d o not deny that there is an essential difference between (1) the philosophical o r literary statements made by philosophers o r literary men about such concepts as the real self, the true self, the false self, self-expression, self-unfolding, self-fragmentation,

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self-reconstitution, etc.; and (2) the scientific statements concerning the vicissitudes of the self-including references to selffragmentation experiences of schizophrenics-tliat can be fount1 in the psychoanalytic, psychiatric, and psychological literature. But I also believe that there lies still a further step between the aforementioned scientific theories or clinical ol~servationsarid my own work. What is this step? Instead of the attempt to reply directly to this question, let me describe the goals toward which I strove in doing my work. I can then leave it to others to judge how close I have come to reach these goals and, of course, also, within the present context, how other investigators of the self have fared by comparison. T h e standards to which I tried to live up, at least in approximation, in doing my work, were two-fold: ( 1 ) I waritetl to base my conclusions on careful observation, niade in the psychoanalytic situation, in particular of the manifestations of the transference, o r stated more explicitly, I not only atte~nptedto arrive at each of my hypotheses by generalizing or extrapolating from specific concrete data obtained by the empathic observation of my analysands' transferences, but I also made it nry job to present the data from which I have derived my theories. As you undoubtedly realize, the rnain purpose which I pursued in the first part of the essay "Remarks about the Formation o f t h e Self" was to demonstrate the fact that, in my research concerning the self, I was indeed proceeding primarily as an empathic analyst who investigates the transferences of his patients-ancl neither as a philosopher, a moralist, or a poet, nor as a social psychologist (e.g., an observer of childhood behavior). (2) But to be a caret'ul and empathic psychoanalyst is not enough; even to have documented my claims by adducing the data obtained in the analytic situation is riot enough. As I said before, my reliance on the investigation of the analytic transference will differentiate the results of my work not only from the insights of the poets and philosophers but also from the.psychoanalytically sophisticated

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social psychologists who study the interactions between the child and his parents. I stand firm in my conviction that the tact that my results were in essence obtained through the study of the transference (in particular via the empathic immersion into the transferences formed by analysands with narcissistic personality disorders) is of decisive importance. Still, despite its importance, the proof that my findings were obtained through the, to my mind, incomparable and irreplaceable instrument of observation in the psychoanalytic situation would not protect me against the claim that some of my findings have, in one form o r another, been anticipated by other analysts (also via the study of the transference, one would assume), that they can be found-now, in retrospect, as I will add-in the psychoanalytic literature in this or that passage o r footnote of this or that clinical or theoretical paper. Yet, I feel sure, that here, too, I can point to a decisive difference. Progress in depth psychology, Kuhn's (1962) and his psychoanalytic followers' opinions notwithstanding (see, however, Hartmann, 1956, in particular p. 426f. vis-a-vis Dorer's documentation of the fact that many of Freud's findings and ideas had been reported by others, before Freud), is not predominantly made in the form of single, distinct forward leaps, i.e., through the creation of new "paradigms" (as appears to be the case most frequently in other sciences, e.g., in physics). 'I'he difference between The Analysis of the Self (in combination with my other contributions to the psychology of the self, published and unpublished) arid the medley of isolated clinical and theoretical contributions about the self and its vicissitudes that can now be found in the psychoanalytic literature (which had, however, not been recognized as significant until now-as I suspect: not even by their authors) lies somewhere else. What is that difference: is it the fBct that I have been more explicit, or more systematic, o r more encompassing than the analysts-some of them marvelous clinicians and moving describers of childhood

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experience-who have mentioned the self and its disorders in the past? I believe that the references to the h c t that I have heen more explicit, systematic, and encompassing in my contributions go part of the way in answering my question; still, they d o not refer to the essence of the problem. Scientific progress, and par excellence progress in psychoallalytic depth psychology, i.e., in the science of cornplex mental states, is not only made as the result of' a new cognitive step--it also requires the overcoming of' inner resistances. T h e clecisive cognitive step, in other words, can only be made with the aid of those insufficiently understood emotional processes to which everyday language ref'ers as courage. It would not only be in bad taste if I were to sing my own praise as a courageous person, but, indeecl, I a m riot tempted to d o so because, I admit, 1 d o not see myself' as unusually stout-hearted. Still, in the context of my attempt to take an objective stance vis-A-vis my own scientific co~itribution,I can affirni the fact that the work which 1 have done in 1966 required the overcorning of anxiety; that I had to rnobilize my inner resources; and that, in addition, I needed the emotional support of my colleagues arid friends. It is significant that-just as one can detect some of' my present ideas, here ancl there, in the writings of' others--one can now, in retrospect, demonstrate that almost all of' my present thoughts had already been expressed by me before (some of them even as long ago 21s an essay written when I was eighteen); but I did not, ofcourse, present these ideas as clearly and systematically in the past as 1 finally did in recent years. As you may know, some of' my colleagues have wondered why I rnacle these contributions so late in my life (cf. Gedo, 1975). Without going into specific personal data (which have 110 significance beyond the confines of my private life) I can say that an en~otionalobstacle that hacl been in my way in earlier years had been removed. It was this fact which enabled me to express clearly and openly what 1 had formerly only alluded to

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in tlisjointed, nonsystemic communications. It was an endopsychic change which allowed me to cross that third barrier barrier which opposes the move toward corisciousness-the which stands in the way of the move from clinical insight toward valid scientific communication-of' which I spoke in a previous contribution (see Kohut, 1970, in particular p. 59 1). I t was an inner change that allowed me now to delineate the psychology of the self more directly and clearly than I had been able to do before. 'I'his is as f i r as I can go in order to justify the fact that I have at times entertained the hope that, through the persevering application of the psychoanalytic method, my work lias matte a contribution to the creation of a firm basis for a psychology of the self. How many of the specific findings that I described, ant1 how many of the explanations that I offered, will prove to be valicl and, if so, for how long they will be of relevance-these are questions to which I d o not have the answer. Some of the observations made by the research efforts of the past decade will surely turn out to have been inaccurate; some of the explanations given will turn out to have been wrong; and still other ohservations and theories, though neither inaccurate nor wrong, will sooner o r later become irrelevant, i.e., they will be superseclecl by fOi-nlulations of greater applicability, greater appropriateness, and higher explanatory power as the study of narcissistic transferences in the psychoanalytic situation proceeds. But now I will stop. Let me close this letter by thanking you once niore for your fine work in the field of' our shared interest. It is the courage, devotion, and creative intelligence of individual memt>ers of the younger generation of analysts-the kind of courage, devotion, and crea~iveintelligence that is exemplified by your contribution-that will continue to be my rnairl support in the tasks which are still to be done.

