Transference by Any Other Name

PERSONAL VIEW

Transference by Any Other Name

Liam Clarke

We see things not as they are but as we are.Immanual Kant (1724-1804)

Introduction

What follows is a series of possibilities which lie along different levels of awareness.First the article describes a literature search which may be taken at face value. Second thisso-called literature search may be seen as a displacement; a safe haven from the `real'search which has - or has not - taken place in therapy. There are suggestions in the articlethat I may fear my therapist, i.e. fear the dangers inherent in a relationship with him. I amnot yet able to describe these fears fully. I am able, as we all are, to control the literature byselection. Third, my decision to write this is a yearning for approval, albeit from a distance.The detailed attention to the literature - rather than to the feeling - search is perhaps anobvious play for respectability via association; I also mention some of my (current) heroeswho have aired their feelings in recent publications. Lastly there is my search for a homefor this article and my belief that it deserves a home. I do want to be a good father to it.You may well ask therefore why I am giving it away. You may well indeed.

Taking Off and the Fear of Flying

I never new my father. The last sentence was meant to read I never knew my father butI made a mistake. You may think this mistake in some way significant. I last `saw' myfather when I was eighteen months old at which time he left never to return. I have nomemory of his leaving me.

About a year ago I started training in psychotherapy and was lucky to discover a tutorwhose erudition and wisdom I could easily admire. One of his requests was that I write anessay under the heading I have given to this article; he liked it very much. Of course I wasvery pleased to discover that he liked it. At the end of the academic year he announced hisretirement. The majority of the student body were clearly distressed at his going, withmuch apprehension for the future. I experienced little emotion at his going and was amazedat the others in my group who could so easily manufacture such feelings as a result of theleaving of a tutor. However the entire episode was unsettling and left me wondering aboutmy lack of feeling.

My therapist accepts that I am not a person without feelings. Many times we havediscussed the rage which - as a child of eighteen months - I must surely have felt as myfather left me and how, perhaps, I stifled that rage with feelings of guilt. Guilt, my

The author is a psychotherapist.Address for correspondence: 11 Battle Crescent, Hailsham, East Sussex BN27 1EN.

British Journal of Psychotherapy, Vol 5(2), 1988© The author

242 British Journal of Psychotherapy

therapist says, has been a good friend to me in that it allows me to hide `truer' feelings andthus remain relatively inaccessible. These thoughts focus my mind upon two areas. The firstis that I do not remember my father going and have no recall of rage or anger. The second isthe question of guilt as it relates to the tutor. I had recently published an article critical ofaspects of the course for which he was course tutor. Indeed the course was often referred toas `his baby', not by me I hasten to add. (As the term `his baby' came more into use duringour last group meetings I found myself in acute states of embarrassment.) Was my lack offeeling at his leaving a defence against the fear of what he might do to me on discoveringthe article? Perhaps I have written this as an expression of hope that he will read it andsomehow understand me. But most of all there is my lack of feeling which is so deeply feltand homeless.

So what price transference if there be such a thing? No doubt my fascination with thisconcept may seem a bit obvious. But do my `feelings' towards my tutor- and those for mytherapist - lend themselves to explanation by a concept of transference? Am I somehowstuck in a `transference fix' such that I am in some sense eighteen months old? Or. in theopinion of one of my fellow students, is transference `... a load of bunkum'? I decided to tryto find out.

Transference and the Flight into Literature

Sigmund Freud would seem to have discovered transference. By this is meant that heprovided a coherent description of interpersonal phenomena which he had observed inclinical practice. There is no suggestion that he was the first person to describe suchphenomena. Indeed Malan (1979) attributes the initial observations to Freud's colleague,Breuer. Be that as it may, what Freud observed was that some patients idolised him whilstothers hated him. One supposes that he was flattered for 50% of the time and convinced forthe other 50% that he could not be all that bad. To begin with he regarded such ìntrusions'as a nuisance and an impediment to good therapy. But quickly he realised the nature ofwhat was happening inside the walls of his consulting room. So much so that transferencewas to become a fundamental framework for psychoanalytic technique as well as a powerfulally in defence of psychoanalytic theory. Transference was not to be mistaken as a mereevocation or remembrance but as an actual living-through of matters pertaining to thepatient's neurosis. In this sense a kind of timelessness is said to ensue. Temporal timebecomes psychological time as past fuses with present and one's father is present in theperson of the therapist or, in another instance, the tutor. To restate the point, Freud said thatthe unconscious is unaware of past, present or future; all are at the same present.

