Unknotting 1: ‘Just how interesting psychoanalysis really is’. Column in Arc de Cercle 1.1 (January 2003)

Unknotting 1

‘Just how interesting psychoanalysis really is

Anthony Stadlen

Copyright © Anthony Stadlen 2000, 2020

On a journal entitled Arc de Cercle
Anthony Stadlen
(April 2020)

Arc de Cercle: An International Journal of the History of the Mind-Sciences was the creation of Terence A. Tanner, sole proprietor of an antiquarian bookstore in Evanston, Illinois. Though his training was in mathematics, Tanner became not only a profoundly knowledgeable local historian but also a fine original scholar in the history of psychoanalysis. He had become curious about the books he was buying and selling, and it did not take him long to decide that there was a need for a new journal of the history of what he called the mind-sciences’, because the prevailing standard of scholarship was, in his view, so low. He edited and published one brilliant issue, Vol. 1 No. 1 (January 2003), containing essays by Peter J. Swales and himself, a section Setting the Record Straight’ devoted to rectifying errors in the published record relating to the mind-sciences’, and my first column reproduced below. But this first issue of the journal was the last. Tanner died of oesophageal cancer on 11 December 2003.
    He had generously invited me to be the journalfeatured columnist. I was to be free to write about whatever I wanted, at whatever length, long or short. My column was to have whatever title I liked; I chose Unknotting. Below, I reproduce an extract from Tanner’s introduction, followed by my first column, Unknotting 1. He wrote in my copy of the journal: I hope Ill have the honor to publish Unknotting 50!’ But there were to be no more issues of Arc de Cercle, and Unknotting 1 was my only column for the journal.

From By Way of Introduction
Terence A. Tanner
Arc de Cercle Vol. 1, No. 1 (Jan. 2003): p. 3

Anthony Stadlen of London has agreed to be this journals featured columnist, and will publish in each issue under the title of Unknotting’. Those who have attended any of his seminars in London know the quality and importance of the research to which he has devoted so much of his life. His first column was originally solicited as a book review by another journal, which, however, then rejected it as too opinionated. Because it offers such a damning indictment of what routinely passes for history in the field of the mind-sciences, I proposed that he publish it here as his first contribution. I urge readers to give close attention to his endnotes.

Unknotting 1: Just how interesting psychoanalysis really is
Anthony Stadlen
Arc de Cercle, Vol. 1, No. 1 (Jan. 2003): pp. 143-176

It would not have occurred to me, had The Psychotherapy Review not invited me, to write about Dr Joseph Schwartz’s book Cassandra’s Daughter: A History of Psychoanalysis in Europe and America[1]. After looking at it, I warned the book review editor that I would have to tell the truth. She commissioned me to write the review anyway, and urged me to write what I ‘felt’. When she had read my review, she pronounced it ‘scholarly and erudite’, and promised: ‘We’ll publish it in July [2000] as the centrepiece.’ But the editorial team of the journal, whose Editorial Board includes the author of Cassandra’s Daughter and his partner Professor Susie Orbach, then had second thoughts. Closer scrutiny of the already commissioned and accepted review revealed to them that it was ‘more an expression of your opinion on the topic, rather than a fair review of the book in question. As a review it seems unduly critical in both tone and length, and it does not reflect our [sic] view as to the merit of the book.’ I then submitted a longer version of the review to the journal Existential Analysis, adding notes and bibliography to hint at my original research over more than two decades on which the ‘opinion[s]’ in the text were based. Note 77 and the Appendix were included specifically for readers of Existential AnalysisThe editors duly informed me that the Editorial Board ‘felt’ it was not ‘a fair and informative book review’.
The review is offered here, as it were in quotation marks, as a small contribution to the study of ‘opinion’, of the ‘scholarly’, and of what is ‘felt’ to be, or not to be, ‘fair’ and ‘informative’, in discussing a ‘history of psychoanalysis’ today.

‘I have written this account,’ Dr Schwartz tells us (p. 14), ‘as a guide to psychoanalysis, not only to show its strengths and weaknesses, but also to show just how interesting psychoanalysis really is.’ This suggests that Freud and a few other analysts did not show just how interesting psychoanalysis really is.
He sets himself at least three other main tasks. First, he tries to show that psychoanalysis is a science, just as Freud said it was, though not quite in the way that Freud said it was. Second, he tries to show that the ‘science’ of psychoanalysis has undergone a ‘paradigm shift’ from Freud to Fairbairn: ‘a drive-instinctual versus a relational point of view’ (p. 12). Third, he tries to show the developing history of psychoanalysis in its dialectical relation with the developing history of the world.
He writes (p. 5):

Psychoanalysis is a science in the sense that it is an attempt to understand human subjectivity in material terms – it locates its understanding of human subjectivity in the world of lived experience rather than in the spirit world of Western religious traditions.

This is a crude, unexamined, false dichotomy. It does not distinguish between the phenomenology of spirit as experience [Note (2020): What does lived experience mean?] and the ‘metapsychology’ of hypothetical ‘spiritual’ forces or powers ‘behind the scenes’ postulated as explanations or causes of experience.[2]
 Dr Schwartz tries to show the scientific nature of psychoanalysis as exemplified in Freud’s project of unification. But, although Cassandra’s Daughter was published only a few months before the centenary of the publication of Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams, it makes only perfunctory mention of that book, which Freud regarded as his greatest work. Nor does it contain any discussion at all of On Dreams, The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality, Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious, or the ‘Dora’ case. These six masterworks, all published between 1900 and 1905, should surely be at the heart of any history of psychoanalysis. This holds a fortiori for Dr Schwartz’s aim to show Freud’s project of scientific unification; for these works together are that project’s most definitive embodiment.
They should also be crucial to Dr Schwartz’s aim to show Freud’s unified conception as a paradigm from which Fairbairn allegedly ‘shift[ed]’. For these works are themselves paradigms, in one of Kuhn’s many senses[3], of Freud’s conception. And it is in The Interpretation of Dreams and The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, and nowhere else[4] in his complete psychological works, that Freud himself uses the word Paradigma.
 In the first paragraph of The Interpretation of Dreams, he announces that he is taking ‘the dream’ itself as a Paradigma for ‘the hysterical phobia and the obsessional- and the delusional-idea’.[5] He gives several examples as Paradigmata of the relation between dreams and psychoses towards the end of his survey of the literature on dreams in the last section of Chapter 1.[6] Then, in The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, he refers[7] to three fundamental examples as Paradigmata: the ‘Signorelli’[8] and ‘aliquis[9] memory-slips in the first two chapters of the Psychopathology and the ‘table d’hôte’ dream[10] in On Dreams. There are profound theoretical, thematic, and indeed personal, links between these three Paradigmata.[11] The above are the only instances of the term Paradigma in Freud’s published psychological works.[12] He again refers to the ‘table d’hôte’ dream as a Paradigma in his letter to Binswanger of 4 July 1912.[13]
These works thus propose that dreams, hysterical and obsessional ‘symptoms’, delusions, parapraxes (slips or ‘mischievements’[14]) and jokes all follow the same paradigm. Later, Freud extended his unified theory to such phenomena as religion.
Dr Schwartz does discuss Freud’s nineteenth-century unified theory of the neuroses, including the seduction theory. But he tries (p. 90) ‘to synthesize the conflicting views about Freud’s motivations in the period of his first theories, 1896-1900.’ He claims: ‘If one approaches this record without malice or hero worship, there does seem room to accommodate virtually every reading.’ Dr Schwartz here muddles matters. The primary issue is not Freud’s ‘motivations’. The issue is what Freud did and said, what was his evidence, whether he reported it accurately and truthfully, how he interpreted it, how he justified his interpretation, and so on. And, in his attempt to ‘accommodate’ these often wildly divergent ‘reading[s]’, Dr Schwartz smooths, flattens, censors or otherwise distorts some of them almost beyond recognition.
For example, he writes (p. 88) that Smith (1991)

argues that Freud was indeed seeing fantasies of sexual abuse but that they were not fantasies to cover past actions. Instead they were fantasies of abuse stimulated by Freud’s technique, the use of the pressure of his hand on a patient’s forehead to aid the patient’s memory.

   Dr Schwartz writes (p. 91): ‘We cannot rule this conjecture out.’ As a matter of fact, we could rule out at least the least important part of this conjecture if we knew that Freud had abandoned his ‘pressure procedure’ (‘Druckprozedur’) by the time he was working with the patients he discussed in his seduction theory papers of 1896. There is no firm evidence that he used the method after May 1895, when he published his account of it in Studies on Hysteria, calling it an ‘auxiliary procedure’ (‘Hilfsprozedur’) and even a ‘trick’ (‘Kniff’)[15]; and evidence might yet emerge that he had given it up by 1896. But, more important, Dr Schwartz fails to tell us what Smith’s conjecture really is. Smith wrote: ‘Freud’s patients unconsciously felt that Freud seduced them, assaulted them, and engaged in perverse forms of sexual behavior.’ And: ‘Had Freud applied his own hypotheses more systematically to the clinical data at his disposal he would have reached the unsettling conclusion that the perpetrator of the “great crime” – the seducer, the rapist – was he himself.’[16]
Not even the watered-down version of Smith’s ‘reading’ that Dr Schwartz does give can be ‘accommodate[d]’ at the same time as the traditional psychoanalytic view that Freud was ‘indeed seeing... fantasies to cover past actions [and desires]’. Nor is Smith’s ‘reading’ compatible with Masson’s[17] view that the seduction theory was correct. The traditional psychoanalytic ‘reading’ is not compatible with either Masson’s or Cioffi’s[18] ‘readings’, and these are incompatible with each other. Masson’s ‘reading’ is not compatible with any of the other ‘readings’ Dr Schwartz mentions.
Dr Schwartz falsely states (p. 91) that Cioffi ‘argue[s]’ that Freud was ‘a scoundrel  ... for accusing his patients of lying to him about scenes of infantile sexual abuse that he himself had suggested’. In fact, Cioffi writes[19]: ‘Masson’s repeated assertions that Freud dismissed his patients’ seduction stories as lies make one wonder as to his grasp of Freud’s argument. Freud did not accuse his patients of lying ... ’
The seduction theory episode does not lend itself to ‘accommodat[ing] virtually every reading’. It was an all-or-nothing theory. Freud proposed a ‘specific aetiology’ for ‘hysteria’, by analogy with Koch’s then recent discovery of the tuberculosis bacillus.[20] ‘Specific aetiology’ means an aetiological factor present in one hundred per cent of cases. It is a factor such that in its absence the ‘disease’ cannot occur. On the assumption (which Dr Schwartz does not appear to challenge) that ‘hysteria’ is a well-defined ‘disease’, the seduction theory was, therefore, either right or wrong. If a single counter-example could be found, if a single ‘hysteric’ could (somehow) be proved not to have been sexually abused before the age of eight to ten, this would mean, not that the seduction theory was just a little bit wrong, but that it was wholly wrong.[21]
Dr Schwartz muddles this issue too. The following sentence is characteristic of his slapdash style (p. 75):

