The Troubling Problems of Knowledge in Psychoanalytic Institutes

We are in conflict over the importance of the transmission of knowledge. It has been idealized in the abstract and marginalized in the concrete. The author's impression is that this has led to problems in the self-definition of analysts, and that this is an important factor in the authoritarianism in education, and the reaction against this authoritarianism as seen in the influence of postmodernism, with its skepticism of “knowledge” and its trumpeting of subjectivity. Trends in education, where students are now viewed as consumers, have also affected how knowledge is viewed. Can we maintain a flexible view of “truths” while not debunking knowledge? While the majority of studies and reflections on this topic have focused on training in the United States, there are indications this is a problem in Societies throughout the international psychoanalytic community.

Authority: an individual (as a specialist in a given field) who is the source of conclusive statements or testimony (Webster's Third International Dictionary, 1993).

Authoritarian: Favoring a principle of blind submission to authority (Webster's Third International Dictionary, 1993).

Often authority and authoritarianism are confused, and this may also happen with the concepts of authority and the exercise of power. Authority is often used interchangeably with the term “power.” However, their meanings differ: while “power” is defined as the ability to influence somebody to do something that he/she would not otherwise have done, authority refers to a claim of legitimacy. As Kernberg (1996) noted,

“Authority, in short, refers to the “functional” aspects of the exercise of power; it is the legitimate authority vested in leadership and involves the requirements for carrying out leadership functions” (p.142). Shephard and Green (2003) believe legitimacy is vital to the notion of authority and is the main means by which authority is distinguished from the more general concept of power. Power can be exerted by the use of force or violence. Power becomes the main vehicle by which authoritarianism is carried out.

On Knowledge

Knowledge! We have long had an ambivalent relationship with it in psychoanalysis. Who has it, who doesn't, who says who has it, and who doesn't—these issues have beleaguered us since the beginning of our history. For many years our solution tended to be an authoritarian one, belying the anxiety behind our uncertainties. At these times the transmission of knowledge was more like a religion than studying at a university. Holding the theoretical line of the predominant school in one's Society became the goal. Transmission of knowledge was more like idolatry. Writers in a particular tradition all quoted the same authors, and followers were supposed to read, teach and talk from the same theoretical line. In some Societies it is still like this.

Kernberg's (1986, 2000, 2004, 2006, 2007) identification and exploration of authoritarian methods was intended to open up Institutes to freer exchanges of ideas. However, what seems to have happened instead is a movement toward an attack on claims of knowledge, what Bollas (2015) labeled homoginization, “the need to eradicate difference and fashion a world of common beings.” It is my impression that a longer story about the transmission of knowledge in Institutes lies behind our current situation, and this is where I will start.

Ambivalence toward Knowledge

Of course there are Institutes that give a great deal of time and thought to the education of candidates, yet in the larger picture teaching seminars has not been our strongest suit. As Roiphe (1993) points out, “Classroom teaching is an area where psychoanalytic education is often at its weakest… too often the sum total of the didactic approach to class-room teaching consists of a solitary utterance by the analyst-teacher: “So

what did you think?” The class is then left to free associate in the ensuing analytic silence” (p. 384-385).

The tripartite system of the Eitingon model has often, in reality, been a dual model. For example, a large but informal study of self-rated candidate experiences in training by a committee of the American Psychoanalytic Association (Project 2000) showed that seminars ranked very low on the list of what was valued in training. A survey of recent graduates by Cabaniss et al. (2004) led to comments about seminars such as: “Classwork only counts in the negative”; “Classwork has minimal influence”; “Classes do not count except presentations to process classes” (p. 85).

In fact, length of training cases rather than assessment of what the candidate has learned is the critical variable in graduation from institutes of the American Psychoanalytic Association (Cherry et al., 2004). Cabannis et al. (2004), in a study of 13 psychoanalytic institutes in this same association, found that only one Chair of a Progression Committee felt that classroom work was an important factor. It is not surprising then that Skorczewski (2008) found almost nothing on the nature of pedagogy in the psychoanalytic literature devoted to education.

