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Mary Jo Peebles on Psychotherapy and the Wisdom Found in its Impasses and Uncertainties

I previously wrote at length about the wisdom gained from reading Mary Jo Peebles' 2002 book Beginnings: The Art and Science of Planning Psychotherapy

Her name was recently brought back to mind by Jonathan Shedler on Twitter, from whom I continue to learn a great deal. He was favourably quoting from her new book, so that meant I had to get a copy and read it, which I did earlier this month. 

So let us turn our attention to her newest book, released late last year, When Psychotherapy Feels Stuck (Routledge, 2021), 164pp. I finished reading it last weekend and found it a profitable read, not so much for any new ground it breaks as for the many useful reminders it offers.

She starts off by very calmly advising that not knowing where to go next in treatment can be a very good thing: "I want you to be unafraid to not-know" (xiii). This, as I have written about often on here, is a familiar and welcome counsel, going back--for me--to at least the early 1990s when I read Nina Coltart's break-out book Slouching Towards Bethlehem, about which I wrote at length here

Towards the end of her preface, Peebles returns to this, writing winsomely that not knowing about your patient, or where to go with a patient, can in fact be a gift: 

feeling stuck and not-knowing...is a gift we are given to be able to learn something new. It is a sacred trust we hold when we invite our patient to share themselves with us. I want you to feel less of the fear and more of the wonder and sacred trust when you feel tense or confused. I want you to come to appreciate that if we listen, the knowing will come (xv).

She will return to these themes--of the sacred and of gift--in the concluding pages of the book, as we will presently discover. 

Her first chapter, "Change Takes Time," is one of those messages that needs to be heard more than ever today. The pressures from insurance companies and other agents of iniquity to shorten psychotherapy are notorious. Helpfully Peebles here launches straightaway into an analogy about learning a language and how much work and time that takes. In many ways, she shows, good psychotherapy is about learning how to talk (think, feel, etc.) about yourself in a different way so why should we expect that to be quick and easy? "Change that lasts is incremental," she reminds us (p.5), and such change is compared to compound interest: "our investment of time compounds over time" (p.9). (In this, she reminds me of a line from one of my favourite of Adam Phillips' books where he says of psychoanalysis that "the cure can begin only after the treatment has ended.")

"How We Say It Matters" is the second chapter and I confess I found it gratifying for such a seasoned clinician to be advocating a practice that I had just found myself falling into without having read about it before or seen it sanctioned elsewhere: "Perhaps you involuntarily wince when a patient excoriates himself. Let that show." This might be through body language or a simple "Ouch!" voiced aloud, shaking the patient's "obliviousness" (p.250). 

I can confirm that this is very effective if the timing and tone are right, though with some patients it needs to be done semi-regularly until their hitherto relentless super-ego attacks begin to lessen and they develop their strength and ability to stand "Against Self-Criticism."

Ch.3, "The Value of Awareness" contains a helpful list of questions, some of which I have used before--either in thinking of a case or in supervision, or both. All of these are very worthwhile and should be considered regularly to avoid epistemic closure and unjustified certainty. Peebles says (my paraphrase) we should be asking:

  • Are there other ways for me to understand this?
  • How would others of different theoretical persuasions see this?
  • What am I missing or ignoring?
  • Have I made assumptions about my patient instead of asking them questions?
  • Am I discounting or dismissing something the patient said because of theoretical or clinical priors?
  • Am I in danger of seeing the same symptoms and diagnosis in too many people? 

Ch.4, "Transforming the World Within," was perhaps the most challenging for me. Here she issues a number of welcome reminders, including this splendid aphorism: "the goal of psychotherapy...is to rattle our patient's certitude about his conclusions" (p.49). To do this, we must enter their world, and we must enter not just via their mind--their intellectual world--but above all their emotional world: "we must focus as therapists on our patient's sensations, not just on his ideas" (ibid). Peebles says that therapists who struggle to do this need to be in their own personal therapy. (I do, and am!)

Ch.5, "Learning to Not-Know," begins with an epigraph from W.R. Bion and his infamous "Notes on Memory and Desire," about which I essayed some thoughts here. Peebles quotes him thus: "'the only point of importance in any session is the unknown'." 

This is not easy to do! I find that to be especially difficult in working with psychotic disorders. The drives to know and control and fix--what Phillips talks about as our desires for omnipotence and omniscience--are strong! They are stronger still when under pressure from the parents of adolescent patients who, naturally enough, want a cure and want a guarantee that their children will never suffer another psychotic break ever again. 

Bion presents (so I thought until recently) especial difficulty with his insistence that the psychotherapist "must aim at a steady exclusion of memory and desire" and must also "aim at achieving a state of mind so that at every session he feels he has not seen the patient before." At first, I regarded these as counsels of perfection, absolutist and almost suspiciously totalizing in their demands and largely unachievable in most practices in this country today. But I must report that I have rethought my suspicion of him on this point recently, and was startled to realize in one case that Bion was right and I needed to do what he advised! Suddenly one day instead of thinking I was out in front waiting for a patient where we had ended the last session, I realized they had moved unexpectedly and thus surpassed me and I was playing catch-up: my memory of past sessions had deceived me, just as Bion predicted it would! 