One hundred years ago, Freud had ample evidence to suggest that widespread, pervasive cruelty to children – and, in the case of the neuroses, sexual abuse – could well be the universal aetiological agent behind the disease.

  Nothing in the preceding sentence, paragraph, chapter, or even chapters indicates what Dr Schwartz means by ‘the disease’. Whatever he means, it appears to include ‘the neuroses’. Dr Schwartz does not examine his tacit assumption that ‘the neuroses’ are ‘disease[s]’. He does not record Szasz’s contradicting view, now four decades old.[22] Moreover, he claims that ‘Freud had ample evidence that…in the case of the neuroses, sexual abuse...could well be the universal aetiological agent’. But Freud never claimed any such thing. He divided ‘the neuroses’ into ‘actual neuroses’ (a better translation would be ‘current neuroses’) and ‘psychoneuroses’. And he claimed, as Dr Schwartz has himself mentioned (p. 65), that ‘neurasthenia’ and ‘anxiety neurosis’ (the ‘actual neuroses’) were due, not to childhood sexual abuse, but to what Freud regarded as ‘disturbances’ of the adult person’s current sexual life, namely, masturbation and coitus interruptus or sexual abstinence, respectively. It was only for ‘hysteria’, ‘obsessional neurosis’ and ‘paranoia’ (the ‘psychoneuroses’) that Freud proposed childhood sexual abuse as ‘specific aetiology’.[23]
But Dr Schwartz’s muddle does not stop there. He compounds it, continuing (p. 75):

Yet he was uneasy about his theory. In the spring and summer of 1897 he complained to Fliess that hysteria was not coming out as he wished. And this it could not do because sexual abuse is not the only form of violence of aetiological significance for hysteria.

   This is a non sequitur. Dr Schwartz does not say how he knows that ‘sexual abuse is not the only form of violence of aetiological significance for hysteria’. But even if, for the sake of argument, we grant this assertion, which also presupposes the existence of ‘hysteria’ as a medical-type disease-entity with an ‘aetiology’, this would not have prevented ‘hysteria... coming out as [Freud] wished’. Dr Schwartz’s unsubstantiated assertion in no way contradicts the seduction theory, in any of its versions, either published or privately communicated to Fliess. Freud made plain in his three seduction theory papers[24] of 1896 that he regarded many factors as ‘of aetiological significance for hysteria’. The whole point of his theory was that all but one of the factors were either ‘preconditions’ (‘conditions’)—such as heredity—or ‘concurrent or auxiliary’ causes (‘causes concurrents ou accessoires’); only childhood sexual abuse was the ‘specific cause’ (‘cause spécifique’).[25]
Thus, just as Dr Schwartz tries to smooth away contradictions, he invents one where none exists. He also repeats (p. 87), but does not correct, a disjunction Strachey attributes to Freud where none exists. Freud wrote of the ‘seduction scenes’ as, in a literal translation, ‘phantasies which my patients had made up, which I had perhaps myself forced on them’ (‘Phantasien, die meine Patienten erdichtet, die ich ihnen vielleicht selbst aufgedrängt hatte’).[26] Strachey translates this as: ‘phantasies which my patients had made up or which I myself had perhaps forced on them’ (emphasis added). Dr Schwartz repeats Strachey’s replacement of Freud’s comma by ‘or’. This ‘or’ distorts, by diminishing, the degree of possible responsibility that Freud here almost confesses.
Freud, near the end of The Interpretation of Dreams, writes: ‘We thus find, held together by what is new in our dream theory as by a higher unity, the most different and most contradictory findings of the authorities fitting into our structure.’[27] Freud’s project is Talmudic, dialectical, Hegelian. But Dr Schwartz’s bland attempt ‘to accommodate virtually every reading’ distorts the data and does not work even then.
Dr Schwartz writes (p. 272): ‘I have been continuously shocked to find how much I was leaving out.’ This has not led him to put it in. He offers the excuse that he is ‘pruning an unruly tree of its distracting spurs and branches’. But leaving out the works of 1900–1905 is more like lopping down the trunk itself.
He does mention several of these works. But, apart from his inadequate account of The Interpretation of Dreams, he conveys nothing of their content. Instead, in every case, he makes some spurious point clothed in a false appearance of scholarship. The evidence for this is as follows.
He mentions the Psychopathology and Three Essays in an endnote on p. 289. He informs us that Brill’s translations of them and of The Interpretation of Dreams ‘have now been discarded in favour of Joan Riviere’s Collected Works and Strachey’s Standard Edition’. In fact, Joan Riviere contributed to the Collected Papers. She did not translate any of the three books Dr Schwartz claims or implies she did. There is no Collected Works in English other than Strachey’s Standard Edition.
Dr Schwartz’s Bibliography indicates that the 122-page Standard Edition translation of the ‘Dora’ case[28] is precisely two pages long! Apart from this, he mentions Dora in the following passage (p. 21):

Freud’s connections with the Social Democratic political community later brought him patients and students. Among them were Ida Bauer, famous as the case of ‘Dora’, the sister of Otto Bauer who was a leading Social Democratic politician; the socialist social worker Bertha Pappenheim, famous as ‘Anna O.’; Emma Eckstein, whose sister Therese Schlesinger was a Social Democratic member of parliament...

In fact, Freud says Dora’s father first brought her to him ‘in the early summer of her sixteenth year’ (‘im Frühsommer ihres 16. Jahres’).[29] Her father had himself consulted, and received medical treatment from, Freud four years earlier.[30] He had been urged to do so by his friend, ‘Herr K.’[31] (Hanns Zellenka).[32] It is not clear whether Zellenka already knew Freud. Bauer was a wealthy textile manufacturer.[33] Zellenka was a salesman and shopkeeper who became general manager of a large department store in Vienna.[34] They were not, but their sons both became, Social Democrats.[35] When Ida first met Freud, Otto Bauer was sixteen and Zellenka’s son was seven.[36] When Ida’s father first consulted Freud, the boys were about twelve and three respectively.[37] True, Otto Bauer was precocious[38]; but does Dr Schwartz imagine that this twelve-year-old budding Social Democrat introduced his father to Freud?
Bertha Pappenheim was Breuer’s patient.[39] She was a friend of Freud’s fiancée, Martha Bernays.[40] Dr Schwartz gives no evidence that she was also one of Freud’s ‘patients and students’. She became a highly original and individual Jewish feminist social worker.[41] But Dr Schwartz gives no evidence that she or her family belonged to the ‘Social Democratic political community’.
Emma Eckstein was a patient of Freud’s by 1895.[42] But women did not then have the vote, let alone the right to be elected to parliament, in Austria. Therese Schlesinger became a member of parliament in 1918.[43] She and her brother, Gustav Eckstein, were leading Social Democrats; but Dr Schwartz gives no evidence that Freud’s ‘connections with the Social Democratic political community’ brought Emma Eckstein to him.
These examples give a glimpse of the book’s unsatisfactory attempt to link the history of psychoanalysis with social and political history.
On the cover of the book, the publishers praise its ‘utmost clarity and precision’. Its ‘precision’ may be seen in the above quotations and in its inventive spelling: ‘Karl Krause’, ‘Marianne Krull’, ‘Pribor’, ‘Michael Sebek’, ‘Hans Israels’. Its ‘clarity’ starts with the title, which (on the recto of the leaf following the dedication) Dr Schwartz seeks to explain by comparing psychoanalysis to Cassandra:

And so, too, did science give psychoanalysis the power of prophecy. And, as it is told, psychoanalysis has spurned the discipline that gave it birth and has not been believed.
But unlike the newly prosperous bourgeoisie of the nineteenth century who sought to invent roots for itself by appropriating the myths of antiquity, we are now too mature to rely on the Greeks for our narratives. The story of psychoanalysis is not the story of Cassandra, but the story of Cassandra’s daughter, a strange, not entirely welcome newcomer on the world stage. We do not know the story of Cassandra’s daughter. We have to write it ourselves.