The most important experiences for candidates are those that had little to do with the full range of knowledge one might gain in a psychoanalytic education, but were the most personal and open to the greatest range of transferences: personal analysis and supervision. Evaluation by supervisors seems to be the primary method by which we gauge candidates' progress, while performance in seminars draws little attention except if it is outrageous. A pleasant enough person sitting almost silent through years of seminars is rarely discussed in progression committees. “But his supervisors think he's doing OK” is often a response to perceived classroom problems, although we know the transference of supervisors to supervisees is one of the most frequent but least acknowledged issues in evaluating candidates.

Given how little weight is given to classroom performance in evaluating candidates, teachers have little or no backing of institutional authority. I remember how surprised I was when a candidate in a clinical seminar, where we all took turns presenting clinical material, said she wouldn't

present a case because she was pleased with the way she was seeing the case. However, this lack of curiosity and clinical arrogance was nothing compared to the shock I had when I brought this incident up in our education committee when discussing this candidate's work, and no one seemed bothered by this information. Not surprisingly, this lack of reaction seemed based on the “her supervisors feel she is doing well.” The idea that we receive information from different sources in analytic education seems a relic from the past.

Not surprisingly, the well-documented authoritarian stance of Institutes kept questioning of educational practices to a minimum. The implicit model was of a trade school (Kernberg, 1986), where one learned a clearly defined skill. It was based on how to fix things, not reflecting on the underlying assumptions that go into the “fixing.” This is in contrast to the psychoanalytic institute as an advanced post-doctoral program, where the goal would be, as Menard (2010) pointed out, the “pursuit, production and dissemination, application, and preservation of knowledge” (p. 13). Freud's idea that psychoanalysis is based on and includes a theory of mind seems to have been left behind in many institutes. Fifty years ago Bandler (1960) raised this same issue in his Presidential address to the American Psychoanalytic Association when he wondered, “Perhaps the national overemphasis on training over the scientific goals of the Association is one reason why the burning ambition of our students is to become training analysts rather than contributors to the science of psychoanalysis” (p. 389).

What does it say about our views of knowledge that in many Institutes the Curriculum Committee is the one major committee that often isn't chaired by a training analyst? This is not to say that this committee should be chaired by a training analyst, only that at a time when it was felt all major committees should be chaired by training analysts, curriculum was apparently not considered that important.1

More importantly, while Institutes give a lot of time and thought to who

becomes a training analyst, there is far less thought given to who can supervise, and even less to who can teach. For many years it was only the training analyst who supervised and taught (as if the capacity to be a good analyst was the same as being a good supervisor and teacher). With the democratization of Institutes, non-training analysts were “allowed” to teach, but they were often given the theory and other non-clinical courses, indicating to candidates (within this worldview) that it was only the clinical courses that really mattered. Never stated, but always implied, was that seminars were not an important part of analytic training.

In a study of European institutes (Target, 2001), it was reported that, “in every parameter of psychoanalytic training there is a huge variability… to the point that one may wonder not only if anything goes but if the training is for the same profession.” In examining the criteria for graduation, the main focus was on supervised cases, apparently based on supervisory recommendations. In contrast there are few Institutes where a minimal fund of knowledge about psychoanalysis was considered essential for progression. We are focused on how candidates do the work of psychoanalysis, not how they are able to think about it. In short, there has always been a gap between our apparent idealization of psychoanalytic knowledge, and the reality of how much importance Institutes gave to the acquisition of knowledge.

Perfectly fitting within this gap was the rise of post-modernism, with its emphasis on the subjectivity of all knowledge. Before describing the effects of this post-modern turn, I will explore the idea that in addition to gaps between the lofty goals of Eitingon and the reality of its practice, there was also a gap between our official self-perceptions and the reality of our methods of working analytically. This resulted in a false analytic identity, which many were only too glad to rid themselves of for the perceived honesty of a post-modern who doesn't know anything at all.

Trends in Teaching

There have been remarkable changes in university education over the last half-century, mostly revolving around the student as consumer. As Edmundson (2013), a Freudian scholar and an astute obsever of academia, notes how the University has become a buyer's market, and “That usally means creating more comfortable, less challenging environments, places where almost no one failed, everything was enjoyable,

and everyone was nice' (p. 14). As an example, in 1960 only 15 percent of grades in universities were A's, but now the rate is 43 percent, making “A” the most common grade (Bauerlein, 2015). Edmundson goes on to describe how classooms remain a place for the free exchnage of ideas, the student's ideas.

