unformulated experience – Inside Out – Exploring the Life of the Mind

The Emotional Terrorist Part I

This column also appears in the January/February, 2011; Volume 23, Issue 1 of The Therapist, published by the California Association of Marriage and Family Therapists (CAMFT). Abstract page 90.

Abstract:

This two-part series examines the psychological origins and antecedents of terrorism. Object relations, intersubjective systems theory and contemporary relational psychoanalytic theories are used to define and highlight the constellation of specific dynamics implicated in terrorist enactments, particularly the ways they replicate salient interactive patterns of early mother-infant communication. This resonant, harmonic unit, characterized by interactive modes of touch, gaze and projection, establishes the creative sphere wherein an infant comes into selfhood and begins to develop nascent capacities for relationality, empathy and morality. Emotional terrorism begins when a mother is unable to contain and modify her infant’s projected anxieties or, in reverse, projects her own, initiating a repetitious cycle of terrorist-victim or “doer and done-to.” Clinical and cultural implications of sadism, the perversion of empathy, are also considered.

Terrorism, that shapeless haunt of latent danger associated with unpredictably nihilistic provocateurs and paranoiac agitation, is as readily identifiable as the plot of a Cold War spy thriller, yet not as easily understood.

What is terrorism, we might ask, and what, if anything, distinguishes it psychologically from other forms of violence. What makes it so, well, terrifying?

As psychotherapists, how do we begin to think creatively about terrorism and its origins in ways that might disrupt the futility of rancorous recriminations and swift retaliation? What can we learn from theory of mind and the psychological antecedents of terrorism to relieve the persisting and polarizing impasse of victim and victimizer, what Jessica Benjamin (Benjamin 2004) described as doer and done-to?

Can we use our theoretical knowledge and expertise to expand the narrow scope of conceptual thinking that delimits conventional understanding of terrorism? Might we then redefine terrorism in ways that generate more enduring solutions than those provided by political and military pundits? Are there ways to formulate less intrusive and more durable interventions to manage the amorphous dread and collective vigilance that suffuses the atmosphere like toxic vapor?

While preemptive or retaliatory militaristic actions successfully manage discrete acts of terrorism, they do nothing to dismantle the terrorist-victim dynamic that drives intimidating violence, leaving us mired in impasse and stalemate. The antecedent psychological dynamics informing terrorist violence must be considered with gravitas equal to that of the disruptive behavioral discharge. Lasting success will be more difficult to achieve if we obstruct the latter without concurrently understanding the former.

To loosen the conceptual stricture and rigid dialectics that dominate civic dialogue and circumscribe public policy, it is crucial to understand that the cycle of terrorist violence begins in the mind.

Psychoanalysis, with its richly diverse theoretical compendium, might illuminate the psychological dynamics of terrorism with a crispness and precision other paradigms lack. Certainly, it would contribute a thoughtful dimension to a serious dialogue. Psychoanalytic thinking posits that behavior reflects mentation and understands that mental life begins in infancy.

Therefore, it is imperative to examine the intersubjective sphere in which the budding infant mind begins to develop. The early interactive modes of mother-infant communication and the projective processes crucial to early mental life represent the prototypical dynamics for those that subsequently galvanize the emotional terrorist.

The vitality of mutually regulating infant-mother communication

Projection denotes a normative, in fact, essential mode of infant communication. Along with touch and gaze, it is one of the primary, post-natal emotional languages characterizing rudimentary mother-infant communication long before a child acquires the capacity for verbal discourse. Winnicott (Winnicott 1963) proposed the phrase “maternal preoccupation” to describe the immense emotional and relational changes occurring in new mothers as they care for infants. This heightened state of attentive focus insures infant survival, because only a mother (or father or primary caretaker serving maternal functions) is sufficiently identified with her infant’s needs to meet them fully.

An empathically attuned mother receives her baby’s emotional projections like spoken language. Organizing and returning these bits of sensory affect in ways her infant experiences as regulatory and containing, he is comforted. An infant may think he has magically fulfilled or hallucinated his own sensory-affective needs, when it is his mother who has perceived and gratified them seamlessly.

Creating an environment in which her infant can safely mature, he begins to establish a nascent sense of himself as an individual whose unencumbered development was best described by Winnicott (Winnicott 1963) as “going on being.” Within this exquisitely cultivated surround, the unfettered infant is free to grow and begin to develop mental and relational capacities.

Bion (Bion 1962) referred to this rhythmic interpersonal dynamic intended to reduce infant fears as “container-contained.” During communicative exchanges, mother and baby establish a mutually resonant and harmonic unit. The subtlety of these early communicative interactions creates a sense of “thirdness,” a co-created, trusting intimacy that relieves the solipsistic isolation of the intrapsychic mind and brings the infant into relationality. As Winnicott (Winnicott 1960) wrote, “There is no mother without a baby, and there is no baby without a mother.”

If the mother is unwilling or unable to contain and organize her child’s sensory-affective experience or, in reverse, projects her own unmetabolized anxiety onto her child, the overwhelmed infant has few options for deliverance. Feeling his very existence at risk, he will either split himself off from this undigested emotional matter or use projection to rid himself of what he cannot yet tolerate.

It is this disorganized, unmetabolized emotional experience and the means by which it is kept out of awareness that ultimately pose a threat. Lacking linguistic symbolization and eluding conscious awareness, it can only be acted out or discharged behaviorally.