What does he mean by the ‘power of prophecy’ of psychoanalysis? What does he mean by ‘as it is told’? ‘As it is told’ by whom? Does not he tell just this story in this book? How does it differ from Cassandra’s story? Is he not himself relying on the Greeks for his narrative? How could the daughter’s story—especially in view of the interpersonal paradigm Dr Schwartz extols—not rely on her mother’s? What a tangle of confusion before we even reach page 1!
Dr Schwartz may consider ‘we’ are more ‘mature’ than the ‘bourgeoisie of the nineteenth century’. But his book is bourgeois, in Flaubert’s sense—complacent, philistine, ‘a state of mind, not a state of pocket’ (Nabokov[44])—, from cover to cover.
He announces (p. 2): ‘Psychoanalysis shares with psychiatry a common goal of finding effective treatment for mental pain.’ His book presents psychoanalysis and psychiatry as companionate, compassionate sister-professions. One could not discover from it that psychiatry’s primary mode of ‘treatment’ has been incarceration of those whom others find a ‘pain’!
Dr Schwartz fails to discriminate between the compulsory and the contractual in psychiatry and psychoanalysis. True, he writes (pp. 57-58): ‘A report on madhouses in 1811 noted that the famous astronomer William Wriston had been lucky to avoid being incarcerated in an asylum.’ True, he gives a list of ‘treatments’ which ‘often appear to be the punitive gestures of a frustrated medical establishment whose lack of understanding of the causes of mental pain created a need that was filled by psychoanalysis’ (p. 57); and this list includes ‘treatments’ that are not just cruel but compulsory. But he does not distinguish between those who seek help, whether or not for ‘mental pain’, and those who have the attribution of ‘mental pain’ thrust upon them and used to justify their compulsory ‘diagnosis’ and ‘treatment’.[45]
Again, Dr Schwartz tells us (p. 173): ‘In the 1920s and 1930s there was widespread revulsion against the brutalities of standard psychiatric treatment.’ But one can speak in this way of voluntary medical practices, such as gynaecology or dentistry. Indeed, Dr Schwartz does just that when he compares (p. 57) the ‘cruel, desperate measures’ of psychiatry with the extraction of Anna Lieben’s teeth. Freud describes this in his account of her as ‘Frau Cäcilie M.’[46] in Studies on Hysteria.[47] He writes of the ‘sentencing’ and ‘execution’ of the ‘culprits’.[48] But this is a metaphor; indeed, a joke. Freud is not suggesting, nor has anyone adduced evidence or proof, that her treatment—by him, or by her previous doctors or dentists—was other than voluntary.[49]
Dr Schwartz never makes plain that ‘standard psychiatric treatment’ is compulsory. He refers (p. 159) to the ‘eugenic’ legislation in Indiana and California ‘which permitted compulsory sterilization of patients admitted to state mental hospitals for the conditions of familial feeble-mindedness, schizophrenia or manic depression’. But he does not comment on the compulsory nature of such ‘admi[ssion]’ itself. Nor does he question the ‘condition’ of ‘schizophrenia’.[50]
It is to his credit that he notes Breuer’s compulsory hospitalisation of Anna O. He writes (p. 48) that Breuer ‘had her forcibly transferred to a villa near a sanatorium’. But Breuer was no psychiatrist. Freud credited him, in his American lectures, as the man who ‘called psychoanalysis into life’.[51] And psychoanalysis is, or should be, the paradigmatic consensual therapy.[52] But Dr Schwartz does not mention this contradiction. Nor does he mention that we know of Breuer’s use of force only from his original unpublished record of 1882, which Ellenberger[53] found in Kreuzlingen and Hirschmüller[54] published in 1978. There, Breuer writes she was removed ‘without deception but forcibly’ (‘ohne Täuschung aber gewaltsam’).[55] But, in the published case study in Studies on Hysteria (1895), he tones this down to ‘against her will’ (‘gegen ihren Willen’).[56]
It is important to separate ‘patients’, such as Breuer’s Anna O., whose ‘treatment’ was, in part, ‘forcibl[e]’, and Freud’s Dora, whose ‘treatment’ was also, to a significant degree, against her will[57], from those, such as Freud’s Rat Man, who had a consensual, contractual relationship[58] with Freud. Compulsory ‘treatment’ is to voluntary as rape is to consensual intercourse, as Szasz has pointed out.[59] No wonder Anna O.[60] and Dora[61] remained hostile to psychoanalysis, even though their ‘treatment’ seems not to have been wholly compulsory; while the Rat Man[62] was grateful.
Dr Schwartz does not make this point. Having allowed us a glimpse of the reality of Breuer’s ‘treatment’ of Anna O., he makes nothing of it.[63] He speaks of a paradigm shift from drive-tension-reduction to ‘human relationships’. He speaks of ‘embrac[ing] difference’ (p. 284). But one cannot embrace a difference one has not noticed. One cannot make sense of human relationships if one has not noticed the difference between coercive and consensual relationships.
Dr Schwartz presents William Alanson White as a reforming psychiatrist, who renamed the Government Hospital for the Insane ‘on the grounds that the word Insane in the original name stigmatized the sufferers of mental illness’ (p. 162). Dr Schwartz gives no hint of the critique by Szasz[64], Foucault[65], Laing and Esterson[66] of the concept of ‘mental illness’. He shows no awareness that it, too, may stigmatize those to whom it is attributed, and invalidate them as responsible agents. He reports White’s and Jelliffe’s appearances as defence witnesses in famous murder trials (p. 165). But he does not report Szasz’s analysis of the insanity defence as a complement, and compliment, to compulsory psychiatry.[67]
Dr Schwartz claims psychoanalysts are ‘clinicians’.[68] ‘Clinicians,’ he tells us (p. 276), ‘need to go into their consulting rooms with an emphasis on what they know, not on what wants further understanding.’ This fatuous statement is the antithesis of all that is best in psychoanalysis and psychotherapy.
As we have seen, he thinks psychoanalysts ‘treat’ ‘mental pain’ (p. 2). That was not Freud’s view. As early as 1895, in Studies on Hysteria, a year before he announced[69] the name, ‘psychoanalysis’, he explained that he offered, not ‘to remove your suffering’ (‘Ihr Leiden zu beheben’), but ‘to transform your hysterical misery into common unhappiness’ (‘Ihr hysterisches Elend in gemeines Unglück zu verwandeln’).[70]
Dr Schwartz, therefore, does not understand Freud’s fundamental position. This makes it difficult for him to write a history of psychoanalysis. He does write (p. 55): ‘The results in the successful cases enabled every individual to become the novelist or poet of their own experience.’ This is a step in the right direction; though there is more to being a novelist or poet than being a ‘successful case’. But readers will not learn from Dr Schwartz that Freud spoke of psychoanalysis as ‘secular spiritual counselling’ (‘weltliche Seelsorge’).[71] Nor will they learn how Freud’s patients’ accounts reveal his practice of psychoanalysis as a Socratic, rabbinic conversation, with jokes and humour of the essence.[72] Freud’s own case studies and papers on ‘technique’ reveal little of this. Not that Dr Schwartz does justice to them.
Dr Schwartz has published a book on Einstein.[73] But his criticism of Bion’s ‘mathematics’ (p. 293, n. 5) is mathematically confused. Bion[74] imagines a man walking: ‘his walk is a function of his personality’; ‘I find, after investigation, that the factors of this function are his love for a girl and his envy of her friend’; ‘or F (his gait) = L + E. (F = function, L = love, E = envy)’. This is not the most inspired of mathematical metaphors. But Dr Schwartz does not help by writing (p. 293, n. 5):

The rules of arithmetic do not apply to love, personality and envy because they are not measurable and the relationships between them cannot usefully be described with the plus sign of arithmetic. It is without meaning to transpose Bion’s ‘equation’ by the rules of algebra to write, L = F x E.

    It is, indeed, without meaning. But, more to the point, by the rules of algebra it is wrong! This is not Bion’s wrong and meaningless transposition; it is Dr Schwartz’s. The correct transposition is not L = F x E, but L = F – E.
And this last ‘equation’ is not ‘without meaning’. It has the plain meaning that in order to perceive the man’s love for the girl from his walk it would be necessary to ‘subtract’ the factor due to his envy of her friend. And if he could overcome that envy, causing that factor to vanish, then his walk would simply embody his love for the girl.
Dr Schwartz also confuses arithmetic and algebra. Bion’s plus sign is not arithmetical, but part of a kind of experiential vector algebra, a lived ‘parallelogram of forces’[75]. This can distort a man’s walk, in a way that may be obvious to others, if not to him, though he may become reflectively aware of it and, in time, transcend his envy, perhaps through repentance.
Bion was feeling his way in 1962—with, for instance, Semple and Kneebone’s Algebraic Projective Geometry[76] as one of his Baedekers—towards a phenomenological ‘dynamics’ of the embodied ‘psyche’[77]. Bion would not have known that order and topological structures, rather than algebraic ones, are, as Isnard and Zeeman[78] have explained, the appropriate, because qualitatively invariant, source of mathematical metaphors or maps in the ‘human sciences’. But it is not necessary to be an enthusiast for Bion to observe that Dr Schwartz is not doing him justice.
Dr Schwartz writes (p. 63): ‘Most of us, including our intellectuals, do not know what it actually feels like to understand a problem of any complexity.’ How does he know this? Do not babies have to understand problems of great complexity?[79]
He ‘feels ashamed to live in a time when theory is just a game’; he denounces catastrophe theory as a ‘fad’. But René Thom’s notion of science as ‘reducing the arbitrariness of the metaphor’[80] is pertinent to Dr Schwartz’s own view of science. And Christopher Zeeman’s metaphoric geometry[81] of cusps and butterflies is less arbitrary, and reflects more accurately, the experience of hysteresis, catastrophic change and transcendence than such metaphors as ‘vicious circle’, or ‘another spiral of the dialectic’, or ‘equidistant from id and superego’, though these are good enough for many purposes.
Medard Boss insisted that psychoanalysis, ‘purified’ as Daseinsanalysis[82], needs no metaphors. In 1953, he asked: ‘Or are there perhaps in reality no dream symbols at all?’ (‘Oder gibt es am Ende in Wirklichkeit gar keine Traumsymbole?’)[83] Right or wrong, this is a high point of twentieth-century writing on psychotherapy. But Dr Schwartz is silent on Boss and Heidegger, and on Buber, Binswanger, Sartre, Szasz, Foucault, Laing, Esterson, Levinas. Whatever their disagreements, their work constitutes a true ‘paradigm shift’: a series of leaps that transcends, and is irreducible to, the shuffle from Freud to Fairbairn.
A scientific approach would also take account of contradicting views. Should not Dr Schwartz have recorded Eissler’s[84] assertions that, in psychoanalysis, only Freud created paradigms for a scientific revolution; and that, since Freud, psychoanalysis has ‘entered the phase of “normal science”’? Should he not have quoted, for example, the physicist, Bohm[85], and the philosopher, Feyerabend[86], both of whom questioned Kuhn’s distinction between ‘revolutionary’ and ‘normal’ science? Is not the very notion of ‘paradigm’ open to question?
Dr Schwartz rebuts criticism of psychoanalysis with some curious arguments. For example (p. 4): ‘When psychoanalysis is accused of being unscientific, the charge is really that it is subjective...’ And (p. 13): ‘Our resistance to psychoanalysis – whether we are men or women – is in part due to our sense that what is being described is women’s work...’ This sort of ad hominem attack helped win psychoanalysis its well-deserved reputation for being, at least at times, unscientific.[87]
He is indignant that ‘literary critics’, among whom he includes novelists, should presume to criticize psychoanalysis (p. 4). But he does not tell his readers what great writers said.
Joyce told Djuna Barnes that psychoanalysis was ‘neither more nor less than blackmail’.[88] (It is interesting that the Christian theologian, Bonhoeffer, in his Letters and Papers from Prison, wrote: ‘the psychotherapists practise religious blackmail’.[89])
Lawrence wrote in Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious: ‘Psychoanalysis is out, under a therapeutic disguise, to do away entirely with the moral faculty in man.’[90]
Eliot wrote of Freud’s The Future of an Illusion: ‘It is shrewd and yet stupid; the stupidity lies not so much in historical ignorance or lack of sympathy with the religious attitude, as in verbal vagueness and inability to reason.’[91]
Nabokov wrote: ‘The symbolism racket in schools attracts computerized minds but destroys plain intelligence as well as poetical sense.’[92]
These are profound observations. Psychoanalysts, and Dr Schwartz, would do well to ponder them.