My own epiphany came in teaching a clinical seminar to candidates. I've taught this seminar in a particular way for many years at different Institutes. I ask the candidates to grapple with my particular view of the psychoanalytic method, not presenting it as the only method, but as a method worth thinking about and incorporating. The seminars are usually lively and helpful to all of us. I am frequently challenged (in the best sense), which I find helpful to modify or clarify my thinking. Still, I consider myself an authority on thinking about aspects of clinical technique from my perspective. A few years ago I was teaching an advanced group of candidates, when in the midst of a discussion a candidate interrupted to say she liked the previous way a clinical seminar was taught, where everyone sat around and just said what he or she thought about the case. It was at that point I realized, what had only been in the background of my mind, that a new era in psychoanalytic institutes had arrived…our Kumbaya2 moment, the era of false democratization. That is we were now all the same, no one knew anything more than anyone else, and everything was supposed to be nice. No one needed to be taught, if indeed there was anything to be taught, rather our job had become to help candidates find his or her “own analytic voice” (Levin, 2006). Skorczewski (2008) reports of how a candidate felt demoralized in a seminar, “It made me feel like a novice who could never really understand psychoanalysis, not to mention practice it like my instructors, who are experts in the field” (p.369). While Skorczewski takes this at face value as the result of problem teaching, which it may well have been, are we to say

While what happened in my seminar was an extreme example, there were many other pieces of information I heard at international committee meetings that reinforced the idea that this anti-authority movement, inherent in the post-modern views of psychoanalytic theory and technique, was now a growing philosophical stance in psychoanalytic organizations, which revolved around the issue of evaluation. In a well-regarded Institute in Latin America, candidates refused to be evaluated by the Faculty, refused to be called candidates, and will not attend seminars of their scholarly Faculty who are known to not primarily mirror the candidates' views. There are two arguments frequently heard in defense of not critiquing candidates. The first is that a candidate's feelings will be hurt. Thus we are put in the positions of trying to help candidates learn about psychoanalysis, but have to act as if the candidate already knows everything there is to know. Second, in many Institutes we are afraid of seriously evaluating applicants for training, or candidates in training, because who can say what is psychoanalysis. Richards (2006), in his Plenary address to the American Psychoanalytic Association, says, “we can no longer be certain about how good psychoanalysis, and good psychoanalysts should be judged-or by whom” (p.375). From this perspective we can no longer see the value of a serious, respectful discussion of the strengths and weaknesses of a candidate, with the candidate. In some Institutes, as soon as someone graduates from an Institute he or she becomes a member of the Faculty, whether they've had previous teaching experience or not. We don't even want to say experience can have some role in being an effective teacher. Psychoanalytic Institutes have become like those in the mythical town of Lake Woebegone, “where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.”3 We have become a mirror of the university environment where “Colleges have brought in hordes of counselors and Deans to make sure everything is smooth, serene, (and) unflustered” (Edmundson, 2013, p. 17).

Authoritarianism and the False Self

In his Presidential speech of 1955, Ives Hendrick expressed the depths

of concern within the American Psychoanalytic Association for those with different ideas, and one can see his attempts to radicalize them further by labeling them as “wild analysts”.

“It is still worth while today, for those of us who incline to deplore our professional standards or to consider them constricted and arbitrary, to recall these real threats to our scientific integrity, and to the rights of patients for whom we are responsible, by the “wild analysts” and the deviationists of the '20's. If they had been accepted in ever-increasing numbers as members of the American Psychoanalytic Association then, we could not have developed our present professional strength and usefulness” (Hendrick, 1955, p. 561).

These “wild analysts” are amongst those who started Institutes that are now independent members of the IPA from the United States, or are well respected in their community. Wild analysis was also a code word for how the work of Psychologists was depicted.

As Levine (2003) points out, this official position of the American “was marked by a series of deceptions”4 (p.220, italic added). For example, despite public support of the American's position, many analysts were teaching and supervising lay analysts in Institutes not in the American.5 Striking is that once this authoritarian protectionist attitude began to be questioned by important members of our organizations (Arlow, 1972, 1982; Kernberg, 1986), and the stultifying effects on training were pointed out (Kernberg, 1996), many elements of how things were done rapidly came into question. Levine (2003) covered this territory in an encyclopedic review, so it will not be gone into here.