The psychologically undeveloped maneuvers of the vulnerable infant grasping for survival eventually become the emotional propellant fueling terrorist enactments. We are terrorized and scorched by the exploding fragments of projected traumata.

Projection, empathy and morality

Projection – the movement, shifting or sharing of sensory-affective experience in the absence of spoken language – is really a neutral dynamic having psychological implications well beyond infancy. While it most often recognized as a defensive method employed to rid the body-mind of intolerable sensations or affect, projection may also be used in the service of creating experience-near, interpersonal bonds.

Projection used to locate a part of oneself in another to share or understand that person’s subjective experience constitutes the intrinsic basis for empathy and subsequently, ethical and moral life. The acquisition of empathy is a developmental achievement, a byproduct of the healthy projective exchanges between mother and infant. An infant must experience empathy before he can express or return it.

Clinical psychotherapy might best be defined as a science of empathy distinguishing it from the empiricism of research psychology. Empathic attunement is the singular clinical feature common to all psychotherapeutic modalities. As practicing psychotherapists, whatever our theoretical orientations, we routinely rely upon empathy as a point of departure to approach and convey understanding to clients and patients in ways that facilitate trust and evoke change.

Empathy is a two-person interpersonal dynamic not a one-person act of benevolence.

In fact empathy guides ethical conduct throughout life. Moral choices reflect not simply the religious or secular laws that demand them but the earliest moments of flickering consciousness when a mother’s gaze, touch and responsiveness communicated safety and welcome.

Laws exist to regulate behavior when empathy and ethics have failed.

Sadism – the perversion of empathy

Conversely, sadism represents its perversion. It is well known that the Nazis employed whistling bombs during the Blitz of London, because they knew empathically that the shrill crescendo of approaching incendiaries would terrify people below. Theirs was a well-crafted mode of emotional terrorism.

Empathically attuned children know just how to injure their parents. Nothing wounds more acutely than hearing an angry toddler shriek, “I don’t love you anymore.” The father who regards himself as his child’s best friend will cringe every time he hears his enraged offspring declare, “You’re not my best friend anymore.”

In our current mass-media surround, sadism is frequently exploited for cheap entertainment by pop-culture “therapists” who use brutality to shred the fragile defenses of vulnerably desperate client-participants by attacking their exposed psychological viscera most cruelly. Rather than working to build psychic structure, they use empathy to shame and humiliate. To amuse and entertain.

Televised “reality” or talk show programming is the bloodsport that has replaced the coliseum as the purveyor of vicarious sadism in the contemporary milieu.

Slathering at the celebrity slag heap, fans project their vicious envy, delighting in the public humiliation of the inconsequential and accomplished alike, often the same people they had idealized as demigods the day before. John Lennon’s murder thirty years ago might be attributed to the terrorizing enactment of one such emotional fan who idealized then vilified a celebrity-stranger.

Externalization and projection of unmetabolized envy and murderous rage was followed by an actual murder in an ineffectual attempt to kill off unformulated, dissociated experience. The media delivered death like episodic soap opera melodrama, unable to distinguish the significance of actual murder from the base sexual voyeurism permeating its customary medley of mindless tattle.

Dissociation and unformulated experience

The mind is very adept at devising creative tactics to manage unbearable feelings and traumatic experience. Sometimes they are defensively and selectively kept out of awareness by avoidance. Existing as content without form, they have yet to be sculpted by thought and language (Stern 2003). For a vulnerable infant, these defenses insure survival, which is why they are often extremely difficult to modify later in life.

Dissociation and projection permit the temporary evasion of anxiety, but emotional stasis is maintained at the expense of learning and change. Though evacuation removes or minimizes the psychological irritant and often leaves the emotional terrorist feeling vigorously self-righteous, serious problems arise when the disavowed attributes are attributed to someone or something else and attacked.

In futile Sisyphean style, the proverbial scapegoat must carry away communal guilt sins of “badness” each successive year, because the shameful feelings they evoke are never claimed and examined. They can only be split off and dispatched. The disavowed traits are psychologically transferred ritually to a neutral animal, preferably one young and untainted. After carrying collective contamination into the wilderness of the unconscious mind, the young animal is destroyed, pushed off a cliff, ostensibly taking the badness with it. Banished but not vanquished, the badness exists as unsymbolized, dissociated experience that can only be enacted. This emotional content without symbolic form (Stern 1997) requires increasing degrees of defensive vigilance to circumvent its emergence into consciousness.

Consider for a moment that the one-way transfer of existential terrors from one body-mind to another might be construed as emotional terrorism. Terrorist enactments, as we have come to know them in both secular and religious configurations, have their origins in the breakdown of communication between a mother and her infant.

Attachment to primary caregivers teaches an infant how to experience and manage feelings of love and hatred. The qualitative reliability or deficiency of these early relationships forms the emotional substrate of our relational template. If an infant’s defensive repertoire isn’t modulated by parental care, psychological maturation is hampered, and existential terrors remain unmetabolized, intolerable and unmanageable.