[1]  Schwartz 1999. I am grateful to Dr Sonu Shamdasani, Mr Richard Skues, Mrs Naomi Stadlen, Mr Peter J. Swales, Professor Thomas S. Szasz and Professor Sir Christopher Zeeman FRS for their constructive criticisms and encouragement, and to the Nuffield Foundation for supporting my research.

[2] For a discussion of the difference between phenomenology and ‘metapsychology’, see Chapter 1 of Laing 1961: the first edition of The Self and Others, and the only edition with that title. The second edition (1969 [1961]) has the title, Self and Others; and the revised Chapter 1, while elegant and succinct, is less instructive on the distinction in question.

[3]  Kuhn 1970; Masterman 1970: 61-65.

[4]  The staff of the Freud Museum at Berggasse 19, Vienna, kindly verified this from their copy of the Konkordanz (compiled by Samuel A. Guttman et al.) to Freud GW.

[5]  Freud GW 2/3: VII; SE 4: xxiii. In quotations requiring translation, I give my own; but I also indicate the corresponding passages in the published English translation, in this case the Freud Standard Edition.

[6]  Freud GW 2/3: 92; SE 4: 88.

[7]  Freud GW 4: 20; SE 6: 14; GW 4: 133, n.1; SE 6: 120, n.1.

[8]  Freud GW 4: 5-12; SE 6: 1-7.

[9]  Freud GW 4: 13-20; SE 6: 8-14.

[10]  Freud GW 2/3: 649-655, 663-664, 668-670, 685-686; SE 5: 636-641, 650, 655-657, 671-673.

[11]  I reported some of my (still unpublished) findings on these links at Skues, Stadlen and Swales 2000.

[12]  See note 4.

[13]  Fichtner 1992: 104.

[14]  Walter Kaufmann (1980: 24) translates Freud’s ‘Fehlleistung’ as ‘mischievement’. This brings out the ‘mischievous’, ‘trickster’ nature of such ‘slips’ or ‘parapraxes’.

[15]  Freud GW 1: 280; SE 3: 278.

[16]  Smith 1991: 21. Aaron Esterson (1993) independently suggested a similar hypothesis in conversation with me. He was thinking in terms of the patients’ response, not only to Freud’s ‘pressure procedure’, but to the pressure of Freud’s procedure in general.
Freud alludes to this pressure in such passages as the following, in ‘The aetiology of hysteria’ (GW 1: 440; SE 3: 204): ‘The patients know nothing of these scenes before the application of the analysis, they tend to become indignant if one indicates something of the sort is emerging; they can be induced only by the strongest compulsion of the treatment to get involved in their reproduction,...they try to deny belief in them, by emphasizing that here a memory-feeling has not appeared as with other forgotten things’.
I have replaced the smooth Strachey translation with an awkward literal one to bring out that ‘analysis’—the ‘psychoanalysis’ that Freud was naming for the first time in this and his other two ‘seduction theory’ papers—was in 1896 an avant-garde ‘treatment’ that required ‘application’ and ‘the strongest compulsion’, rather than a fashionable pastime as suggested by Strachey’s translation, ‘Before they come for analysis the patients know nothing of these scenes’ (emphasis added).
Freud steps up the pressure of his procedure when he goes on to insist (GW 1: 441; SE 3: 204): ‘The latter conduct [i.e., the patients’ emphasis that their ‘scenes’ of childhood sexual abuse do not feel like memories] seems now to be absolutely probative [i.e., to constitute proof that the ‘scenes’ are memories!].’

[17]  Masson 1984.

[18]  Cioffi 1998.

[19]  Cioffi 1998: 206-207.

[20]  Freud GW 1: 446; SE 3: 209.

[21]  In ‘The aetiology of hysteria’, Freud wrote (GW 1: 435; SE 3: 199-200): ‘You can admittedly object to me that the nineteenth and the twentieth analyses will perhaps show a derivation of hysterical symptoms from other sources also and thus reduce the validity of the sexual aetiology from universality to eighty per cent.’
In ‘Tell it not in Dan: The untold story of Freud’s seduction theory’ (ICA version: Stadlen 1994), I asked whether it was only because ‘Freudians’ had not noticed Freud’s erroneous calculation—that eighteen out of twenty was eighty per cent—that they had not interpreted it as a ‘Freudian slip’. Should they not, I asked, conclude that Freud, by conceding a larger ‘reduc[tion]’ of ‘validity’ than the nineteenth and twentieth anomalous cases would in fact entail, ‘unconsciously’ confessed his unease about his claim of 100% incidence for his ‘specific aetiology’ of ‘hysteria’? I emphasized that I was not interpreting the error as a ‘Freudian slip’.
I raised a similar question (Stadlen 1991, 1994) about Freud’s Biblical error in his letter to Fliess of 21 September 1897 (Freud 1986: 283-286; Masson 1985: 264-267). I asked why psychoanalysts did not interpret this error, too, as a ‘Freudian slip’. Why did they not argue that Freud, in writing that he would not ‘tell it in Dan’ (in the land of the Israelites) rather than, as in the Bible, ‘Gath’ (in the land of the Philistines), thereby ‘unconsciously’ confessed that he would try to conceal the truth about the seduction theory episode, not only from his enemies, but also from his friends, perhaps even including Fliess?
I argued that what the ‘Freudians’ would, if they were worth their salt, have deduced, by treating these errors of Freud’s as ‘slips’, was in fact the case. But my argument was based on evidence, not on the supposed meanings of alleged ‘Freudian slips’. It would be absurd and circular to assume the validity of psychoanalytic inferences about ‘slips’ when evaluating the founding moment of psychoanalysis itself. And the 1896 seduction theory papers are the founding moment. It was in them that Freud publicly announced the name, ‘psychoanalysis’. Similar considerations apply to the 1897 letter where he privately retracted the seduction theory. For this letter announces a ‘collapse of all values’ (‘Sturz aller Werte’) in which ‘only the psychological has remained unaffected’ (Freud 1986: 286; Masson 1985: 266). It is, in effect, the founding moment of a rebirth of psychoanalysis. The psychoanalytic theory of ‘slips’ should, again, be avoided in evaluating it. However, Estelle Roith (1994: 14), in an otherwise scrupulous account, reports that I ‘insist’ that ‘Freud’s two telling “mistakes”...should be seen as slips’; she implies that I claim these ‘slips’ as evidence for what I was asserting.
Of course, the most authentic ‘Freudian’ method would be to invite Freud to say what occurs to him in connection with ‘eighty per cent’, rather than to interpret regardless. But, in many examples in The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, Freud does not ask for the other person’s associations; instead, he supplies his own. Even in the paradigmatic ‘aliquis’ analysis, the associations of the ‘young man’—who in any case almost certainly did not exist (Skues, Stadlen and Swales 2000)—are contaminated by Freud’s own, interpolated, associations. Thus what I say ‘Freudians’ should have done is no more than Freud himself often did, as do ‘Freudians’, when it suits them, to this day.
Strachey mistranslates Freud as referring to ‘the nineteenth or the twentieth’ (emphasis added) (SE 3: 199-200); thus he misrepresents Freud’s arithmetic as even worse than it actually is at this point. Baines’s 1924 translation, which was available for Strachey to consult, correctly renders Freud’s ‘die neunzehnten und die zwanzigsten Analyse’ as ‘the nineteenth and twentieth analyses’ (Freud CP 1: 193).

[22]  Szasz 1961.