The practical requirements for this conceptual stance rapidly emerged. A classical,somewhat ornate, position of analytical passivity and objectivity quickly predominated.Under no circumstances was the analyst to enter any kind of relationship bearing a `hereand now' framework with the patient. Permissible exceptions to passivity wereinterpretations of childhood material especially relating to the oedipal stage. In this way theanalyst dehumanises himself in order to facilitate `humanisation' of thoughts and feelings inhis patients. To a large extent Freudian analysis became transference analysis. There maybe little doubt that such a powerful concept was valued highly as psychoanalysis quicklytook hold of the imagination of the Western world. Procedures which both complementedand encouraged its use gradually came to characterise the whole process of psychoanalyticinvestigations: the passivity of the analyst; the use of

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the couch; the frequency of sessions and, most crucially, free association whereby presentsense of `self is abandoned in the expectation of the recovery of an earlier and truer self.One is tempted to imagine that this powerful definition and usage of transference needed amuch demoralised patient close to idealisation or otherwise. Not in my case. The struggleagainst pride goes on. I must forgive my father before accepting him in the horror of mysuspicion that he does not care for my acceptance or otherwise. It is hard to forgive theenduring memory of his absence.

Other Analytic Views: The Son Leaves the Father

Of course most of the above ideas relate to a Freudian concept of transference. Munroe(1957) points out that from quite early on in the history of psychoanalysis there weredissenters. Most analysts, she says, are not so rigidly fixed in their use of transference. Sherefers to these collectively as the 'non-libido group' and says that they tend to make use ofany relationship with the therapist which is especially vivid, èxtending the meaning of theconcept of transference to any attitude of the patient rooted in his unconscious patterns' (p.308). However whilst in practice this results in more flexible approaches to therapy, from atheoretical standpoint such departures from the classical mode have been generally regardedas diversions towards the handling of ego defence states and an avoidance of deepercurative factors. Where there occur (alleged) improvements in terms of outcome as a resultof such therapeutic variations, then a concurrent tendency emerges which defines thesevariations as discrete alternate psychotherapies. Like everything else I tend to beambivalent towards Freudian/Jungian differences in the handling of transference. Thesexual inheritance of the oedipal conflict appears to detach and capture the patient within adidactic frame of reference whereas the Jungian approach is receptive to a functionalframework of persons as they live their lives. The transference is a less specific and lessprojective concept in Jungian hands and more an issue of dialogue between persons.Hobson (1985) has developed a Conversational Model of therapy which epitomises adignified, helpful regard for the other person as a subject. Casement (1985) considers theanalytic process from an interactionist viewpoint. For him the patient is not an objecttowards which he is expert but an active listener in the sense of searching for identities inthe person of the therapist. The patient may unconsciously pick up therapists' `mistakes',which `mistakes' may even have been manoeuvred by the patient so as to make a kind of `right fit' given a particular set of circumstances and situations. Casement's descriptioncomes close to an accurate reflection of my surprise in discovering a caring therapist aswell as my dismay in realising that such uncaring words or gestures which I `heard' sovividly may have been of my own contrivance. Casement, on the other hand, attributes amere secondary relevance to the father during the very early months of the babies' life.Father's job is to hold the mother as she holds the baby. The child benefits from the motherto the degree that mother is held. At this stage I may only add that if there is truth in this, asindeed there may be, then it complicates my search twice over. However Casement's self-regulatory system of listening is to be commended, recognising as it does the humanfrailties of the therapist as he listens and tries to hear at the same time. In the history ofdepartures from the classical mode I am not sure where to place Patrick Casement.