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

T h e noise and the horror of the historical events of the century have covered over a quiet and reassuring process of great significance: the beginnings of a gradual shift in the major focus of man's attention-including his investigative interests-from his surroundings to himself. We cannot be certain yet whether the signs of this shift that can indeed be observed are reliable indicators of a long-term development, as I believe they are. But the supposition, to be spelled out below, that man's situation in the world is changing, is clearly in harmony with o u r initial assertion that man's major preoccupations are also undergoing a change. Until comparatively recent times man's opportunities were in concrete and symbolic terms, the opportunities af'fi)rded by open living spaces. And the major threat to man's survival came from his surroundings; it came from hostile powers that lay in the external world. Both aspects of this situation appear now to This paper was originally published as "Reflexionen eines Psychoanalytikers anlisslich des 8O.Gehurtstags von Jean Piaget," in Hommag a Jran Pingrt z.um nchtzigctcn Geb~trtstag(Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1976, pp. 26-29), and was Vol. V . , pp. 373-375, subsequently reprinted in T l ~ rAnvruul of' Psychoanaly~i~, 1977, edited by the Chicago Institute fi)r Psychoanalysis, New York: 1111. Llniv. I'ress.

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be changing. T h e ernpty living spaces on earth are shrinking; man's opportunities lie increasingly with the cultivation of his inner life. Ancl the major threat to his survival comes also now from within himself. In the absence of external action he has to learn to overcome death-promoting lethargy in orcler to survive; and, in response to the attacks o n his sensibilities to which he is increasingly exposed by the overly close, yet more and more indifferent human environnient in which he finds himself, he has to learn to overcome his tendency to respond with life-tlestroying rage. Dimly recognizing his new situation and its ~LI~LII.C' deleterious potentialities, man is beginning to shift his attention away fr-0111 the outside world-to shift his cognitive attention from the surI-oundingphysical world to his social situation ant1 par excellellce to himself. As one aspect of this change we are witnessing the anticipatory indications of a slight shift in the focus of modenr science: from a nearly exclusive preoccupation with rn;~n'ssurroundings, i.e., from the stance of the biologist ant1 physicist to an increasingly important interest in man's inner life, i.e., to the stance of'the psychologist. 1;reud's career change from neurology to psychiatry, from tlie chair at the microscope to the chair behind the analytic couch, is symbolic of h i s sequence of events. Some of moclern mankind's best and most creative intellects, men whose gifts would formerly have fastened them for a l i b time to the tasks of biology, chemistry, o r pliysics, I~eganto feel drawn to the scientific investigation of the inner life of man, to the investigation of human behavior and of the ctevelopment and functions of' the human mind. It is thus not an accident that it is in our time that a marl like J e a n Piaget has spent his life-his long and productive life-in the pursuit of valid psychological data; that a man like Jean Piaget has spent a lifetime carefully recording, cal-efully interpreting his observations concerning the development of the child's mind. In an earlier period an exact, systematic thinker

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of Jean Piaget's mental power would hardly have turned to the tasks that he indeed pursued; or, if he had done so, would hardly have found that echo, that recognition, that approval of' his contemporaries which have come to him in ever-increasing degree. T h e psychoanalyst will note the fact that Jean Piaget, the greatest systematic observer and interpreter of the behavioral manifestations of the child's developing mind, was born in the nineteenth century, the century in which the small, i~nnoticed event took place in Vienna that opened the door to a great revolution in science, the birth of modern depth psychology: a hysterical woman's plea to her doctor to be allowed to tell him all that went on in her mind-to go on "chimney sweeping," as she called it-and the tloctor's stroke of genius that prompted him to agree; to sit and listen; to record what he heard; and to try to grasp its meaning and significance. T h e path taken by depth psychology, beginning with Anna 0. and Breuer, and continued by Freud and by the various schools of psychoanalysis, is clearly very different frorn that pursued by Piaget. So different in fact are these paths that many an observer might consider them to go into opposite directions. But there are rnoinents when divergence of approach and method becomes less important; moments when disagreements concerning concepts and theories become less significant; moments when those who are exploring the same important aspect of reality from different sides and different points of view, and by different means, will be able to recognize that their airn is identical. J e a n Piaget's eightieth birthday, the birthday of a great investigator, is such a nloment. N o one will deny the difference between the observational attitude and the scientific airns of the cool and objective observer of clearly defined functional sequences in childllood development, on the one hand, and the observational attitude and the scientific aims of the introspective-empathic decipherer of transferences, on the other hand. T h e first describes and explains

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developmental sequences on the basis of the cool and objective observation of repeatable situations in which he exposes the child to the performance of certain tasks; the second reconstructs developmental sequences via extrapolations on the basis of insights about psychological conditions which will often unexpectedly emerge in him during the tense experiences of a therapeutic encounter. Yet, after all the differences are acknowledged, the community of interests, the overlapping of aims, will strongly assert themselves. 'The depth psychologists since Breuer's pioneering experiment and the observers of childhood with Piaget as their pioneering leader-they are all trying, with the same devotion, to illuminate the beginnings of human psychological life. They are undertaking this arcluous task with the same aim in mind: to increase the understanding of human action in maturity; and with the same ultimate hope: to assist man in controlling his actions, to assist man in increasing his mastery over his destiny. It is against the background of his acknowletigment of the identity of scientific tasks and the shared commitment to them that the psychoanalyst sends warmest greetings to Jean Piaget on his eightieth birthday. He thanks him for what he has contributed to modern man's conception of himself in the beginning era of psychology.

Self Psychology and the Sciences of Man (1978)

T h e basic premise of the psychoanalytic psychology of the self is the defining position it assigns to empathy and introspection. This emphasis makes psychoanalysis, despite Freud's ambiguity with regard to the issue of empathy and introspection, what it has always been in its essence, the first scientific psychology of conlplex mental states. Self psychology is instrumental in ushering in a new phase in the history of psychoanalysis: the move from a preoccupation with the elaboration and refinement of the established theories to one of renewed emphasis on the gathering of primary data, a return to the empathic observation of inner experience. T h e renewed preoccupation with the collection of primary data of observation does not, however, imply a neglect of theory. On the contrary, by reemphasizing careful observation, the self psychologist reestablishes the mutually enriching interaction between theory and observation that characterizes all empirical Heinz Kohut wrote this paper during the sulnnler of 1978, in anticipation of the first Self Psychology Conference in Chicago in October of that year. He did not present this paper, but offered a brief introduction to the panel (see Chapter 10, this volume). This paper was tirst published in Sel/'l'.syrltoloky a ~ i d the Hurnanilin: RPfLctions on a New Psyclionnalylic Appl-unch by Heinz Ko h u t, edited with a n introduction by Charles Strozier. New York: Norton, 1985, pp. 73-94, It is reprinted here with permission.