In these instances, unbearable feelings of envy, longing, desire and rage do not remain simply unformulated and emotionally shapeless within the intrapsychic mind. They are externalized and cast out. Once ejected, they are located elsewhere just as an infant projects unbearable feelings of distress onto his mother who can (hopefully) better tolerate and organize them. No military engagement or body of law can assuage the unmediated, existential terrors of infancy and early childhood.

Reciprocity and Mutuality

Ideally, an infant’s archaic projective communications are part of a two-pronged interpersonal dynamic defined by mutual acknowledgment and reciprocity. Received by his mother who organizes and returns them in digestible and titrated doses to help him develop increasingly differentiated psychic structure and relational capacities, they transpire within a mutually regulating intersubjective field.

Projections associated with terrorism are missing the regulatory and clarifying half of the exchange. In this configuration, distressing affect is evacuated from the body-mind like a painful gas bubble but remains devoid of clarifying thought or symbolic language that might render it meaningful or psychologically useful. Without the reparative and integrating response of an attuned parent or therapist, unbearable experience or affect is simply jettisoned like shrapnel and located elsewhere. Unable to be used for learning, it can only be projected and attacked repeatedly.

Without the completing circle of communication, the “bad” qualities of these emotional projectiles are attributed to the external objects where they have been lobbed and are subsequently attacked “out there.” While rage and envy may be temporarily subdued, enduring change is precluded, because the attack-retaliation cycle presents no viable opportunity for emotional refinement or growth.

Paradoxically, terrorism is less about hatred of others and more about self-hatred aged into vindictiveness that has been defensively misattributed to someone or something else and then attacked. An individual with a developed sense of personal agency and only benign degrees of envy has no psychological need to destroy others. We must distinguish clinically and politically between gratifying terrorist enactments and acknowledging the subjective realities of others in an attempt to promote mutuality and collaborative solutions.

Working with children

Board game imbroglios with young children offer wonderful opportunities to observe and modify defensive projection in action. Because luck rather than skill is too often involved, a child who is not winning quickly grows frustrated and resorts to cheating.

My nephew and I were playing such a game one afternoon when he happened to select a color card that sent him back to the beginning square of the game. I could see his entire body collapse with disappointment and downcast, he began to peek furtively at the underside of the cards to his best advantage. His usual habit was to decide mid-game that he wanted to do something else.

I observed him for a while, weighing options, and finally remarked that he seemed very interested in winning and was very clever about doing so. He responded with a crafty smile. As we had played this game together many times, I risked going further, adding that this was a game of luck, and that winning wasn’t always possible. Was it? He smiled again and skillfully shifted a card or two. “He cheats all the time,” his friend proclaimed from the kitchen where he was enjoying a snack, and at that moment, my nephew reached emotional saturation. Quickly externalizing and projecting his frustration, he shouted, “You cheat! You cheat!” and fled the room.

Object devaluation accompanies the psychological assault. One of the first things the mind does to relieve the disappointment of being deprived of something it wants but cannot possess is to devalue as part of the attack. This is an attempt to “sour the milk.” The bad feelings of deprivation, envy, lack or loss are projected and superimposed on the unavailable or lost person or object of desire and then attacked vindictively.

For an hour or so after our rupture, my nephew said he didn’t want to play “that stupid game” ever again. The game had been temporarily personified with projected badness. After spending some conversational time together outside, he felt able to resume our engagement with enthusiasm and an increased tolerance for the vagaries of Candy land.

The Emotional Terrorist Part II examines theory and case material in depth, offering clinical examples with couples, families, children and individuals.

WARNING! This text is printed for the personal use of subscribers to The Therapist Magazine and Inside Out Journal and is copyrighted by Mauri-Lynne Heller. It is illegal to copy, distribute or circulate it in any form whatsoever without the author’s permission.

Benjamin, J. (2004). Beyond doer and done to: an intersubjective view of thirdness. Psychoanalytic Quarterly, 73:5-46.

Bion, W.R. (1962). Learning from Experience. London: Tavistock

Stern, D.B. (1999). Unformulated experience: From dissociation to imagination in psychoanalysis. In: Relational psychoanalysis, the emergence of a tradition. Hillsdale, HJ: Analytic Press. (Original work published 1983)

Winnicott, D.W. (1960). The theory of the parent-infant relationship. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 41:585-595.

Winnicott, D.W. (1963). Dependence in infant care, in child care, and in the psycho-analytic setting. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 44:339-344.

Saturday Night at the Movies Part II: Film imagery as a psychological bridge linking cultlural and personal symbolism

This column also appears in the November/December 2010 issue of The Therapist, published by the California Association of Marriage and Family Therapists (CAMFT).

Abstract: This second in a two-part series explores the ways that the symbolic exploration of film imagery during the brief, one-year analysis of a patient suffering from the effects of very early childhood traumata expanded his capacity to think, engage and begin to integrate unformulated and dissociated aspects of himself for the first time. Just as elements in a dream clothe the invisible man of the psyche, each movie element and character, by giving voice to personal feelings and meanings in novel and mutative ways, increased the mentalization of lived experience that had never before existed in the realm of conscious thought.

Q and I met four times weekly for a year, sometimes five when his skillfully managed emotional needs overwhelmed his narcissistic and intellectual defensive posturing. More often, he held forth on arcane philosophical paradigms, epistemology and knowledge and his unabashed love of the ancients whom he imbued with the nearly superhuman qualities and capacities that deify celebrities in our own personality-infected culture.

