Key Papers on Countertransference

IJP Education Section

Liliane Abensour, Claudio Laks Eizirik, Robert Michels, Richard Rusbridger, Liliane Abensour, Claudio Laks Eizirik, Robert Michels, Richard Rusbridger

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2019
• Topic: Psychology
• eBook ISBN:
  9780429915437
• Subtopic: History & Theory in Psychology
• Index: Psychology

The International Journal of Psychoanalysis Key Papers Series brings together the most important psychoanalytic papers in the journal's eighty-year history in a series of accessible monographs. Approaching the IJP's intellectual rsources from a variety of perspectives, the monographs highlight important domains of psychoanalytic enquirry. 'The papers in this volume were commissioned with a view to describing the current views of countertransference, and thier historical evolution, in four intellectual communities of psychoanalysis: North America, Britain, France and Latin America. 'Psychoanalysis is still sometimes described as a monolithic and unchanging theory and practice. These papers vividly contradict such a view through their close study of the evolution of the concept of countertransference from the periphery of psychoanalysis to its current position of central importance in most analytic communities. In doing so, they provide a window of the development of a living and evolving discipline during its first one hundred years.'- From the Introduction by Richard Rusbridger

1:
Countertransference past and present: a review of the concept

THEODORE J. JACOBS, New York

My purpose in this paper is to review the major trends and developments in the evolution of the concept of countertransference. I will do so from my own perspective; that is, from the viewpoint of one American analyst, trained in a classical institute, who has had a long-standing interest in this issue.

Although I will attempt to describe some of the questions and controversies that have surrounded the idea of countertransference as well as the viewpoints of many of those who have written on the subject, I will make no attempt to be all-inclusive. My effort, rather, will be to present an overview of a concept, long in the shadows, that has emerged as one of the issues most actively discussed and debated in psychoanalysis today.

Looking back on the final decades of the twentieth century, in fact, future historians of psychoanalysis may well designate this period the countertransference years; for in this time few concepts in our field have gained as much attention, have been as widely explored and written about, and have been the subject of as much controversy as has the question of countertransference and its role in the analytic process. Certainly in America, but also, to a considerable extent worldwide, countertransference and the closely related issues of intersubjectivity, enactments, self-analysis and the question of neutrality have taken centre stage as matters with which contemporary analysts are much preoccupied.

One could say, then, of countertransference, that it is a concept whose time has come; or perhaps more accurately, that it is a concept that, like the proverbial groundhog, has emerged into the sunlight when the conditions were right after having previously poked its head into the air, tested the weather, and retreated below ground. The creature who has now appeared, however, is essentially the same one who did the initial reconnoitring; more sprightly and energetic, perhaps, but basically unchanged. What has prompted his re-emergence is not some fundamental alteration in himself. It is a change in the climate, a change in the analytic atmosphere that has made it possible for the familiar face of countertransference to reappear.

A review of the literature on the concept, in other words, makes clear that although relatively little was written about counter-transference in the first half of this century, those authors who were interested in the topic raised many of the issues that, today, are being actively discussed and debated in our psychoanalytic societies. The time was not right, however, for a full exploration of the topic of countertransference. It took a change in the intellectual climate, both within and outside of analysis; and, in America, a change in the analytic establishment for this to happen.

Writers on countertransference have pointed out that although he was the first to identify and describe the phenomenon, Freud actually had little more to say about it. In fact, while it is true that Freud’s comments on countertransference were sparse, what he did say, I believe, is of the greatest importance. His brief remarks on the topic have served as the source and foundation for the two divergent currents that have characterised subsequent thinking and theorising about countertransference. In 1910, Freud made a profound observation.

“We have noticed”, he wrote, “that no psychoanalyst goes farther than his own complexes and resistances permit, and we consequently require that he shall begin his activity with a self-analysis and continually carry it deeper while he is making his own observations on his patients …” (pp. 141–2).

This statement speaks to a fundamental issue for all analysts: the limitations that our own neuroses, our own blind spots, and our own character issues impose on our ability to understand, and respond to, communications from another person. Viewing counter-transference as unconscious forces arising in the analyst that impede his ability to receive and correctly understand those communications, Freud recognised that unless the analyst can work with himself to overcome those blocks and scotomas that, years later, McLaughlin (1988) characterised as our “hard spots and dumb spots”, the analysis will be severely compromised and, in fact, effectively stalemated by these unrecognised aspects of the analyst’s psychology.