It is my impression that at times in our history there was another type of deception, self-deception, which led to the necessity for establishing a false analytic self and a defensive authoritarianism to ward off the anxiety of being found out. Once the authoritarian stance was stripped away, there was an instant rebellion against those who represented the false self. Winnicott (1975) described how in a false self, “there is not even a resting place for individual experience, and the result is a failure in the primary narcissistic state to evolve an individual. The “individual” then develops as an extension of the shell rather than the core, and as an extension of the impinging environment” (p. 42). A false self cannot teach or learn, as there is nothing to build on, nothing to integrate, or grapple with. The cleverest regurgitator of the accepted self of the group becomes the new leader, and all that can be taught or learned is what the larger group needs to reinforce itself. Independent thinking is discouraged and eventually impossible.

The development of the false analytic self was a result, in part, of a discrepancy between what was taught as the theory of psychoanalytic technique and the actual practice of psychoanalysis. Gray (1982) first pointed this out in relationship to resistance analysis. Although resistance analysis was trumpeted, it was rarely practiced according to what one might expect from the Structural Model and Freud's second theory of anxiety, which was the basis for resistance analysis (Busch, 1992, 1993, Gray, 1994). Wallerstein's (1988) depiction of America as dominated by Ego Psychology was accurate in some ways but exaggerated in others. What we never had was an agreed upon clinical model utilizing basic ego psychological principles (Busch, 1999). Looked at closely, the clinical practice of the time was dominated more by “id” psychology than ego psychology (Busch, 1999; Paniagua, 2001, 2008). Yet Wallerstein's view has been one of our enduring and complex myths, stated and restated over the years.6

The issue of countertransference, at least in the United States, also serves as an example of our need to erect a false analytic self. Jacobs (1999) points out that the now landmark articles on countertransference by Winnicott (1949) and Heimann (1950), which had such a great influence in European and Latin American countries, set off alarms in the United States. Intriguingly, Jacobs suggests it was the recent émigrés from Europe who saw these Kleinian-inspired ideas as a threat to classical analysis. In the United States, Annie Reich (1951, 1960) answered the British challenge. Jacobs writes,

Largely because Reich's (1951) paper solidified the view that countertransference is a problem—more or less severe, depending on the circumstances—that has to be attended to, either through self-examination or further analysis, for some years in this country, a curtain of silence descended on the topic. Since the very word, countertransference, now carried a certain stigma—presumably good analysts had little trouble with countertransference and could deal effectively with the little that they had—students were afraid to acknowledge its existence in their case presentations and clinical reports. (p. 583)

For the most part those trained in the United States during this time had to either shut themselves off from countertransfeence feelings, or keep them hidden from supervisors, thus losing a valuable method of understanding patients. As Gallahorn (1993) pointed out, “the candidates are aware of counter-transference in themselves but experience it primarily as something bad which must be overcome rather than understood. It is seen by the candidates as evidence of their imperfection” (p. 322).7

Self-deception was not simply an American problem. Rocha Barros (1995), in describing the importing of Kleinian thinking to Latin America points to a similar problem of self-deception. He states,

it has resulted in a tendency for Latin Americans to assimilate Kleinian thought out of context and detached from its conceptual system. This fact, expressed later in the manner in which Klein's works were published in some Latin-America countries, introduced an a-historical bias in the diffusion of her ideas, which resulted from this detachment from a conceptual system and disfigured Kleinian thought….(p. 840)

In short, our psychoanalytic history is rife with deceptions and self-deceptions, which I believe played a role in what happened next…i.e., the attack on authority. The problem of deception is not defined by locale, rather it is a psychoanalytic problem.