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sciences. Creative observation, as I should like to call it, is always interwoven with theory; it is directed by some vaguely perceived new orientation and is tollowed by the increasingly more precise fbrmulation of new theoretical tenets and by the gradual evolution of a new theoretical framework. Some outlines of the changes in theory that self' psychology is bringing about can already be discerned: a shift from the previous emphasis o n quasi-biological "drives," and secondarily, from the study of the psychological conflicts that arise concerning their expression arid their taming to the positing of primary configurations that are already complex from the beginning ("molecular" not "atomic"; "organic" not "inorganic"; "psychological" not "hiological"). 'I'hese complex primary configurations are the "self" and its "constituents." Self psychology does not work with a framewor-k of biological drives and a rnental apparatus. T h e primary self; in a matrix of empathic selfol~jects,is held to be as much a prerequisite of psychological existence as oxygen is for biological life; it experiences selfobject greatness (assertiveness, ambitions), on the one hand, arld selfot~ertperfection (idealization of one's goals, enthusiasm fbr one's ideals), on the other. Drives are secondary phenomena. I'hey are disintegration products following the breakup of the primary cornplex psychological contigurations in consequence of (empathy) failures in the selfbbject matrix. Subsequent to serious arid prolonged or repetitive failures from the side of the selfbbjects, assertiveness beconies exhibitionism; enthusiasm becomes voyeurism; and joy changes into depression and lethargy. Zonal eroticism (oral, anal, phallic-genital) is pursued in an isolated fashion instead of being experienced as the various pleasure goals of a joyfully assertive total self. It aims either at consolation and soothing or has as its purpose the attempt to regain the lost sense of the aliveness that characterizes the active, healthy self. T h e shift froni a drive psychology to one centei-ed on the primacy of the ambitions and ideals of the cohesive self leads to

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a different understanding of time in psychoanalysis. The classical viewpoint of the time axis was implied in the reconstruction of the individual past, but the emphasis was more on process and structure--on the analytic process penetrating to the repressed and 011 the layers that resisted penetration-than on the time axis along which the events in the life history of a person evolved. Expressed aphoristically, classical analysis discovered the despair of the child in the depth of the adult, that is, it established the actuality of the past, while self' psychology has discovered the despair of the adult in the depth of the child-the actuality of the future. T h e child whose self is stunted by the selfot~jects' failures is, in his depression, mourning an unlived, unfulfilled future. Each moment of experience is decisive in determining whether some suffering and depression may be in essence a step toward ultimate fulfillment or sterile and thus part of a tragic failure. Experience can only be evaluated against the assessment of the total course of a creative and productive or noncreative, sterile life cycle. T h e value-laden terms-fulfillment, creative, productive, sterile, noncreative-employed in the foregoing, are in need of clal-ification in two directions. First, they d o not refer primarily to the values of society, although they may, of course, be influenced by the current values; rather, they refer to an inner program, i.e., to the pattern of the nuclear self. Secondly, the evaluation does not rest on the retrospective historical assessment of an individual's life but on the mobility of inner potentialities and the readiness for achievement. T h e individual misfortune of a creative life accidentally cut short is psychologically not significant in our context; indeed its occurrence may bear out its potentialities by leading others to take up where the move was interrupted. These considerations encouraged me to believe that the psychoanalytic psychology of the self will help narrow the gap between psychoanalysis and the other sciences of man. For most

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of the twentieth century, psychoanalysis has been a hope and promise to students of the experiences, thoughts, and actions of man outside the realm of psychopathology. But it has also been a disappointment. T h e distance between the explanatory scope o f a psychology that examines man and his activities as a mental apparatus which deals successfully o r unsuccessfully with the expression, the curbing, and the sublimation of drives, on the one hand and the field of the shared significance of the creative aspirations of rnan in the realm of his artistic, philosophical, religious, and historical and social activities, on the other hand, has been too great to be bridged. Some have tried to bring psychoanalysis together with other fields. Sometimes they even abandoned their former professional commitment and became practicing psychoanalytic psychotherapists. But there is another group of investigators of man's creative involvement, a group that seems in recent times to have increased in size and to have hardened its stand. It consists mainly of academically based humanists who for a variety of reasons have turned away from psychoanalysis in bitterness, scorn, and ridicule. I t seems they felt the insights that we had to offer them bypassed the essence of man and of the products of his creativity and dealt only with peripheral trifles. It is to this latter group that the psychology of the self now addresses itself, primarily with the hope that it might succeed in rekindling their interest in the applicability of psychoanalytic conceptions to their fields. And what does self psychology have to offer to them? L,et me turn to some concrete illustrations.

Literature

T h e first illustration is the most famous example of' the application of psychoanalysis to literature, the interpretation of Shakespeare's immortal Hamlet. Is the classical assertion correct that Hamlet's behavior, and thus the action of the drama, is

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explained by the conflicts of his Oedipus complex? And, if the answer to the first question is affirmative, does the demonstration of the vicissitudes of Hamlet's infantile neurosis address itself to the most important aspect of Hamlet's personality, in particular to that aspect of it that is the most instrumental among the forces that propel the action of the play? Francis Fergusson (1949) once objected to "psychoanalytic reductionalism" in the following terms: My objection to Jones's interpretation is that it reduces the motivation of the play to the emotional drives ofthe Oedipus complex. . . . T h e Oedipus complex does not account for the fact that Hamlet, besides being a son, is also a deposed prince; nor that Claudius, besides being a father symbol, is also the actual ruler of the state. But the actual movement of the play-to say nothing of its ultimate meaning--depends on such objective facts and values as these [pp. 111- 1123. And what is the response of the psychoanalytic self psychologist to Fergusson's in many respects cogent observations? In tune with the traditional psychoanalytic approach, I maintain that the questions to be answered with regard to the personality of Hamlet as an individual are of great irnportance for our understanding of Shakespeare's play, that it is indeed the unwinding coil within a specific personality, Hamlet, that provides the tension that drives the action of the drama to its conclusion. I agree with Fergusson's view that the explanations provided by Hamlet's Oedipus complex have only limited power. They clarify the content of Hamlet's ultimate actions arld the conflicts that delay their execution. But they are off the mark with regard to the essence of Hamlet's self-belittling failures, the essence of his ulti~natetriumph despite biological death, the essence of the force that lies behind the unrolling of the tragedy in time. It is the idealized pole of Hamlet's self that has yet to be firmed and activated, and his bitterness and sarcastic pseudo-insanity on the

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way to this achievement are no more than the outward signs of the intense work that is going on in the depth. T h e ghost appears-he is still "outsidew-but not as evidence of a static failure. He expresses the beginning of the work of integration of the self as all of Hamlet's inner resources are mobilized. Ophelia is rejected and abandoned to her death. I h i s is cause for mourning and self-reproach from the side of Hamlet's guilty self. And yet the work must continue, whatever the cost to self and others. T h e selfo1)jects (the mother and the father figures of ClaudiusPolonius) are n o help to Hamlet. They d o not provide him with the idealized figure he so tiesperately needs. They want social compliance and pretense of greatness anti can promise only external success and his position. Only the twinship support of Laertes and the childhood memories of the sustaining Yorick are helpful. Hamlet must find psychological strength within himself and go on until it is completed. T h e ultimate deed, the killing of the guilty usurper of the throne of Denmark, is no more than the external symbol for the inner achievement: the ideali~ed pole, weakly established because of paternal distance, has firnlecl the self. Adequate, if hasty, action has realized the program. Hamlet has found an ideal in which to believe, for which to fight. T h e wrong has been put to right. Hamlet has fbuncl himself, and now may safely die. What the tragedy portrays is the regained ability of a self to run its course toward a fulfilled death. Great tragedy is the portrayal of the full course of' life, however condensed into a narrow span of time and fitted into traditional scenes and acts.