More specifically, he imbued these archetypal figures with the god-like attributes an infant ascribes to his parents, those powerful people who represent our first gods, parents for whom he held deep unmet and unacknowledged longings that had festered over the years.

Q would talk about almost anything to avoid stirring the annihilation anxiety associated with his own lost infancy and compromised childhood.

Pierrot-and-Harlequin-FULL — Pierrot and harlequin

Like Romulus and Remus, Q suckled on mythology and raised himself, running with a pack of equally unparented boys. Wielding his sharpened intellect like a monarch’s sword, he was really all alone in his kingdom. Fortunately, these burnished topics were rich in metaphoric and symbolic imagery that permitted me to access and share his private world. Though he didn’t know it when we began, I was to become his modern day she-wolf.

Primary, and for Q, mythic maternal themes of abandonment, rage and the wordless poignancy of love nearly grasped and lost informed Q’s brief, year-long analysis, offering repeated opportunities for us to examine and explore his experiences deeply. Movie imagery and content represented the gateway linking inside and out, me and not-me, my world and his. It gave borrowed form to what was yet the unformulated content (Stern 1997) of his wordless, inner world.

Despite its brevity, the fact that he was able to sustain a tenuous and conflict-laden connection to me for the duration represented a monumental relational and developmental achievement for Q, surpassing that of any prior association. We struggled together, and the year exhausted both of us.

Almost immediately, he began enacting the Janus-faced, draining aspects of his stagnant and hopeless dialectic, a conflict characterized by a terrifying urge to flee appended to a powerful longing to immerse himself in my mind and body.

Anxious and confused, Q oscillated wildly between starkly opposing impulses, each fraught with danger and dread. Flight insured safety but exacted isolation and madness, while relationships offered the comfort of companionship but were untrustworthy and portended abject disappointment.

The Persistence of Memory — The persistence of memory

Psychosis was preferable to abandonment. Even a whiff sent Q running. Withdrawal, silence, canceling appointments, “forgetting” or arriving late constituted some of the behavioral language he used to convey the full dimensions of his pre-verbal traumata. I will leave you before you can leave me.

Our engagement was sometimes as basic and wordless as breathing together, and many sessions were spent in almost total silence. But it was to become a shared silence, and Q was increasingly less encapsulated in the solipsistic bubble that threatened to devour him.

As our relationship acquired a reliable measure of accountability and consistency, we began to seek precise words to capture and describe unspeakable feelings that had never before been thought or conceptualized in mental terms, only dramatized or projected, what Fonagy (Fonagy 2000 and Fonagy 2002) described as mentalization.

Giving linguistic dimension and form to the amorphous content of lived experience released him from the endless behavioral enactments that condemned him to a stale and deadened life. Though he fled repeatedly, I sustained and nurtured his dare-not-hope that the fragmented shadows of potential self might coalesce into a real boy.

In many respects, the last time we met was as awkward for Q as the first. There was so much left to say and no more time.

Having fulfilled his one-year commitment, he was too proud to admit his reluctance to leave or remain. I was left holding one end of severed and frazzled rope of hope that had bound us. He had no idea where or how to begin. I tried to express what he could not.

“Endings are hard, aren’t they? (Nod) It’s hard to say goodbye. We don’t usually learn how to do endings well in life, do we?”

“Yeah.” He mentioned a friend who had died of cancer.

“I think that we’ll each carry part of the other with us for a long time.”

“Yeah. You’ve been good to talk to.”

“As have you. Didn’t exactly know what you were getting into, did you?”

“Yeah, I did.” A laugh gave him away.

I provided referrals and left future access open-ended. He mentioned that when he told his parents about his analysis, instead of mirroring delight or offering support, they questioned his financial means. They were unable to imagine why anyone would sponsor their child, because they rarely did. He waited until he was nearly out the door to tell me.

Shrugging as the shadow of wordless, unformulated feelings (Stern 1997) began to envelope him yet again, Q left ten minutes early. I listened to his quick footsteps rush down the stairs and watched him drive away for the last time. Relieved and wistful, I enjoyed a quietly restful moment, noticing with pleasure the spring leaves unfurling on the sycamore outside my window. A few moments later I heard rustling in the waiting room and went back to work.

Two weeks after our last session as I was driving home from Trader Joe’s, my cell phone rang. My car filled with groceries, I was thinking about dinner and the preciously guarded private evening unfolding ahead. Finished with daily responsibilities, the remainder of that warm spring afternoon belonged to me, as pristine and crisp as a clean, blank page.

Though I knew it was Q, I answered the phone with my off-duty greeting, a casual hello. Accustomed to a more professional announcement, he was thrown off balance, realizing he had entered my private life. I was not simply waiting for him. Sensing him stumble, the inflection of my voice rose with recognition, and I welcomed him into conversation.

“How are you?” I asked.

“I’m good,” he responded.

Yes, I thought with some satisfaction, you have acknowledged to yourself that you might miss me a little bit, that our relationship mattered, and you wanted me to know that you were okay. He did not sound bleak, as he so often did, and I relaxed with relief.

I still hold you in mind. I will care about you even when we don’t see one another. Remember…

He was a bit nonchalant though talked for a moment about a pressing legal concern that had been resolved judiciously without serious repercussions as a result of his growing capacity to trust, exercise judgment and control impulsivity.

