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De-Idealizing
Relational Theory

Self-examination and self-critique: for psychoanalytic patients, this is the


conduit to growth. Yet within the field, psychoanalysts haven’t sufficiently
utilized their own methodology or subjected their own preferred approaches
to systematic and critical self-examination. Across theoretical divides,
psychoanalytic writers and clinicians have too often responded to criticism
with defensiveness rather than reflectivity.
De-Idealizing Relational Theory attempts to rectify this for the relational
field. This book is a first in the history of psychoanalysis; it takes internal
dissension and difference seriously rather than defensively. Rather than
saying that the other’s reading of relational theory is wrong, distorted, or
a misrepresentation, this book is interested in querying how theory lends
itself to such characterizations. How have psychoanalysts participated in
conveying this portrayal to their critics? Might this dissension illuminate
blind-spot(s) and highlight new areas of growth?
It’s a challenge to engage in psychoanalytic self-critique. To do so
requires that we move beyond our own assumptions and deeply held beliefs
about what moves the treatment process and how we can best function
within it. To step aside from ourselves, to question the assumed, to take the
critiques of others seriously, demands more than an absence of defensive-
ness. It requires that we step into the shoes of the psychoanalytic Other
and suspend not only our theories, but our emotional investment in them.
There are a range of ways in which our authors took up that challenge.
Some revisited the assumptions that underlay early relational thinking
and expanded their sources (Greenberg & Aron). Some took up specific
aspects of relational technique and unpacked their roots and evolution
(Mark, Cooper). Some offered an expanded view of what constitutes rela-
tional theory and technique (Seligman, Corbett, Grossmark). Some more
directly critiqued aspects of relational theory and technique (Berman,
Stern). And some took on a broader critique of relational theory or technique
(Layton, Slochower).
Unsurprisingly, no single essay examined the totality of relational think-
ing, its theoretical and clinical implications. This task would be herculean
both practically and psychologically. We’re all invested in aspects of
what we think and what we do; at best, we examine some, but never all
of our assumptions and ideas. We recognize, retrospectively, how very
challenging a task this was; it asked writers to engage in what we might
think of as a self-analysis of the countertransference. Taken together these
essays represent a significant effort at self-critique and we are enormously
proud of it.
Each chapter critically assesses and examines aspects of relational
theory and technique, considers its current state and its relations to other
psychoanalytic approaches. De-Idealizing Relational Theory will appeal
to all relational psychoanalysts and psychoanalytic psychotherapists.
Lewis Aron, Ph.D., ABPP is the director of the New York Univers-
ity Postdoctoral Program in Psychotherapy and Psychoanalysis. He is
the author and editor of numerous articles and books on psychotherapy
and psychoanalysis and well known for his study and reading groups
around the world. His most recent book, co-authored with Galit Atlas,
is the Routledge title Dramatic Dialogue: Contemporary Clinical Prac-
tice.
Sue Grand, Ph.D., is faculty at the NYU Postdoctoral Program in Psycho-
therapy and Psychoanalysis. She is the author of The Reproduction of Evil:
A Clinical and Cultural Perspective and The Hero in the Mirror, and has
co-edited two books on the trans-generational transmission of trauma. She
practices in NYC and in Teaneck, NJ.
Joyce Slochower, Ph.D., ABPP is Professor Emerita at Hunter College
and the Graduate Center, the City University of New York. She is on
the faculty of the New York University Postdoctoral Program, the
Steven Mitchell Center, the National Training Program of NIP, the Phila-
delphia Center for Relational Studies, and the Psychoanalytic Institute of
Northern California in San Francisco. She is the author of Holding and
Psychoanalysis and Psychoanalytic Collisions. Second editions of both
books were released in 2014. She is in private practice in New York City,
where she sees individuals and couples, and runs supervision and study
groups.
RELATIONAL PERSPECTIVES BOOK SERIES

LEWIS ARON, ADRIENNE HARRIS,


STEVEN KUCHUCK & EYAL ROZMARIN
Series Editor

The Relational Perspectives Book Series (RPBS) publishes books that grow out
of or contribute to the relational tradition in contemporary psychoanalysis. The
term relational psychoanalysis was first used by Greenberg and Mitchell1 to
bridge the traditions of interpersonal relations, as developed within interpersonal
psychoanalysis and object relations, as developed within contemporary British
theory. But, under the seminal work of the late Stephen A. Mitchell, the term
relational psychoanalysis grew and began to accrue to itself many other influences
and developments. Various tributaries—interpersonal psychoanalysis, object
relations theory, self psychology, empirical infancy research, and elements of
contemporary Freudian and Kleinian thought—flow into this tradition, which
understands relational configurations between self and others, both real and
fantasied, as the primary subject of psychoanalytic investigation.
We refer to the relational tradition, rather than to a relational school, to high-
light that we are identifying a trend, a tendency within contemporary psycho-
analysis, not a more formally organized or coherent school or system of beliefs.
Our use of the term relational signifies a dimension of theory and practice that
has become salient across the wide spectrum of contemporary psychoanalysis.
Now under the editorial supervision of Lewis Aron, Adrienne Harris, Steven
Kuchuck and Eyal Rozmarin, the Relational Perspectives Book Series originated
in 1990 under the editorial eye of the late Stephen A. Mitchell. Mitchell was the
most prolific and influential of the originators of the relational tradition. Committed
to dialogue among psychoanalysts, he abhorred the authoritarianism that dictated
adherence to a rigid set of beliefs or technical restrictions. He championed open
discussion, comparative and integrative approaches, and promoted new voices
across the generations.
Included in the Relational Perspectives Book Series are authors and works that
come from within the relational tradition, extend and develop that tradition, as
well as works that critique relational approaches or compare and contrast it with
alternative points of view. The series includes our most distinguished senior
psychoanalysts, along with younger contributors who bring fresh vision. A full
list of titles in this series is available at https://www.routledge.com/mentalhealth/
series/LEARPBS
1
Greenberg, J. & Mitchell, S. (1983). Object relations in psychoanalytic theory. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University
De-Idealizing
Relational Theory

A Critique From Within

Edited by
Lewis Aron, Sue Grand,
and Joyce Slochower
First published 2018
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2018 selection and editorial matter, Lewis Aron, Sue Grand, and
Joyce Slochower; individual chapters, the contributors.
The right of the editor to be identified as the author of the editorial
material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been
asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or
reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks
or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Aron, Lewis, editor. | Grand, Sue, editor. | Slochower, Joyce
Anne, 1950– editor.
Title: De-idealizing relational theory : a critique from within / edited by
Lewis Aron, Sue Grand, and Joyce A. Slochower.
Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY: Routledge, 2018. |
Series: Relational perspectives book series | Includes bibliographical
references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017060368 (print) | LCCN 2018002926 (ebook) |
ISBN 9781315113623 (Master) | ISBN 9781351625593 (Web PDF) |
ISBN 9781351625586 ( ePub) | ISBN 9781351625579 (Mobipocket/Kindle) |
ISBN 9781138080157 (hardback : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781138080164
(pbk. : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Object relations (Psychoanalysis) | Interpersonal relations. |
Psychoanalysis.
Classification: LCC BF175.5.O24 (ebook) | LCC BF175.5.O24 D42 2018
(print) | DDC 150.19/5—dc23LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/
2017060368

ISBN: 978-1-138-08015-7 (hbk)


ISBN: 978-1-138-08016-4 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-11362-3 (ebk)