Now we will turn to a different challenge for the explanatory power of psychoanalytic self psychology. We will focus on a chapter of recent history, specifically on the terrible events that took place in Germany in the fourth decade of o u r century, the rise

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to power of National Socialism and Hitler. These events haci one thing in common with the Hamlet tragedy: the ultimate death of the protagonist. Nor is that the only similarity between the two. Some might object that the action of Hamlet and the rise and fall of Nazi Germany cannot be compared at all because the one being moving fiction, the other hateful reality makes them psychologically too different. My answer is that they are comparable arid that they present even certain similarities, when we look upon both of them in their relationship to certain basic psychological constellations. My focus is a purely psychological one. In both cases the propelling force for the ensuing action is the attempt of an injured self to remedy the disease. Furthermore, in both cases the personal defect in the protagonist's self leads him to carry out deeds that are in harmony with the diseased self of the nation he represents. Thanks to Hamlet, who stood in proxy for the nation and performed its psychological labors, we know what it was that was rotten in the state of l)enniark, what it was that undermined the cohesion of the nation's group self. It was the idealized pole of the group self, the values of and pride in the Danish monarchy that had become defective because the idealized leader had been replaced by a usurper via a nonidealizable (a hidden and not proudly displayed) deed. Although the people did not know the actual facts, they were able, we can surmise, to sense the hollowness of Claudius's exhortations (which might be compared to the analogous experiences of the American people toward Nixon's grandiloquent lies.) Hamlet's self, for reasons we can only irnagine, was in an analogous state. The selfbbjects of his early childhood may have responded insufficiently to his phase-appropriate needs fbr mirrored greatness. The mother, perhaps emotionally frustrated by an enlotionally shallow husband whose mind was on the enforcement of' morally buttressed rules and on the affairs of court and state, may have beer) seductive rather than maternal toward her son. She would thus have failed to respond to his

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actual developn~entalneeds, while overstimulating him seductively in the oedipal phase with emotional expectations that were riot in tune with the child's actual self that he wanted to display in order to obtain her joyous response. He, therefore, did not become securely self-assertive as an adult arid could not sustain the self-confidence he required in order to face the needs that would constitute the realization of his inner conviction that he was great and powerful. We may also surmise that the selfbbjects of Harnlet's childhood did not respond-though here the failure was less severe-to his need for merger with an idealized imago. His self' was thus unable to form the firmly integrated pole of' ideals capable of organizing a cohesive sector of his personality that would allow him to engage in self-realizing, idealized actions, actions in tune with a cohesive set of guiding ideals. We d o not know the causal genetic circun~stancesand can d o no more than speculate about time, e.g., by fastening on the Yorick reminiscences (only a member of the servant class gave hi111 the sense of participation in an adult's idealized strength) and on the personality of the father as portrayed in the ghost appearances (the father's distance, his moroseness, and the moralizing injunctions like those of Polonius, who lacksjoyous pride in his son, Lael-tes, and does not bequeath upon him the legacy of' shared ideals). All in all, after implying that Harnlet was exposed to paternal attitudes that restricted the focus of his life increasingly to the preoccupation of guilty man, while simultaneously depriving him o f t h e support that would have enabled him to turn to the tasks of tragic man, Shakespeare shows us how Hamlet was ultimately able to transcend the insufficient father ideal. He rejoins the recourse of life of' tragic man via the performance of courageous, masculine, assertive actions, o r real deeds enacted in the social arena. But Shakespeare provides 11s also with a glimpse-an autobiographical allusion, I believe--concerning the other road of' tragic life that is open to man: the road not

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to significant action but to significant thought, in particular the road to art. Hamlet's deeply moving warmth toward the actors (as to the presence of Yorick) attests, I feel, not just to the fact that as a child he found a degree of selfobject sustenance by turning from the royal parents to members of the socially degraded class (servants, actors); the scene in question also suggests something about Shakespeare's own life. Is it too farfetched to assume that Shakespeare is telling us in the play about his own emotional experiences with the selfobjects of his childhood in his allusions to those of Hamlet and Laertes? And could we not assume that Shakespeare, employing the armamentarium of his gifts and his education, cured his self defect via artistic creation, just as Hamlet, employing the armamentarium of his gifts and education, cured his by turning to the heroic deed? And so, how about Hitler and Germany? In what respect can they be said to be similar to Hanllet and Denmark, and in what respect are they different? Let me, first of all, respond to those who will at this point lose interest in my argument and turn from it with the angry assertion that it is an insult to common sense to compare Shakespeare's sweet prince, one of the most attractive figures in all the literature, with Hitler, one of the most abhorrent scourges of history. 1 could well understand the feelings that motivate such a reaction. But I would have to insist that the comparison is justified. In fact, it is more than justified; we have hardly any options. I chose Hitler because I believe that to advance our understanding and, we hope, ultimate mastery of the historical phenomenon that he represents is the most important and worthy challenge that the depth psychologist confronts in the "applied" field. T h e task is a crucial one because the rise of Hitler and Nazi Germany may well be representative of similar and-horribile dictu!--even worse historical events, however unimaginable worse horrors may be. O n the other hand, I chose Hamlet because the classical psychoanalytic interpretation of the tragedy that bears his name is not only the best known example

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of applied analysis, but also perhaps the most fully docun~ented and most solidly supported one. I could have chosen less attractive characters, like Macbeth, or despicable ones, like Iago or Richard 111. What is at stake for us is not whether a character, a personality, is attractive or unattractive but whether he can or cannot be the protagonist of true tragedy. But to return to the argument: when we compare Hitler anti Germany with Hamlet and Denmark, one difference is immediately apparent. In the case of Hamlet-Denmark we are dealing with a work of' art in which all the details, however disparate in appearance, are the products of one mind. Shaped by the creator's conscious artistic and unconscious psychological intentions, they are parts of a unitary whole. In the case of HitlerGermany, however, we are dealing with the confluence of the effects of many disparate factors, which have produced certain fateful results united by the mind of the observer. As you can see, I am not, in the Tolstoyan mode, assigning primacy to the role of Hitler among the causes and motivations that led to the historical events in question. My attention is focused on certain aspects of the condition of the German nation. I believe that, in doing so, I am focusing on the crucial psychological condition-however diverse the influences that were responsible for the German state of mind at that time and however diverse the events that we ultimately perceive as a circumscribed chapter in history. T h e primary psychological cause of the historical events under scrutiny was a serious disturbance in the strength and cohesion of the German group self, which was experienced without the empathic sustaining voice of the truly creative individuals among the artists or political leaders or from the world that surrounded Germany during the fifteen years between the peace of Versailles and the assumption of power by the Nazi party. T h e scientific task of elaborating the preceding assertion is a gigantic one. It is not only beyond my personal powers, but

