Jonathan Lear begins Therapeutic
Action with a question: "How might a conversation fundamentally change
the structure of the human psyche?" That is, how could an exchange of
words between analyst and analysand effect a cure to neurosis? To answer such
questions would be to uncover the therapeutic action of psychoanalysis. While
arguing that a deeper understanding of irony and its possibilities is central
to the therapeutic action of psychoanalysis, Lear’s book is much more than its
"earnest plea for irony." It is an invitation to psychoanalysts (and
all those involved in psychological counseling) to return to this fundamental
question of their profession, and to ask not only how psychoanalysis works upon
the psyche, but how psychoanalysis is supposed to work at all. Thus, Lear
embarks upon a Kierkegaardian journey of inquiry, asking what it takes to
become a certain kind of human being, to be a psychoanalyst. In this way, Lear
is trying to write not only a book about therapy, but a book which is itself
therapeutic.

The plea for irony in this work
manifests itself as a process of retrieving an older, and what Lear takes to be
a richer, conception of irony. Thus understood, irony is not, as our
dictionaries tell us, "saying the opposite of what is meant." To say
the opposite of one’s intended meaning is to engage in sarcasm. What
distinguishes irony from sarcasm? Lear returns to the writings of Kierkegaard
and finds that what constitutes irony in Kiekegaard’s work is not simply saying
the opposite of what he means, but arises from saying exactly what one
means and saying it in a manner which exposes a gap between pretense and
aspiration on the one hand, and reality on the other. When Kierkegaard asks,
"Is there a Christian in all of Christendom?" it becomes clear on
reflection that this is not a ridiculous question. The question exposes the gap
between being a "nominal" Christian (by fulfilling the external
requirements of Christianity) and a "subjective" Christian (which
involves something like an internalization of the Christian faith such that one
not only acts like a Christian, but is–to the core, if you
will–a Christian.) To be a Christian in the second sense involves not only the
fulfilling of certain requirements, but is to become a certain kind of person. To
understand this distinction would be to understand the deep irony of
Kierkegaard’s question. Lear writes, "irony becomes possible precisely
because the speaker insists on holding onto what the words really do mean"
(68). Lear claims that Kierkegaard’s ironic question, by clinging to this
deeper understanding of what it is to be a Christian, is asked with therapeutic
intent. It attempts to put the reader (for Kierkegaard, a "Christian"
in 19^th century Europe) into a position to see the possibility of
there being a gap between appearances (pretense) and reality–to see that his
question is not settled by, say, going to church or putting some change into
the collection plate. The therapeutic element of this question is that it is
supposed to invite the reader to re-examine his or her commitments to a certain
kind of life.

Returning from Kierkegaard’s
Christendom, Lear endeavors to show how a similar form of ironic questioning
plays a central role in the analytic process as well as in the self-conscious
development of psychoanalysis itself. To himself and his colleagues, he puts
forward the question, "Is there a single psychoanalyst in the
psychoanalytic community?" Although he believes the answer is yes, his
discussion of irony is intended to remind us that the answer is not obvious,
that there is a point to the question. Taking up an issue explored in his
mentor Hans Loewald’s essay "On the Therapeutic Action of
Psychoanalysis" (1960), Lear discusses the notion of psychoanalytic
objectivity and argues for a "subjective" understanding of
objectivity. The activity of the psychoanalyst risks distortion when it is
construed on the model of objectivity as scientific neutrality. Rather,
psychoanalysis does require a certain kind of involvement of the analyst with
the analysand. It requires the analyst to become a particular kind of human
subject (to become in this sense "subjective"): one who is able to
make him or herself available to the analysand, as in the process of
transference, so that the analysand eventually comes to discover his or her own
neurotic distortions of the world.

Lear argues that this process is
one of developing in the analysand a capacity for irony–the ability to see in
him or herself the gap between pretense and reality, and to see that the analysand
herself is largely responsible for creating this gap. Thus, "the analytic
process is thought to consist, at least partially, in a process by which the
analysand comes to internalize the capacity for psychoanalysis" (97). That
is not to say that the analysand learns to be a psychoanalyst, but that she
learns to engage in self-reflective activities that allow her to discover the
irony of her own thoughts and behavior. Lear writes, "In a truly ironic
uptake the analysand not only grasps a meaning but also develops his own
capacity for irony. The analysand begins treatment with little understanding of
the gap between his aspirations and pretense. Even less does he understand how
this gap is structuring his life. Through lovingly ironic interpretations, the
analyst helps the analysand to bring this gap to light" (177). By calling
the psychoanalytic interpretations "lovingly ironic," Lear indicates
another key element in the nature of the therapeutic process–that
psychoanalysis may be seen as a "cure through love" (178). For to
call the analysts activity "lovingly ironic" again reminds us that
irony consists in more than sarcasm or flatly telling the analysand what’s gone
wrong with his psyche. The ironic interpretation allows the analysand to
discover for herself the gap between pretense and reality, which Lear believes
will inspire a more genuine self-consciousness than merely informing the
analysand, "Look, you are distorting the world in such-and-such
ways." This is a loving activity on the part of the analyst because ironic
interpretation–once the analysand is ready for it–offers the analysand the
reins of self-discovery: loving in the way that a parent expresses love for the
child by allowing the child to discover the world for herself, even as the parent
keeps a watchful eye over the child. (Lear would be very cautious about taking
this analogy too far!)

Lear is a superb writer. He is
able to explore the multiple threads of his argument, shifting from concerns
about psychoanalytic concepts and theoretical commitments to the nature of the
analytic process and the place of irony within it, to discuss specific passages
in the work of Loewald and Freud, without losing sight of the main road. Therapeutic
Action is in some respects very personal. Lear is working out his own
commitments as a psychoanalyst, and is using the book as an opportunity to
better understand his life-activity as a psychoanalyst. It is this personal
investment which enables the book, in many places, to transcend its
subject-matter, and allows the reader (who is not an analyst) to identify his
or her own struggles to become a certain kind of human being as concomitant
with the psychoanalytic questions of how we go about unifying our psyches and
how it is possible to keep ourselves open to psychological growth.

© 2004 Matthew Pianalto

Matthew Pianalto is a Ph.D. student in philosophy at the
University of Arkansas, where he has also taught logic and introduction to
philosophy. He holds a B.A. in English, and an M.A. in Philosophy. His master’s
thesis, "Suicide & The Self," attempts to reinvest in the
philosophical nature of the problem of suicide. More info at his website: http://comp.uark.edu/~mpianal. (See
"Suicide & Philosophy" link for resources on suicide.)

Categories: Philosophical, Psychoanalysis