b.l. Declaración de Guillermo Reinwick

Since we have already discussed psychoanalytic work from several points of view, and have seen from an ex- tensive example the general procedure in psychoana- lyzing oneself, it is scarcely necessary—and would indeed be repetitious—to discuss systematically the technique of self-analysis. The following remarks will therefore merely emphasize certain considerations, many of them already mentioned in other contexts, which deserve special attention when proceeding on one's own.

As we have seen, the process of free association, of frank and unreserved self-expression, is the starting point and continuous basis of all analytic work—self-analysis as well as professional analysis—but it is not at all easy of achievement. It might be thought that this process is

easier when working alone, for then there is no one who may appear to misunderstand, criticize, intrude, or re- taliate; besides, it is not so humiliating to express to one- self those things of which one may be ashamed. To some extent this is true, although it is also true that an out- sider, by the very fact of his listening, provides stimula- tion and encouragement. But there is no doubt whatever that whether one is working alone or with an analyst the greatest obstacles to free expression are always within oneself. One is so anxious to ignore certain factors, and to maintain one's image of oneself, that alone or not alone one can hope only to approximate the ideal of free associations. In view of these difficulties the person who is working alone should remind himself from time to time that he acts against his true self-interest if he skips or obliterates any thought or feeling that arises. Also, he should remember that the responsibility is entirely his own: there is no one but himself to guess a missing link or inquire about a gap left open.

This conscientiousness is particularly important in re- gard to the expression of feelings. Here there are two precepts that should be remembered. One is that the per- son should try to express what he really feels and not what he is supposed to feel according to tradition or his own standards. He should at least be aware that there may be a wide and significant chasm between genuine feelings and feelings artificially adopted, and should sometimes ask himself—not while associating, but after- ward—what he really feels about the matter. The other rule is that he should give as free range to his feelings as

he possibly can. This, too, is more easily said than done. It may appear ridiculous to feel deeply hurt at a seem- ingly trivial offense. It may be bewildering and distaste- ful to mistrust or hate somebody he is close to. He may be willing to admit a ripple of irritation, but find it fright- ening to let himself feel the rage that is actually there. He must remember, however, that as far as outside con- sequences are concerned no situation is less dangerous than analysis for a true expression of feelings. In analysis only the inner consequence matters, and this is to recog- nize the full intensity of a feeling. This is important be- cause in psychological matters, too, we cannot hang anybody whom we have not first caught.

Of course, no one can forcibly bring forth feelings that are repressed. All anyone can do is not to check those that are within reach. With all the good will in the world Clare, at the beginning of her analysis, could not have felt or expressed more resentment toward Peter than she did. But as her analysis progressed she gradually became more capable of appreciating the existing in- tensity of her feelings. From one point of view the whole development she went through could be described as a growing freedom to feel what she really felt.

One more word as to the technique of free association: it is essential to abstain from reasoning while associating. Reason has its place in analysis, and there is ample op- portunity to use it—afterward. But, as already stressed, the very essence of free association is spontaneity. Hence the person who is attempting it should not try to arrive at a solution by figuring out. Assume, for instance, that

S E L F - A N A L Y S I S you feel so fatigued and so limp that you would like to crawl into bed and pronounce yourself ill. You look out of a second-story window and detect yourself thinking miserably that if you fell down you would at most break an arm. This startles you. You had not known that you were desperate, even so desperate as to want to die. Then you hear a radio turned on above you, and you think with moderate irritation that you would like to shoot the fellow operating it. You conclude rightly that there must be rage as well as despair behind your feeling ill. So far you have done a good job. You already feel less paralyzed, because if you are furious at something you may be able to find the reasons for it. But now you start a frantic con- scious search for what might have infuriated you. You go over all the incidents that occurred before you felt so tired. It is possible that you will hit upon the provocation, but the probability is that all your conscious digging comes to nought—and that the real source will occur to you half an hour later, after you have become discour- aged by the futility of your attempts and have given up the conscious search.

As unproductive as such attempts to force a solution is the procedure of a person who, even while he lets his mind run freely, tries to get at the meaning of his as- sociations by putting two and two together. Whatever prompts him to do so, whether it is impatience or a need to be brilliant or a fear of giving way to uncontrolled thoughts and feelings, this intrusion of reason is bound to disturb the relaxed condition necessary for free as- sociation. It is true that the meaning of an association

Spirit and Rules

may dawn upon him spontaneously. Clare's series of as- sociations ending with the text of the religious song is a good example of this: here her associations showed an increasing degree of lucidity although no conscious ef- fort had been made to understand them. In other words, the two processes—self-expression and understanding— may sometimes coincide. But as far as conscious efforts are concerned they should be kept strictly separate.