While Freud’s early emphasis on the importance of self-analysis occurred prior to the establishment of the training analysis as the prime means for helping analysts overcome their neurotic conflicts and the countertransference reactions that spring from them, the idea that, ultimately, every analyst is left to contend with the powerful, and potentially disruptive, unconscious forces unleashed in him or her by the process of analysing remains an insight of fundamental importance. Today with the freer and more spontaneous use of the analyst’s subjectivity emphasised by a number of analysts (Renik, 1993), Freud’s recognition of the enduring nature of countertransference and of the fact that it exists as an ever-present force in analytic work has taken on fresh significance. Under-emphasised by certain contemporary authors, the notion that countertransference not infrequently acts as an impediment to understanding and a block to progress was one that was central to Freud’s thinking.

Another observation of Freud’s, however, was at the root of the opposite view of countertransference; the idea that countertransference is not only inevitable in analysis, but that as a pathway to understanding the unconscious of the patient it plays an indispensable role in treatment. This view of countertransference, which informs much current thinking, has a long history in analysis, which, in this communication, I will touch on only briefly. Its origins can be traced to Freud’s recognition that analysis involves communication between the unconscious of patient and analyst and that the transmission, beneath their surface exchanges, of unconscious messages between the two participants constitutes an essential part of the analytic process. This fundamental insight, conveyed in Freud’s (1912) advice to the analyst to attune his unconscious to that of the patient as a telephone receiver is attuned to the transmitting apparatus, not only paved the way for the seminal idea, articulated by Heimann (1950), that countertransference contains the unconscious of the patient, but through the choice of metaphor implicitly conveyed the notion that unconscious transmission in analysis is a two-way street.

Freud’s efforts, early in the century, were devoted to developing theories of unconscious mental functioning that could explain the clinical pictures that confronted him daily and, as a consequence, he focused primarily on the psychology of the patient. His appreciation, however, of the fact that the unconscious of patient and analyst are in continual contact and that covert messages are continually transmitted between the two participants opened the way to the idea, now increasingly accepted, that analysis inevitably involves the interplay of two psychologies.

A number of writers (Tyson, 1986; Slakter, 1987) have pointed out that Freud viewed countertransference solely as an obstacle in analysis and a problem of the analyst’s that had to be overcome. He spoke quite directly, they point out, of the importance of the analyst’s mastering his countertransference.

There is little doubt that this attitude developed, in large part, in response to the threat to the public image of analysis that stemmed from the behaviour of certain of Freud’s colleagues. Ferenczi, Jung and other key figures were engaged in troubling involvements with patients and/or the families of patients, and Freud himself is reported to have confided to Ferenczi that he nearly succumbed to the charms of a female patient. Moreover, Freud remembered well how, in response to Anna O’s erotic transference feelings, his old friend, Joseph Breuer, fled the field in panic.

Clearly danger existed, and as the leader of a nascent movement Freud understood that it was necessary for him to take a stand against the inappropriate behaviour that threatened its very existence. Whether he also recognised anything positive in counter-transference is uncertain, but there is some evidence that he grasped its potential usefulness. Tyson (1986) points out that in a letter to Jung in response to the latter’s involvement with Sabina Spielrein, Freud (1909) remarked that although they must be dominated, the analyst’s sexual and loving feelings for patients can help him develop a thick skin and learn how to displace his affects in a clinically useful way. Thus, he said, such countertransference feelings constitute a “blessing in disguise” (p. 231).

It was Ferenczi (1919), however, who spoke most directly of the inevitability of countertransference and of the idea that it is valuable in understanding the patient. In fact, partly in rebellion against his old mentor, Ferenczi took issue with Freud’s notion that counter-transference must always be mastered. Efforts to do so, Ferenczi pointed out, may cause the analyst to constrain or inhibit his free-floating mental processes. And such free-ranging processes in the analyst, he believed, are essential elements in analytic listening and in the attainment of empathie understanding.

Appreciating, as few did before him, the central role that countertransference plays in treatment, the critical impact that it can have on the analytic process, and the fact that patients often have an intuitive awareness of the analyst’s emotional responses, Ferenczi (1919) advocated disclosure of certain of the analyst’s subjective experiences. He also experimented with mutual analysis, with the patient, for a time, becoming the analyst’s analyst.