Authoritarian Anti-Authority

For a certain time after the theory wars (Busch & Schmidt-Hellerau, 2004), which led Holt (1985) to declare the death of metapsychology, psychoanalysis went on contenting itself with clinical theory as a frame of reference. However, it took only a few years for a second wave of attacks to be unleashed, this time against the technical implications of clinical theory. Now we are in the strange situation that clinical theory, which was thought to be emphasized by freeing it from its metapsychological burdens, is itself the target of an assault. We are told that no analyst is capable of knowing another mind with any approximation of objectivity or truth, and the theory conceptualizing this mind is regarded as outdated and indefensible. The possibility of reflecting on countertransference instead of enacting it is disputed, interpretation is suspect because it is said to be authoritarian, and the analyst's position of abstinence, anonymity, and neutrality is called a fiction. The indisputable notion of the analyst's “ultimately unavoidable subjectivity” is invoked as entailing the following: “Everything an analyst does in the analytic situation is based upon his or her personal psychology… an analyst cannot, ultimately, know a patient's point of view; an analyst can only know his or her own point of view” (Renik 1993, p. 561; emphasis added). In its enthusiasm for the analyst's subjectivity, this statement doesn't seem to acknowledge any professional competence. While knowledge itself and reflection are considered outmoded, enactment, co-creation, and the term two-person psychology seem to be the new magic words. Hoffman's famous recommendation of “throwing away the ‘book’ ” (1994) rebels against clinical

theory as a frame of reference for our professional reflections. For many, authenticity8 replaced technique based upon a theory of the mind, as the primary therapeutic agent. While there were 261 references to authenticity from 1920 to 1980 in PEP, from 1980 to the present there were 1,341 references.9 However, this fight against theory ends up with what Greenberg regretfully acknowledges as a homemade problem of relational psychoanalysis: “The attacks on the analyst's authority and expertise … leave many analysts feeling that they have little to offer their patients except their desire to help” (p. ). I would agree with Rocha Barros when he states, “In the name of a freedom of thought which values spontaneity and confuses novelty with creativity, we are in danger of producing bizarre theories and, in short, raising barriers against thinking” (p. ).

In a very short period of time, we seem to have moved from a rebellion against the authoritarianism that ruled psychoanalysis, to an authoritarian anti-authority stance. Bell's (2009) discussion of the post-modern turn in psychoanalysis characterizes this authoritarian anti-authority well. “The apparent egalitarianism of this position, and its opposition to absolutes is rather offset by the universalism and absolutism of its own position, a tyrannical assertion that there are no truths and that all views are equal” (p. 333). It is accompanied by a radical subjectivity captured by a philosopher, Russo (2007), who states that “truth does not lie in the printed words, and writing does not say anything definite, because

readers create a further text while making their own interpretation “(p. 13). Applied to psychoanalytic technique, Power (2001) suggests,

With the increasing deconstruction of technical stances demonstrating that knowledge in the analytic setting is fraught with subjectivity and uncertainty, technique itself is under question. For many, technique is now understood to be highly context dependent, with analyst and patient essentially negotiating what is “correct technique” within each analytic dyad. (p. 632)

Unpacking this statement would probably lead to ideas that many analysts would agree with, but as an overall statement championing the view that there is no technique beyond that subjectively negotiated between analyst and patient, we are on that slippery slope toward technique as subjective anarchy.10

Aron (1999) wonders,

How can we say to a trainee that this is what the psychoanalytic response should be in a given situation, that this is the proper psychoanalytic intervention, based on the standard or model psychoanalytic technique, when we and the student know there are any number of other analysts and supervisors, often at the same institute, who would disagree and do things differently? [p. 3, italics in original]

Blass (2010) gives a most convincing response:

When such questions are pervasive and prevent adopting rationally grounded positions, they are, in my view, an expression of a kind of relativism of postmodern life, which invites us to abandon rational inquiry out of fear. The fear is of error that not reason but the wish to impose one's own authority underlies one's stance, and hence the

10. Goretti (2001), in reviewing the work of the Intersubjectivists, Orange et al. (1997), notes that “The authors write that the main purpose of the rules of any technique is to induce compliance and to mitigate the effect of individual subjectivity in the relevant task (p. 25); to this it might be objected that the rigid rules governing the literary form of the sonnet have not prevented poets from composing sublime sonnets, not in spite of the rules but also because of their existence” (p. 1215).