[23]  Freud GW 1: 377-459; SE 3: 141-221.

[24]  Freud GW 1: 377-459; SE 3: 141-221.

[25]  Freud GW 1: 405-422; SE 3: 141-156.

[26]  Freud GW 14: 59-60; SE 20: 34.

[27]  Freud GW 2/3: 597; SE 5: 592.

[28]  Freud SE 7: 1-122.

[29]  Freud GW 5: 180; SE7: 22. Strachey mistranslates this as ‘when she was sixteen, in the early summer’. He thus misleads English-speaking readers into supposing that Dora was above the British age of consent when Herr K. molested her by the lake.
Mahony (1986: 23) says we would ‘profit from a psychoanalysis of Strachey’s translations’. This suggests that Strachey acted ‘unconsciously’. But many of his mistranslations—in the ‘Dora’ case, for instance—must be deliberate.
For example, Freud specifies no less than six times that Herr K. has a ‘shop’ in the Kurort ‘B—’ (Meran). And he did, indeed, have a shop in Meran (Stadlen 1977–2001). Freud uses the words: ‘Geschäftsladen’, once; ‘Geschäft’, twice; ‘Laden’, three times. All of these words mean ‘shop’. Freud mentions the shop five times (GW 5: 186-189; CP 3: 36-40; SE 7: 27-31) as the place where Herr K. tried to seduce Dora by forcing a kiss on her. She was then, according to Freud, a ‘fourteen-year-old child’ (GW 5: 187; CP 3: 37; SE 7: 28). Both the CP and the SE versions of the authorised English translation by Alix and James Strachey render the first (GW 5: 186; CP 3: 36; SE 7: 27) of these five references to Herr K.’s shop as ‘place of business’. The next four references are simply omitted. For instance, in the fourth and fifth references (GW 5: 187, 189; CP 3: 37, 40; SE 7: 28, 31), ‘the kiss in the shop’ is translated as ‘the kiss’. Finally, when Freud refers (GW 5: 191; CP 3: 42; SE 7: 33) to Herr K.’s being ‘in his shop’ while Dora’s father visited Frau K. in her home, this is translated as ‘at his business’.
What is happening here? The Stracheys thanked Fräulein Anna Freud in 1925 (CP 3: 7) ‘for reading through the whole of our manuscript and making many important corrections and suggestions’. In 1953 Miss Freud was co-editor of the Standard Edition. I therefore asked her, in 1980, if she knew why all references to Herr K.’s shop had been mistranslated or omitted.
Miss Freud agreed (Freud, A.1980) that the words ‘Geschäftsladen’, ‘Geschäft’ and ‘Laden’ should all have been translated as ‘shop’. She said she did not know why they had not been.
It can hardly have been to protect Herr K.’s anonymity. Freud referred to Herr K.’s ‘shop’, in German, in Vienna, where Herr K. then lived, in 1905. Why, then, should a disguise be called for, in English, in the English-speaking world, in 1925, and in 1953, and still today?
The sexual molesting of a child is as sordid in a ‘place of business’ as in a shop. But this systematic mistranslation seems calculated to appeal to English-speaking readers’ sense of the niceties of social class. Perhaps the Stracheys had reason to expect that, to such a readership, Herr K.’s molesting of Dora would appear, in this socially adjusted light, as less sordid than it was.
The more socially ‘respectable’ Herr K. appeared, the more ethically and scientifically respectable Freud would appear. After all, Freud had asserted (GW 5: 187; CP 3: 37; SE 7: 28) that the action of this ‘fourteen-year-old child’, Dora, in pulling herself free in disgust from Herr K.’s molesting grasp, was itself evidence that she was ‘completely and utterly hysterical’ (‘ganz und voll hysterisch’). The Stracheys may have felt a need to dignify, by reassigning the social standing of her suitor, this diagnosis by Freud that Dora’s disgust was a pathognomonic symptom of ‘hysteria’ (Stadlen 1985a,b,c; 1989).
A claim made by Decker (1991: 118) and Mahony (1996: 119) calls for comment. They assert that Dora was thirteen, not fourteen as Freud states, when Herr K. forced a kiss upon her in his shop. If this were the case, then there would be serious legal implications, although neither Decker nor Mahony appears aware of this. Fourteen was the age of consent in Austrian law. If Herr K. had had sexual intercourse with Dora when she was thirteen, he could have been found guilty of dishonouring a minor (Schändung). His act would have been treated as rape. He could have been sentenced to many years of ‘severe imprisonment’.
Some of the chronology of Freud’s case study is contradictory. But Dora’s age when K. forcibly kissed her cannot be derived with certainty from the case study, even when the latter is augmented by the limited historical data prayed in aid by Decker and Mahony. I hinted in 1985 (Stadlen 1985b), years before they published their confident assertions, that my research indicated Dora may have been thirteen at the time. The historical evidence I had gathered by 1985 was already far more extensive than the scanty data Decker and Mahony subsequently adduced. My data (Stadlen 1977–2001, 2000b) make it very probable that Dora was thirteen. But on what grounds do these authors assert that she was thirteen?

[30]  Freud GW 5: 177; SE 7: 19.

[31]  Freud GW 5: 177; SE 7: 19.

[32]  Stadlen 1977–2001.

[33]  Braunthal 1961; Leichter 1970.

[34]  Stadlen 1977–2001.

[35]  Stadlen 1977–2001.

[36]  Stadlen 1977–2001.

[37]  Stadlen 1977–2001.

[38]  See, for example, his play, Napoleons Ende (Bauer 1948 [1891]). The title page, presumably handwritten by Bauer, states that he completed it on 24 December 1891. He was then ten. Julius Deutsch, in his preface to the privately printed version, claims Bauer wrote it when he was nine.

[39]  Hirschmüller 1978: 348; 1989 [1978]: 276.

[40]  Hirschmüller 1978: 170; 1989 [1978]: 126.

[41]  Edinger 1968; Hirschmüller 1978; 1989 [1978].

[42]  Freud 1986: 113; Masson 1985: 120.

[43]  Magaziner 1975: 216-219.

[44]  Nabokov 1980: 126-127.

[45]  Esterson 1970; Szasz 1979.

[46]  Dr Schwartz states (p.51): ‘Freud repeatedly referred to Cäcilie M. in both his early and later writing as his teacher (Lehrmeisterin).’ In fact, Freud twice called Anna von Lieben his ‘Lehrmeisterin’ (‘master instructress’), without revealing that she was ‘Frau Cäcilie M.’; and not in his published writings, but in private letters, in 1897 and 1938 (Swales 1986: 12). Swales and I, independently, established her identity.

[47]  Breuer and Freud 1991[1895]; Freud SE 2.

[48]  Freud GW 1: 245; Breuer and Freud 1991 [1895]: 197; Freud SE 2: 176.

[49]  Peter Swales (1984) hypothesized that Anna Lieben, before her marriage, was resident for a time in a ‘sanatorium’ in England. My research showed that the ‘sanatorium’ Swales had in mind was a Lunatic Asylum. This would have had implications for the question of whether she had been compulsorily ‘treated’. I therefore investigated.
Baroness Anna von Todesco (later Lieben) stayed in England between 1866 and 1868. For much of this time she was at Egham, Surrey, where her married sister had gone to live. Swales claimed that, while she was staying there, she ‘underwent a period of severe nervous illness’. He did not say how he knew this. Nor did he say what he meant by it. He hypothesized that she was for at least some of this time not staying with her sister but confined to bed in a nearby ‘sanatorium’. He adduced as evidence for this hypothesis that: (1) Freud (according to Swales) says she was once in ‘a sanatorium overseas’ and Anna’s only known trip overseas was this one to England; (2) there are ‘one or two remarks about nurses, orderlies, and the like’ in some of the poems, printed after her death (Lieben P), ‘which she wrote while in’ Egham; and (3) there was what Swales calls a ‘sanatorium for mental patients’, Great Fosters, near Anna’s sister’s home.
However, I disproved his hypothesis as follows.
Ad (1): Freud (GW 1: 248) says Frau Cäcilie was ‘in einer ausländischer Heilanstalt’, which Strachey (Freud SE 2: 179) translates as ‘a sanatorium abroad’, though it might mean a nursing home, perhaps at a spa. ‘Ausländisch’ does not imply ‘overseas’. It simply means ‘foreign’.
Ad (2): There are just three poems in Lieben P that contain possible references to what Swales calls ‘nurses, orderlies, and the like’. But Anna Lieben’s granddaughter, the painter Marie-Louise von Motesiczky, had granted me access to her grandmother’s locked diary (Lieben D) and fair copy manuscript book of poems (Lieben M). These contain earlier versions of many of the poems in Lieben P. They also indicate, in many instances, the place, date, and context of composition.
The first poem, ‘Im Fieber’ (‘In the fever’) (Lieben P: 34-5), mentions ‘Wärterinnen’ (‘nurses’ or ‘attendants’). The date and place of its writing are not given; but it exists in three versions: in D, M and P. The D version shows she wrote it at Franzensbad in 1868, after she had left England. In this original, untitled, version, Anna mentions only one ‘Wärterin’. She changes this to the plural (‘Wärt’rinnen’) in the M version (M: 220-221) and there gives the poem the title ‘Ein Fiebertraum’ (‘A fever-dream’).
The second poem, ‘Krankenzimmer’ (‘Sickroom’) (P: 54), mentions a ‘Wärt’rin’. The place of writing is not specified. It is dated 1867. Anna was in Egham that year; though she was also in London, as shown by her poem ‘Schnee in London’ (‘Snow in London’), dated 1867 (P: 91; M: 38-39). But D shows she wrote ‘Krankenzimmer’ in 1877 (D: 23 May 1877), nine years after she had left England.
The third poem, ‘Frühling 1861 in Egham’ (‘Spring 1861 in Egham’) (P: 76), mentions a ‘Schwester’ (‘sister’) named Valeria. Anna had no sister of that name. The date and place occur only in the title. This poem also exists in M, but both its title and its place in the sequence of manuscript poems show that ‘1861’ should be ‘1868’ (M: 144). Moreover, Valeria (or Valerie) was no sanatorium ‘orderly’; she was, as my research (Stadlen 1977–2001) found, a ‘companion’ who accompanied Anna to a number of spas in Europe. Anna wrote poems to her (e.g., M: 11, 202; P: 111) and named her second daughter after her.
Quite apart from this, Freud mentions in Studies on Hysteria that Frau Cäcilie had a ‘Wärterin’ (‘nurse’ or ‘attendant’) while he was treating her in Vienna (GW 1: 129; SE 2: 76), but nobody deduces she was in a sanatorium then.
Thus there is not even a prima facie case that Anna was in any ‘sanatorium’ at Egham.
Ad (3): I was able to prove she was definitely not a resident in the only ‘sanatorium’ then at or near Egham. My research (Stadlen 1977–2001) found: Great Fosters was a Lunatic Asylum; residents were officially classed as ‘lunatics’; Anna was not listed among the ‘lunatics’ of the asylum; and the asylum was in any case closed down, and all residents discharged, a few months before her stay in England.
Peter Swales, with his characteristic honesty and generosity, withdrew his hypothesis and thanked me for ‘sparing [him] such a misconception’ (Swales 1986: 61-62, n.8). Had his hypothesis been correct, it would have been remarkable if this ‘lunatic’ had graduated to a voluntary ‘treatment’ by Freud.
The notion that Anna was in a ‘sanatorium’ in England has been repeated in at least one book (Harrison 1984: 66) after Swales’s 1984 lecture. If Swales had published his hypothesis, which he never claimed to be more than that, other authors would, on past showing, have repeated it as a ‘fact’; and some would no doubt have taken this ‘fact’ as ‘evidence’ for Goshen’s (1952) assertion that Freud’s paradigmatic ‘patients’ were ‘schizophrenic’, and for Robert Fliess’s (1970 [1961]: 10) assertion that they were ‘psychotic’.
The BBC2 television version of Harrison’s novel presented Anna von Lieben as a vulgar, pretentious, histrionic seductress; her granddaughter telephoned me (Motesiczky 1984) in some distress about this.