Carl Jung was amongst the first to break away from Freud largely as a result of Freud'semphasis on matters libidinal. His use of transference differed substantially


from that of Freud who regarded it as a kind of hostile or admiring, specifically incestuous,projection to the passive analyst. Jung, as usual looking to the more purposive side ofthings, saw transference as an attempt by the patient to construct a sort of psychologicalrapport with his therapist. He came to understand the phenomena as something whichneeded to be understood by both parties in the relationship. In Jungian terms thetransference is understood as providing a means of releasing psychic energy by such meansor processes lying within the control of both parties. Therefore the transference is notencouraged but is allowed to dissolve in a process of unconscious psychic freedom whichfunctions as a gentle provocation to the interplay of two persons. It is small wonder that Ichoose a therapist of Jungian persuasion. At the very least he listens to me. By listen I meanthat he hears what I say and sometimes admits his mistakes and there has been a mercifulabsence of emphasis on that part of my life which in Freudian terms is definitive of oedipalconflict. I am not entirely sure if my not having had a father allowed me a way around suchconflict. Winnicott would have said that it did. Certainly my therapist has been at muchpains to extract feelings which I might possess towards him. I like him and sometimes I amafraid of him. Feelings of love or hate do not enter the field; perhaps I could take him orleave him. So is this the transference? This is not altogether a surprising question given thattransference is unconscious by definition. My therapist and I have teased out the issue ofnot-feeling as a possible defensive move on my part. Maybe my `no feeling' is thetransference especially as it relates almost exclusively to men. This notion involved areawakening of my sense of fear for male authority figures - intellectual authorities usually,rarely mere weavers of power. In this instance I was surely confronted by a transferencewhich was self-evident since fear could hardly be engendered by persons I had never met.Rather such figures must symbolise some unknown entity or dimension capable of evokingfears which properly belonged elsewhere. Should I therefore give up my enquiries andaccept a truth which was staring me in the face. I decided no, largely because the emotionin question was fear. I very quickly recalled persuasive behaviourist descriptions of fear-acquisition via classical conditioning paradigms of generalisation and discrimination (Dollard & Miller 1950; Eysenck 1960, p. 19). Also I observed that if behaviourists did notattempt such an outline of transference within a stimulus-response paradigm, then theysimply ignored it altogether; that is to say transference by any name. I was unsure as to whyI was vaguely dissatisfied with a behaviourist view. It was coherent, seeminglyparsimonious and part of a therapeutic professionalism which was in the ascendancy.Orthodox psychology, I knew, was predominantly pro-behaviourist at least within acognitive framework. Yet the way in which I had become invested in the world left meunsure in many ways of my place in it, such that behaviourist type explanations left mefeeling unsatisfied in a manner not easy to define.

Oedipal Attack on the Father: Or Perfectly Reasoned Argument

On the whole the behaviourists impressed me as being very cold towards the subject oftransference and it seemed natural to seek out a source of argument fiercely attacking in itsstyle of presentation. Ernest Gellner (1985) provided such a source. He describestransference as a crisp fact in comparison with all the other micro-theories ofpsychoanalysis which he describes as sloppy facts. He states that the evidence fortransference is overwhelming and genuinely self-evident. In general, however, the

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psychoanalytic edifice creaks and groans; an intelligent man would blow the whole housedown. Transference, he argues, is the preventative key: `... without transference the systemsimply could not work' (p. 55). Gellner regards the word `transference' as a descriptive termused to conceal the (for some) powerfully addictive nature of psychoanalysis. In no sense isthe psychoanalytical definition, as traditionally put forward, acceptable as an explanation ofthe phenomena. Freud's explanation is dismissed with vehemence (p. 56). Gellner's fiercedemand for proof (of psychoanalysis generally) attracted my interest. I too crave forevidence (of love) and like the temporarily disowned child I react ambivalently to thepossibility of its return. There have also been occasions when the fathers have tried to givemore than they have. In other words, `psychoanalysts have often tended to elevatedescriptive concepts to the status of explanatory principles' (Sandler, Dare & Holder 1973).

