Chavis' extended essay fits well within the intent of this Journal on controversial issues. Let me speak to some of what he raises.
Much of what Chavis criticizes in my essay is what he believes is my intent to impose my view of truth on the question of “What is Psychoanalysis?” However, I never suggest I have the true answer to this question. There is no mention of truth in my essay. What I do claim is that I have knowledge, especially with regard to my approach to psychoanalysis. Claiming knowledge is not the same as claiming truth. I do wish Chavis would have discussed the essence of my essay, which was about the subverting of knowledge in psychoanalytic institutes. He seems to agree with me, but instead chooses to pick and choose the issues where he disagrees with me.
While Chavis objects to what he sees as my attempt to find the true psychoanalysis, he subtly inserts his own truth while presenting it as not really being about truth. For example, he suggests we can be more objective if we turn
“to developmental science, cognitive science, and the brain sciences. Not because of the “truths” they generate, but because controlled experimentation and observation can be objectively documented and seems best to model the world.”
Of course, this position ignores the many problems inherent in the “scientific view” as noted by many. Succinctly expressed by Silverman (1992),
Examples, drawn from the physical and life sciences, show how complex and subtle scientific issues may be; how difficult it may be to perform and interpret experiments; how controversies once laid
Page 47to rest may resurface in new ways; and how science, far from being a stockpiling of factual truths, constitutes instead a vigorous, self-correcting mode of inquiry (p. 163).
Chavis has many other ideas about what is true in psychoanalysis, but by presenting these views as “tentative” he seems to believe he's escaping the stigma of stating what he believes is the true psychoanalysis. As he states,
“I suggest a tentative, broad, heuristic and practical definition of psychoanalysis as the effort to understand and help repair suffering and unhappiness in human relatedness through the formation and mutual study of intimate relationships that elucidate the functioning of conscious and unconscious modes of relatedness.”
Although Chavis has his own ideas of what is psychoanalysis, he balks at the legitimacy of asking the question, “What is Psychoanalysis?” He believes all theories are personal and political, a matter of power (Is he stating a truth here?). From another perspective he emphasizes that:
“The point I wish to emphasize is that these theoretical differences hinge not simply on reason and objectivity, but rather on reason and objectivity as created through the lens of attachment relationships, in particular in psychoanalysis with the training analyst.”
I believe that for the survival of our field the question of “What is Psychoanalysis?” must be asked continuously. If not, anyone who says he is an analyst is viewed as one. This leads, as currently happens, to a plethora of theories with entirely different assumptions about the human mind (a good example is Henry Friedman's essay in this journal where in his view of psychoanalysis, there is no mention of an unconscious), and diverse views of how to treat the suffering of our patients that have little to do with each other. Chavis subscribes to inclusiveness in his “big tent” view of psychoanalysis. What I currently see is the creation of a city of tents, where inhabitants only speak to those in their tent. I agree with Blass' (2010) lengthy exploration of whether one can define psychoanalysis where she “argues that clarifying the pros and cons of such acts of definition contributes to the understanding of the nature of psychoanalysis and the possibility of dialogue between opposing understandings of it” (p. 87).
Chavis also believes we shouldn't emphasize theory in psychoanalytic training because, as he states, “most candidates enter analytic training to learn how to do something and also, often, to get help for themselves.” It is a view of candidates as consumers, a perspective that has raised such havoc in the universities, as I indicate in my paper. Yet everything an analyst says or does in treatment is based upon a theory, most often an unarticulated one. This leads to “seat of the pants” approaches, based upon incorporated “folklore” passed down as a theory of technique from idealized supervisors or the training analyst. At least with an articulated theory as the basis of one's clinical work, there is the capacity to evaluate and reflect on one's method of working. Without such knowledge there is no framework to interrogate what we said to Mr. X today. I don't want to idealize this process as I believe too few analysts reflect on their work, but without a framework (even incorporating a number of articulated perspectives), there is little chance for self-reflection.
Interestingly, Chavis believes “students should be taught how to think and critically evaluate the thoughts of others, including the scholarly and learned amongst us.” I wonder how he thinks this could happen if students don't have a knowledge base to evaluate different perspectives.