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also, I feel certain, beyond the powers of the depth psychologist. I can d o no more than attempt to convince the historians and the political scientists of the rising generation that the psychological explanations which self psychology can of'fer are in essence correct. It is incumbent on historians and political scientists to deepen and broaden our insights-and to improve and correct them. T h e cultural, economic, political, and military situation that followed the military defeat and the effectiveness of' the "blockade" led, via the pettiness and shortsightedness of the measures instituted by the victorious powers and via the enipathic obtuseness vis-a-vis the diseased condition of the C'rerman group self of the artists, the intelligentsia, and the political leadership of the Weimar republic, to the situation in which a proud, gifted, moral, and highly civilized nation became ready to accept the leadership of a man who offered it the instantaneous feeling of intense power and pride and the sense of action-poised idealized omnipotence with which individual Germans could merge. What are the issues upon which the self psychologically informed historian should focus? First and foremost, he should investigate the receptive state of the German nation. He should consider the presence of Hitler as an auxiliary phenomenon-not accidental, certainly, but able to become effective only by virtue of the specific state of the nation. Still, the analysis of Hitler's personality is of the utmost importance. And I would predict that, despite the deplorable scarcity of adequate genetic data about the psychological matrix of Hitler's childhood, the undertaking will lead to important insights if it focuses on the question of the specific effectiveness of his personality vis-A-vis the weakness of the German group self and its state of fragmentation. Much has been said about the inherent shortcomings of applied analysis. It seems to me, however, that one can also make a strong point in its defense. T h e most important source of significant data obtainable about the psychological depths-more

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reliable, I maintain, than even the data from observation of children by analysts--comes from the scrutiny of the unrolling transference in the analytic situation. Self psychology can come to the defense of analysis applied outside the clinical setting by pointing out that the scrutiny of an unrolling life, if viewed as the struggles of a self to realize its basic pattern, can furnish data that may be as significant and as reliable as those obtained during therapeutic analysis. Thus, to return to our specific example, a depth-psychological investigation of the structure and genesis of Hitler's charismatic powers and of his chronic narcissistic rage, which overcame all traces of morality and compassion and which propelled him into a course that led from victory to ultimate defeat, is a very worthwhile undertaking indeed. In sketching the outline of the work that is to be done by the psychohistorian of the next generation, we should permit ourselves some license at this point-there is always time later for correction, emendation, and restrictive qualification. Let us look upon the German group self, and on the matrix of the selfobjects who influenced its condition before and after the advent of Hitler's influence, as if we were dealing with the diseased (weakened, fragmented) state of the self of an individual and on its changing matrix of selfbbjects. We will then say that this group self-the sum total of those clusters of interconnected experiences of each individual that prevail in consequence of his ternporary o r continuous submersion into the group-can be conceived of, like the self of the individual, as being laid down and formed in the energic arc between mirrored selfobject greatness (ambitions) and admired selfobject perfection (ideals). T h e group self, like that of the individual, consists of three constituents, each of which, iricluding the specific selfobjects that belong to it, manifests itself in the clinical situation as a selfobject transference and is thus open to detailed investigation. We know, from our clinical experience, not only that these transferences occur in three forms (mirror transference, idealizing transfer-

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ence, alter-ego transference) but also that each, apart from its concealment by transference resistance, may be activated, roughly speaking, in two different ways: via gross identifications (the revival of an archaic state), and via those fluid processes of alternating self-strength through empathic merger and renewed self-weakness subsequent to breaks in the empathic state, which we call working through. Applying these findings to group psychology, we can first say that group cohesion can be established and maintained via identification of the group members with the leader and with each other. T h e processes that create and sustain the group may be of two types: on the one hand, sudden gross, archaic, essentially unstable identifications that, for example, require the presence of the leader in order to be maintained and disappear in toto when he disappears (or becomes unidealizable via a failure); and, on the other hand, slowly acquired, increasingly mature internal changes, corresponding to transmuted internalizations in analysis, that will ultimately remain, even when the leader disappears, physically or psychologically. There is an important difference between group processes in history and that of the individual in psychoanalysis. In the clinical situation it is mainly with regard to a single person, the analyst, that the transferences establish themselves and are worked through. In the arena of history, however, it is either the leader who mobilizes the transferences or a leading group that fills this role. Furthermore, archaic and unstable gross identifications in the historical field take place in relation to a single dorninant figure who by his presence is able to give instant relief to the diseased group self, while the slow process of working through that leads to a stable firming of a diseased group self requires the interpretative presence of many active and influential minds. What moves society toward health is that of creative individuals in religion, philosophy, art, and in the sciences concerned

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with marl (sociology, political science, history, psychology). These "leaders" are in empathic contact with the illness of the group self and, through their work and thought, mobilize the unfulfilled narcissistic needs and point the way toward vital internal change. It follows that during crisis and periods of regressive identification of the group self with pathological leaders there is an absence of creativity in religion, philosophy, art, and the sciences of man. T h e absence of creative experimental art during such periods is a striking phenomenon. Creativity in all fields is choked off. There is no one in empathic touch with the diseased group self This points toward the increasingly worsening condition of the group self (corresponding to the disintegration threat of incipient psychosis in individual psychology) and leads to pathological ad hoc solutions. T o return to the example of Hitler and the Nazis: was-anti is-there a chronic weakness in the German group self? Would other nations have been able to respond to the attacks on groupself structures to which the German nation was exposed in the pre-Hitler period by successfully mobilizing all their inner resources? Perhaps the case of Hamlet can be instructive here. Was Hamlet's self stronger than that of Germany's group self'? Was the acute destruction of his self less severe, less widespread, than the corresponding aspects of Germany's illness? Both Hamlet and Germany had suffered external defeats. But a dispossessed prince still knows that he is a prince. Did the German nation lack the analogous conviction to sustain it? Was it too recently established as a unit to feel secure in being a self? Had it never successfully asserted itself and taken responsibility for its destiny? Was it still weak and relied on being told by archaic external selfobjects not only what to believe but also what to h p ? Having outlined the psychohistorian's task with regard to a probably existing latent chronic weakness in the German group self that made it subject to react to injuries by becoming seriously depleted o r fragmented, to regress toward archaic states, and