One aspect of Gellner's thinking which is close to that of other critics is the idea oftransference as a defensive manoeuvre on the therapist's part. This refers to the analystpresenting himself as a symbol and thus rendering himself very nearly invulnerable as aperson.

Having denigrated Freud and psychoanalytic èxplanations' generally, Gellner proceedsto tell his readers that he does not know what transference is either. He provides a series ofèxplanations' of varying plausibility and the reader is referred to these (pp. 57-66). Someexplanations are by no means new (Patterson 1980, p. 128). However Gellner does putforward a major question, namely, to what extent is the concept of transference conditionalupon belief in an overall theory of psychoanalysis? That question bothered me quite a bitand I took my tutor an idea in essay form derived from Gellner's discussion. He (Gellner)had suggested it would not be difficult to arrange for two groups to enter analysis, eachgroup differing along a dimension of belief in the overall system. I had reservations aboutthe idea since, I assumed, entry into therapy involved some kind of acceptance of theprecepts by which it worked. But I thought it an interesting idea which might at the veryleast reveal the power of the analytic journey to effect personal change differentially overtime. My tutor dismissed Gellner's suggestion as `ridiculous'. I was struck by the sheerpower and ability to be dismissive of a force such as Gellner's.

Of course, taking the view that because, in some way, Gellner accepts transference thenit must be true caused me to make a fairly obvious philosophical error. However, if oneallows that the existence of transference does come down to a question of belief, is notGellner's solid if quirky acceptance an added inducement to believe? Or does one quest forevidence still? A pertinent fact is that a great deal will depend on the kind of evidence youwant. I was as yet unsatisfied. As I searched the (mostly analytical) literature I was struckby the absence of evidence whilst only too aware that this was by no means perceived asevidence of absence. Indeed transference was everywhere about me. Again and again itwas always the same; each writer trotting out transference and adding his bit about `creative illusion' or `paradox' or goodness knows what else. At this stage I bore a certainresentment towards this. At the back of my mind were dire warnings of the dangersinherent in the use of hypothetical constructs and the imperative stipulation that one mustalways verify. I never forgot that warning.

Empiricism: The Love That Hath a Name

I turned to the reviews of Fisher and Greenberg (1977). Their examination of the


empirical data yielded little evidence of a quantitative kind in support of the concept oftransference. They reported that research had tended to focus upon whether patients hadcome to see their therapists as resembling their parents. Little systematic work had beendone in assessing changes in measured transference and outcome. They comment onMalan's finding that `... interpretations stressing the transference/parent link were the onlytype of interpretation that correlated significantly with therapy outcome ratings' (p. 383).However this finding is suspect since it is based on the content findings of patients' case-notes. Reference is also made to Crisp (1964), who found that attitudes towards thetherapist frequently change with, or precede, symptomatic change. However there is afailure here to distinguish between general attitude change and change which is due to thespecific usage of transference in psychoanalytic terms. Fisher and Greenberg end on amuted tone suggesting inconclusive findings and with the usual call for further research.Such research has been sparse. There is also the fact that those non-analytic therapists whohave addressed themselves to therapeutic research, the Rogerians, have given transferencea wide berth. It has little place in their armoury. Gelso and Carter (1985) point out theastonishing fact that all this research starts out with an acceptance of transference as astarting point. The astonishing aspect of their very extensive article is that havingbemoaned this fact and having acknowledged the lack of evidence they proceed to a fulldiscussion of transference without once looking back. However they provide a clue in theirextended references to the predilections of the therapist in terms of how transference isused. After all for the Rogerians it does not exist except perhaps by some other name. Onesuspects that even within psychoanalysis there may exist a range of usage not fullyreflected in the literature. No doubt each therapist would defend his particular usage (usages?) of transference. Also, no doubt, few would agree with Jackson and Haley (1963)who state that transference phenomena are not repetitions of earlier experiences. Rather thepatient is being conceptualised as an adult being like a child which is due to the nature ofthe situation and not the result of inappropriate regressions into childhood responses. Theygo on to suggest that the study of transference might take on a different perspective if seenin the context of a relationship. In fact a literature on the relational aspects and effects ofpsychotherapy has existed for many years although

.. the view of transference as a repetition of the past in the present has persisted as themain public definition of transference' (Sandler 1983). Sandler quotes from the work ofseveral early analysts and shows that (at least in Great Britain) transference was continuallyunder `strain' such that, in practice, it widened conceptually. In this way the concept wasable to encompass other elements of analytic work and perhaps redefine such processes toa greater or lesser extent. As Sandler points out, the question `what is going on now' cameto be asked before the question `what does the patient's material reveal about his past'.Changes of this nature were occurring despite the'. . . limited official definition of the term'(p. 41).

