This interview was conducted by email during the months of December, 2002 and January, 2003. The book referred to in the interview is, Strozier, C.B., (2001) Heinz Kohut: The Making of a Psychoanalyst, Farrar, Straus and Giroux; New York.

Jim: Arnold, as one of the most prolific and creative writers from the original group of self psychologists, can you say something about the intellectual influences in your life? What is your muse?

Arnold: I have no doubt that the main spur to my writing was my association with John Gedo who is a marvelous writer. We would often talk over ideas, and John was an excellent person to ask questions and to raise issues. My personal contribution to the pursuit of ideas has to do, I think, with my general restlessness and love of puzzles and problem-solving. I think one learns to write well by reading everything and writing as much as possible. Many of my analytic friends and colleagues do not do much of either and so deprive the field of their clinical wisdom.

As a child my main intellectual influence was my older sister who always pushed us to read and who made the love of books an integral part of my life. In truth, I am a reading addict and cannot imagine a life without it. I read all the time, and I am often less than discriminating about what I read. I read medical journals, newspapers, magazines, and lots of philosophy. My happiest moments are in libraries, and everything that I read is a cause for worry. By that I mean that I share with Heinz Kohut an inability to leave things as they are. Heinz used to say that his tombstone should read that he worried about everything, and I have no doubt that the best push to creativity comes from the restless feeling of everything being open to questions. The worst disease of psychoanalysis is one of certainty.

Jim: Could you set the record straight and say something about your origins?

Arnold: My early years claim no excitement or mystery. My father was a laundryman whose only hope for me was not to be a laundryman. My mother, a housewife, had even more limited ambitions for her youngest son. I have an older sister who was a social worker and an older brother who is a lawyer specializing in mental health law. I am a product of the Chicago school system where the major issue in learning was to keep still. That probably contributed to my adult need to speak up at every opportunity. I went to the University of Illinois Medical School, did an internship at Cincinnati General Hospital, a psychiatric residency at Michael Reese Hospital, and a final landing at the Institute for Psychoanalysis in Chicago. I was fortunate enough to live through two periods of enthusiasm: the first about psychoanalysis in its heyday in the fifties, the second about self psychology and its brilliance in the seventies. Unfortunately, I have also seen the near demise of the one and the misunderstanding of the other.

Jim: Arnold, although you disclaim any mystery or excitement surrounding your formative years, to me it is both a mystery and exciting that you could emerge from what sounds like a most non-stimulating environment as a true intellectual with boundless curiosity and worried about everything under the sun. Your sister influenced your interest in reading, but what else turned you toward the world of ideas? And why medical school. . .psychiatry. . .psychoanalysis?

Arnold: My sister is also responsible for my interest in psychoanalysis, since she was in analysis when I was in high school, and she talked to me about it. I always wanted to be a doctor, and I so loved medicine that I was torn between psychiatry and internal medicine. To this day I keep up with medicine as well as psychopharmacology and feel it unfortunate that so few analysts stay abreast of the newer medications and know how to combine analysis and psychotropic treatment.

Jim: I can't resist one final question regarding your "ordinary" family background. Neither parent, by your description, seemed to have intellectual interests, yet all three children pursued professions and higher education in medicine, law and social work, a not uncommon phenomenon among Jewish families in the 30s and 40s, especially with immigrant parents. So again, I wonder, from what did the intellectual and educational interests in your family derive?

Arnold: Jim, you are absolutely right, since I have been unfair to my father who, besides being a wonderful man, was someone who clearly wanted to learn and wanted his children to do the same. My casualness about him is probably due to the fact that he simply never seemed concerned about my school performance. He always assumed that I would do well and never entertained the thought that his children would be anything but the best. I probably wanted him to care more openly ambitious but all the pressure came from me. And it does to this day.

Jim: What first attracted you to Self Psychology and Heinz Kohut? Do you remember how you first became associated with him?