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to respond with primitive rage, we will now look, with the eye o f t h e self psychologist, on all the well-known and often discussed factors in the realm of the narcissism o f t h e group which have not only in retrospect been standard historical explanations for the fateful turn of events by those who took the stance of the objective observer but were indeed used even by those who were responsible for these events, at the very time when they took place, especially by their Nazi spokesmen, as justifications for their actions. Still, when seen from the perspective of the self psychologist, the blows that the German group self had to suffer during the ominous I5 years that were ushered in by the last war and by Versailles and ended with Hitler's seizure of power will be seen in a different light and take on a new, and deeper, significance. How d o the discoveries of self psychology assist the psychohistorian in this specific task? How, in particular, d o the wellknown facts fit into the schema that has been so helpful to us in our assessment of, approach to, and therapeutic strategy visa-vis the individual with self pathology? I suggest that the psychohistorian order the well-known data-and perhaps, with vision sharpened by the insights of self psychology discover additional ones-by keeping in mind (a) the fact that the self has three constituents; and (b) the thesis that two of them, at least, need to be functionally destroyed in order to cause a manifest illness of the self. Which constituents were the ones that became so seriously impaired that they led to the manifestation of the historical disease o f t h e German self' in the form of Hitler and the Nazis arid their horrible deeds? Without going into details here, it seems clear that it was not, at least not primarily, the destruction of the area of skills and talents that can be blamed. If some of the assets of Germany in the realm of industrial and scientific technology were indeed diminished at all during the period in question, it seerris to me at least that a lowering of efficiency, if indeed it

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took place, was secondary in nature, i.e., that it was d u e to the persisting disease, namely, the serious destruction of large area of the two poles of the self. I would assume that niost historians would not take issue with the foregoing statement, would even accept it as a matter of course-perhaps with the exception of those who take a Marxian point of view. (I am, however, not even sure that a Marxist orientation would necessarily lead to an opposing opinion here.) It may also not be surprising to most historians when I now add that I am interested not only in the fate of the pole of ambition, power and greatness of the German group self but also, and in certain respects even more, in the fate of the pole that is the carrier of the ideals of the nation. 'The professional historian may, however, be taken aback-although only initially, I believe-when I now suggest furthermore that the co~lsciouslyexperienced injuries of its self-esteem, such as the blow of having lost the war and of having to pay reparations, should not be considered at the psychological basis for Germany's readiness to espouse the Hitleriar~remedy for its self pathology. T h e Nazis clearly exploited German sensibilities in order to harness the ensuing narcissistic rage in the service of their vengeful atrocities and of a vengeful war. Nevertheless, we are not dealing here with the primary manifestations of a diseased group self but with the secondary symptoms of an underlying self disorder. T h e disease itself, as would be the case with an individual patient, was silent. What the skilled psychohistorian must look for now, in retrospect, is evidence of a sense of depression, a lack of vitality, and a sense of discontinuity in time and of fragmentation in space. Behind the noisy rage was a despair that the legitimate demands fbr respectful "mirroring" and the legitimate needs for a merger with powerful ideals were not responded to in action and before Hitler received no effectively commu~iicativeempathic recognition through words or other symbolic means. Basing myself openly and unashamedly on the profound insighls

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about man's self and its experiences and reactions that are obtained in individual psychoanalytic treatment of patients with self pathology, I suggest, in other words, that the psychological illness of pre-Hitler Germany was not caused by the external adversities to which Germany was exposed at the time. Of course they mattered, especially since these adversities occurred not only in the realm of power and greatness via defeat anti poverty but also in the realm of ideals. But the real issue was the absence of an empathic matrix that would have recognized and acknowledged the emotional needs of the German group self exposed to such external adversities. I hope that the line of thought that 1 have been pursuing with the foregoing remarks will not again expose me to the danger of losing the good will, even the attention, of the scientific, professional historian whose interest I am trying to engage, whose skills and energies I want to direct toward the task of fleshing in the skeleton outline that I am presenting here. I am afraid he might feel at this point that I am overstating my case and going too far in comparing the individual and the group, especially when I explain the unbalanced state of a nation with the self pathology of a patient observed in the setting of psychoanalytic therapy. I d o not believe, however, that my presentation is idiosyncratic o r that my conclusions are farfetched. For it seems to me that man, as an individual and as a member of a group-perhaps even most emphatically when he functions as a member of a group in history-reacts not to raw facts but to the meaning that these facts have for him, i.e., to facts embedded in an emotional matrix. T h e deprivations suffered through temporary unemployment of city dwellers on relief may be minute in terms of food, shelter, and physical discomforts, when compared with the protracted deprivations suffered by soldiers who fight for a cause they believe in or consider to be a glorious adventure. But the unemployed will be depressed, devitalized, and joyless, while the soldier, suffused by heightened self-es-

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teem, may be active, alive, and joyful. 'l'he difference lies in the different perception of the external events by the self: whether they are experienced as unernpathic vis-i-vis the self and its needs and demands o r whether they are experienced as sustaining--either of its need for niirrored greatness or of its need for a merger with an ideal, or both. Let me summarize my reflections at this point. In outlining the future psychohistorian's task as he embarks on a self' psychologically oriented investigation of Nazi-Germany arid its actions, I posited a chronic weakness of the German group self which, when deprived of sustaining selfobject responses during the period before Germany turned to Hitler, suffered a serious acute or subacute disorder, which took the form of'serious fragmentation. This was experienced as a painful loss of vitality and cohesion and manifested itself in e ~ n p t ypleasure-hunting and rage-proneness, on the one side, and an increasingly frantic search for a selfobject that would provide the archaic needs with relief-providing responses. 'The blows suffered by the German group self during the pre-Hitler period not oriiy shattered the pole of self-confidence-the pole of mirrored greatness-via the inability of the Kaiser's armies to achieve a military victory, the absence of a powerful army after Versailles, and the widespread unemployment and poverty of the '20s and early ':3Os, but also wiped out the pole of ideals-the pole that had been formerly sustained by the goals, inside and outside of religion, each German had shared with the leaders of a stable hierarchy in the defunct order of Imperial Germany. But why, to turn now squarely to my second question, was Germany unable to move toward a genuine cure of its diseased and suffering self? What was the nature of the failure, as I put it earlier, to obtain it? Again, as was the case with regard to the previously discussed specific questions concerning pre-HitlelGermany, I am more interested in establishing the principles by which the psychohistorian must be guided than in ariswering

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this specific question, except insofar as a tentative answer may illustrate the theoretical tenet I wish to state. ?'he principle in brief is this. A healthy group self, as is the case for the healthy self of the individual, is continuously sustained in its course throughout time--during its life, one can say-by ongoing psychological work that provides the cohesion and vigor of its changing yet continuous structure within a matrix of selfobjects who are in empathic contact with its changing needs. The sum total of the results of this work that must affect all layers of a people or at least the great majority of them-those minorities who are excluded are the disenfranchised, the outsiders, the true pariahs of a nation-we call "culture." In contrast to Freud, but in agreement with his translators, I would rescue the term "civilization" for the drive-psychological context of classical analysis. Thus the discontent vis-a-vis the drive-restrictions imposed by social life that Freud described in Civilization and Its DzJcontents was misnamed in the terms of my definition in the original since the title that Freud gave to his pioneering monograph is Da.5 Unbehagen in der Kultur. Why, then, to return to the specific issue, did the cultural work fail to respond to the disease of the ft-agmented and depleted German self? What were the faulty selfobject responses, like erroneous interpretations in analysis, to which it was exposed-so consistently, repeatedly, and unchangingly that it finally lost all confidence in obtaining a real cure, regressed and went to the quack-doctor, Hitler, and his "wild analysis." Let me focus for a moment, in particular, on two areas-widely apart and yet both within the broad field of the German culture of that period-the area of art and the area of political organization, that I would especially recommend to the self-psychological psychohistorian's detailed investigation.