The Light at the Start of the Tunnel

At this point I was beginning to realise just how elusive a definitive concept oftransference was and that the more I searched the less I found in terms of a tight constructwith reasonably stable parameters. At the same time I was starting to realise that my searchwas grounded in the frustration of an inability to remember my early past coupled with asuspicion that such memories, or perhaps more accurately

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such reconstructions, might render me less defensive and more in touch with childhoodanger; anger which had turned cold. Of course reconstructions are likely to be more timeconsuming and much more arduous than remembering in the sense of recall. Bartlett (1932)had pointed out that memory is not some kind of mechanical record of previous events orexperiences differing from the original in relation to how much has faded or worn away.Memory is an active reconstruction taking place within the ambit of present feelings andinterests. To remember is to reconstruct. I had been somewhat naive on this point. Onentering therapy I had not expected `reconstruction'. On the other hand I had becomeannoyed with what I regarded as an overall lack of precision with poorly worked-out and ill-defined concepts. Yet, paradoxically, whenever my therapist made an ìnterpretation' whichhad a sense of being confirmed in his consciousness, I possessed a strong tendency to rejectit in favour of his more usual discursive approach. This was an interesting discovery: thefact that those insights which appeared to make sense were more often than not an outcomeof òrdinary discourse' and not some kind of grand interpretation. Yet the more human mytherapist became the more I seemed to evade him whilst evolving a concern with atransference model which would be precise and capable of proving itself. Perhaps I hadachieved a greater level of self-awareness but this seemed due to some type of cumulativeprocess deriving from my ongoing relationship with my therapist.

As early as 1943 Rioch had proposed the following:

The therapeutic aim in this process is not to uncover childhood memories which will then lendthemselves to analytic interpretation ... cure does not result from the repetition of the originalinjurious experience.... What is curative in the process is that in tending to reconstruct with theanalyst that atmosphere which obtained in childhood, the patient actually achieves something new ... the transference phenomenon is used so that the patient will completely re-experience the originalframes of reference, and himself within those frames, in a truly different relationship with theanalyst, to the end that he can discover the invalidity of his conclusions about himself and others. (p. 151)

This comment by Rioch is a clear representation of how the concept of transference hadcome to be misrepresented by others. Rioch is a defender of the `classical' position inpsychoanalysis as opposed to the 'totalist' position which seeks to enlarge transference andcountertransference concepts on the assumption that the classical definitions are toolimiting. Therefore Rioch's statement indicates that the classical position stems from amisuse of Freudian concepts. Passivity was never meant to mean lack of therapistspontaneity or human warmth. Her statement is neither a refutation nor an extension. Ratherit is a reiteration of a formulation which time and practice had misperceived and made rigid.Maybe my search for a tight construct was similarly misplaced based as it was upon aperceived `classical stance' which was itself never intended as the clear-cut concept it hadcome to be, and as indeed for many it still remains.

The Existentialist Domain

Now I had come to see that transference did not need to be as explicit nor as fullydelineated as I had thought; so much of human emotion is confused and difficult. I began tosee transference more in terms of its use between persons rather than as an abstract entityhanging above my head. Hobson had written about transference as a metaphorical process.To transfer, he argues, is to make an error but if the error is recognised then it istransformed to metaphor which in turn opens up fresh ground for


possibilities and development. By analysis of the transference Hobson means recognition ofthe metaphor so that it becomes a focal area by which, through negotiation, new strands ofapprehension and meaning become possible.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brainssuch shaping fantasies that apprehendmore than cool reason ever comprehends.(A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 1, Scene 5)