Typeset in Times New Roman and Gill Sans


by Florence Production Ltd, Stoodleigh, Devon, UK
Contents

Author biographies ix
Acknowledgements xii

Introduction 1
LEWIS ARON, SUE GRAND, AND JOYCE SLOCHOWER

1. Going too far: relational heroines and relational


excess 8
JOYCE SLOCHOWER

2. The emergence of the relational tradition:


Lewis Aron interviews Jay Greenberg 35
JAY GREENBERG AND LEWIS ARON

3. Relational psychoanalysis and its discontents 63


EMANUEL BERMAN

4. Forms of equality in relational psychoanalysis 80


DAVID MARK

5. Needed analytic relationships and the disproportionate


relational focus on enactments 102
STEVEN STERN

6. Inaction and puzzlement as interaction: keeping


attention in mind 132
STEPHEN SELIGMAN
viii Contents

7. The analyst’s private space: spontaneity, ritual,


psychotherapeutic action, and self-care 150
KEN CORBETT

8. The unobtrusive relational analyst and psychoanalytic


companioning 167
ROBERT GROSSMARK

9. The things we carry: finding/creating the object and


the analyst’s self-reflective participation 191
STEVEN H. COOPER

10. Relational theory in socio-historical context:


implications for technique 209
LYNNE LAYTON

Index 235
Author biographies

Lewis Aron, Ph.D., ABPP is the director of the New York University
Postdoctoral Program in Psychotherapy and Psychoanalysis. He has served
as president of the Division of Psychoanalysis (39) of the American Psy-
chological Association; founding president of the International Association
for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy (IARPP); founding
president of the Division of Psychologist-Psychoanalysts of the New York
State Psychological Association. He is the cofounder and co-chair of the
Sándor Ferenczi Center at the New School for Social Research; professor,
Interdisciplinary Center (IDC), Herzliya, Israel. He was one of the founders
of Psychoanalytic Dialogues and is the series co-editor of the Relational
Perspectives book series (Routledge). He is the editor and author of numer-
ous clinical and scholarly journal articles and books, including A Meeting
of Minds, and most recently, with Galit Atlas, Dramatic Dialogue: Contem-
porary Clinical Practice. He is widely known for his study/reading groups
in NYC and online.
Sue Grand, Ph.D., is faculty and supervisor at the NYU Postdoctoral pro-
gram in psychotherapy and psychoanalysis; faculty, the trauma program
at the National Institute for the Psychotherapies; faculty, the Mitchell
Center for Relational Psychoanalysis, and fellow at the Institute for
Psychology and the Other. She is an associated editor of Psychoanalytic
Dialogues and Psychoanalysis Culture and Society. She is the author
of: The Reproduction of Evil: A Clinical and Cultural Perspective and
The Hero in the Mirror: From Fear to Fortitude. She is the co-editor, with
Jill Salberg of The Wounds of History: Repair and Resilience in the
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x Author biographies

Trans-generational Transmission of Trauma and Trans-generational


Transmission and the Other: Dialogues across History and Difference.
She is in private practice in NYC and Teaneck, NJ.
Joyce Slochower, Ph.D., ABPP is Professor Emerita of Psychology at
Hunter College & the Graduate Center, CUNY; faculty, NYU Postdoctoral
Program, Steven Mitchell Center, National Training Program of NIP,
Philadelphia Center for Relational Studies & and PINC in San Francisco.
Second editions of her books, Holding and Psychoanalysis: A Relational
Perspective (1996) and Psychoanalytic Collisions (2006) were released
in 2014. She is co-editor, with Lewis Aron and Sue Grand, of the forth-
coming volumes De-Idealizing Relational Theory: A Critique from Within
and Decentering Relational Theory: A Comparative Critique. She is in
private practice in New York City.
Emanuel Berman, Ph.D., is a training and supervising analyst at the
Israel Psychoanalytic Society, and Professor Emeritus of Psychology at
the University of Haifa. He is chief international editor of Psychoanalytic
Dialogues. He received the Sigourney Award (2011); edited Essential
Papers on Literature and Psychoanalysis (1993); and wrote Impossible
Training: A Relational View of Psychoanalytic Education (2004). His
papers on psychoanalytic history, the analytic and the supervisory rela-
tionship, the political context of psychoanalysis, film, and other topics
appear in several journals and books. He has edited Hebrew translations
of Freud, Ferenczi, Winnicott, Balint, Bowlby, Britton, Ogden, Aron and
others, and belongs to the steering committee of the Israel Winnicott
Center.
Steven H. Cooper is a training and supervising analyst at the Boston
Psychonalytic Society and Institute, and clinical associate professor of
Psychology at Harvard Medical School. Dr. Cooper is the author of three
books, Objects of Hope: Exploring Possibility and Limit in Psychoanalysis
(2000) published by The Analytic Press; A Disturbance in the Field: Essays
in Transference-Countertransference (2010) published by Routledge
and The Melancholic Errand of Psychoanalysis: Exploring the Analyst’s
Relationship to the Depressive Position (2016) also published by Routledge.
In 1989 he won the JAPA prize from the Journal of the American Psycho-
analytic Association for his paper examining defence. He served as joint
Author biographies xi

chief editor of Psychoanalytic Dialogues from 2007–2012 and is now chief


editor emeritus. He is currently on the editorial boards of the International
Journal of Psychoanalysis, Contemporary Psychoanalysis, and Psycho-
analytic Dialogues.
Ken Corbett, Ph.D., is assistant professor, New York University Post-
doctoral Program in Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy. He is the author
of A Murder over a Girl: Justice, Gender, Junior High, and Boyhoods:
Rethinking Masculinities.
Jay Greenberg, Ph.D., is Training and Supervising Analyst, William
Alanson White Institute, Editor of The Psychoanalytic Quarterly, former
Editor for North America of the International Journal of Psychoanalysis,
and former Editor of Contemporary Psychoanalysis. He is co-author with
Stephen Mitchell of Object Relations in Psychoanalytic Theory and author
of Oedipus and Beyond: A Clinical Theory, and in 2015 received the
Mary S. Sigourney Award for Outstanding Achievement in Psychoanalysis.
Robert Grossmark, Ph.D., ABPP is Adjunct Clinical Professor and
consultant at the New York University Postdoctoral Program in Psycho-
analysis. He teaches at The National Institute for the Psychotherapies, The
Eastern Group Psychotherapy Society, the clinical psychology doctoral
program at The City University of New York and the Minnesota Institute
for Contemporary Psychotherapy and Psychoanalysis. He has authored a
number of papers on psychoanalytic process and The Unobtrusive rela-
tional analyst: Explorations in psychoanalytic companioning. He co-edited
The One & the many: Relational approaches to group psychotherapy and
Heterosexual masculinities: Contemporary perspectives from psycho-
analytic gender theory, all published by Routledge.
Lynne Layton is a psychoanalyst and part-time faculty at Harvard Medical
School. She supervises at the Massachusetts Institute for Psychoanalysis
and teaches at Pacifica Graduate Institute. She is the author of Who’s that
Girl? Who’s that Boy? Clinical Practice Meets Postmodern Gender
Theory, and co-editor of both Bringing the Plague: Toward a Postmodern
Psychoanalysis and Psychoanalysis, Class and Politics: Encounters in the
Clinical Setting. She is past editor of the journal Psychoanalysis, Culture
& Society, is associate editor of Studies in Gender and Sexuality, and is
co-founder of the Boston Psychosocial Work Group. She is Past-President
xii Author biographies

of Section IX, Psychoanalysis for Social Responsibility, of Division 39,


and co-founder of Reflective Spaces/Material Places-Boston.
David Mark, Ph.D., is co-director of The Institute for Relational Psy-
choanalysis of Philadelphia (IRPP). Among other work, in 1997, he
co-authored with Jeffrey Faude, Ph.D., The Psychotherapy of Cocaine
Addiction: Entering the Interpersonal World of the Cocaine Addict,
published by Jason Aronson. He is in private practice in Philadelphia and
Narberth, PA.
Stephen Seligman is clinical professor of Psychiatry at the University
of California, San Francisco; joint editor-in-chief of Psychoanalytic Dia-
logues; training and supervising analyst at the San Francisco Center for
Psychoanalysis and Psychoanalytic Institute of Northern California; and
clinical professor at the New York University Postdoctoral Program in
Psychoanalysis. He is the author of Relationships in Development: Infancy,
Intersubjectivity, Attachment (Routledge), and co-editor of the American
Psychiatric Press’ Infant and Early Childhood Mental Health: Core Con-
cepts and Clinical Practice.
Steven Stern, Psy.D., is a faculty member at the Massachusetts Institute
for Psychoanalysis and clinical associate professor of Psychiatry at Maine
Medical Center and Tufts University School of Medicine. He is a member
of the International Council of the International Association of Psycho-
analytic Self Psychology, and was Associate Editor of the International
Journal of Psychoanalytic Self Psychology until 2015. A consistent advo-
cate of a broadly integrative relational perspective, in his new book,
Needed Relationships and Psychoanalytic Healing: A Holistic Relational
Perspective on the Therapeutic Process (Routledge, 2017), he weaves
together and expands many strands of his thinking over the past three
decades. Steve practices in Portland, Maine with specializations in psycho-
analysis, psychodynamic psychotherapy, couples therapy, and clinical
supervision.
Acknowledgements

Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders for their
permission to reprint selections of this book. The publishers would be
grateful to hear from any copyright holder who is not here acknowledged
and will undertake to rectify any errors or omissions in future editions of
this book.
Chapter 1 first published as Slochower, J. (2017), Going Too Far: Rela-
tional Heroines and Relational Excess. Psychoanalytic Dialogues, 27:3,
pp. 282–299. Reprinted by permission of Taylor & Francis LLC.
Chapter 5 first published as Stern, S. (2002), Identification, repetition, and
psychological growth: An expansion of relational theory. Psychoanalytic
Psychology, 19:4, pp. 732–734. Reprinted by permission of American
Psychological Association.
Chapter 6 first published as Seligman, S. (2014), Paying Attention and
Feeling Puzzled: The Analytic Mindset as an Agent of Therapeutic Change.
Psychoanalytic Dialogues, 24:6, pp. 648–662. Reprinted by permission of
Taylor & Francis LLC.
Chapter 7 first published as Corbett, K. (2014), The Analyst’s Private
Space: Spontaneity, Ritual, Psychotherapeutic Action, and Self-Care.
Psychoanalytic Dialogues, 24:6, pp. 637–647. Reprinted by permission of
Taylor & Francis LLC.
Chapter 9 first published as Cooper, S.H. (2014), The Things We Carry:
Finding/Creating the Object and the Analyst’s Self-Reflective Participation.
xiv Acknowledgements

Psychoanalytic Dialogues, 24:6, pp. 621–636. Reprinted by permission of


Taylor & Francis LLC.
Part of Chapter 10 first published as Layton, L. (2013), Dialectical
Constructivism in Historical Context: Expertise and the Subject of Late
Modernity. Psychoanalytic Dialogues, 23:3, pp. 271–286. Reprinted by
permission of Taylor & Francis LLC.
Introduction to De-Idealizing
Relational Theory
A critique from within
Lewis Aron, Sue Grand, and Joyce Slochower

Here’s a paradox: psychoanalysis is, above all, a process of self-reflection.


We ask our patients to revisit their life narratives, to open them up to
reflectivity, inquiry, dialogue, and new perspectives. Self-examination
and self-critique: for our patients, this is the conduit to growth. Yet within
the psychoanalytic field, we haven’t used our own methodology. We
haven’t subjected our theories to self-examination. In fact, from its earliest
beginnings, psychoanalysts have gathered protective circles around our-
selves. Professional affiliation seems to require theoretical loyalty, and
that loyalty oath seems opposed to critical self-examination. Inquiry,
difference, and self-reflection: these have always percolated on the inside,
but too often, they have been unwelcome. Eventually these inquiries yield
theoretical schisms, which then occludes the ubiquity of theoretical mutual
influence. Each subgroup (Freudian, Kleinian, Lacanian, Interpersonal,
Self Psychology, Relational—to name a few) has positioned itself against
the perspective of the psychoanalytic other. As we explicated/illustrated
the “rightness” of our particular position, we also identified the gaps/
limitations, or naïveté of this alternative perspective.
As a result, much of our psychoanalytic literature is organized around
two overlapping tropes. In the first, we find essays that provide clinical or
theoretical support for the author’s particular point of view. In the second,
we find essays that critique the theory of the psychoanalytic other. Both
tropes tend to extrude difference; they are oriented to an idealization of
the self and the devaluation of the other. We have had long arguments
about who owns depth; who are the true inheritors of Freud; who practices
‘real’ psychoanalysis; who has mapped the human psyche, and whose
2 Lewis Aron, Sue Grand, and Joyce Slochower

technique is most effective. As we recycle these tropes, we recycle the


contest for dominance.
Psychoanalytic schools tend to have a possessive, guild-like investment
in a particular theory. This investment has made us adversarial to difference
and critique whether they originate from inside or from without. Marginal-
ized or attacked, those who differed were either disappeared (Ferenczi,
Rank) or expelled (e.g. Jung, Adler, Reich). Historically, self-critique was
not viewed as the conduit to dialogic growth. Instead it was framed as
rebellion, antagonism, and hostility. When new ideas developed, they usually
resulted in schisms, furthering internal suppression and hostile separations.
The relational orientation was, like all new paradigms, born out of this
adversarial milieu. Our ideas tended to be framed in contradistinction to
the work of the non-relationalist; we borrowed from and repudiated our
origins. We, too, failed to examine our own theory from the inside out.
We didn’t consider relational theory’s contribution in tension with its
limitations. Those who did, or did it very much, were themselves marginal-
ized. Jay Greenberg is a prominent example, as will be discussed in the
interview of him included in this volume.
Relational theory lends itself to internal critique in a particular way.
Embracing a constructivist and perspectival reconceptualization of the
therapeutic dyad meant that the analyst was no longer the arbiter of truth
and falsehood. The patient’s transference represents one—perhaps limited,
but also potentially accurate—perspective on the analyst, rather than a
distortion of truth. This recognition required the analyst to consider the
patient’s experience of the analyst’s subjectivity as a legitimate perspective.
This perspective was not to be dismissed as a displacement from the past.
In the tradition of Ferenczi, and borrowing from our Interpersonal roots,
this re-conceptualization of transference means that the analyst must attend
to and take seriously the patient’s critique of the analyst. In relational
analyses it has become de rigueur for the analyst to consider how they
have lent themselves to the patient’s criticism. The analyst asks: “What
have I done that makes you view me in this way?” This query becomes a
genuine expression of curiosity and interest. How has the analyst unconsci-
ously participated in co-constructing the transference?
Bringing this clinical emphasis to bear on our inter-theoretical discus-
sions and debates invites a more open point of entry for critiques of rela-
tional theory. We want, then, to ask the same questions about our theory
Introduction 3

that we ask of ourselves clinically. Rather than saying that the other’s
reading of relational theory is wrong or distorted or a misrepresentation,
we are interested in querying how our theory lends itself to such a
characterization; in what way does our writing invite such a reading? How
have we participated in conveying such an understanding to our critics?
And when we greet internal dissension and difference, we might ask
ourselves: “How is this dissension illuminating our blind-spot? How is
this difference highlighting new areas of growth?”
Relational theory embraces critique as the venue for growth. However,
despite a theoretical perspective that ought to welcome self-critique,
relational analysts are no more open or receptive to critique than those
from other psychoanalytic schools. We are not any less defensive or rigid
about our own ideas. Our perspectival emphasis notwithstanding, we have
not readily engaged in, or even considered, self-critique. We have not
engaged with the perceptions or critiques of others. It is the theory that
is an improvement, not the character of the practitioner or the character of
our psychoanalytic ‘guild’.
The mission of this volume is to implement our own model of inquiry
by turning an eye on ourselves. In so doing, we hope to depart from our
field’s adversarial construction of difference. We are seeking a more
contructive cycle of inquiry and mutual dialogue. Rather than viewing
self-critique as antagonistic and destructive, our intention is to be creative,
respectful, and generative. Indeed, loving self-critique is essential to
psychoanalysis’ theoretical and clinical vitality. We aim to avoid further
suppression and schisms that foreclose dialogue and mutuality.
To our knowledge, no psychoanalytic position has yet explored itself
from the inside out. Here, we aim for a deepened understanding of our own
theoretical position—both its limits and its potential. This kind of critique
is not intended to represent a (partially defensive) justification or an
elaboration of the rightness of our own position, nor to engage the other as
an adversary or straw man.
We (Lewis Aron, Sue Grand, and Joyce Slochower) invited eminent
relational thinkers to engage in this kind of internal critique. Where are our
problems and limitations? How might we think about the critiques that
have been made of us by other theoretical orientations? Where and how
might we want to integrate the thinking of others? How might we want to
recall our theories of origin?
4 Lewis Aron, Sue Grand, and Joyce Slochower