In addition to whatever personal motivations led him to undertake this experiment, Ferenczi believed that the analyst could learn much about himself from the patient and that the patient could benefit from understanding how the analyst’s personality and conflicts have affected his thought processes and the material that emerges in sessions. In different form, some of these ideas are currently being investigated by colleagues (Aron, 1991; Ehrenberg, 1992), who are interested in the way in which the covert transmission of unconscious affects and fantasies influences the analytic process.

Radical for their time and perceived by Freud and his circle as potentially dangerous ideas, Ferenczi’s views remained for many years outside the mainstream of classical analysis. Regarded for the most part as the product of a creative, but troubled, individual whose personal needs contaminated his thinking, Ferenczi’s work was largely ignored by traditional analysts in the US. Rarely were his papers read in the classical American institutes, and when one was assigned, it was usually recommended as a matter of historical interest, rather than as a significant contribution to theory or technique.

In recent years there has been some revival of interest in Ferenczi in the US. A biography of him recently appeared and, not infrequently, his views are cited in papers and presentations. This new interest in Ferenczi stems, I believe, from several sources. Certain contemporary analysts, interested in the intersubjective and social constructivist views of analysis, find in him a kindred spirit; one who, in their view, was, like themselves, regarded by the reigning powers as an outsider and a non-conformist. It is also true in the US, however, that in response to the shift that has taken place towards greater appreciation of the interactive dimension of analysis and the fluidity and permeability of the transference-countertransference relationship, a number of classically trained analysts have wanted to take a second look at some of Ferenczi’s views. Whereas not many years ago his ideas were regarded as little more than rationalised enactments of personally driven beliefs, a number of colleagues today are finding in them an appreciation of the role of meta-communications in analysis and of the interplay between the minds of patient and analyst that was quite remarkable for its time.

Of course not all of Ferenczi’s contributions are regarded as having equal value, and, in fact, many analysts of the classical school continue to view his thinking as naïve and misguided. Traditional analysts, who are critical of the so-called contemporary Freudians, not infrequently point out that many of their ideas, far from being original, are simply applications and restatements of Ferenczi’s old, well-worn and long-discarded notions.

One of his ideas that not infrequently comes in for severe criticism is a formulation of the analytic process that Ferenczi put forward in 1920. At that time, he conceived of analysis as essentially a corrective emotional experience, one in which the analyst’s sincere and caring interest in his patient provides an opportunity for the reworking and correction of emotional trauma experienced in early childhood. As is well known, the idea of a corrective emotional experience in any form has long been a bête noir for traditional analysts. The fact that Ferenczi (1920) endorsed this view has been used by certain traditional analysts to discredit not only this idea, but his work in general. Moreover, responding to certain similarities between Ferenczi’s thinking and that of contemporary analysts interested in intersubjectivity and ignoring their equally important differences, these critics regard many of the current developments in analysis simply as repetitions of Ferenczi’s mistakes.

Whatever one’s view of these matters, however, it is clear that as a pioneer in exploring the interactive nature of countertransference, the way in which transference and countertransference interweave in the analytic process, and the fact that patients often intuitively grasp, and are affected by, covertly transmitted aspects of the analyst’s attitudes and feelings, Ferenczi both anticipated and influenced much contemporary thinking.

It was not only Ferenczi, however, who anticipated certain current ideas about countertransference. A number of writers raised issues that, today, are at the forefront of current discussion and debate. Stern (1924) spoke of two kinds of countertransference; that stemming from the analyst’s personal conflicts, and that arising in response to the patient’s transference. It is the latter, Stern said, that is useful in analysis. The former constitutes an obstacle to understanding. To use himself effectively, Stern maintained, the analyst must meet the patient’s transference with a transference of his own; that is, his approach must not be too intellectual, not too focused on cognitive understanding. Rather, he must permit his feelings and fantasies to arise and must allow his unconscious to resonate with that of the patient in order to grasp the latter’s unconscious communications. This perspective embraces much that was to come later, including Isakower’s (1963a) notion of the analytic instrument, Reich’s (1951) concern with the neurotic aspects of countertransference, and Sandler’s (1976) idea that, optimally, the analyst functions not only with freely hovering attention (Freud, 1912), but with free-floating responsiveness.

Deutsch (1926) also spoke of the way in which the analyst receives and utilises the patient’s material. The patient’s associations, she held, become an inner experience for the analyst. This mode of processing the material, which gi...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title
• Copyright
• CONTENTS
• SERIES PREFACE
• Introduction
• 1: Countertransference past and present: a review of the concept
• 2: Countertransference
• 3: The countertransference: a Latin American view
• 4: The countertransference scene in France