Arnold: Heinz Kohut was my first supervisor in analysis, and I clearly remember how my being assigned to him was somehow a compensation for my failure to get an initial case. Of course the failure was not mine (the patients simply never showed up), but the payoff was certainly worth it. It was not so much worth it in terms of the case, since I rarely understood what Heinz was telling me, but it did result in our lasting friendship. Years later I asked why Heinz had not better explained more clearly to me about the patient, and he said that he himself did not understand it much better at that time. There is no doubt that this was on-the-job training for Kohut (as well as for me), and that is one quality that is so important for our present-day candidates, i.e., to realize that analysis is a work-in-progress without the luxury of certainty.

The further story of the group of us who worked with Kohut and the fate of that group is nicely written up in Strozier's book. That time was one of continuing excitement both in terms of what we were learning and our planning for the dissemination of that knowledge. My personal feelings about the sad fate of that excitement is another story.

Jim: When you refer to your personal feelings about the sad fate of the excitement of the early years of self psychology, it sounds as if those early idealized goals have become tarnished. How did you perceive those goals in the early years and what about the fate of them is sad?

Arnold: I have often puzzled over the diminution in enthusiasm that I have witnessed in both psychoanalysis and self psychology. I was fortunate enough to experience the peaks of both. I, of course, was closer to self psychology and could early see the division into those who felt Kohut's ideas were foundational ones and those who seemed to want to develop their own. Unfortunately, most of the latter were lacking in creativity and merely developed a new lexicon or tried to downplay the originality of Heinz Kohut. My own feelings have always been that there was a real need to elaborate the fundamental tenets of self psychology, and the multiple efforts to strike out in a new direction were ones that grew mainly from personal needs rather than scientific ones.

The other problem that seemed to beset both classical analysis and self psychology was a lack of rigor. These ideas demand a good deal of study, and I am regularly amazed at how few therapists have read most of either Freud or Kohut. Once immersed in either, it is difficult to tear yourself away in order to entertain newer ideas and so change has been an enemy of both classical analysis and self psychology. A companion problem to this lack of rigor is the flight to therapy as an exercise in providing friendship or companionship or even love to one's patients. The total misunderstanding of the centrality of empathy as a method of data gathering moved many to see it as a form of comfort and cure. There is no doubt that some patients benefit from friendship or companionship or love, but it is surely not yet a scientifically credible alternative and often is a result of a therapist's need, just like that of developing a new theory.

Wallace Stevens, the poet, wrote: "If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism." Now we use the word narcissism for egotism, but Kohut was that acute observer; and so I find it sad that some would see him as a mere steppingstone to their own pedestrian efforts at new theoretical systems.

Jim: One theme seems to run through all your writings over the years. . .perversion. What brought you to this particular interest? The vertical split seems to speak to you. Any idea why?

Arnold: Actually, I think the theme is less that of perversion and more that of disavowal. My clearest memory of the bulk of my patients when I began psychiatric practice was the prevalence of denial or disavowal. I always puzzled over this disregard of reality and one offshoot of this puzzle has been my own study of the philosophical work on reality from Plato to Richard Rorty. My puzzlement about disavowal was shared by my friend and colleague, Michael Basch, who wrote a good deal about the topic. It was not until Kohut wrote about the vertical split, and I began analyzing patients with perversions and other behavior disorders, that it all came together for me. I still believe this to be one of the most fruitful areas for research in psychoanalysis, and I'm surprised it has not been taken up more by others.

Jim: Aside from Heinz Kohut, John Gedo and Michael Basch, whom you've mentioned, have there been other individuals who have influenced your thinking and development in special ways?