Art and Self Psychology T h e great artists of any period are in touch with the currently preeminent psychological tasks of a culture. I call this the antic-

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ipatory function of art. T h e artist is thus ahead of the scientist in responding to man's unfolding needs. Through his work he leads man to a dawning conscious awareness of a preconsciously experienced psychological conflict or of an only preconsciously experienced psychic defect. T h e artist prepares the way fbr the culturally supported solution to the conflict o r for healing of the defect. A large sector of Weimar Germany, inclucling all classes and those with all levels of education, knew that they were not in touch with modern German art and felt preconsciously that German art was out of touch with them. And the Nazis knew it. They heaped endless scorn on the art of Weimar, they paraded it in large exhibits under the banner-title Entartete Kunst (degenerate Art) all over the Reich. Why this display, why the bitter sarcasm, why the angry laughter? I think the Nazis accurately reflected a disappointment that they shared with a broad sector of Germany, a disappointment over the fact that their artists had failed to understand their needs and had failed to portray them with any degree of sensitivity. T h e leading experimental art of the Weimar republic, of course, had switched from dealing with man's conflict to dealing with man's suffering a defective, fragmented, depleted self. But, like an inaccurately focused interpretation in therapeutic analysis, it was oft'center and too far away from Germany's particular experience; it was too general. Furthermore, the artists themselves were, to use Peter Gay's (1968) cogent insight and felicitous phrase, outsiders who had become insiders. Perhaps their lingering resentment made them either oblivious to the prevailing psychological needs o r even contemptuous of them. I d o not believe, in other words, that it was the unfamiliar formal element in the art-the blue horses of the painter, the twelve-tone scale of the musician, the noncapitalized nouns of the poet-that prevented effective communication, even though it was these formal elements which the Nazis singled out and on which they heapeti their scorn. Initial formal strangeness often stands in the way

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of popular resonance in much of great art, but I d o not believe that it can serve as an explanation here. All artistic activities of' a period are interrelated. Artists closer to popular appeal will reverberate the work of the pioneers and thus gradually through their productions allow the broader public to accept the new artistic style and its language. And there are always great artists-like Kafka and Rilke in the realm of verbal art and, perhaps, Alban Berg and, on a more popular level, Weill in that of' music-where the formal obstacle was not insurmountable. But their art addressed itself either to the lonely, estranged, disintegrating, and depleted individual of modern times (Kafka) o r to the experience of the formerly disenfranchised and estranged who had not yet formed a reliable sustaining matrix of selfobjects within German society (the Brecht-Weill operas). Somehow art needed to express the empty, devitalized, fragmented state of those who had formerly felt alive, strong, and cohesive in the symbol of a Kaiser and of a strong, disciplined army, and in the ideals of Imperial Germany, of its soldiers and civil servants, and in the ideals of German Christianity that had sprung from Luther's powerful words. That kind of art did not exist. T h e great works of the Gel-man past could not fill the void. It might be replied here that the art to which the Nazis began to turn filled the void. But much of it-like Remhrandt als Erzirher or Volk ohne Raum-while in touch with certain aspects of German needs, was not art, and certainly riot great art.' Wagner, whose preoccupations were indeed closely related to the work of building a strong German group self, was in essence out of phase with the needs of the 1920s. He was in tune with a self' in the process of formation but not with a state caused by the sudden '[Editor's note: Krrnb~.undlu1.s Bj-zi~horby Julius 1,angbchn was a turgid racist tract first published irr 1890. 11 went through 40 printings in two years and profountlly irltluenced the German youth nrovenrent. Volk ohne Knlrrn by Hans (;ril~ltrr lit-st appearetl in I926 and was a best seller ill Weirrlar Germany. T h e book playetl o n fears of' encirclcnrent by vengeful neighbors and inarlec1u;rte living spare f'or an expanding Volk. A sense of claustrophobia haunts the novel.]

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deprivation of something that had already been achieved, however insecurely. Nazi-supported art-and that includes the architecture of Hitler, the stereotyped replica of the symbols of Roman imperial power-unlike the art that would have been needed at the time, was the synlptom of a pseudocure for a self' defect. It helped deny the persistirig self-defect via sudden and wholesale identifications with synibols of strength and failed to deal with the depressive, devitalized, and fragmented state of' Germany. Nazi art fostered regression to archaic synlbols of power and unity. Political thought of'the time also failed to provide the C'~ e r m a n group self with the needed resonance that would have encouraged development toward a new self-image. But the reasons for the obtuseness of the leading group of political thinkers is hard to determine. Polarizeci by the heat of political battles, inexperienced in the exercise of political power, the new leaders of Germany, in action and thought (including, above all, the press) pursued their political maneuvers, played their games, and propagandized their solutions but failed to realize the fragmentation ancl devitalization of the national self. They focused on the fragments of this self on the pl-oblems of the proletariat, of the middle classes, and of the industrialists; on the problems of international relations; and on the various problems posed by the new positions of the ecclesiastical and educational systems. But political thinkers failed to grasp that the central disease was the yearning for a feeling of wholeness. It is not physical pain and deprivation that drives people to despair. It is meaningless pain and deprivation that makes them feel hopeless and lack the joyful conviction that a single experience is part of a destiny. "I can give you nothing but blood, sweat, and tears," Churchill told the English people. And they responded by feeling strong because they had a spokesman of their destiny. Could Weimar have created a German Churchill? Would a German Churchill have given meaning to German despair by placing it into time,

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into a course of cohesive experiences? These are gooci questions, I believe, but it is pointless to try to answer them. Instead I will turn to Hitler antl to the genius of his preceptioris and verbal responses, to the satanic catastrophe of his actions. Hitler's genius lay not in his psychological knowledge o r political shrewdness o r in his rhetorical gifts but in his total rcsonance with the disease o f t h e German self. I n his own experience, he worked out a cure for the devitalization antl fragmentation of his nuclear self by a shift, first performed in early life and then repeated and entrenched in late adolescence arid early adulthood, from a traumatically failing selfbbject to the archaic grandiose self. This personality organization, while infrequent, is by no means unique. T h e core of the self, except fbr one nucleus of infantile grandiosity, is lost. 'l'hus the personality, however extensive its growth in the many layers that are acquired arouriti the archaic core, I-enlains cold. Having severed its relationship with a traumatically frustrating selfol~ject,it riever acquires the capacity fbr modulated empathy with others. Such a personality is characterized by a near-total absence of cornpassion, except where total identification is concerned, when the "other" is totally experienced as part of the self. Such people-and they may well be the majority of the charismatic and messianic leaders of all nations, whether in the historical and political arena, o r in religion o r health cults, o r as the crystallization point for cultural f'ads-are no longer in need of selfopjects. 'l'hey have acquired self-sufficiency. Whatever the details of their personality organization may be, such people become ideal targets for those who are in desperate need of selfobjects. What is the difference, t o return to my fjvorite analogy, between the selfobject transference of the German group self to the leaders of Weimar and the transference they established to Hitler? Actually, that segment of the German people whose self had been most severely damaged by the First World War days formed no workable transference at all to the new Weimar