Our authors responded enthusiastically to our invitation. The essays


in this volume represent their accumulated scholarly, creative, and con-
structive wisdom, untainted by antagonistic opposition. This is, we believe
a departure from our inherited ritual of difference.
Working together on these volumes has been enormously gratifying,
collaborative, and fun. We thank all our authors for their rich contributions
to these volumes and our Editors at Routledge for their support. We are
especially grateful to Donna Bassin for her generosity in creating the
beautiful images for each book cover. Finally, we want to thank Lily
Swistel for her steady and expert editorial assistance.
This volume begins with two essays that take on and retrospectively cri-
tique our relational contribution to theory and practice. Joyce Slochower’s
expansive essay addresses the relational ideal, its implications, contri-
butions, and clinical limits. Noting that the relational turn represented
an overcorrection to traditional models lodged in notions of analytic asym-
metry, certainty, and the baby metaphor, she explores the underbelly
of this correction. Slochower suggests that our focus on the analysis of
enactment and the mutative impact of analytic self-disclosure has created
its own kind of clinical blindness. We sometimes fail to explore the
problematic impact of self-disclosure and the mutual analysis of enactment.
We are not always mindful of how the analyst’s own need for privacy and
self-protection skews mutual engagement. Relational work similarly may
skip over patients’ vulnerability and need for “alone” interiority, for an
analyst who exercises restraint and comfortably owns her authority.
Slochower’s relational holding model addressed much of this critique
by introducing a more complex version of the baby metaphor into relational
thinking while re-contextualizing holding as a co-constructed process.
Contemporary relational ideas about self-state multiplicity, attachment
theory, and relational co-shaping, have added to the complexity and layer-
ing of a relational holding model. Slochower reminds us that we remain
(like all theories) vulnerable to caricaturing the other and obfuscating or
sidestepping the limits of our own way of working.
Lewis Aron’s interview of Jay Greenberg provides historical context
for the development of relational ideas. In their conversation, Aron and
Greenberg both reminisce about our early beginnings and describe how
relational theory has developed. Aron probes the early collaboration
between Greenberg and Mitchell, and explores their individual and
Introduction 5

differing perspectives and styles. As one of the original authors of the


distinction between drive and relational approaches, what is Greenberg’s
assessment of the later development of relational theory and practice?
Does he think that the arguments he and Mitchell made in the 1980s
remain relevant in today’s psychoanalytic world?
Emanuel Berman focuses on the press of party loyalty, inclusion,
exclusion, and organizational divisions as they have played out in the psy-
choanalytic world and more particularly, within the relational orientation.
Berman presents several cases, (one in considerable detail) that illustrate
how these themes can shape (and skew) our clinical work. He examines
how our relational ideals—egalitarianism, anti-authoritarianism, and our
focus on interaction and intersubjectivity, may at times be counter-
productive and even anti-therapeutic. Berman makes use of his deep know-
ledge of comparative psychoanalysis to question and challenge his own
clinical work and use of himself as a relationally oriented clinician.
David Mark turns a lens on the relational theme of “radical” analytic
equality. He explores how analytic self-disclosure can be misused in an
attempt to mitigate a hierarchical analytic tilt. Self-disclosure can be used
manipulatively and in a way that deepens and enriches the analytic relation-
ship. Mark offers an incisive comparison and contrast of clinical cases
by two leading relational contributors, Jody Davies and Philip Bromberg.
He demonstrates how Davies, with her object relational leanings, highlights
structural concepts, while Bromberg, with his interpersonal background,
emphasizes a more phenomenological approach. Davies views enactments
as generated in the heat of affective intensity in the transference-counter-
transference. Bromberg focuses on the immediate interpersonal relationship
with self-states that are highly fluid and responsive to context. Mark shows
that the analytic dyad achieves a momentary illusion of radical equality
when they seem to step outside of the usual hierarchical structures of
relating.
Steven Stern addresses the relational tendency to focus on repetitive
clinical dynamics. He believes that this focus itself tends to create ongoing
(though also useful) enactments. In Stern’s view, our theoretical super-
structure—with its emphasis on enactment, dissociation, and shifting self-
states—doesn’t sufficiently conceptualize our patients’ emotional needs
and how to address them. Stern urges us to further integrate “forward
edge” thinking into the relational paradigm.
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6 Lewis Aron, Sue Grand, and Joyce Slochower

Steven Seligman, Ken Corbett, and Robert Grossmark share a focus


on the limits of an interactive relational approach that tends to sideline
quiet, reflective therapeutic space. Seligman notes that, like every analytic
orientation, the relational turn tilts us in a particular direction, which
may limit the impact of other dimensions of analytic process. He wonders
whether relational work pulls us into an interactive mode at moments
when watching and waiting might have more therapeutic efficacy.
Seligman recognizes that the analyst’s focus on countertransference, enact-
ment, and self-disclosures can be transformative, but wonders whether we
have tended to overlook the importance of “some of the more quotidian
aspects of everyday analytic work.” Seligman reminds us that disciplined
observation and quiet focus can be enormously powerful therapeutic tools;
they create a sense of safety and recognition that can deepen the work.
Ken Corbett also critiques the excessive idealization of analytic spon-
taneity and discusses the analyst’s need for private, contemplative space.
While there is no such thing as an isolated private mind, Corbett argues
for private analytic space. Enactment, he agrees, is ubiquitous, but contem-
plative and containing modes are necessary for the analyst’s self-care, and
we need to be free to question the absolute values of spontaneity and
authenticity. All this relatedness, Corbett pleads, is killing us. For both the
patient’s sake and our own we need private space for absorption, musing,
reverie, dreaming, and silent listening.
Robert Grossmark builds on earlier relational writing on holding and
regression with especially vulnerable patients by invoking the idea of “the
unobtrusive relational analyst” as an alternative clinical position. With
patients who suffer from psychic deadness and areas of unrelatedness,
who lack mentalization and symbolization, the more dialogic aspects of
relational technique (featuring enactment and self-disclosure) are prob-
lematic. Drawing on the clinical sensibility of the British Middle Group,
Grossmark calls for a technical approach that emphasizes mutual-
regression and unobtrusive presence.
Steven Cooper explores the overarching principles of relational theory
as influenced by other theoretical perspectives. Cooper views relational
theory not as a systematic metapsychology or theory of technique, but
rather as a broad meta-theory on a different level of abstraction as com-
pared to single schools such as self psychology. Cooper views Stephen
Mitchell’s unique sensibility to be his emphasis on the analyst’s self-
Introduction 7

reflective participation. Cooper himself leans toward the use of object-


relations theory concepts to understand the stability and consistency of
behavior, in addition to the contextual emphasis on the interpersonal
school. Cooper also underscores patient and analyst’s need for privacy
and a solitary space within the relational matrix.
Our volume closes with Lynne Layton’s explication of the socio-
historical context in which relational thinking and practice is embedded.
She significantly broadens our relational lens by underscoring the role of
cultural and power differentials (race, class, gender, and sexuality) that
inform and sometimes shape relational experience. Layton brings in the
work of sociologists and existentialists, and argues for an expansion of
the relational perspective that includes its collective elements.
Layton proposes a “relational ontology” that grounds theory in the
identity possibilities available to the individual. She calls for our theory
to move beyond not only a one- and two-person psychology, but beyond
a three-person psychology, to include our social hierarchies and power
relations in our identifications and disidentifications regarding sex, race,
class, gender, sexuality, and nationality. Layton makes the moving point
that such work may not feel to us like legitimate psychoanalysis, but that
it has the potential to make conscious aspects of our life choices of which
we have not been aware. The problem that she pinpoints is that we as
therapists are embedded in the same social system as our patients and so
these relations may be difficult to identify.
Layton’s essay locates clinical theory in a larger context and anticipates
this series’ second volume, Decentering Relational Theory. In it, we con-
tinue to explore the interface and collision between different theoretical
positions as they have shaped—or failed to shape—the relational school.
Like the present volume, it also aims to be a model of growth in unity,
one in which difference strengthens our field rather than dividing it.
Chapter 1

Going too far


Relational heroines and relational
excess
Joyce Slochower

Every psychoanalytic theory is organized around an implicit clinical ideal


—a vision of the kind of analyst we want to be and the kind of change we
hope psychoanalysis will effect (Slochower, 2006; 2014b). Implicit in our
vision are corresponding notions of our ideal patient/process and of what’s
pathological/problematic.
Most often our ideal is formulated in conversation (actually, in argument)
with its theoretical predecessors and competitors. While those conversations
can deepen and enrich our thinking, they frequently don’t. Instead, they
become fighting words that generate a slide toward excess by exaggerating
difference and rigidifying the core principles to which we adhere. We
polarize, elevating the originality of our own contribution while minimizing,
stereotyping, sometimes denigrating, the position of the psychoanalytic
Other whose ideals collide—or overlap excessively—with our own. Each
pendulum swing seems inevitably to provoke a counter-move that itself
overcorrects. I think we always go a bit too far.
Perhaps it’s only in hindsight that we can pause and moderate those
over-corrections. This book marks a turning point in relational thinking.
We’ve matured beyond our beginnings; we’ve got a history and so hind-
sight is possible. It’s in this spirit that I consider the reactive excesses of
early relational theory and practice—where we’ve been, where and how
we may have gone too far, and where we can go now. In particular, I
explore the shape of the relational ideal and its implications for our thera-
peutic goals, our patients, and for ourselves. Who do we aim to be in the
consulting room? How do we view our patient—her potential and her
Relational heroines and relational excess 9

limitations? What are the clinical goals of a relational analysis? What


might those goals occlude?
This essay focuses on relational theory; however, the phenomenon I’m
describing is more broadly relevant. Every psychoanalytic theory embodies
its own ideals and is vulnerable to theoretical/clinical excess and limit-
ations. No psychoanalytic theory—to my knowledge—has addressed either
from the inside out.