[50]  Laing and Esterson 1964; Esterson 1970; Szasz 1979.

[51]  Freud GW 8: 3; SE 11: 9.

[52]  Szasz 1965.

[53]  Ellenberger 1972.

[54]  Hirschmüller 1978: 348-362; 1989 [1978]: 276-290.

[55]  Hirschmüller 1978: 358; 1989 [1978]: 286. The English translation tones down ‘forcibly’ to ‘not without force’.

[56]  Breuer 1987 [1895]: 227; Breuer and Freud 1991 [1895]: 48; Freud SE 2: 28.

[57]  Freud GW 5: 180-181; SE 7: 22-23; GW 5: 232, n.2; SE 7: 70, n.2.Freud writes (GW 5: 181): ‘er...wurde trotz ihres Sträubens bestimmt, daß sie in meiner Behandlung treten solle.’ This means: ‘he [Dora’s father]...became determined [resolute], despite her struggling, that she should enter my treatment.’ Strachey mistranslates this (SE 7: 23) as: ‘it was determined, despite her reluctance, that she should come to me for treatment.’

[58]  Freud 1987: 509; SE 10: 255.

[59]  Szasz 1979: 49.

[60]  Dora Edinger writes (1968: 15): ‘Bertha Pappenheim never spoke about this period of her life [the time of her ‘treatment’ by Breuer] and violently opposed any suggestion of psychoanalytic therapy for someone she was in charge of, to the surprise of her co-workers.’
     Lucy Freeman writes (1972 [1971]: 150): ‘...a member of the board...suggested, “Perhaps we should take Manya to see a psychoanalyst.” ... Bertha Pappenheim…abruptly stood up and said, her voice emphatic, “Never! Not as long as I am alive.” A hush fell over the room. The other women did not understand her dramatic reaction but realized she spoke out of deep feeling. Then she said, “Let’s go on to other matters,” and sat down.’
Anna Freud writes (1973 [1971]: xi) that Anna O. was ‘estranged and inimical toward h[er] former therapy’. Miss Freud may be relying on Edinger’s or Freeman’s account, or both.

[61]  Roazen (1986 [1985]: 211) quotes from a letter from Felix Deutsch to his wife, Helene, in March 1923. In it, Deutsch says he has been called in to see Dora, who was ‘in Freud’s treatment twenty-five years ago [sic], and has nothing good to say about analysis.’ After Dora’s death, Deutsch published a report (Deutsch 1957) of his encounter with Dora. In it, he withheld from his readers what he had told his wife about Dora’s attitude to psychoanalysis. Instead, he claimed Dora had ‘display[ed] great pride in having been written up as a famous case in psychiatric literature’.
Deutsch’s paper is replete with gross factual errors. Deutsch claims to show that Freud’s ‘predictions’ for Dora were fulfilled. In fact, Freud made no predictions for Dora! Deutsch also quotes an unnamed informant as saying Dora had been ‘one of the most repulsive hysterics he had ever met’. Not only psychoanalysts, but also ‘feminists’ purporting to understand, defend, or vindicate Dora, have referred, and deferred, to Deutsch’s paper, and to this ‘diagnosis’ of Dora, as if to valuable scientific testimony. The ‘diagnosis’ was not robust enough, however, for Goshen and Robert Fliess (see note 49). Goshen (1952) held that Dora was a ‘schizophrenic’; while Fliess (1970 [1961]: 10) observed: ‘To the psychosis of Dora, Felix Deutsch has recently devoted a convincing publication’ (emphases added).
In 1979, I identified Deutsch’s informant and interviewed the informant’s widow. I used a method derived from Laing and Esterson (1964) and Esterson (1970) to evaluate the differing perspectives of different people in Dora’s family and milieu. I established that Deutsch’s informant and his wife were themselves part of a complex family network that served to denigrate Dora, both before and after Freud diagnosed her alleged ‘hysteria’. My research findings call for a radical reappraisal of the ‘Dora’ case and of the literature on it, including Deutsch’s paper. I have reported on this in many lectures and seminars since 1985. (See also Stadlen 1985a,b,c; 1989; 2000b.)
Thus Deutsch fails to inform his readers of Dora’s negative view of psychoanalysis, which he privately reported to his wife; and he himself becomes part of the familial, social, and professional network that denigrates Dora. In effect, he invalidates in principle anything negative she might have said about psychoanalysis, by dismissing her as a negative and neurotic person, while taking care not to mention that, as he well knows, she has indeed said negative things about psychoanalysis.
In 1979, I also interviewed Frau Elsa Foges, then ninety-seven years old. (I last spoke to her when she was one hundred and one.) She was a character in Freud’s published ‘Dora’ case study: a cousin of Dora’s, five months older, the younger daughter of Dora’s ‘beloved aunt’ (GW 5: 180; SE 7: 22). Freud writes (GW 5: 221; SE 7: 61): ‘Dora had always got on particularly well with her and had shared all sorts of secrets with her’. Frau Foges told me that she had asked Ida (Dora) at the time of Ida’s analysis (in 1900): ‘Who is this Freud?’ Ida had replied: ‘He asks me lots of questions, and I want to make an end of it.’

[62]  Freud, writing to Jung on 17 October 1909, calls the Rat Man ‘the intelligent and grateful man’ (McGuire and Sauerländer 1974: 280; McGuire 1994 [1974]: 255).
Over a number of years in the 1980s, I interviewed a niece of the Rat Man, the daughter of one of his sisters. She was ‘Ella’ in Freud’s published ‘Rat Man’ case study. Freud does not state her age. She was in her second year when the Rat Man started his analysis with Freud; and I was present at her eightieth-birthday celebration. Freud writes (GW 7: 444; SE 10: 226-227): ‘He had a delightful little niece, whom he loved very much. One day he got the idea: If you allow yourself a coitus, a misfortune will happen to Ella (to die).’ She did not know Freud had published a case study on her uncle; nor did she know of her uncle’s erstwhile preoccupation with rats. But she said the family tradition, stemming from both her uncle and her parents, was that the analysis had helped him, enabling him to get married and pass his law examinations.
In 1991, I interviewed two of the Rat Man’s nephews, sons of another of his sisters; they, too, said Professor Freud had helped their uncle.

[63]  Dr Schwartz, again to his credit, does point out (p.49), by referring to a passage in Breuer’s original record (Hirschmüller 1978: 359; 1989 [1978]: 287), that ‘[w]hen Breuer had her forcibly relocated to Inzersdorf, Pappenheim refused to engage in the evening story-telling sessions with sanatorium staff’.

[64]  Szasz 1961 (and some seven hundred other Szasz titles).

[65]  Foucault 1967 [1961].

[66]  Laing and Esterson 1964; Esterson 1970.

[67]  Szasz 1963.

[68]  Etymologically, ‘clinician’ derives from kline (‘couch, for meals or bed’), klinikos (‘physician, who visits patients in their beds’), and klinike (‘his art or method’) (Liddell and Scott 1990 [1843]: 961). The couch (kline) is a fitting emblem for a psychoanalyst. Freud even gave the Rat Man a meal, though probably not on the couch; and analysts’ couches have sometimes served as the locus classicus for bedding patients. But the meaning of a word is its use. Psychoanalysts and psychotherapists call themselves ‘clinicians’, and use the word ‘clinical’, not to allude to their couches, but to invoke the prestige of the ‘physician’ and of the ‘art or method’ of modern natural-scientific medicine. They mystify what they do. Freud was clear that psychoanalysis was not part of medicine. He wrote (GW 14: 262; SE 20: 230): ‘...doctors contribute a preponderating contingent to the quacks in analysis.’
How could anyone who had understood Szasz 1961, Laing and Esterson 1964, or Esterson 1970 continue to use the word ‘clinician’ as Dr Schwartz does?