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fear that voicing one's stance is a kind of attack rather than a form of dialogue. In light of this understanding, the question of the legitimate authority to define is ultimately one of whether one should trust one's reason with all the dangers that this involves, or whether awareness of these dangers should lead one to remain in perpetual doubt. (p. 91)

What is fascinating is that psychoanalysis was post-modern before post modernism existed. The radical subjectivity at the heart of post-modern thinking is the very essence of psychoanalytic thinking. The idea that our view of the world is colored by unconscious fantasies, conflicts, self-other disturbances…i.e., our subjectivity… has been the everyday fare of psychoanalytic practice for over a century. Through our patient's lives we learn there is no “reality,” only subjective reality. However, these psychoanalytic “truths” are what the post-modernists decry. As Baudrillard (1993), a post-modernist, sees it, if post-modernism exists, it must be the characteristic of a universe where there is no more definition possible. Definitions have been deconstructed, destroyed.

Derrida, the most prolific non-explainer11 of deconstruction, felt a final word, or defining statement about something, could never be written about anything. While most people would agree that knowledge is always evolving, Derrida meant something more than that. “If the investigator's purpose for reading Derrida… was to understand, or to apprehend a final word, or discover some truthful proposition, then the reader would have been very disappointed” (Carrigan in Russo, 2007, p. 14).

The differences between a post-modern view of psychoanalytic treatment and a modern view can be seen in a lively interchange between Renik (1999) and Schafer (1999). In response to an article by Schafer, Renik wonders about the absence of Schafer's subjectivity, which Renik sees as inevitable. Schafer responds by questioning why the analyst's subjectivity should play such an important role in every analytic moment.

But why so free a play of emotion in a trained, analyzed, experienced analyst, that is to say, a prepared analyst, an analyst with a reasonably intact work ego? That analyst—I claim to be one of them—would usually be thinking about the context, manifestations, and momentary analytic usefulness of that patient's material. I see keeping that much distance as an essential part of the work of analysis (p. 523).

Of course, the notion that an analyst could keep a certain distance from any part of his thinking is anathema to a post-modern analyst. Subjectivity, relativism, perspectivism… these are the new coins of legitimacy. Thus, Wolstein (1982) can suggest that the contents of the unconscious were culturally determined, and thus denies current psychoanalysts the opportunity “to both create and discover their own metapsychology” (p. 412). However, it doesn't seem to prevent Wolstein from suggesting his own subjective view of the unconscious as “both to create new experiences from the spontaneous, still unlived possibilities never before envisioned; and to discover old possibilities in the conditioned, still forgotten experiences already lived through” (p. 412). Such definitions raise the important question asked by Blass (2010)…i.e., it may be an interesting idea but why call it “psychoanalytic” as it seems to have little to do with the history of how the unconscious has been viewed in the field? We have tended to view as psychoanalytic any theory from a self-identified psychoanalyst, rather than from a base of psychoanalytic knowledge. As Levy (2009) pointed out, our observations of psychological functioning, “represent a comprehensive, thoughtful, tested, and heuristic picture of the human condition that is as qualified as the knowledge base of a discipline as any other” (p. 1303).

Recently all of this has been expertly discussed, pro and con, regarding the psychoanalytic method (e.g., Bell, 2009, Bromberg, 2009, Hanly, 2009 and many others before this). However, it is my impression there remains an unacknowledged rebellion against claims of knowledge and authority with regard to psychoanalytic education. Skorczewski (2004) even suggests the attempts to find some truths or objective points of view in the classroom is a regression, which “harkens back to our earliest training in classrooms that introduced us to the idea of education as a disembodied experience, a disciplining of the self in the service of the institution” (p. 493). In this we can see the influence of Derrida and

the other post-modernists. “Derrida claimed deconstruction shows that meaning is unstable and indeterminate” (Russo, 2007, p. 13). Since there is no “truth” in texts, only subjective readings, educators “need to find ways to let our students use their imagination and find their own ways, to their own truth” (Russo, p. 14 italics added). In such a system there are no psychoanalytic truths, like an unconscious, apart from one's subjectivity. Thus Levin (2006) can bitterly complain about her Institute not allowing her, as a candidate, to find her own way, but instead her supervisors and teachers believed they had something important to teach. I would agree with Ludan's (1990) assessment of this perspective:

“The displacement of the idea that facts and evidence matter by the idea that everything boils down to subjective interests and perspectives is—second only to American political campaigns—the most prominent and pernicious manifestation of anti-intellectualism in our time.” (Laudan, 1990)12