If a definite distinction is thus established between freely associating and understanding, when does one stop associating and try to understand? Fortunately there are no rules whatever. As long as thoughts flow freely there is no sense in arresting them artificially. Sooner or later they will be stopped by something stronger than them- selves. Perhaps the person arrives at a point where he feels curious about what it all may mean. Or he may sud- denly strike an emotional chord that promises to shed light on something that is troubling him. Or he may simply run out of thoughts, which may be a sign of re- sistance but also may indicate that he has exhausted the subject for the time being. Or he may have only a limited time at his disposal and still want to try himself at interpreting his notes.

As for the understanding of associations, the range of themes and combinations of themes that they may pre- sent is so infinite that there cannot possibly be any fixed rules regarding the meaning of individual elements in individual contexts. Certain fundamental principles have been discussed in the chapter on the share of the

analyst in the analytical process. But by necessity much is left to personal ingenuity, alertness, and concentration. I shall therefore merely amplify what has already been said by adding a few remarks on the spirit in which in- terpretation should be undertaken.

When a person stops associating and begins to go over his notes in order to understand them, his method of work must change. Rather than being entirely passive and receptive to whatever emerges, he becomes active. Now his reason comes into play. But I should prefer to express it negatively: he no longer excludes reason. Even now he does not use it exclusively. It is difficult to de- scribe with any accuracy the attitude he should adopt when he tries to grasp the meaning of a series of associa- tions. The process should certainly not degenerate into a mere intellectual exercise. If he wants that he will do better to play chess or predict the course of world poli- tics or take to crossword puzzles. An effort to figure out completely rounded interpretations, not missing any pos- sible connotation, may gratify his vanity by proving the superiority of his brains but will scarcely take him much closer to a real understanding of himself. Such an effort even entails a certain danger, for it may hamper progress by engendering a smug know-it-all feeling while in reality he has only catalogued items without being touched by anything.

The other extreme, a merely emotional insight, is far more valuable. If it is not further elaborated this is not ideal either, because it allows many significant leads, not yet altogether lucid, to drop out of sight. But, as we have

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seen from Clare's analysis, an insight of this kind may set something going. Early in her work she experienced an intense lost feeling in connection with her dream of the foreign city; it was mentioned then that although it is impossible to prove whether this emotional experience had any effect upon the further analysis, through its dis- quieting nature it may well have loosened her rigid tabu against touching any of the complex ties that fastened her to Peter. Another instance occurred during Clare's final battle with her dependency, when she felt her de- fiance against taking her life into her own hands; she had then no intellectual grasp of the meaning of this emotional insight, yet it helped her to get out of a state of lethargic helplessness.

Instead of wanting to produce a scientific masterpiece, the person who is working alone should let his interpre- tation be directed by his interest. He should simply go after what arrests his attention, what arouses his curi- osity, what strikes an emotional chord within him. If he is flexible enough to let himself be guided by his spon- taneous interest he can be reasonably certain that he will intuitively select those subjects which at the time are most accessible to his understanding, or which fall in line with the problem on which he is working.

I suppose this advice will arouse certain doubts. Do I not advocate too great a leniency? Will the person's in- terest not lead him to pick out subjects that are familiar to him? Would this course not mean giving in to his re- sistances? I shall discuss in a separate chapter the ques- tion of dealing with resistances. Only this much here. It

S E L F - A N A L Y S I S is true that to be guided by one's interest means to take the way of least resistance. But the least resistance is not the same as no resistance. The principle means essen- tially a pursuit of those subjects which at the time being are least repressed. And this is exactly the principle that the analyst applies when he metes out interpretations. As already emphasized, he will choose those factors for interpretation which he believes the patient can fully grasp at the time, and he will refrain from embarking upon problems that are still deeply repressed.