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insiders but, like many analysarids with self disorders, responded to the presence of the potential transference targets with hostility and contempt. And just like a bad analyst, the Weimar leaders responded with counterhostility, contemptuous admonitions, moralizing interpretations, and the kind of emotional withdrawal that, in the clinical situation, leads to the silly diagnosis that the patient is unanalyzable. Only when the patient became threatening, after years of feeling secretly disappointed in the hope that his hidden suffering would be recognized, and proceeded to break off treatment, did the Weirnar leaders become alar~netl and offer some remedial understanding. But then, as in the analogous moments of analysis, it was too late. And what about the Nationalists anlong the pre-Hitler and non-Nazi elite? What did they provide for the broken (I'~ e r m a n self? Here transferences did indeed establish themselves, but like the solution Hitler provided they did not bring about remedial working through. Like Hitler the Nationalists did not focus on the underlying depression, on the basic disease of fragmentation, acknowledging its presence, explaining that it was understandable and that it was human to feel and react that way. T h e Nationalists denied the presence of the depression, the devitalization, the fragmentation of the German self and failed to outline the difficult but exhilarating task of forming a new one out of the ruins of the old, followed by persistent support as the creative work moved on. l'he Hugenbergs arid Schleichers triecl, in other words, to d o what Hitler later did, but they lacked Hitler's unique talents. 'Their personalities were uncharismatic. Their exhortations that a German self' would be restored was in essence a replica of the old, lost one. Such atavism prevented the creation of a really new German self and could not d o away with its fragmentation. Everyone failed miserably, except Hitler. But it was the abysmal failure of constructive empathy in Germany and in its Eur o p e a n s u r r o u n d i n g s that m a d e Hitler possible. Even

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psychoanalysts, I cannot help but add, failed. What a ridiculous statement, it will be said. What influence could a handful of psychologists, each working with a few patients, have exerted in stemming a historical tide that moved on with such vehemence that it nearly succeeded in inundating the whole of Western civilization? On the face of' it, it seems to be an utterly convincing argument, and perhaps even a correct one. But not necessarily so. What might have happened if' analytic insights, filtering through the intelligentsia toward men in positions of political leadership and toward artists and journalists, had provided at least a dawning insight into the state of the broken self or individuals who were suddenly deprived of the two major constituents of their selves? We d o not know. What we d o know, however, in retrospect, is that analysis not only lacked the power to influence populations, but also lacked the insights then that would have given it effectiveness, that would have given it a chance, however miniscule, to support the remnants of good will and of constructive political action. Psychoanalysis lacked, I submit, an understanding of the pathology of the self, both in the individual and in the group. Both were seen in terms of a mental apparatus that had to be helped in the task of taming the drives. Freud's applications of the drivedefense theory to history were limited in value, to say the least. It is no wonder that analysis felt helpless and that, in the final general theory of a death instinct that remained untamable, it could d o n o more than offer proud resignation to the inevitable. It failed, as Christianity had failed, because in the end, after the aggressive drive had been made conscious, it could d o no more than apply n~oralpressure and appeal for inner controls. One of the most telling anecdotes about Freud's attitude concerns his reply to a question about the source of anti-Semitism. H e said, with touching openness, that here his understanding stopped; here he could only hate. In one sentence he did away with any further examination of the effect that the narcissistic injury of

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antiscientific rejection had on him and declared himself siniultaneously unable to explore the self of those who were inflicting these injuries. H e thus deprived himself of the opportunity of' recognizing the narcissistic injury that lies behind the anti-Semite's rage. It was, to be sure, not a lack of cognitive powers that blocked Freud here. He had long since toyed with the idea that anti-Semitism may be related to the fact that Jews claimed to be the chosen people and that anti-Semitic gentiles behaved as i f they really believed the claim. It was an emotional obstacle, present only with regard to other areas of' man's narcissism, that stood in the way of his examining this area in depth anti relevant detail.

Reflections on Advances in Self

Psychology (1978)

Dear colleagues, ladies and gentlemen, Please forgive me when I begin this address to you in a manner that is a bit vague at first. Rut I have to collect myself and my thoughts as I try to adjust to the task of going it more o r less alone here this Sunday afternoon-giving you now, in the final session of o u r conference, a survey of my impressions: of the conference as a whole and of the individual sessions of which it was composed. Originally, as you know from the program, this last meeting was to have been not the performance of a soloist but that of an ensemble. "Heinz Kohut, M.D. and Major Speakers" is what the printed program announces; and Arnold Goldberg, as chairman, was to have f ~ ~ n c t i o n easd the conductor of the ensemble, seeing to it that each of the participants would have his proper turn and that none o f them would toot his horn too loudly o r for too long. But we fbund suddenly that o u r time 7171~is palxr, 01-iginally e~lritletl"le identities of one, two, o r three co~lstituer~ts of [he selt; i.e., to 2111 identity of ambitions, skills and talents, and ideals. And, secondly, Freud's nloclel hacl 110 dimension in time, while the self-psychological nloclel adds a time tlinler~sion-the group self's nuclear destiny-to the structural-dynamic formulation.

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in active or passive roles, participate in philosophy, religion, art, and history. And they demonstrated the presence of conflict psychopathology, and transference expression of irrational aims. But there is another group of investigators of man's creative involvements, a group that seems in recent times to have increased in size and to have hardened its stand. I t consists mainly of academically based humanists who--either apparently immediately and directly or after a sequence of hope and disappointment-have turned away from psychoanalysis in bitterness, scorn, and ridicule, with the feeling that the insights that we could offer did not deal with the essence of man and of the products of his creativity but with peripheral trifles. It is this latter group that the psychology of the self now addresses with the hope that it might succeed in rekindling their interest in the applicability of psychoanalytic conceptions to their fields. But what, specifically, do the workers in the various specific fields in the investigation of which psychoanalytic insights can be applied expect from the psychoanalytic psychology of the self? And what, specifically, can self psychology indeed offer them? In my introductory remarks I outlined those features of the psychoanalytic psychology of self that, I believe, contribute most to increase the relevance of analysis in the applied field. It is my hope that the survey 1 presented will be of assistance to us as we, in our symposium and in our workshops, move from the general to the specific, examine how in the various sciences of man the findings and theories of self psychology can be employed.