To return to Peebles, she says there are two significant gifts which not knowing can offer: first, it can allow for creative thinking to emerge, for new ways of looking at and working on something. Second, "when therapists are able to tolerate uncertainty, the therapeutic alliance strengthens" (p.80). (This has been confirmed by my own recent experience with one patient in particular.)

A toleration of uncertainty, she continues later in the chapter, is connected to "being humble about the limits of our knowledge." We need to cultivate humility, but not of a masochistic kind: "humility is the child of self-assuredness" (p.81). In other words, as I have heard others put it, you can be certain of yourself as a person, but uncertain as a therapist as to what to do, and both are not just okay but exist in necessary relationship. 

A toleration of uncertainty goes well with a spirit and practice of playfulness in psychotherapy. This--though she does not cite him--is very much in keeping with Winnicott's ideas, as I noted here

Peebles ends this chapter with another timely reminder and reiteration of her central point: "the more comfortable we are with not having answers or next steps right away, the more opportunities we will afford our patients to resist concluding, endure not-knowing,...and master uneasiness" (p.91). This, in turn, will pay dividends in allowing patients to be freed from the often restricting, infantilizing, or even paralyzing certainties with which their lives have been ruled hitherto. 

Ch.6, "Relationship," focuses not just on the therapeutic alliance, but on negative emotions in that alliance. This was, for me, the most useful part of the chapter. She brings in some of the greats here--Winnicott, of course, on hate in the counter-transference; but also Searles on counter-transference; and others I was not familiar with but whose works I am now tracking down. She focuses not just on hate, but on what might perhaps be called lesser negative emotions, and how to deal with those. Her advice is masterful: "talk with our patient about the negative energy with the calm and respect that comes from knowing how to learn from negative process rather than be railroaded by it" (p.102). 

Timing, she says later in the chapter, is crucial here. Watch for, and even anticipate where possible, ruptures and outbursts of negative emotion, and handle them calmly and promptly. Left untended, they can damage the alliance and relationship. But handled quickly and well, the alliance can in fact be strengthened. 

Other useful and familiar reminders abound here: about the importance of good supervision; about self-care; about taking "cool soundings" (Coltart) from the counter-transference; and once again about the importance of the therapist having his or her own psychotherapy.

This chapter ends by compiling a list (quoting from this article) about the qualities of  master therapists properly so called, who are described as "'voracious learners, curious, reflective, and valued cognitive complexity and ambiguity; they were emotionally receptive, self-aware, non-defensive, and open to feedback'" (pp.112-13). 

The last chapter, Creating Meaning, takes us back to where we began: the costs and challenges of change, and the resistances to it which crop up. Noting that change brings loss and ambivalence, and takes time, Peebles concludes her worthwhile and helpful book with what I would call an existentialist turn, reminding us of past luminaries such as Viktor Frankl  and the present challenge of creating space where patients might explore questions such as the meaning of suffering, the questions about grief ("grieving is not giving up," she flatly asserts late in the book [p.132]) provoked by losses associated with change, and more broadly "spiritual" questions. 

In this final chapter, Peebles is also undertaking what I would call an implicit rebuke of instrumentalist or purely pragmatistic views of psychotherapy as means of overcoming "disease" or "disorder" in order to get back to being a quiet, compliantly cheerful employee and obedient citizen. Her view, rightly, is much more expansive than that, and reminds one of others, including Michael Eigen, not least in his book The Psychoanalytic Mystic.

Thus she says that "psychotherapy presents the opportunity for a mystical journey, however brief the encounter or modest the epiphanies" (p.124). On this felicitous note we take our leave of When Psychotherapy Feels Stuck, grateful for the wisdom of the author and her eminently useful book. 

The Deceptions of Desire

Regular readers of my other blog, and especially my book Everything Hidden Shall Be Revealed: Ridding the Church of Abuses of Sex and Power, will be aware of how indebted I am to the Spanish Jesuit psychoanalyst Carlos Dominguez-Morano and his landmark and brilliant book Belief After FreudThat book remains, far and away, the most theologically sophisticated, compelling, and important engagement of Freud for decades. 

Well, to my enormous excitement, I see that Lexington Books is bringing out another of his books in translation next month: The Myth of Desire: Sexuality, Love, and the Self, trans. Veronica Polo Torok (Lexington, November 2020), 254pp.

About this book the publisher tells us this:

In The Myth of Desire: Sexuality, Love, and the Self, Carlos Domínguez-Morano draws on psychoanalysis to explore the broad and complex reality of the affective-sexual realm encompassed by the term desire, a concept that propels individual aspirations, pursuits, and life endeavors. Domínguez-Morano takes a global perspective in order to introduce a methodology, examine the present sociocultural determinations affecting desire, review the main stages in the evolution of desire, and reflect on affective maturity. Domínguez-Morano further explores the five basic expressions of desire: falling in love and being a couple, homosexuality, narcissism and self-esteem, friendship, and the derivative of desire by way of sublimation. Scholars of psychology, philosophy, and sociology will find this book particularly useful.