Conversations on Authority

Why be a slave to the arbitrary truth? I didn't care about truth. I cared about beauty. It took me many years—it took the experience of lived time—to realize that they are really the same thing. (Batuman, 2010, p. 10)

There are several conversations that I think need to take place at every level of psychoanalytic organizations. The first is “Where do seminars fit within a psychoanalytic curriculum?” Within the Eitingon model we've answered this in the abstract, but not in concrete terms. In fact, as I've tried to point out in this essay, with notable exceptions the reality is we've pretty much answered the question of the role of seminars in the negative. We don't give much time to teaching, and we don't teach well. I believe we need to emphasize the value and importance of our seminars. Many analysts may be interested in committing themselves to excellence

in teaching, but we don't reward teaching. Further we don't consider the importance of seminar performance in a candidate's progress unless it's way beyond the norm. Ultimately, as psychoanalysts we will have to deal with an observation by Menand (2010), writing about education in the Academy he states,

The pursuit, production and dissemination, application, and preservation of knowledge are the central activities of a civilization. Knowledge is social memory, a connection to the past; and it is social hope an investment in the future… It is how we reproduce ourselves as social beings and how we change—how we keep our feet on the ground and our heads in the clouds. (p. 13, italics added)

A second conversation that I believe needs to take place revolves around the issue of defining psychoanalysis. As Blass (2010) recently asked, “Are there certain concepts we can say define psychoanalysis?” and is asking this question beneficial to the field? In the act of asking this question Blass has broken through the stifling effects of “political correctness” to allow for a more searching dialogue. For example, there are concepts presented in seminars that might be helpful and therapeutic. However, a central question for our time is whether it's psychoanalytic? Shall we consider the key concepts of the major “psychoanalytic schools” as essential for a treatment to be called psychoanalytic?

Another conversation, raised by Ehrlich (2006) revolves around the place of psychoanalysis in the larger culture.

… by longing for acceptance and pursuing respectability, psychoanalysis may indeed have succeeded in becoming a fixture of current Western culture. But the price it has paid for this is enormous, and it is not at all clear if it can survive this development. In parallel with its healing and scientific aspects, psychoanalysis has a powerful subversive side, born out of its relatedness to the unconscious. Psychoanalysis is therefore best suited for occupying a marginal position, on the outer boundary of respectability and cultural reception. This is where it can thrive, and where its dualistic and subversive nature can best contribute to cultural and civilized well being. This is also the place where the individual subject, tormented by feeling out of line with cultural demands and expectations, can best be met and engaged. (pgs. 11-12)

These thoughts stand in opposition to our many outreach activities today. We need to think about whether a watered-down version of psychoanalysis will have the opposite result to what its promoters intended.

There are certain guidelines on which psychoanalytic education might rest to energize the next generation of analysts in thinking about psychoanalytic thinking. Psychoanalysis was built upon a theory of the mind, as well as a theory of treatment. The two were initially interrelated. Yet, in our trade school model we have drifted into training clinicians, while the theory underlining psychoanalytic treatment has slowly faded into folklorish truism, passed down from generation to generation.13 This trend should be reversed. Many thoughtful Faculty members and Chairs of Curriculum Committees have tried to enhance the quality of the teaching/learning experience, but often face stiff resistance. Below are some points that I've learned about and developed over the last thirty years.

1 The travel metaphor—I have always found it helpful to liken psychoanalytic education to visiting a new city for the first time. In order to get a sense of the city, one needs to take a tour of the whole city, and then go back to individual areas to investigate further. Psychoanalytic education is like the first tour through the city, while the opportunity remains to visit more areas in depth over time. In short, we need to acknowledge we cannot teach “PSYCHOANALYSIS” in four or five years, as it is a vast, unfinished landscape that needs further exploration of what we know, as well as what isn't known.

2 would be helpful if we conveyed to candidates that becoming a psychoanalyst is a lifelong process of learning and thinking. Many of us have had the experience of speaking with older analysts who have slowed down in their work, and feel regretful because they are “just

getting the hang of it.“14 As Pine (2006) aptly put it, “Psychoanalytic knowing is a developmental process in ourselves” (p. 4). When I graduated from my Institute, a wise older colleague told me that it takes 10 years after graduation to understand what it means to be a psychoanalyst. In retrospect, I think my colleague was even short a few years. The wonderful thing about being a psychoanalyst is there are always things to learn and ways to grow. We need to think carefully about how to respectfully treat our candidates as adults, and assume that they have come to a psychoanalytic institute to learn psychoanalysis. In this context constructive criticism is a necessary part of the learning process. Many candidates are hungry for someone to think deeply about them, and help them in their development as analysts.