I lingered over the above quotation and was, in a strange and muddled way, satisfiedthat it contained a truth. The `critique of reason' immediately came to mind and inclined metowards those existentialist therapists whose influence on (and by) psychoanalysis wasacknowledged and valued. What appeared was not merely an influence but an affinity withanalysis as it had developed and changed since Freud. The resemblance to Jung is evidentin the following passage,

... the existential analyst ... will always stand on the same plane as his patients - the plane ofcommon existence. He will therefore not degrade the patient to an object towards which he issubject, but he will see in him an existentialist partner. (Binswanger & Boss 1957, p. 285)

Later on they state:Also what had, since Freud, been called transference is, in the existentialist-analytic sense, a kindof encounter. For encounter is a being-with-others in genuine presence, that is to say, in thepresent which is altogether continuous with the past and bears within it the possibilities of afuture. (p. 285)

Elements in both these passages resemble the kinds of relationships Jung had withmany of his patients. They also demonstrate the way in which influences are reflexive. Forexample, the above quote could easily have come from the pen of Rogers; and there are fewtherapists today, of whatever persuasion, who would deny Rogerian contributions to thepractice of therapy. This is not to overlook the crucial distinction between Jungian andexistentialist positions which falls within the use of and beliefs about unconscious life.From an existentialist perspective the possibilities of transference in terms of past-as-present are not denied but the emphasis is on the here and now, on what is called `genuinepresence' of both therapist and patient as partners. There is a regard for transference,though with a clear resolve to treat it with little or no preconceived ideas other than the ìdea' of man as a person who transcends psychology and its products.

... the therapist wishing to help his patients must, whilst not excluding his technical knowhow,even if Freudian, bring a genuine acceptance to all of the new possibilities which grow on `theplayground of transference'. (p. 288)

Essentially what is argued here is that the psychoanalyst, insofar as he brings anintellect (schooled in dogma) to bear upon his patient's problems, distorts those problemsby robbing them of genuineness. In effect the analyst, in interpreting (attributing) primaryor causal significance to communications in transference terms pushes thesecommunications back into the patient's past thus denying the genuineness of their here-and-now expression. Therefore ideas and feelings are never allowed to unfold and inevitablyremain in a `transference fixation'. The existentialist position allows certain theoreticalgains to emerge in relation to transference, for example:

Until now psychology could conceive of transference in terms of a tossing-out and carryingover ofpsychic contents from within a `psyche' into something in the external world. These

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concepts however ... can only be maintained on the basis of abstract intellectual constructions. Theexistentialist thinking allows us to understand these phenomena simply and with full justice toreality out of the primary, intrinsic being-together of all men in the same world. (Boss 1957, p.289)

There is no doubt that this represents a qualitative difference from the Freudian use oftransference and points firmly in the direction of transference by another name. Although agreat deal of existential writing is vague there is a clear central demand that issues such astransference operate within a relationship where hypotheses are open to negotiation, so thatthe ongoing feelings of the client are respected and no less valued in relation toconceptions about their origin.

He Continues Slow and Dull in his Clear Images; I Continue Slow and Sharp in myBroken Images....

I had arrived at some kind of watershed where I could do little more than reflect. Iwondered even if my thinking and writing about transference might not in some strangeway be a part of it. Or is transference a put-up job, some kind of contrivance? Thecontrivance of feelings which were once felt but not felt. If transference is not true then it isa cruel device to perpetrate on a person, however it is used. It has always been said to be anunconscious idea or stream. I am unaware of its being; it is without tangible substance. Imight say that it is something which enlivens my unconscious. But the transference itself isthe unconscious àttitude'. Like attitude is it not directional? So, by definition, it occursonly in the knowing of its occurrence by another.