[69]  Freud GW 1: 416; SE 3: 151.

[70]  Freud GW 1: 312; SE 2: 305.

[71]  Freud GW 14: 293; SE 20: 255.

[72]  Blanton 1971; Choisy 1974; Doolittle 1974; Dorsey 1976; Hirst 1967?; Kardiner 1977; Lohser and Newton 1996; Roazen 1995; Wortis 1975.

[73]  Schwartz and McGuinness 1979.

[74]  Bion 1991 [1962], Introduction.

[75]  Freud, at the turn of the century, in ‘Screen memories’ (1899) and On Dreams (1901), played with the analogy or metaphor of ‘parallelogram of forces’. Freud GW 1: 536; SE 3: 307; GW 2/3: 671; SE 5: 657.

[76]  Semple and Kneebone 1956 [1952].

[77]  ‘Existential’ and ‘phenomenological’ psychotherapists often disparage the words, ‘dynamics’, ‘psyche’ and ‘psychodynamics’. This is justified when these words denote ‘metapsychological’ speculations and reifications. But they need not do so. Heidegger, in 1931, soon after the publication of Being and Time, devoted a lecture series (1990 [1981]; 1995 [1981]) to studying the ‘essence and actuality of force’ through a sustained examination of Aristotle’s discussion of ‘dunamis’ (force) in the first three chapters of Part 9 of his Metaphysics. And Spiegelberg, in The Phenomenological Movement (1965: 654-701), chooses precisely the phenomenon of force to illustrate ‘the essentials of the phenomenological method’; he criticizes the natural-scientific use of Occam’s razor to do away with the concept of ‘force’. ‘Existential’ therapists who throw out the notion of ‘force’ are behaving like positivist natural scientists, though less rationally, as the natural scientists throw out force, not as a phenomenon, but as a hypothetical explanation of phenomena.
Chapter 1 of Laing 1961 clarifies the phenomenological status as experience of what psychoanalysts call ‘unconscious phantasy’ (see note 2). The phenomenon of force may be an experience in one or more modalities, such as perception, imagination, memory, dream, phantasy, transcendental experience. This is quite different from hypothetical non-human ‘forces’ ‘on the meta-experiential level’, as Laing puts it, postulated as ‘metapsychological’ explanations of experience.
As I showed in ‘Demythologizing Daseinsanalysis’ (Stadlen 1999), daseinsanalytic or existential authors, in many books or papers (at least twenty-nine: see Appendix), have seized on a certain sentence of Freud’s to try to prove, or at least suggest, that he was no phenomenologist.
The sentence in question is (Freud GW 11: 62): ‘Die wahrgenommenen Phänomene müssen in unserer Auffassung gegen die nur angenommenen Strebungen zurücktreten.
Strachey translates (Freud SE 15: 67): ‘On our view the phenomena that are perceived must yield in importance to trends which are only hypothetical.’
This translation is misleading. It should be something like: ‘The perceived phenomena must in our conception step back before the merely assumed strivings.’
Strebungen’ here means human strivings: what Szasz (1999) calls ‘inexplicit intentions’. It does not, or at least not necessarily, mean ‘hypothetical’ ‘trends’ or ‘forces’ ‘behind the scenes’, which even in principle could never be experienced. But this is how Binswanger, Boss, Heidegger, Holzhey-Kunz, Condrau and Cohn (see Appendix), even in German, misrepresent its meaning.
As far as I know, the first writer to quote Freud’s sentence and attribute an antiphenomenological sense to it was Binswanger (1947a [1936]: 156; 1963 [1936]: 165), in his 1936 lecture in honour of Freud’s eightieth birthday. And, in ‘Ellen West’, Binswanger (1957c [1944–5]: 142; 1958 [1944–5]: 319) calls this sentence the ‘Grundsatz’ (fundamental principle) of psychoanalysis.
Boss (1979b [1967]: 332-3; 1977b [1970]: 24; 1979c [1973b]: 391; 1979d [1974]: 424-5) calls it the ‘formulation’ of ‘the Grundabsicht [fundamental intention or purpose] of [Freud’s] whole metapsychological theory’. Boss quotes the sentence in at least sixteen works, or seventeen if his edition of Heidegger’s Zollikon seminars is included (see Appendix); and he always interprets it as evidence of what he alleges to be Freud’s rejection of phenomenology; although, of course, Boss recognises a phenomenological aspect of Freud’s work.
(Boss (1979b [1967]: 333) points out that Meerwein (1965: 37) inverts Freud’s sentence by writing that ‘in psychoanalysis the interest in the assumed strivings must recede behind that in the perceived phenomena’. Boss calls Meerwein’s misstatement a ‘fundamental’ ‘Fehlhandlung’ (Freudian slip or ‘faulty action’). But, on at least one occasion, Boss himself (1979c [1973b]: 391) misquotes Freud’s sentence by replacing Freud’s word ‘Auffassung’ (view, conception) with Boss’s own word ‘Absicht’ (purpose, intention); Boss thus falsely suggests that his own assertion, that Freud’s sentence expresses Freud’s ‘Absicht’, must be true because, after all, this is what the sentence itself says.
Michel Henry (1993 [1985]: 296) also discusses Freud’s sentence, but from a different perspective.)
The sentence itself follows two other sentences (Freud GW 11: 62; SE 15: 67), which have also been much quoted: ‘Wir wollen die Erscheinungen nicht bloss beschreiben und klassifizieren, sondern sie als Anzeichen eines Kräftesspiels in der Seele begreifen, als Äusserung von zielstrebigen Tendenzen, die zusammen oder gegeneinander arbeiten. Wir bemühen uns um eine dynamische Auffassung der seelischen Erscheinungen.’ (‘We want not merely to describe and classify phenomena, but to comprehend them as signs of an interplay of forces in the soul, as an expression of goal-striving [purposeful, resolute] intentions, which work together or against each other. We are trying to get a dynamic conception of phenomena of the soul.’ [Emphases added.])
But this can be a phenomenological, and indeed a daseinsanalytical, ‘dynamics’! Condrau gives some acknowledgement of this possibility (1998a [1989]: 171-172; 1998b: 73-75). The person can be, or can become, perhaps with the help of others, aware of the ‘interplay of forces’ or ‘strivings’ in his ‘soul’ or ‘psyche’. He does not have to ‘infer’ or ‘assume’ these ‘forces’: he can directly experience them as what Heidegger (1987: 357, 2001 [1987]: 287) calls ‘an ecstatic-intentional world-relationship to things, living beings and fellow human beings’. ‘Psychodynamics’ does not have to mean the alienated, mechanistic ‘dynamics’ of the reified, encapsulated ‘psyche’, that Boss (1975a [1971]: 329-332; 1983 [1971]: 131-132) rightly deplores. Heidegger in his 1942–3 Parmenides lectures (1992a [1982]: 147; 1992b [1982]: 99) said that psuche ‘cannot be translated’ but ‘means the ground and manner of the relation to beings’ (‘meint den Grund und die Weise des Bezugs zum Seienden’). (See also Stadlen 2000a).
Freud pointed to this state of affairs when he wrote (GW 15: 86; SE 22: 80): ‘Where It was, should I become.’ (‘Wo Es war, soll Ich werden.’)
The sentence that Binswanger called Freud’s ‘Grundsatz’ is not wholly clear in itself. But these daseinsanalytic and existential authors praise its exemplary clarity while exploiting its ambiguity. However, its context does make it clear, though not one of the authors mentions the context. In this, they are not very phenomenological! The context of the sentence is Freud’s discussion of ‘slips of the tongue’ near the start of the Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis. Freud mentions three possible attitudes of a speaker to his ‘slip’ (Freud GW 11: 58-59; SE 15: 64):

1.       ‘the disturbing purpose is known to the speaker, but more than this, it became noticed by him before the slip’;
2.       ‘the disturbing purpose is equally recognised as his’, but ‘he knows nothing about its being active in him just before the slip. Thus he accepts our interpretation of the slip, but remains to some extent astonished about it’; and
3.       ‘the interpretation of the disturbing intention is energetically rejected’ by the speaker; ‘he not only disputes that it was active in him before he made the slip; rather, he wants to assert that it is in any case entirely alien to him’.

This third kind of ‘Freudian slip’, or ‘mischievement’ (see note 14), is the crux. Freud is here doing little more than appealing to something essential about being human: namely, that people don’t always notice, or acknowledge, what they are doing, or the implications of what they are doing, which may seem clear, if not clear in every detail, to other people. Indeed, the person in Freud’s third group may say, ‘On reflection, I think you’re right: I did feel [whatever it was] but I didn’t want to admit it to you, or even to myself.’ This interpersonal event is a phenomenon, to those who are open to it, provided they have a discipline—what Laing (1961: 14) calls a ‘logic of phenomenological inferences’—for deciding what is evidence: provided, that is, they are not operating an arbitrary, inquisitional system. It is an inference about the experience of the other: for example, about agency that may be disavowed or acknowledged, not about ‘agencies’ that are forever outside anyone’s experience. A ‘phenomenology’ that does not acknowledge this is not worthy of the name.
Binswanger et al. are confusing the speculative, metapsychological ‘unconscious’, which they have with justice criticized, with the phenomenon of ordinary unawareness in the Freud sentence they cite.
Freud insists, in his Encyclopaedia Britannica article (GW 14: 303; SE 20: 266): ‘One should not assume that these most general conceptions’—which he elsewhere calls ‘metapsychology’, and even, in his letter to Einstein, ‘mythology’ (GW 16: 22; SE 22: 211)—are ‘presuppositions of psychoanalytic work’. They are, he says, ‘open to revision’. Freud himself demythologizes psychoanalysis.
Dunamis and psuche, in their ancient meanings, point to the possibility of an existential-phenomenological ‘psychodynamics’, of which today’s ‘psychodynamics’ is, for the most part, an alienated, mechanistic, inquisitional travesty.