Arnold: Of course I had grade school and high school teachers whom I adored and who urged me on. There was absolutely no one of any help in the state school that I went to, and I always envy college students who get to go to smaller colleges. I had a great mentor in medical school, a psychiatrist named Paul Nielson. But the major idol of my professional career was Roy Grinker, whom I admired and who treated me like a son. In fact, I was and am good friends with his own son, Richard. The best influence after Grinker was Joan Fleming. I cannot say enough about how much she and Grinker meant to me. I always do my best to be as much to my students. I probably should reclassify my intellectual debts, since Mike and John were colleagues who shared ideas, while Kohut, Grinker, and Fleming were both inspirational and instructive.

Jim: Arnold, it's interesting that you recall Roy Grinker in such warm paternal terms. Many readers of this Newsletter, especially younger ones, may not recognize the name Grinker, the Chairman of Psychiatry at Michael Reese Hospital, a giant figure in post-World War II psychiatry, and one of the last of the strong authoritarian figures on the scene. No kidding, he really treated you as a son? Many aspired, but few were chosen. Could you elaborate on what you found in him that meant so much to you?

Arnold: I gave the memorial obituary of Roy Grinker at the Chicago Psychoanalytic Society meeting, and there noted how sad it was that he had been so quickly forgotten. Of course he was authoritarian, but he was a true intellectual with unbounded curiosity. He never gave me a weekly allowance (like a good father) but he encouraged me in everything and even once told me that he did not understand a word of something I asked him to read. Grinker really wanted his students to accomplish things, and I always felt his support. He was different from Kohut who wanted his students as extensions of himself.

Jim: A high percentage of Chicago analysts originally trained in psychiatry under Roy Grinker at Michael Reese. He profoundly influenced so many people. I know that you personally have been actively involved with the psychiatry residency program at the Rush Medical Center in Chicago for well over 20 years. Can you talk about that aspect of your career. . .working with residents in psychiatry?

Arnold: My involvement with Rush started when I invited Mike Basch to join me in teaching psychotherapy to the residents there. We were together until Mike's death, and we lasted through a whole bunch of residency directors with but one chairman, Jan Fawcett. I have always had great support and encouragement at Rush and, together with Mike, we recruited a substantial number of psychoanalysts to teach and supervise there. One of the major failings of psychoanalysis has been to lose track with psychiatry and psychiatric training, but Rush has remained as an example of a truly integrated program.

I make it a point to see as many applicants for our program as possible, and the last one told me that her chairman told her that Rush was one of two residency programs in the country that offered good psychotherapy training. I love teaching the residents, since I now rarely teach analytic candidates. I try to read all of the residents grand rounds presentations and see most of them throughout the year to evaluate their progress. Indeed that was the main characteristic of my own residency with Dr. Grinker. It was a time of learning and excitement over learning, some of which I still see at Rush.

Jim: Your writings are so extensive, it is difficult to pick out any one in particular, so let me start by asking you to comment on which of your books or papers are particularly close to your heart. I suppose I'm asking you to name a favorite child, but give it a try.

Arnold: I won a prize for my paper on "Between Empathy and Judgment," so I probably am proudest of it. For the most part, I am fondest of my last work and so feel today that my paper on "American Pragmatism" is closest to my heart. Over the years I have received most attention from The Prisonhouse of Psychoanalysis, which seemed to appeal to lots of non-analysts. In truth I think your question is most revealing, since my major pride is that I have not focused on one topic. I especially do not want to be someone who can only write about self psychology, and my secret favorite is a paper I wrote long about on the topic of the role of apology in treatment.

Jim: Why is it that you would not want to be someone who can only write about self psychology? I wonder, is the operative word here, "about," in the sense that you seem to almost restlessly explore different issues and problems. . . you know, "worried about everything". . . but aren't you always writing as a self psychologist?

Arnold: I cannot just be an extension of Kohut and that is why I do not always write as a self psychologist anymore than I do so as a Democrat. Heinz had a mission, and wanted disciples, of which I was one; but there is so much more to learn about than self psychology. The operative word is "only."