You can be sure I will have rather a lot to say once I get my hands on this book!  

Wilfred Bion on Memory and Desire

I've read rather a lot in British object relations theory, and of the psychoanalysts associated with the Middle/Independent "school" in the United Kingdom--those who refused in the main to get drawn into the "Controversial Discussions" resulting from the split between the Kleinians and the (Anna) Freudians in the early 1940s. But one figure of significance, who wrote a considerable number of dense books I have not yet read, remains on my list of those to explore: Wilfred Bion. (I've found the book by the Symingtons, The Clinical Thinking of Wilfred Bion, a very helpful place to start. There they emphasize the overriding lesson to therapists from Bion is: Think and speak from your own heart and mind.)

I have, however, read a couple of Bion's essays on Memory and Desire, and seen one passage from them quoted in many places over the years: the therapist must approach each session with the same patient "without memory or desire." I admit I was very much taken aback the first time I read this for it seems to fly so strongly in the face of that deeply Freudian respect I have for history and archaeology. 


Now, though, I cannot stop thinking about this passage, and I rather expect it will have to show up as a chapter in the book I am working on about faith, Freud, and psychoanalysis. For there is much language (as noted below) in Bion about ascesis and mysticism, leading the Symingtons to conclude that "Bion is committed to the view that there is an absolute truth which can never be known directly. He says, ‘The religious mystics have probably approximated most closely to expression of experience of  it’."


This shocking, if not counter-intuitive advice, of Bion's about abandoning memory and desire is stated repeatedly in several places in a number of ways, lest we miss the point: "The psychoanalyst should aim at achieving a state of mind so that at every session he feels he has not seen the patient before." And even more strongly: "I do not mean that ‘forgetting’ is enough: what is required is a positive act of refraining from memory and desire.”


Why should we want to do this? Bion is quite blunt about the implications: "nothing will throw your judgment out more than to be concerned with trying to remember what the patient or you yourself have said." Once you give in to this desire to remember, you will "keep at bay and...keep out of mind certain other feelings." This, it strikes me, is something very much in keeping with what I have read Yalom say on several occasions about always asking about the here-and-now going on between patient and therapist. 


It seems difficult, if not downright unpleasant, to avoid memory and desire. And yet I find it attractive if you conceive of the therapist's role, as I increasingly do, in apophatic and kenotic terms: to be emptied to the greatest degree possible in order to have the space not for your own words to be spoken, but the words of the patient, and the words those words will generate in you in turn. 


In his book Attention and Interpretation, Bion goes on to spell out the advantages of leaving memory and desire behind: doing so allows the therapist "to increase his ability to exercise ‘acts of faith’." Such acts, he hastens to add, are not meant in the conventional "religious" sense. Rather, such acts are the necessary precursors to a genuinely scientific approach, open to where one is lead by the experience without memory or desire interposing themselves and subtly directing one in a particular and preconceived direction. 


All this is directed by and towards the goal of serving the patient: "If the psycho-analyst has not deliberately divested himself of memory and desire the patient can ‘feel’ this and is dominated by the ‘feeling’ that he is possessed by and contained in the.analyst’s state of mind, namely, the state represented by the term ‘desire’." The "desire" of the analyst then, especially when it is repeated and reembodied each session in the analyst's "memory" of that desire, can be restrictive of the patient and even harmful. 


Bion goes on to note this when he says that "desires for results....must not be allowed to proliferate."


This is a point I have seen others make, including the great Adam Phillips and Nina Coltart, who talks about the notion of "cure" with something close to horror. 

The problem with notions of cure is that they can often be simultaneously too small and too large, too impossible of realization. In addition, they can often bring with them unrealistic expectations, not least for those dealing with sustained, long-term trauma. Can there be healing from that? Yes. Can it be total, complete, without blemish, erasing all that was wrong, binding up every wound, and restoring the patient to some prelapsarian and Edenic position? Of course not. 


To abandon these notions of cure and practices of memory and desire is not easy. As the Symingtons recognize, "Bion’s technical recommendations are radical. To carry them out requires considerable discipline of an inner mental kind. What is required is nothing short of an inner emotional ascesis that can open out into new and unsuspected field of inquiry."


Bion seems to have been forced into some of these radical re-evaluations and new practices after working with a patient he took on as an "ideal" analysand, who was always agreeing with everything Bion said, but nothing changed. Externally this patient seemed to progress, but internally nothing changed. That analysand eventually committed suicide. 


From this, according to the Symingtons, Bion seems to have derived the sense that he failed the patient by not actually being open to him fully. Bion's own desires and memories may have been too restrictive for this patient and intruded into the analytic frame, crowding out a patient who already found most of his life restricted by the memories and desire of others, leaving him no room to breathe on his own.