“Yes, you’ve made a wise choice. I can see you’ve thought about it,” I said, thought being the operative word.

After a moment or two of quiet, as my foot pressed on the accelerator headed for home, he shifted to another topic.

“I watched That Obscure Object of Desire,” he announced, the real purpose of the phone call.

“No kidding,” I responded with delight. “Where did you find it?”

“Oh, I rented it,” he answered.

“What did you think?”

Portals to Q’s representational world, conversations about films were always lively, characterized by genuine mutuality and thoughtful dialogue, and I had once recommended Luis Bunuel, a 20^th c. master.

Cet Obscur Objet du Desir, a wonderful movie about a middle aged diplomat’s ferocious obsession with a seductive yet withholding young woman, swirled in a maelstrom of political terrorism.

“It was great!” he answered emphatically, “yeah, great.”

Bunuel’s main character, a poised and stately diplomat, was so completely besotted with a provocative young woman that his predictably composed life deteriorated into chaotic, obsessive fantasy. This transpired as explosive terrorist incidents aimed at his political party increased.

This female character represented what the preeminent object relations theorist, Ronald Fairbairn, (Fairbairn 1946) described as an “enticing or exciting object,” symbolizing sadistic seduction with no hope of connection. The inaccessible and unknowable mother represents the prototype for this subsequent chase-disappointment dynamic. Representing Q’s elusive and remote mother, her imago was superimposed onto every subsequent relationship he initiated (and fled).

In fact, this character was a political and emotional terrorist. To portray his fantasy, Bunuel employed two very different actresses to characterize the young woman, one dusky and voluptuous, the other elegant and lithe. She was a blank screen for the diplomat’s projections. He did not know her at all.

There ensued an endless series of enactments of sexual enticements and withholding, whereby the diplomat responded to her overtures and was repeatedly and ultimately frustrated. Terrorist bombs exploded nearby one after another.

Via film imagery, Q and I witnessed emotional terrorism and the terrors of one’s own repetition compulsion (Freud 1914), the proverbial moth to the flame.

In one seduction scene, the diplomat was delirious with desire in response to the voluptuous character’s overtures. As her clothing was removed, he believed himself about to embrace naked flesh. Instead, he found her body bound by a tight corset with a tight stays and boning that could not be undone. Struggling uselessly to release them, he abruptly collapsed in despair and rage, while she continued to taunt him and laugh.

This was the image of a boy trying to reach his mother’s breasts while she displayed but withheld them. The boy could only begin to think, “I will never go there again, but if I do, I will leave her before she can leave me.” And this became part of the emotional template of Q’s relational life.

“It took me a while to get it…that it was the same person, the girl, that he’d used two actresses, he continued.”

“Wasn’t that a great technique?”

“Yeah, it took me a while.”

“I think Bunuel was telling us that this man could not see beyond his own fantasies, only his projections. We’re really looking at emotional terrorism.”

“Yeah,” he added enthusiastically. “It was really great.”

By observing these characters and their follies, Q finally “got” what Jacques Lacan (1973) referred to as “the joke.” Recognizing that his own inner terrorist was far worse than anything “out there,” he shed his hard shell for a moment. Self-awareness was facilitated, because he could see what the diplomat could not. Before Q was even aware of his insight, his unconscious mind knew what to do with it. It took him a while to “figure it out,” but as he did, he tasted psychological liberty. Q finally got the joke, and he was very pleased with himself.

There were actually two very different women in his life, two maternal paradigms, his mother and her terrorizing imago, and me – imperfect but reliable, available, empathetic and steady. We were not alike. He had dented the severe organizing principle warning that everyone was and would always be just another variant of his abandoning mother. There were two actresses, two possibilities, maybe two outcomes. Perhaps more.

This moment of possibility represented the fruit of analytic “thirdness” (Ogden 1994), the opening of a shared and generative psychological space, one that bodes creative potential rather than stasis and engenders possibilities that break the rigid dialectic of doer and done-to, what Jessica Benjamin (2004) called complementarity.

It is not simply this or that. It may be this and that or perhaps something completely different. Q experienced a nascent awareness that he might end his own psychotic reign of terror. He might liberate himself from his isolated and rigidly autistic, mechanistic mind-prison.

I turned from the main thoroughfare into my neighborhood, slowing down and shifting my hands slightly on the steering wheel. A dog trotted across the street.

“I talked to my (attorney) uncle, and he told me what to do.”

He had found a way to bypass mother and access father. He could observe himself and choose to avoid another episode of terrorizing repetition. He could call me.

“Well, if you feel like it, when you get the information you need, let me know, and I’ll check it out. He knew I was familiar with the context of his current circumstances.

“Ok.”

I’m still with you. I will care about you even after you’ve gone. Perhaps this was a test. Perhaps it was the final punctuation mark on our unfinished narrative but the beginning of another.

There was nothing left to say. Pulling into my carport, I offered one last remark.

“I’ll be around.”

“Ok,” he said. “Thanks Mauri-Lynne.”

“Bye now.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone, releasing his hand hoping he would reach for others and find reciprocal warmth. I opened the car door, encircled a big bag of groceries with my arms and went inside to make dinner.