Relational ideals
We embrace our therapeutic vision for good reason. Whatever its particulars,
ideas about what psychoanalysis can do sustain us across the therapeutic
long haul. They affirm fantasies/beliefs about our therapeutic capacity and
generative potential. Countering a range of anxieties about who we are—
and aren’t—they support and steady us when the going gets rough.
We relationalists may be theoretically diverse, but we share an implicit
and relatively distinct professional ideal. It first coalesced around a new
perspective on analytic process as inevitably intersubjective. We empha-
sized the therapeutic potential inherent in mutually unpacking and working
through what’s enacted. Moving away from more authoritarian models
and toward asymmetrical egalitarianism, we underscored the uncertainty
accompanying this clinical point of entry (Aron, 1991). Moderating our
power and omniscience, we affirmed our patient’s capacity to see us, to
function as an adult in the analytic context. We rejected sharply tilted
authoritative clinical models lodged in beliefs about interpretive accuracy;
some of us also rejected the developmental tilt (Mitchell, 1984) embedded
in ideas of parental (analytic) repair.
In their stead, we turned toward what was unformulated and/or disso-
ciated. We addressed how shifting self-states shaped analytic process
for both patient and analyst. Unpacking these dynamics required mutual
exploration because we were implicated along with our patients. By
moving away from old analytic constrictions, we found new ways to be
and to use ourselves with considerable therapeutic effect (e.g. Aron, 1991,
1992; Benjamin, 1995; 1998; Bromberg, 1993; 1995; 1998; 2011; Davies,
2004; Davies & Frawley, 1994; Harris, 2009; Hoffman, 1991; 1998;
Mitchell,1984; 1988; 1991; 1993; D.B. Stern, 1992; 1997).
10 Joyce Slochower

Although it isn’t always acknowledged, the relational ideal has been


strongly influenced both by Object Relations thinking and by the Interper-
sonal movement. Those groups had themselves reacted to their classical
Freudian and Kleinian predecessors by moderating the ideal of an abstinent,
paternal, rule-bound analyst and a drive-driven, pleasure-seeking patient.
Interpersonalists (e.g., Ehrenberg, 1974; Hirsch,1994; 2006; Levenson,
1972; Sullivan, 1954; Wolstein, 1959) rejected the traditional emphasis
on drives (sexual and aggressive) along with ideas about interpretive
purity and analytic neutrality. They reformulated therapeutic process by
emphasizing its interactive element. This perspective anticipated central
aspects of relational thinking, particularly the two-person nature of the
analytic interaction, an interaction in which the analyst is a participant
observer (Sullivan, 1954). This view would inform our rejection of inter-
pretive certainty, our emphasis on co-construction and on the mutual
analysis of enactment. But where interpersonalists saw two adults in inter-
action, the relational turn would expand this view to include a multiplicity
of early, dissociated self-states. Relational trauma was reenacted in analytic
space where it could be unpacked for the first time.
Object Relations theorists (especially Balint, 1968; Fairbairn, 1952;
Ferenczi, 1952; Guntrip, 1961, and Winnicott, 1965; 1969a) and self psycho-
logists (e.g. Kohut, 1984) also focused on early trauma (failure) and needed
therapeutic provision. But unlike the Interpersonalists, they embraced the
idea of therapeutic regression and the analyst’s capacity to repair.
Winnicott’s work (e.g.,1963) had a particularly powerful impact on
relational thinking. He had pushed back against the classical ideal of absti-
nence and the interpretation of drive-based desire. Early experiences could,
in fact, be re-found and then repaired within the analytic setting; the
patient could be a baby again, but with a better, more responsive mother.
The analyst’s empathic, holding stance created a protected space and
allowed the patient to turn over false self functioning to the analyst. As
early (true self) experience was contacted, the patient would re-find and
work through the original traumatic element within the analytic space,
now vis-a-vis the analyst.
While some relationalists (including me) carried aspects of the object
relations perspective with them, those coming from the interpersonal
tradition reacted strongly—and negatively—to models organized around
repetitive infantile object relations and analytic (parental) repair (Aron,
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Title: Where are you, Mr. Biggs?

Author: Nelson S. Bond

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Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Weird Tales, 1941

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHERE ARE YOU,


MR. BIGGS? ***
Where Are You, Mr. Biggs?

By NELSON S. BOND

That gangling frame, that easy, fluent grin—lost


in the nameless depths of the crypts of space!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from


Weird Tales September 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
We're supposed to be an Earth-Mars lugger, but when we got to
Mars Central spaceport, the bug-pounder there gave me this solar-
gram from Terra. It said:
"PROCEED URANUS IMMEDIATELY PICK UP CARGO GALLIUM."
So I shoved a frantic for the Old Man over the ship audio, and pretty
soon he came lumbering up to my radio room, picking his teeth and
scowling like a man with only a half a tummyfull of victuals.
"It's a fine state of affairs," he snarled, "when a skipper can't even
finish his dinner in peace! Well, what's the matter now, Sparks? You
seeing pink rhinoceroses again? 'Cause if you are—"
"Well, what's the matter now, Sparks? Seeing pink
rhinoceroses again?"

"I'm not," I told him with quiet dignity, "and they aren't pink rhinos,
they're lavender lobsters, and anyway, I haven't had a drink for
months. Or maybe it's since yesterday? Anyhow, here's the grief."
And I gave him the wire.
He read it. Read it, your Aunt Nelly—he screamed it out loud.
"Uranus!" he bellowed. "This crate make that trip? They must be
stark, staring mad!"
"Them," I agreed, "or me. Flip a coin. What shall I do, Skipper? Tell
'em we can't do it? Tell 'em—?"
"No, wait a minute." Cap Hanson's brow looked like a freshly
ploughed field. I knew why. The Saturn is an old lugger. And by old,
I do mean ancient. It was built before the turn of the century, and
by all laws of logic and reason should have been taken off the
spaceways long ago, only that Cap Hanson and our screwball First
Mate, Lancelot Biggs, had demonstrated time and time again, and in
startlingly devious ways, that the old scow was still spaceworthy.
But if the Saturn were removed from active service, the chances
were ten to one that Hanson would be junked with her. Which was
Reason Numero Uno—and a damned good one—why the skipper
couldn't risk refusing this order.
"We'll go, Sparks," he said slowly. "We've got to. But I could wring
his scrawny neck, blast his jets!"
I didn't have to ask whom he meant. "Scrawny neck" would mean
only one inmate of our void-perambulating asylum. Lancelot Biggs.
Genius and crackpot, scarecrow and sage—and soon to become son-
in-law of the skipper.
I said, "But why blame Biggs for this, Skipper? Is it his fault if the
Home Office has gone squirrelly?"
"It is," grumbled Hanson savagely. "I never should have agreed to
let Diane marry him. He started this mess at my house. Colonel
Brophy and him was having dinner with me and Biggs told Brophy all
about that new 'velocity intensifier' he invented—"
I shuddered. "You mean the gadget which got us all bolixed up in
the negative universe? Till Hank Cleaver came from the past to get
us out?"
"That's it. Well, he told Brophy about it, bragged that it would make
the Saturn the fastest ship in the ether. And now," Hanson groaned,
"just because he shot off his big face, we've got to push this leaky
old tin-can to Uranus!"
I said consolingly, "Well, maybe everything will be all right, Skipper. I
admit Mr. Biggs is a bit of a whacky-pot, but he's pulled us out of
plenty of tough spots before. Like the time he thwarted Red Hake
and his pirate crew. And the time he beat the Slipstream—"
Hanson stared at me somberly.
"Nope, I guess you ain't. You couldn't have."
I said, "Which? Couldn't have what, sir?"
"You mustn't have seen Mr. Biggs on this shuttle."
It was the first time I had realized it, but he was right! And that was
funny, because Mr. Biggs and I were old buddies. We were
bunkmates once, even. I said, "Well, lift my gravs! Come to think of
it, I haven't? Why, Skipper? I guess maybe it's on account of he's
busy planning to get married so soon?"
Hanson made sounds like a man being garrotted.
"Marriage! Don't talk to me about marriage! Bert, what does
marriage do to a man?"
"Marriage," I replied promptly, "makes the mare go. Or, no—that's
money, isn't it? I give up, sir. What?"
"It's supposed," boiled Hanson, "to make him settle down. Only it
ain't. Not in Biggs' case. It's having just the opposite effect. Making
him flighty as a coot. Lancelot ain't been worth a tinker's dam on
this trip. He can't do a single thing right! Remember our take-off,
Sparks? From Long Island port? The one where we—"
"—lifted gravs two full minutes before schedule?" I finished. "Don't I
just! I almost did a swan dive through the aft bulkhead. Why? Did
he—?"
"Mmm-hmm! And he also plotted the course that took us nine
degrees off trajectory. And he heaved the ship into a Van-Maeden
spiral by signaling for a double-jet port blast in midspace. And he—"
Hanson paused, panting with wrath. "But why go on? The point is,
the very thought of marriage has ruined him. And we can't depend
on him to help us with this assignment. And Uranus is a long way
from here. A lo-o-oong way!"
I winced. I said, "Look, Skipper—must you say it thataway? With
icicles in your voice, I mean?"