Clare's whole self-analysis illustrates the validity of this procedure. With apparent insouciance she never bothered to tackle any problem that did not elicit a re- sponse in her, though it might almost stare her in the face. Without knowing anything about the principle of guidance through interest she intuitively applied it throughout her work, and it served her well. One ex- ample may stand for many. In the series of associations ending with the first emergence of the daydream of the great man Clare recognized merely the role that the need for protection played in her relationships. The sugges- tions concerning her other expectations of men she dis- carded entirely, though they were an obvious and promi- nent part of the daydream. This intuitive choice took her on the best course she could have followed. By no means did she merely move on familiar ground. The finding that a need for protection was an integral part of her "love" was a discovery of a factor hitherto un- known. Furthermore, as will be remembered, this dis- covery constituted the first inroad on her cherished il-

Spirit and Rules

lusion of "love," in itself a painful and incisive step. To have taken up at the same time the aggravating problem of her sponging attitude on men would certainly have been too hard, unless she had dealt with it in a superficial way. This brings up a last point: it is not possible to ab- sorb more than one important insight at a time. An at- tempt to do so will be detrimental to both, or all, of them. Any relevant insight needs time and undivided concentration if it is to "sink in" and take root.

The understanding of a series of associations demands flexibility not only in the direction of work, as just dis- cussed, but also in the method of approach. In other words, in the selection of problems one must be guided by spontaneous emotional interests as well as by intel- ligence; and also in the study of the problems that arise one must pass easily from deliberate thinking to intui- tive grasping of connections. This latter requirement might be compared to the attitude required in studying a painting: we think about composition, color combina- tions, brush strokes, and the like, but we also consider the emotional responses that the painting elicits in us. This corresponds, too, to the attitude an analyst adopts toward the patient's associations. While listening to a patient I sometimes do hard thinking about possible meanings, and sometimes I arrive at a conjecture merely by letting the patient's talk play on my intuitive facul- ties. The verification of any finding, however, no matter how one has arrived at it, always demands full intellec- tual alertness.

sociations nothing commands his particular interest; he merely sees one or another possibility but nothing il- luminating. Or, at the opposite extreme, he may find that even as he delves into one connection certain other elements also strike him as noteworthy. In both instances he will do well to put down in the margin the questions left open. Perhaps at a future time, in going over his notes, the mere theoretical possibilities will mean some- thing more to him, or the shelved questions can be taken up in more detail.

There is still a last pitfall to be mentioned: never ac- cept more than you really believe. This danger is greater in regular analysis, especially if the patient is one who tends to comply with authoritative assertions. But it may play a part also when a person relies on his own re- sources. He may feel obliged, for instance, to accept whatever "bad" things emerge concerning himself, and to suspect a "resistance" if he hesitates to do so. But he will be on much safer ground if he regards his interpre- tation as merely tentative, and does not try to convince himself that it is definite. The essence of analysis is truthfulness, and this should extend also to acceptance or nonacceptance of interpretations.

The danger of making an interpretation that is mis- leading or at least unprofitable can never be excluded, but one should not be overawed by it. If one does not weaken, but carries on in the right spirit, a more profita- ble path will open up sooner or later, or one will become aware of being in a blind alley and perhaps even learn from that experience. Clare, for instance, before em-

barking on her analysis of the dependency, had spent a couple of months digging after an alleged need to have her own way. From the data that emerged later we can understand how she was led in that direction. She told me, though, that during these attempts she had never had a feeling of conviction remotely similar to those she experienced later, during the period reported. Also, the ultimate reason why she had taken that earlier course was that Peter often reproached her for being dominat- ing. This illustrates two points made above: the impor- tance of following one's own interests; and the impor- tance of not accepting anything without full conviction. But while this early search of Clare's meant a waste of time it petered out without harm and did not prevent her from doing highly constructive work afterward.

The constructive character of Clare's work was due not only to the essential correctness of her interpreta- tions but also to the fact that her analysis in this period showed a remarkable degree of continuity. Without in- tending to concentrate on one problem—for a long time she did not even know what it was—everything she em- barked upon turned into a contribution to the problem of her dependency. This unswerving unconscious con- centration upon a single problem, which made her ap- proach it relentlessly from ever-new angles, is desirable but rarely attained to the same degree. We can account for it in Clare's case, for at that period she was living under a formidable pressure—how formidable she fully recognized only later—and hence she unconsciously bent

S E L F - A N A L Y S I S all her energies into solving the problems that contrib- uted to it. Such a compelling situation cannot be created artificially. But, the more absorbing one's in- terest in a problem, the more will a similar concentra- tion be approximated.

Clare's self-analysis illustrates very well the three steps discussed in Chapter Three: recognizing a neurotic trend; understanding its implications; and discovering its interrelations with other neurotic trends. In Clare's anal- ysis, as is often the case, the steps overlapped to some ex- tent: she recognized many of the implications before she finally detected the trend itself. Nor did she make any effort to cover definite steps in her analysis: she did not