There would be one more phone call some time later from this intensely funny and intelligent boy-man, but by then I had slowly begun to release him and his hold on my mind. Luxuriating in the lightness of removing my own constricting stays, I felt unbound by the taut maternal preoccupation that had clenched so intensely during the past year. Our trajectories had crossed and were now diverging. I was glad for both experiences.

In the car running errands, my cell phone rang, this time from the bottom of a large bag. I knew immediately it was Q. I had lost a message shortly before and suspected he’d tried to call earlier. (He had.) I answered neutrally, though when I heard his voice, matched his tentative tone with my own enthusiasm.

“How are you?” I asked again.

“I’m good,” he responded, his voice stronger. “I’m good.”

After a moment of quiet, he continued, “I think of you often.”

I think of you often. In my surrogacy, he had found a tangible realness. I was no longer simply a projection, a wavering hologram of film pixels. I had become a tentatively real object that he could access within himself and use productively and reliably, and as I did, he became real, too. As his projections withered, available inner space opened for the imprint of new interpersonal and self-object experiences. I had survived, and so had he, and we were both changed.

“Remember when I told you a long time ago that even after you’d gone away, I would continue to think of you?”

“Yes.”

Red-Boat-with-Blue-Sails-FULL — Red boat with blue sails

We shared a sweetly quiet moment. During that silence, I felt a transient but lofty affection for work and life. I looked out the car window at the sky, as translucent as a watercolor wash. I felt hope for him and for me. At the end of his analysis, Q had managed to reach the beginning of the beginning. He was trying to do for himself what I had tried to do with and for him.

He was using film imagery on his own as a trellis for self-support and was experiencing an emergent sense of himself as a cohesive being in the making, the resumption of his prematurely truncated going-on-being (Winnicott 1960). Instead of hitting the replay button on the old movies of his past, I wondered whether he might now produce a new movie with an original script created anew.

We shared an incomplete experience. Many issues remained unexplored. We tolerated ruptures and bore anguish together. An embryonic reflective capacity fluttered. What emerged was nothing less that the basis for hope.

WARNING! This text is printed for the personal use of subscribers to The Therapist Magazine and/or Inside Out Journal and is copyrighted by Mauri-Lynne Heller. It is illegal to copy, distribute or circulate it in any form whatsoever without permission of the author.

Benjamin, J. (2004). Beyond Doer and Done to: An Intersubjective View of Thirdness. Psychoanalytic Quarterly, 73:5-46.

Fairbairn, W.D. (1946). Object-Relationships and Dynamic Structure. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 27:30-37.

Fonagy, P. (2000). Attachment and Borderline Personality Disorder. Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association, 48:1129-1146.

Fonagy, P., Gergely, G., Jurist, E and Target, M. (2002). Affect regulation, mentalization, and the development of the self. New York: Other Press.

Freud, S. (1914). Remembering, Repeating and Working-Through (Further Recommendations on the Technique of Psycho-Analysis II). The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Volume XII (1911-1913): The Case of Schreber, Papers on Technique and Other Works, 145-156.

Lacan, J. (1973) The four fundamental concepts of psycho-analysis. New York. W.W. Norton & company.

Ogden, T.H. (1994). The analytic third: working with intersubjective clinical facts. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 75, pp. 3-19.

Stern, D.B. (1997). Unformulated experience: From dissociation to imagination in psychoanalysis. In: Relational psychoanalysis, the emergence of a tradition. Hillsdale, HJ: Analytic Press. (Original work published 1983)

Winnicott, D.W. (1960). The Theory of the Parent-Infant Relationship. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 41:585-595.

Working in Psychological Space Part II: Using the intersubjective field to access, decode and understand what lies beneath

This column also appears in the online edition of the May-June, 2010 issue of The Therapist Magazine, the publication of the California Association of Marriage and Family Therapists (CAMFT).

Abstract:

Adapted from a presentation to the CAMFT Orange County chapter, this second in a three-part series examines the ways applied contemporary psychoanalytic theory, particularly Intersubjective Systems Theory, with its focus on recognition and mutuality, has refined and expanded our understanding of mental processes and clinical interaction, modifying therapeutic dynamics in ways that promote therapist-client resonance. Exploring the intersubjective matrix of transference-countertransference engagement, specifically the co-created space identified as the analytic third and the use of reverie, readers will begin to think innovatively about the shared psychological space in which we work.

Part II

Christopher Bollas: In order to find the patient, we must look for him within ourselves.

Preverbal Experience:

Given that much of what transpires in psychological space is unconscious (because after all, as Donnell Stern suggested (Stern 2003), all thought originates unexpectedly from somewhere beyond consciousness, distinguishing what is kept out of awareness defensively and volitionally from what has simply not yet taken form is axiomatic), we can work on both these levels.

There is a difference between not wanting to know something and simply not knowing it yet. Donald Winnicott (Winnicott 1975/1945) distinguished between unorganized and disorganized mental configurations. The individual whose mental life is unorganized has yet to congeal whereas the disorganized individual’s mind was once organized and has come undone. The former may be ego-syntonic, while the latter ego-dystonic.

These unconscious elements existing as unformulated experience are often preverbal, meaning that they are linguistically inaccessible. The patient struggling to formulate verbal constructs for affective experience has hit such a preverbal pocket. This material does not exist as a fully developed notion waiting simply to be discovered like a vein of gold within a mountain.