But orders is orders. We lifted gravs as commanded at 11.20 Martian


Constant Time—that's 3-X-9 Solar Relative—and pointed our prow
toward the spot in space where, some billion and a half odd miles
away, Uranus was lounging about a wan and distant Sun like a
gigantic snowball. That is, we attempted to point our prow in that
direction. Cap Hanson's astrogation came a cropper on this problem.
He called me to the control turret. He asked, "Sparks, have you seen
him?"
"You mean Mr. Biggs? No, sir."
"Well, go find him. In the first place, none of us except him know
how to chart to intersect Uranus' orbit, and in the second place, we
don't know how to operate that crazy velocity intensifier of his'n, and
—" Fretfully. "—and in the third place, I don't like this in the first
place!"
So I made a tour of the ship, and found him where I should have
looked first. In his own cabin, raptly fondling a cabinet photograph
of Diane Hanson—soon-to-be Biggs. He glanced up as I entered,
and his phenomenal Adam's apple, an auricular escalator if I ever
saw one, bobbed in greeting.
"Hello, Sparks," he said dreamily, and held out the picture for my
inspection. "She's lovely, isn't she?"
I said, "Don't look now, Mr. Biggs, but that cheery little noise you've
been ignoring is the audio buzzer beside your elbow. It's for you.
The skipper wants you top-side."
Biggs looked startled.
"Me? But there must be some mistake. I'm off duty until tomorrow
morning."
"Guess again," I told him. "It so happens that you are the only mugg
—I mean officer—around here who knows how to finagle that
velocity intensifier of yours. So you're elected. After all, if we're
going to Uranus—"
That got him. He popped off his hip pockets like a thunderbolt from
the blooie!
"What! Uranus!"
"Okay," I said gloomily. "And you watch yours." I stared at him
curiously, though. "What's the matter; didn't you know?"
"Know! Of course not! B-but—" His fluid larynx did handsprings. "But
I can't go to Uranus! I told her I'd be home in ten days!"
I said, "Then she'd better not hold her breath till you get there. You
led with your chin, Lieutenant, when you told the president of our
belovéd corporation about your new invention. He'd decided to give
it a work-out. And as near as I can figure—" This was what had been
worrying me from the start. "It will take us about ten months to get
to Uranus, and another twelve to get back!"
But, surprisingly, it was my dejection that snapped Biggs out of his.
The impatient-bridegroom-look disappeared from his eyes, and he
grinned.
"My goodness, no, Sparks! Don't you understand the operation of
my velocity intensifier?"
"I'm a bug-pounder," I told him. "I understand the space code, and
dots and dashes, and Ampies, and I know four languages. That's par
for the course."
"It's really quite simple. My velocity intensifier is exactly what the
name implies—a device that is attached to the hypatomic motors for
the purpose of "stepping up" our normal velocity. It's based on the
principle of energy-conservation. A series of parallax-condensers
absorb all waste energy, pass it through multiple amplifiers, rotors
and—"
"—and all points west!" I finished. "It's no go, Lieutenant. That's one
of the languages I don't talk. Give it to me in words of one syllable.
How long will it take us to get to Uranus and back?"
"Considering the mean distance of Uranus," answered Biggs quietly,
"as approximately 1,560,000,000 miles, and if we traveled at our
hitherto 'normal' rate of speed, 200,000 m.p.h., it should take us
7,800 hours, or 325 days, to reach there. And slightly longer to
return to Earth."
"Ten months!" I wailed. "I knew it!"
"But," continued Biggs proudly, "with this velocity intensifier
attachment, our potential speed is restrained by only one factor. The
limiting velocity of light, or 186,000 miles per second!
"In other words, the Saturn is now capable of a top speed of more
than 650,000,000 miles per hour!"
I gasped. I said, "Huh? You mean," I said, "the trip to Uranus will
take only a little more than two hours?"
Biggs smiled complacently.
"Theoretically, yes; actually it will take somewhat longer. You see, we
must allow time for acceleration, for a condensation-charge to build
up in our super-chargers before setting the V-I unit in operation, and
for deceleration upon reaching our objective. Also, we are forced to
remain below the 'limiting velocity' as a measure of safety. Else we
may suffer another translation into the negative universe, as we
once did before I learned how to control the intensifier.
"But we will make excellent time. Ninety-six hours should see us
landing at New Oslo. And—" His pale eyes lighted. "And, gracious,
this is wonderful! Diane will be surprised. If they're going to let me
use the V-I unit, we'll return to Earth by way of Uranus in less time
than it would ordinarily take to make the Earth-Mars shuttle!"
"But only," I pointed out, "if, when, and as you go make that gadget
gadge. While we're gnawing the avoirdupois Cap Hanson's up there
biting his fingernails to the knuckle. So shall we join the laddies?"
So he patted Diane's picture good-by, and we went.