3 Psychoanalytic Institutes are parochial in their outlook. It enriches the candidate experience to go to national and international meetings where they can learn about the multiple models of training from other candidates, and hear other views of psychoanalysis. One of the interesting and surprising findings of the Project 2000 study was the significance of candidate meetings with visiting speakers when they came to give a paper presentation. What it seemed to do was to expose candidates to this larger psychoanalytic world in a real sense.15

4 Teaching—We need to bring dignity to the position of the Faculty at our Institute. As indicated above, in many Institutes teaching is not particularly valued, nor is there a significant career path for Faculty. Nothing will raise the value of teaching more than emphasizing the value of seminar learning.

A. As is done in some Institutes applicants for teaching status should be evaluated rigorously. Those who have taught should have their teaching credentials evaluated with letters of reference. Those who haven't taught should begin by teaching in

Extension courses with a more senior teacher. Every applicant for teaching should meet with two members of the Faculty on the Curriculum Committee to discuss their views on teaching. Criteria for teaching status need to be clarified, and serve as a background for these discussions.

B. A career path for teaching at Institutes should be established. This might follow a path like Associate Faculty, Faculty, Teaching Analyst. A certain period of time at each level, along with consistent excellence in teaching would be the criteria for movement from one level to the next. Most importantly, discussions of teaching capacities need to take place.

C. The Chair of the Curriculum Committee should be a Teaching Analyst, as a recognition of excellence in and commitment to teaching in the Institute.

5 If we are serious about what it means to be a psychoanalyst, there should not be any lifetime appointments in an Institute. All Faculty (including Training Analyst) should be expected to participate in national meetings, local study groups, or other forms of psychoanalytic participation that indicates on-going attempts to learn and think. What does it say that we've left the documentation of continuing education to our non-psychoanalytic professions?

6 Teaching Freud—Freud defined psychoanalysis as a theory of the mind, and most current controversies in psychoanalysis still relate to his work. Therefore, it is safe to say that one cannot define oneself as a psychoanalyst without a thorough grounding in Freud's work. A while ago there was a myth that reading Freud was not of interest to candidates. However, my experience is that Freud, taught well, can be one of the most exciting courses in the curriculum. “Taught well” is the operative term here. It takes a tremendous amount of planning, knowledge, and integrative capacities to teach Freud well.

7 Evaluating psychoanalytic knowledge is a crucial development in any psychoanalyst. Reese (2007) has made the argument for adding an epistemological perspective to the curricula. She believes that Institutes can play a central role in teaching how to think critically and systematically about psychoanalysis. Reese lays out a philosophical

basis, and curricula additions, to foster an epistemological perspective:

“If we teach our candidates what we think constitutes and what constrains a psychoanalytic point of view, encourage them to grapple with controversies in our midst, let them know the limits of our knowledge, and help them develop the conceptual tools they need to think critically, we give them the perspective they need to be students, collaborators in learning, and creative contributors who help both to develop and to sustain the psychoanalytic enterprise (p.893).”

8 Kernberg (2006, 2007), Thomä and Kächele (2000), Auchincloss and Michels (2003), all of whom are concerned about the intellectual climate for spirited inquiry by candidates, suggest that a research component would invigorate such thinking. This would add another way to think about psychoanalytic hypotheses and argumentation, which would “counter the defensive use of ‘authoritarianism’ in psychoanalytic education that reflects both epistemological arrogance and epistemological dispair with regard to psychoanalytic knowledge (Auchinclos and Michals, 2003, p. 400).

A final thought. There is an old Kevin Costner movie called, “Field of Dreams.” In this movie, Costner is encouraged by a mythical figure from his imagination to build a beautiful baseball field in the middle of nowhere, with the incantation, “If you build it, they will come.”. I sometimes have the fantasy that if we re-built our Institutes based upon the intellectual excitement and rigor of our heritage, indeed they will come. Not for Training with a capital T, but for the love of ideas.