Preverbal elements have yet to be articulated and are generally experienced as amorphous affects – impulses, feelings, urges, fears, shadowy elements, etc. They are the sensory bits like Lego pieces that are yet to be consciously molded and integrated linguistically. Wilfred Bion (Bion 1962) called these unformed elements “beta bits.” He also proposed that thinking is a way to deal with thoughts – these sensory, inchoate impulses that require formulation and linguistic articulation.

Artists are extremely adept at making use of unformulated experience, though all of life is essentially a work of art. The poet, Sharon Olds, begins writing when “a poem has formed itself, or its beginning, within me, and it’s time to get a pen and notebook and sit over there on the rocking chair next to the window and try to bring forth that which is within.”

It’s not that the poem was hiding in its complete form in her unconscious; it began as an amorphous, inchoate impulse that she then mentalized and shaped into linguistic form. The awareness of this urgent sensation represents the welcome but often inconvenient inclination that initiates every act of creative generativity. It’s a stirring that compels creative action.

Shared Experience:

When we work clinically in psychological space, we are talking about co-creating a shared mind-body experience, a conjoint psychological space wherein we overlap in an attempt to access and understand each other’s subjective world.

This is another feature that distinguishes contemporary psychoanalysis from its more traditional relative. Rather than simply adhering to a doctor-patient hierarchy, where the latter has all the questions and the former all the answers, we now conceptualize two subjectivities involved in the act of co-creation. Ideally this relationship is defined by bi-directionality and mutuality, though it necessarily remains asymmetrical. This interactive dynamic defines the intersubjective matrix or field.

The Analytic Third and the languages of psychological space

The body-mind speaks many languages from the behavioral to imagery to words. Within the intersubjective sphere of the transference-countertransference milieu, we work to access and decode the many communications that we receive in the service of our clients and patients.

Thomas Ogden (Ogden 1994) defined this working, overlapping “we” space as the “analytic third.” In his seminal paper, Ogden described how he tracks the moment-by-moment interplay of the oscillating therapist-patient engagement in this intersubjective matrix. Its prototype is the mommy-baby unit of infancy described by Winnicott (Winnicott 1960) and the emergence of transitional space, yet it is more nuanced and complex, because while we are interacting with what we call the “analytic baby,” the more archaic components of self, we are also with the more intellectually developed adult. We have to track on all levels. There is no such thing as an analyst apart from the relationship with the analysand (Ogden 1994).

Beginning to work in the transference-countertransference milieu

We begin to work by attuning ourselves to the paradox our clients and patients bring to us, primarily the hopeful longing for some new relational experience appended like a barnacle to the dreaded expectation that nothing and no one will ever really be different.

The hope that maybe this person will understand is quickly quashed by the fear that the therapist will be just as disappointing as everyone else has been. And this often includes prior therapists. And so the transference-countertransference dance begins to develop in psychological space.

Our goal is to decode, organize and clarify the unformulated bits and pieces we receive, to apprehend in our well-trained nets the clues that help us begin to understand and formulate interventions. We sit with a client, listening and observing with all our sensory organs until we begin to grasp something. What we experience isn’t yet fully formed; in fact, it may be as unformed as our client’s subjective experience. In truth, as Bollas suggested (Bollas 1994), we find our client within ourselves, within the greater context of the intersubjective field.

We scroll through the session without knowing what we will find, without preconceived expectations, as Bion (Bion 1970) suggested “without memory or desire,” until we begin to form our own associations. We have an impulse, a strong feeling, an aversion, a sensation. And this is how we begin to work in psychological space, the place where you and I overlap and become “we.” This is the transference-countertransference milieu.

Accessing psychological space

It is impossible to know the unconscious or unformulated directly. We can only access its derivatives, as they are like clothes on the psyche’s invisible man.

The analytic third is the overlapping psychic sphere wherein discrete subjectivities mingle and exchange communications. It is the realm where unconscious meets unconscious.

Louis Aron (Aron 2006) has also written about this third space extensively: “What is meant by ‘the third’? The third is a concept that has become popular across a variety of schools of psychoanalysis. It has been developed and extended by some of the leading theorists of psychoanalysis, including Ogden, Green, Benjamin, and a variety of Lacan-influenced writers, but it is often defined ambiguously and inconsistently across schools. For some, the third refers to something beyond the dyad, a context within which we emerge; for others, the third is an emergent property of dyadic interaction, and yet for others, the third is a dyadic achievement that creates the psychic space necessary for reflexive awareness and mentalization.”

Jessica Benjamin (Benjamin 2004) wrote: “My interest is not in which “thing” we use, but in the process of creating thirdness—that is, in how we build relational systems and how we develop the intersubjective capacities for such co-creation. I think in terms of thirdness as a quality or experience of intersubjective relatedness that has as its correlate a certain kind of internal mental space; it is closely related to Winnicott’s idea of potential or transitional space.”

So the third is many things, a space in which communications are exchanged and reformulated, a function of relationship-building and a theoretical concept open to diverse interpretations.

Elements of Intersubjective communication

Reverie and Imagery:

Reverie and imagery give visual, if not palpable, shape and form to elements that swirl in this dynamic and interdependent field of intersubjectivity, particularly crystallizing communication that drifts from unconscious to unconscious, bypassing awareness. This is the live edge of clinical work, the place where analyst and patient, therapist and client intersect, clothing the unseen communications in ways that make them accessible and amenable to articulation in language.