Like I figured, Hanson was practically meat for the looney-bin by the
time we reached the bridge. He manhandled Biggs avidly and
propelled him to the plot-table. "Where've you been, Biggs?" he
demanded. "No, don't tell me now. Get going on them figgers. They
don't make sense to me, nowise! And when do we turn on that
thingamajigger of your'n? Bert, where'd you find him? Shut up, you
blabbermouth! Don't you know better than to talk when a space
officer is cogitating? Can I help, Biggs?"
The one-man wordstorm was deafening. But it didn't seem to phase
Biggs. He plunked himself down at the pilot's desk, scribbled for
awhile, and came up with an orbit chart for Second Mate Dick Todd,
seated at the control-board.
Then he heaved a volley of orders over the audio to Chief Engineer
Garrity, and that was that. He relaxed. The skipper said nervously,
"Is—is that all?"
"That's all, sir," said Biggs.
The Old Man looked dubious.
"I don't hear nothing unusual," he said.
"You will in a minute," said Biggs. "Ah! There it goes now!"
And darned if it didn't! One minute my ears hummed with the
familiar drone of the hypatomics, the next, a weird and piercing
whine rose in high, shrill crescendo, torturing our ear-drums for a
brief instant until it lost itself in an oblivion of super-sonic
inaudibility.
That was all. No moment of oppressive weight as if we were lifting
gravs at extra gees, no thunderous bellow of rockets, no anything.
The ship rode easily, freely. I must have looked disappointed. To
Biggs I said, "Too bad, sir."
"Eh, Sparks?"
"Too bad it didn't work," I said.
Biggs chuckled.
"But it did work, Sparks. We're now traveling at a speed in excess of
five hundred million miles per hour!"
Cap Hanson gulped and looked green. "F-five—?"
"That's right, sir. If you don't believe me take a peek through the
viewpanes."
I moved to the fore-wall, slid back the metal slide that covered the
quartzite viewpane. Space lay before us—but what space! Not the
dark, velvety pall, brightly agleam with an infinitude of starry jewels,
that all spacemen know. This was a blotched, striped crazy-quilt of
color! Crimson, ochre, emerald—all the hues of the rainbow, of the
Aurora. It was beautiful in a mad, fantastic way; there was a faery,
magic loveliness to that swift-streaming space that fascinated and at
the same time chilled me with dread.
Hanson's eyes bulged, and his voice was fearful.
"We—we've done it again, Biggs! Busted clean out of our universe
into something else!"
"No, sir. This is our universe. But we are seeing it as no man has
ever seen it before. Our speed is so great that we are seeing the
'landmarks' of space with a distorted viewpoint. Our relationship—or
I should say relativity—is no longer to Earth, or any of its sister
planets, but to the Greater Constant, the fundamental motion of the
universe itself.
"Thus, at one and the same time, we see the planets as they are
and as they were; they are no longer mere points in space, they are
streaks of color." And he grinned. "The stars, too. Pretty, aren't
they?"
Cap Hanson made weak motions at the viewpane.
"Close it, Sparks! It's giving me the meemies! So if you're right,
Biggs—then what? How do we know when we get to Uranus, or near
it? If it's just a streak of color?"
"You must reconcile yourself to an entirely new system of
astrogation. Up to this time, pilots have just jetted along until they
found their goal, then set course for a landing. But with the V-I unit
in operation, we 'fly blind' and set our course by strict, mathematical
figuring. I have given Mr. Todd a plot-chart. Four days hence when I
cut out the V-I unit and return to normal operation on the hypos, we
will find Uranus immediately beneath us. And now, if you'll excuse
me—"
"Wait a minute!" said the skipper. "Suppose we was to meet up with
something in space? Like a rogue asteroid?"
Biggs shrugged.
"That hazard is neither heightened nor decreased," he said. "Our
monitor-beams will still shunt off the smaller ones. As for the larger
—well, you know as well as I that we have never yet found a
method of overcoming that danger. It is one of the chances we take
when we don space blues. As far as I'm concerned, I'd just as soon
not see it coming as to watch it grow larger and larger in the
perilens—"
Well, he was right there. So since Hanson was fresh out of
questions, Biggs hoisted hips back to his quarters. My guess is that
he went back to billy-dooing with Diane's picture. What's yours?

I could build this up if I wanted to, and offer you a blow-by-blow


account of what happened in the next quartet of days. But why
bother? The truth is—nothing did. The V-I unit continued to chug
along like a dream; our old crate went flashing through space like a
quantum with a hot date; tempus squirmed; and me—I was in
seventh heaven. I don't mean fifth or sixth, either. This was the
easiest shuttle I had ever made. We were traveling so fast, and the
V-I unit surrounded the Saturn with such a force-field, that my radio
was utterly useless.
So I got a vacation with pay. I ate and slept with what you might call
'monotonous regularity', and I spent all of my waking hours curled
up with a good (i.e. torrid) book.
And at the end of four days, Mr. Biggs disconnected his V-I unit, as
called for on his plot-chart, and just like he said, there was Uranus
gleaming beneath us! So we landed and spent a night swapping
yarns and drinks with the S.S.P. officers garrisoned at New Oslo,
then we took on a hold-full of gallium, and tootle-oo to the
refrigerated seventh planet.
And (this gets tiresome, doesn't it?) we accelerated for a day and a
half, then Biggs plotted a course, pushed a button, and once again
we were free-wheeling through colorful and star-spangled space.
Life was swell, and life was wonderful, and if there was any fly in my
celestial ointment it was the fact that after the first week Lieutenant
Romeo "Lovesick" Biggs got tired of staring at his fiancée's image
and insisted on strolling up to my turret to tell me (1) what a
wonderful girl she was, (2) how much he missed her, and (3) how he
was simply going to die if he didn't see her again soon.
Which boring details I had (1) known for years, once having had a
heart-throb for Diane myself, (2) figured from his conversation, and
(3) high hopes that he would. Quietly!
So somehow it was the afternoon, ship's time, of the fourth day of
the return shuttle and Biggs was in my turret, not to mention my
hair, and I was hearing for the thousandth time about he wasn't
worthy of a gal like Diane, when all of a sudden bells jangled all over
the ship, lights flashed the DANGER! signal, and my turret-audio
broke into frantic voice, and the voice was that of the pilot on duty,
our Third Mate, Bud Wilson.
"Sparks, is Biggs there! Yes? Get him here quick! And find the Old
Man! Hurry! For God's sake—"
We were out of there like a flash—make that two flashes—and
pounding through the corridors, up the ramp to the bridge. We met
Cap Hanson on the way. The three of us burst into the control-room
to find Wilson tearing his hair, and Dick Todd, sweating, white-faced,
poring over diagrams on the chart-board.
Somebody yelled, "What's the matter?" and I can't tell you who,
because it was probably all of us. And Dick's eyes were haggard
pockets in his face.
"Jupiter!" he said.
"What about it?" yelled the skipper. "Talk, man!"
Todd shoved the chart at Biggs, pointed with a finger that wobbled.
"It's on our trajectory! Right before us now! We can see it—Look!"
And he threw back the shield, and my heart gave an awful lurch. For
no longer was the scene before us one of changing, iridescent
beauty—the entire pane was covered by a gigantic, menacing
platter. A monstrous missile of death. The planet Jupiter—dead on
our course!
Lancelot Biggs' face, which had been keen and alert a moment
before, was suddenly a dull, blank mask of horror. Strangled words
fought their way from his throat.
"I—I didn't realize! I forgot all about Jupiter when I plotted the
return course! I—"
"Forgot!" roared the skipper. "Great comets—forgot!" Then his wrath
died in anxiety. "Do something. Turn off that blasted unit of yours so
we can loft over her—"
But Todd shook his head.
"That's no use, Skipper. I thought of that. We're too close. We're
caught in her gravitational attraction anyway. Even if we were to
turn off Biggs' device, there still wouldn't be time to get the rockets
hot."
"Lanse—" began the skipper. Then, "Where did he go?"