Perhaps my fears are related to the idea of placing trust in the power of the therapist forafter all we both of us work in secret. How does one bridge the gap between truisms arrivedat in secret and public communication systems which today seem to require empiricalvalidation? In effect, how can the transference be given a social existence unambiguouslyand with no great emphasis upon introspection? Shared inference, I suppose, and validationby mutual consent. The whole thing is so unreasonable and unfair. Gellner is right in onething. It is the transference which holds the house of possibilities together. At least there issomething which holds me. Some feeling or lack of feeling about the rage I do not want. Ido not know what it is I do not want: the love of a father or otherwise. I dread the thoughtthat it is not love and yet it is hard to forgive for I love another more. The search for myfather is the search for fatherhood. I find it strange that as the therapeutic relationship cameto its conclusion attempts to hold on to me brought about vague feelings of embarrassment.Rage also that he could make impossible (financial) demands upon me. Well ... perhapsimpossible. Unresolved still we go our separate ways - at least temporarily. Pinter (1962)said:

I think that we communicate only too well, in our silence, in what is unsaid, and that what takesplace is continual evasion, desperate rearguard attempts to keep ourselves to ourselves.Communication is too alarming. To enter into someone else's life is too frightening. To disclose toothers the poverty within us is too fearsome a possibility.

Nobody wants to be ordinary which I suppose is as good a reason for going intotherapy as any. For although we may indeed often wish to be alone few of us enjoyloneliness or the doubt that we may have missed something. Yet the fear of disclosure ofour true selves is often uppermost in our minds even if we do not know who we are.

Why was I left behind? Was it because I was too demanding? I screamed a lot I know.But I know as little now of what I wanted then as what I want now. To be noticed for


sure and not ignored and for no other reason but that it is demanded. The child has noreasons.

Quite recently my daughter asked to meet my father and perhaps, I think, findsomething there. I was somewhat amused and understanding of how little she knew wasinvolved. I may have been wrong; she knows and feels more than I do for she always had afather.

References

Bartlett, F.C. (1932) Remembering. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.Binswanger, L. & Boss, M. (1983) Existential analysis and daseinsanalysis. In Theories of Personality

and Psychopathology, 3 edn. (Ed. T. Millon). London: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.Boss, M. (1957) Psychoanalyse and daseinanalytik. In Progress in Psychotherapy, Vol. 2 (Eds. F.

Fromm-Reichman and J. Moreno). Grune and Stratton Inc.Casement, P. (1985) On Learning from the Patient. London: Tavistock.Crisp, A.H. (1964) Development and application of a measure of transference. In Journal of

Psychosomatic Research, 8, pp. 327-335.Dollard, J. & Miller, N.E. (1950) Personality and Psychotherapy: An Analysis in Terms of Learning,

Thinking, and Culture. New York: McGraw-Hill.Eysenck, J.H. (1960) Learning theory and behaviour therapy. In Behaviour Therapy and the Neuroses (

Ed. H. Eysenck). London: Pergamon Press.Fisher, S. & Greenberg, R. (1977) The Scientific Credibility of Freud's Theories and Therapy. New

York: Basic Books Inc.Gellner, E. (1985) The Psychoanalytic Movement. Paladin.Gelso, C.J. & Carter, J.A. (1985) The relationship in counselling and psychotherapy: components,

consequences, and theoretical antecedents. In The Counselling Psychologist, 13, pp. 155-243.Hobson, R.F. (1985) Forms of Feeling. London: Tavistock.Jackson, D.D. & Haley, J. (1963) Transference revisited. In Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease.

137, pp. 363-371.Malan, D. (1979) Individual Psychotherapy and the Science of Psychodynamics. Butterworths.Munroe, R. (1957) Schools of Psychoanalytic Thought. London: Hutchinsons.Patterson, C.H. (1980) Theories of Counselling and Psychotherapy (3rd edn.). Harper and Row.Pinter, H. (1981) Taken from the programme for The Birthday Party. Tavistock Repertory Company,

London.Rioch, J. (1943) The transference phenomenon in psychoanalytic therapy. In Psychiatry, 6, pp. 147-

156.Sandler, J. (1983) Reflections on some relations between psychoanalytic concepts and psychoanalytic

practise. In The International Journal of Psycho-Analysis, 64, pp. 35-45.Sandler, J., Dare, C. & Holder, A. (1979) The Patient and the Analyst. London: Maresfield Reprints.

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Transference by Any Other Name