Mother-and-Child-in-a-Boat-FULL — Mother and child in a boat

This kind of communication best describes the ways a mother intuits the needs of her baby. Receiving her baby’s projections, she organizes and returns them in tolerable and digestible doses. Did you ever have to put on a sweater because your mother was cold?

The focus is less on what originates where but on interpersonal co-creation of elements in the overlapping psychological space of the analytic third.

An example from my own practice is my awareness of surrounding airport sounds. My office is very near the runway, so the sounds of jets taking off are generally background noise. I only become aware of them distinctly when I sense that my patient’s thoughts or feelings are defensively taking flight, or perhaps they don’t yet have a (linguistic) place to land. At those moments when I envision planes lifting off the runway, I may ask what thought or feeling just took off, and I will invariably receive a germane answer. If the answer is “I don’t know,” we collaborate to discern what it might be. I attempt to put words to mental pictures I receive, and we try them on for size together.

A more imagery-laden example of processing in the third derives from my work with a man who grew up in an Eastern Block country, though has lived in the States for many years. He’s lost the fluidity of thinking and speaking in his native language yet struggles to express himself precisely in English. Not only is this frustrating, but it pushes him back to a more archaic means of image-laden, unconscious communication.

Therefore, I experience lots of imagery in the third when we’re together. On several occasions, I’ve “seen” a winter scenario of cold earth, frozen beneath soggy, fallen leaves and bare trees. Translating this into emotional language, I offered him the interpretation that he felt like his feelings were suspended in permafrost. Indeed, they were. He has always identified himself as being emotionally cold.

Therapists often confuse their random but meaningful thoughts or countertransferential reveries with intrusive distractions that should be discarded, and sometimes they very well may be. But even that is significant.

The question begging an answer is why did I need to distract myself at that particular moment? What didn’t the client want me to know or what did he want me to avoid? What couldn’t I bear to witness? What must always be left unacknowledged, unformed, unsaid or isolated as dissociated material? What was too painful to feel? What really longed to be understood? Most usually those very thoughts and images have something to do with what is going on within the client’s mind-body.

Recently while sitting with a patient, I beheld in my mind the image of a child prostitute and asked her if she felt like hooker in her marriage. Indeed, she did, but that was the first time she’d been fully aware of her feelings. She had communicated this unthought known (Bollas 1987) to me via imagery. Now we speak of it explicitly, and it is amenable to change.

I frequently tell patients that split off aspects of themselves have lives of their own outside awareness revolving like isolated moons with no way to reconnect. Our job is to set up a linguistic satellite system so that the moon can communicate with the mother ship. You can’t enact a lunar landing if you don’t even recognize that a moon exists.

What makes this way of working with unconscious material contemporary are the ways in which it differs from Freud’s schema of the unconscious as the return of the fully-formed repressed, conceptualizing that insight and awareness were sufficient to illuminate the issues and produce change.

More current schemata suggest that unconscious elements are not simply inaccessible as a result of defenses, but unformed.

While insight is valuable, it is equally imperative that we attempt to access and comprehend what is unformulated, thereby facilitating the creative process whereby mental Lego pieces can be assembled and used. Reverie and the analytic third provide a means for us to achieve that goal.

Aaron, L. (2006). Analytic Impasse and the Third: Clinical implications of intersubjectivity. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 87:349-368.

Benjamin, J. (2004). Beyond Doer and Done To: An Intersubjective View of Thirdness. Psychoanalytic Quarterly, 73:5-46

Bollas, C. (1987). The Shadow of the object: psychoanalysis of the unthought known. Columbia University Press, N.Y., N.Y.

Bion, W.R. (1970). Attention and interpretation: a scientific approach to insight in psycho-analysis and groups, 1-130. London: Tavistock.

Bion, W.R. (1962). Learning from experience. London: Tavistock.

Bion, W.R. (1962). The Psycho-Analytic Study of Thinking. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 43:306-310.

Ogden, T.H. (1994). The Analytic Third: Working with Intersubjective Clinical Facts. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 75:3-19.

Winnicott, D.W. (1960). The Theory of the Parent-Infant Relationship. International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 41:585-595.

Winnicott, D.W. (1975). Primitive emotional development. In: Collected papers:

through paediatrics to psycho-analysis. (pp. 145-156). (Original work published 1945). Basic Books. Locale unknow

Working in Psychological space Part I: Using the intersubjective field to access, decode and understand what lies beneath

This column also appears in the online edition of the March-April, 2010 issue of The Therapist Magazine, the publication of the California Association of Marriage and Family Therapists.

Abstract:

Adapted from a presentation to the CAMFT Orange County chapter, this first in a three-part series examines the ways applied contemporary psychoanalytic theory, particularly Intersubjective Systems Theory, with its focus on recognition and mutuality, has refined and expanded our understanding of mental processes and clinical interaction, modifying therapeutic dynamics in ways that promote therapist-client resonance. Exploring developmental factors and transitional space, the origins of creativity and an expanded definition of the unconscious to include unformulated experience, readers will begin to think innovatively about the shared psychological space in which we work. Continue reading “Working in Psychological space Part I: Using the intersubjective field to access, decode and understand what lies beneath”