Because Biggs had turned, suddenly, and raced from the room! Fled,
still clutching the space-chart. Fled, and not a word of advice, regret
or hope. And with him went our last dwindling hope of salvation.
Dick Todd's voice was thin.
"Maybe he has an idea, sir?"
Hanson grasped at the thought as a drowning man.
"That's it, Todd. He'll pull us out of this. He's never failed us in the
past—"
But even this wishful expression was doomed to swift contradiction.
For at that moment the bridge audio flashed, and the voice of a
sailor clacked from somewhere below.
"Captain Hanson, sir? There—there's trouble down here! Lieutenant
Biggs has violated regulations, sir! He knocked down two men and
forced his way into the auxiliary lifeboat! He—he's locked the door,
sir. What shall we do?"
In the moment of silence that followed, I saw something I hope I
shall never be forced to look upon again. I saw a proud man wilt
before my eyes; I saw a strong man age ten years in as many
seconds.
The man was Captain Hanson. The strength sloughed from his
shoulders; pain burned deep furrows in his eyes; I could barely hear
the whisper that crept from his lips.
"A coward!" he husked. "The man my daughter loves—a coward!"
And there was nothing I could say to refute the accusation. Lancelot
Biggs' action had branded him more damningly than any mere
words. A crisis had come—and it had found him wanting. He had
deserted his comrades, his ship, and had fled to a lifeboat. Perhaps
even now he was getting ready to cast off.
In a swift burst of comprehension, I thought I could understand the
reason for this last, unreasonable defection. Lancelot Biggs had met
difficulties before and without flinching.
But that was an old, a different, Biggs. Love had come into his life
now. Love, and a woman, and all the dreams that happy men dare
wish upon.
And these things, staunch and noble in themselves, had weakened
the moral fibre of Biggs. Weakened it to the point where, in the face
of danger, nothing was important except that he live to return to the
arms of his loved one.
These things I could understand. But I could not forgive them.
Because love or no love, fear or no fear, a spaceman has a tradition
to live up to. And Lancelot Biggs had tossed into the discard the very
tradition now upheld by Dick Todd as he said, quietly, "Shall I advise
the men, sir?"
And by Captain Hanson who said, "Yes, Todd. And—and order
Garrity to cut off Mr. Biggs' intensifier. We may die, but we can die
trying to escape. And a slower speed will give us more time—"
"Yes, sir," said Todd, and moved toward the audio. But he had barely
reached out his hand toward it when sharp speech rasped from its
black throat in remembered tones.
"Stop, Todd! Don't give that order, Skipper!"
It was the voice of Lancelot Biggs!
Captain Hanson had subdued his rage once. But now his face
crimsoned, his great hands clenched, and fury was a ponderable
vigor in his voice.
"You! Where are you, sir!"
"In the life-skiff," replied Biggs imperturbably.
Almost insolently, I thought. As if he knew he were speaking from
the only place of possible security in a doomed ship. "Todd, do as I
say and do it fast! There's no time to lose! Tell Chief Garrity to turn
the verniers of my V-I unit all the way to the red line on the extreme
right! Understand?"
Once again Hanson's roar interrupted.
"Come back here, you coward, and die with your fellow-officers like
the man you once pretended to be! What do you mean by skulking
in a hideaway, giving orders aboard my ship?"
"Shut up!" bellowed Biggs. And it was not just his audacity in
speaking thus to a space commander that shocked me, it was the
razor-edged intensity of his voice. "Todd—give that order
immediately! For God's sake, act! We've no time to lose!"
Todd's eyes sought mine. He knew, as well as I did, that the skipper
was too furious to give an intelligent command.
"That—that's the limiting velocity, Sparks!" Todd choked. "Biggs must
be insane. We'll be translated again into the negative universe. And
no way to get back—ever!"
I didn't have to answer. Biggs answered.
"I've taken care of that, Todd! Now, do as I say! Hurry, hurry!"
And—well, am I a fool? After all, Lancelot Biggs and I are old
buddies. Once we were bunkmates, even. There came back to me a
measure of the confidence I had once had in him. And I nodded to
Todd.
"Try it, Dick. We've got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Give
the order."
He did. Chief Garrity must have been startled but he was too good a
spaceman to argue an order from the bridge. He said, succinctly,
"Aye, sirr!" And then—
I felt the rocking plunge. The moment of brief, incredible dizziness of
frightful speed being intensified to the limiting velocity of light. My
head whirled, but somehow I managed to turn, stare at that
ominous viewpane. And what I saw there brought a shocked cry
from my lips!
White—white—dazzling white—then grayness! No other scene than
dim and vacant void, gray, infinite, impenetrable. A glimpse of the
lost universe—the matrix negative wherein are flung such mad
things as attain a speed beyond that of the limiting velocity.
Then crackling across the room agonizedly, "We're clear, Todd? We're
through?"
And Todd replying dazedly, "I—I don't know what you mean."
"The chronometer, man! Has it touched 9.14?"
"Yes, sir. But—but we're slipping into the negative, Lanse! We've
escaped one death to find another!"
But there was infinite sadness to Lancelot Biggs' denial.
"No you're not, Todd. You're going back to your own universe—now.
When you feel the ship lurch, turn the V-I unit dial back to where it
was before. Ready? Now!"
And there came, inexplicably, a swift unsteadiness, a lurching halt of
the ship. At that instant Todd spoke to Garrity, Garrity obeyed, and—
We were once again traveling smoothly on our proper course. But
Jupiter—monstrous missile of solid, terrible death—was no longer
before us! It was behind us!
As we saw that, Captain Hanson laughed aloud. And vast was the
joy of that laughter. Relief, happiness, sheer triumph. And apology.
And he cried:
"You've done it, son! Forgive me for doubting you. We're safe! I
don't know how, but—come on in, boy, and tell us all about it!"
But there came no answer. Only the echo of our own harsh
breathing, the dry scrape of our own feet shuffling restlessly. And
new terror loomed suddenly in the Old Man's eyes.
"Biggs!" he cried. "Lanse, my boy! Lanse!"
And then—
It was like the faintest, winnowed chaff of sound, breathing from far,
far away. A voice speaking. To us. A voice that said:
"—can't come back ... Skipper.... Sparks will understand. Tell him ...
mass-energy ... relationships. And tell ... Diane ... I love...."
That was all. And my brain reeled beneath the import of those
fading words. Suddenly I knew! I didn't need to hear Cap Hanson
screaming wild orders to the sailors on the aft deck below, nor to
hear their answer.
"He's not here, sir. He cast off the auxiliary a moment or so ago."
I knew!

Later, I told them. My explanation was short, for the solution was
simple. Simple, once you grant that a man can possess infinite
loyalty, infinite courage, in one lean and gangling frame.
"Biggs saw," I said, "that there was only one way to save us all from
death. Oh, he had blundered, yes, but we all blunder sometimes.
But not all of us pay the penalty as willingly, as bravely, as he did.
"Jupiter was upon us. Within minutes we would have crashed into
the greatest of the solar planets. Only Biggs saw a way out. And that
was—to make the speed of our ship exactly approximate the speed
of light at the moment of impact!"
Dick said, "But how—"
"He told us the answer. Mass-energy relationships. You know the
fundamental theory of the Lorentz-Fitzgerald contraction. Objects
moving in space are contracted along their major axis in direct
proportion to their speed, with the limiting velocity, the speed of
light, as their ultimate limit. In other words, at the precise speed of
light, this ship existed in only a unilateral dimension!"
Hanson said, "You mean we—hurled over Jupiter?"
"No, sir. We went right through it! At that tremendous speed, our
dimension-extension was zero. Hence it did not affect, nor was it
affected in any way by, the bulk and mass of Jupiter.
"It's as though an exceedingly fine wire, moving at lightning speed,
were to be propelled through a cake of ice. Only in our case, the
'wire' was of zero dimension, and the cake of ice—Jupiter—did not
even recognize that it had been penetrated.
"But—" I shook my head. "But Mr. Biggs realized what this daring
scheme meant. It meant that in addition to our size being reduced
to the infinitesimal, our mass would be raised to the infinite—for that
is the corollary of the contraction theory.
"There had to be some way of getting us back to our normal shape
and size. The only possible method was by the forcible alteration of
our mass. And—Biggs adopted this method. He placed himself in the
life-skiff, gave the necessary orders from there. Then, after the
danger had been averted, he deliberately cast off from the Saturn,
tossed himself away from us, a living sacrifice to the mathematical
gods, that we might be safe."
Todd said, "Our mass, for a moment, was infinite—but when he,
however briefly, broke clear, it became less than infinite, giving us a
chance to cut the motors—"
"That's right."
Hanson's eyes were round and wild and fearful.
"But then—where is he! We've got to turn around right away. Find
him! We can't go back without—"
I shook my head.
"It's no use, Skipper. He may be in this universe, infinitely small,
traveling at infinite speed; he may be in some other universe
undreamed by man. He may be living, he may be dead. But
wherever he is—he is gone forever from the ken of man. Lancelot
Biggs is—dead. So far as man is concerned, he is dead."
Dick Todd said something then. His words were not clear. They were
choked, and he didn't finish the quotation. But I caught the first
part.
"'Greater love hath no man'," he said.
And the skipper coughed, and his eyes were red, and he turned
away like a broken, aged man.
"Amen," he said. "Amen!"

So—Lancelot Biggs is gone. Dead, perhaps. Or in another existence,


undreamed, unrecognized, by we who spin our fiery trails along the
spaceways. And it is a strange, strange thing that he, who of all men
looked least like a spaceman, should have lived and died the
greatest of them all.
Tomorrow or the next day I must tell Diane. Hanson will not do it
because he can't.
He dares not face her when she hears. And I, myself, would sell my
soul to be free of that sad duty. But I was Lancelot Biggs' best
friend, and this is the least last thing I can do in his memory.
There is nothing else to say. He is gone. Will I ever see him again?
That gangling frame, that easy, fluent grin—lost in the nameless
depths of the crypts of space. There seems nothing else to say
except—good-by.
And so I say it to the stars. The far-flung stars amongst which,
somewhere, is the finest man I ever knew.
Is it good-by, Mr. Biggs?
Or is it only "au revoir"?
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHERE ARE YOU,
MR. BIGGS? ***

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