Jim: Returning to your earlier comment, disavowal and the vertical split have been a sustaining area of clinical interest that brought you into the study of perversions, behavior disorders, and a wide range of clinical and philosophical issues. Another very prominent theme in so many of your papers is the central importance of analyzing and interpreting the transference. Are you implying that this basic analytic principle is getting lost in today's analytic climate? Do other contemporary discourses, e.g. self disclosure or relationship, lose sight of this?

Arnold: There is no doubt that the major business of the analysis of transference is rapidly being pushed out by the many franchises of providing gratification to patients. Your question asked if that central activity was getting lost, but it may also be true that it was never very important for many therapists. My own guide here is Merton Gill who, before he got too carried away by what I felt was a misunderstanding of the interpersonal, was a wonderful spokesman for the interpretation of the transference. Merton never quite understood self psychology, and he and I engaged in a long correspondence which seemed to end with no impact on either of us. Nevertheless he is a valued contributor to all of analysis as well as to me personally.

Jim: Strozier's biography of Kohut documents the incredible complexity of the man. . .a very human genius. As a key figure in his inner circle who was with him until the very end, what do you remember most about the Kohut days and what particular moments with him stay in your mind?

Arnold: Years ago the Readers Digest magazine had a section entitled "The Most Unforgettable Person I Ever Met" and Heinz Kohut qualified as that in my mind. I told Strozier almost all that I remember about Heinz from his incredible generosity to his insufferable demandingness. Of course, I was honored to work with him and remember clearly how John Gedo told me that he could not spend his career doing Kohut's bidding, while I felt that that was all I could want. I got so much more from him than I ever gave, but I cannot deny how dearly was the cost. Yes, he was the creative genius that none of his or my contemporaries are, and I certainly know how difficult it is for some of them to admit it. He was the man who sent six roses to my daughter on her 6 month birthday as well as the one who wanted to rewrite every letter that I would write about him or his work.

Jim: Is it possible, at this point in your life for you to imagine having been something other than a psychoanalyst? If a different path had opened before you, what secret passion might you have fulfilled?

Arnold: I cannot remember when I did not want to be a psychoanalyst nor do I feel now that I have any regrets about that choice. I do know that some of my colleagues are less than happy in their work and see it like a job or a business. If I could, I would ideally be a university professor teaching both analysis and philosophy; and I am now convinced that the future of psychoanalysis does lie in the university. Of course the opportunity to help people is the bonus of being a psychiatrist, but in my heart I know my primary pleasure is the joy of learning and teaching.

I was recently at a dinner party where I was the only doctor and only analyst - mainly businessmen and bankers. They spoke of their work with distaste, with an eagerness to do something else and a hurry to retire. I felt so lucky. It must be awful to be stuck in something that is burdensome and unfulfilling. There is no denying that sometimes our patients are both of those things, but psychoanalysis is hardly ever either.

Jim: Arnold, we seem to be nearing the end of this interview, although I certainly feel we have only begun to touch on your many areas of deep personal interest and accomplishment. I wonder where that boundless curiosity of yours is taking you these days. Like it or not, you are currently our most prolific and internationally recognized psychoanalyst in Chicago, and whatever you do stirs up interest well beyond the Windy City. Do you have any particular project in mind for these "senior" years? Will you continue to go wherever the latest question leads you? Is there a book on the horizon?

Arnold: I have finished a book entitled "Misunderstanding Freud" and am hoping to see it published soon. You put it nicely when you said I had to see what question leads me on. I am now stuck on the incompatibility of theories question and am a long way from a solution. I am intrigued by the peculiarities of our being a society of debunkers as opposed to one of idolizers and wonder how this relates to foreign policy. Hardly a week goes by when I do not promise to learn more and think more about one or another topic. I am always worrying.

Jim: Thank you, Arnold. It has been not only a lot of fun, but inspirational for me personally to have a peek into your restless and curious mind. If some of those early selfobjects may have been a bit negligent in their mirroring, let me say without qualification, we here in Chicago are proud of you.

Arnold: Thank you.