[78]  Isnard and Zeeman 1977 [1976]: 319-324.

[79]  Gopnik, Meltzoff and Kuhl 1999: 133 and passim.

[80]  Thom 1977 [1974]: 637. Thom writes here of ‘reducing the arbitrariness of the description’; but in a lecture from about 1978 I heard him use the phrase, ‘reducing the arbitrariness of the metaphor’. In the same article he writes: ‘When narrow-minded scientists object to CT [catastrophe theory] that it gives no more than analogies, or metaphors, they do not realise that they are stating the proper aim of CT, which is to classify all possible types of analogous situations’ (Ibid). See also Thom 1993 [1991].

[81]  Zeeman 1977: 33-52; Isnard and Zeeman 1977 [1976].

[82]  Boss and Holzhey-Kunz (1982 [1981]: 111): ‘Daseinsanalysis wants itself to be nothing other than a purified psychoanalysis.’ (‘Die Daseinsanalyse will selber nichts anderes sein als eine geläuterte Psychoanalyse.’)

[83]  Boss 1953: 97; 1957a [1953]: 90. The 1957 English translation is free, but memorable: ‘What if there are no dream symbols at all?’

[84]  Eissler 1969: 465-466.

[85]  Bohm 1981 [1980]: 141.

[86]  Feyerabend 1970.

[87]  The ‘psychoanalytic’ ad hominem argument is ubiquitous in psychoanalytic writings, as is criticism of it in the critical literature.

[88]  Barnes 1987a [1922]: 293.

[89]  Bonhoeffer 1963: 117.

[90]  Lawrence 1971 [1923]: 202.

[91]  Eliot 1988 [1928]: 575.

[92]  Nabokov 1981a [1971]: 305.


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Stadlen, Anthony (2000b). Freud’s ‘Dora’ case: 100 years later—An existential study. 12-Hour Freud Centenary Seminar (29 October 2000). London: Regent’s College Conference Centre.
Stepansky, Paul E. (ed.) (1986). Freud: Appraisals and ReappraisalsContributions to Freud Studies, Vol.1.Hillsdale, New Jersey: The Analytic Press.
Swales, Peter J. (1984). Freud, his teacher and the birth of psychoanalysis. Transcript of lecture at the Payne Whitney Clinic, New York, 11 January 1984.
Swales, Peter J. (1986). Freud, his teacher and the birth of psychoanalysis. In: Stepansky 1986: 2-82.
Szasz, Thomas S. (1961). The Myth of Mental Illness: Foundations of a Theory of Personal Conduct. New York: Paul B. Hoeber.
Szasz, Thomas S. (1963). Law, Liberty and Psychiatry: An Inquiry into the Social Uses of Mental Health Practices. New York: Macmillan.
Szasz, Thomas S. (1965). The Ethics of Psychoanalysis: The Theory and Method of Autonomous Psychotherapy. New York: Basic Books.
Szasz, Thomas S. (1979). Schizophrenia: The Sacred Symbol of Psychiatry. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Szasz, Thomas S. 1999). Personal communication.
Thom, René (1977 [1974]). La théorie des catastrophes: Etat présent et perspectives. [and] Answer to Christopher Zeeman’s reply. In: Zeeman 1977: 615-650.
Thom, René (1993 [1991]). Prédire n’est pas Expliquer: Entretiens avec Emile Noël. Flammarion.
Wortis, Joseph (1975). Fragments of an Analysis with Freud. New York: McGraw-Hill.
Zeeman, E. Christopher (1977). Catastrophe Theory: Selected Papers 1972–1977. Reading, Massachusetts: Addison-Wesley.

References to the sentence that Binswanger called Freud’s ‘Grundsatz’ (see note 77)

Paper or chapter
Book or journal

Binswanger, L.

Freuds Auffassung des Menschen im Lichte der Anthropologie
Ausgewählte Vorträge und Aufsätze, Band 1
Binswanger, L.
Freud’s conception of man in the light of anthropology
(ed. Needleman, J.)
Binswanger, L.
Der Fall Ellen West
142, 150
Binswanger, L.
The case of Ellen West
Existence: A New Dimension in Psychiatry and Psychology (ed. May, R., Angel, E. and Ellenberger, H. F.)
319, 327
Boss, M.

Sinn und Gehalt der Sexuellen Perversionen (First edition)
(repeated in second, third, fourth editions)
Boss, M.

Meaning and Content of Sexual Perversions
1979a [1952]
Boss, M.
Die Bedeutung der Daseinsanalyse für die Psychologie und die Psychiatrie
Von der Psychoanalyse zur Daseinsanalyse
Boss, M.

1957a [1953]
Boss, M.

The Analysis of Dreams
Boss, M.

Einführung in die Psychosomatische Medizin
Boss, M.

Introduction à la Médicine Psychosomatique
Binswanger, L.
Mein Weg zu Freud
Der Mensch in der Psychiatrie
Boss, M.

Psychoanalyse und Daseinsanalytik
100, 130
Boss, M.

Psychoanalysis and Daseinsanalysis
Boss, M.

Psychosomatics and Existentialism
Proceedings of the 3rd World Congress of Psychiatry, Montreal, Vol.3

Boss, M.

Lebensangst, Schuldgefühle und psychotherapeutische Befreiung
Boss, M.

Anxiety, guilt and psychotherapeutic liberation
Readings in Existential Psychology and Psychiatry (ed. Hoeller, K.)
Heidegger, M.
(ed. Boss, M.)
Seminar vom 24.und 28.Januar 1964; Zwiegespräch mit Medard Boss,
29.Januar 1964
Zollikoner Seminare (Herausgegeben von Medard Boss)
6, 7, 233
Heidegger, M.
(ed. Boss, M.)
Seminar of 24 and 28 January 1964; conversation with Medard Boss, 29 January 1964
Zollikon Seminars (edited by Medard Boss)

5, 7, 186
Condrau, G.

Die Daseinsanalyse von Medard Boss und ihre Bedeutung für die Psychiatrie
Condrau, G.

Psychosomatik der Frauenheilkunde
Boss, M.
Modell und Antimodell in der Psychosomatischen Medizin
Von der Psychoanalyse zur Daseinsanalyse

1977b [1970]
Boss, M.

Die notwendige Revolution im ärztlichen Denken
Leiben und Leben: Beiträge zur Psychosomatik und Psychotherapie (Herausgegeben von Medard Boss, Gion Condrau und Alois Hicklin)
Boss, M.

Grundriss der Medizin und der Psychologie (Second edition)
Boss, M.

Existential Foundations of Medicine and Psychology
Boss, M.
Medard Boß [Selbstdarstellung]
Psychotherapie in Selbstdarstellungen (Herausgegeben von Ludwig J. Pongratz)
Boss, M.
Sigmund Freud und die naturwissenschaftliche Denkmethode
Von der Psychoanalyse zur Daseinsanalyse
Boss, M.
Psychotherapie und Wissenschaft
Von der Psychoanalyse zur Daseinsanalyse
Boss, M.

"Es träumte mir vergangene Nacht..." (Second edition)
Boss, M.

"I dreamt last night..."

Boss, M.

Praxis der Psychosomatik: Krankheit und Lebensschicksal
Boss, M. and Holzhey-Kunz, A.
Das Konzept des Widerstandes in der Daseinsanalyse
Von der Spannweite der Seele
Condrau, G.

Sigmund Freud und Martin Heidegger
11, 18
Cohn, H. W.
Authenticity and the aims of psychotherapy
Journal of the Society for Existential Analysis, 4
Cohn, H. W.

Misconceptions in existential psychotherapy
Journal of the Society for Existential Analysis, 6.1
Cohn, H. W.

Existential Thought and Therapeutic Practice
Cohn, H. W.

Phenomenology and psychotherapy
Journal of the Society for Existential Analysis, 8.1
Cohn, H. W.

John Bowlby’s concern with the actual phenomenological aspects of attachment theory
Journal of the Society for Existential Analysis, 9.1
Cohn, H. W.

Heidegger and the Roots of Existential Therapy

The following books also discuss the ‘Grundsatz’, but from different perspectives:

Meerwein, F.

Psychiatrie und Psychoanalyse in der psychiatrischen Klinik
1993 [1985]
Henry, M.

The Genealogy of Psychoanalysis

For full references see Bibliography.
[ ]   date of first edition, original language edition, or original lecture or document

t     translation

Anthony Stadlen has practised in London since 1970 as an existential-phenomenological psychotherapist with individuals, couples and families. He teaches and supervises psychotherapists at several institutes. Since 1977 he has undertaken historical research on the paradigm cases studies of Freud, Layard, Fordham, Boss, Laing, Esterson, and others; this research has been supported by the Nuffield Foundation. He is a former Research Fellow of the Freud Museum, London. He is an Honorary Visiting Fellow of the School of Psychotherapy and Counselling, Regent’s College, London. Since 1996 he has convened and conducted the Inner Circle Seminars, an ethical, existential, phenomenological search for truth in the foundations of psychotherapy and related disciplines. He received the 2003 Thomas S. Szasz award for outstanding services to the cause of civil liberties (professional category). Correspondence to: stadlen@aol.com.

Anthony Stadlen
2A Alexandra Avenue
GB – London N22 7XE

Tel: +44 (0) 20 8888 6857
Mobile: 07809 433 250

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