Archive for July, 2013

This post has been sat in my drafts folder long enough for the relevant practice issues to have long since passed. I wrote it following an interesting supervision session.

I bring an issue to my supervisor that has been growing in intensity. It’s one of those emergent practice issues that finds expression across a significant proportion of the therapeutic journeys in which I am engaged. That I am constellating my practice in this way indicates that some unresolved issue of my own is preventing me from taking my work with several people into deeper territory.

I explore this issue as it manifests in one particular journey. I’m trying to find a way of challenging this person without being threatening or shaming. My difficulty is that, because of my own unresolved issue in this area, I can’t approach the challenge without becoming overtly aggressive. I need to work through what is raw for me before I will be able to tolerate working through the same territory with someone else.

My supervisor offers me some suggestions for avenues of approach. I become aware of experiencing these suggestions through a “client-filter”. That is, I have an immediate intuitive sense of how this person would respond to this line of approach. They would feel lectured at. I share this and my supervisor asks if he is lecturing me.

I smile; no. In this case I have two distinct experiences sat side-by-side. I feel like a cyborg, viewing the world through two different eyes. My left eye is my own, natural-born human eye. This is my personal response to my supervisor’s suggestions; I experience him as being helpful and welcome his suggestions. My right eye is some kind of cyber-eye that has been programmed to view the world as though I were my client. This is my anticipation of my client’s response; they experience the suggestions as invasive and lecturing, and start to burn with shame.

I share this response with my supervisor, and he observes that I’m doing a lot of thinking for my client. I remember Stephen Johnson’s Character Styles. Specifically, I remember the concept of narcissistic cathexis. This is the element of narcissism in which other people are viewed as objects to be used, not as people with whom to relate.

Cathexis means investing emotional energy in someone or something. Narcissistic cathexis means doing so as if the cathected other is an object that exists solely for this reason. I am sitting on a chair right now. Suppose this is my favourite chair. Having a favourite chair is a kind of cathexis because I invest emotional energy in its existence. Friendships also involve cathexis. If I consider you to be my friend, then I invest emotional energy in you in a way that I don’t with other people. If I cathect you narcissistically then I relate to you in much the same way I relate to my favourite chair. It’s not just that you are my friend, but that your function in life is to meet my need for friendship. You have no meaning beyond that function.

As I explore this idea alongside my experience of anticipating very closely this person’s potential response to my potential deployment of my supervisor’s hypothetical suggestions, I find my function in relation to this person. The purpose of my existence is to work it all out for them. To make sense of their experience, and to feed back that sense in a manner that is 100% perfectly attuned with their need at that moment in time.

And I am doomed to fail because that is impossible.

The idea of the cyborg as a symbol for narcissistically organisation of the self appeals to me. A cyborg is typically a combination of human and mechanical material. Perhaps most typically, a cyborg is a human being that has been integrated with substantial machinery in order to achieve super-human feats.

More than this, the cyborg is usually more identified with the abilities conferred by the mechanistic enhancements than with the human flesh that allows the whole to function. In this fusion of human and machine, the purpose of the human is to fuel and regulate the functioning of the whole. That is, whilst the human and the machine both contribute equally to the functioning of the whole, it is not the case that both parts are equally valued. The human material may be essential, but it is the machinery that is valued.

This description is poignant in the case of narcissistic adaptation. Various writers describe a split between the false, adapted self, and the real, rejected self. The false self, the person one must create in order to gain the desperately needed approval of significant others, is a machine, a construct; it has no life-force of its own because it is literally an imposed machination, not an organic outgrowth of self. The real self, that which has been devalued and rejected, first by significant others, then secondly by the person themselves, is the only available source of life-force.

In gestalt terms, organismic interest simply is the real self. In order for the artificially constructed machinations of the false self to function, this machinery must tap into, subdue, and conquer the life-force of the real self. The pay off is that the resurrected cyborg stands a good chance of excelling in the areas that will gain the much needed admiration of others. The substantial downside is that the cyborg can’t experience satisfaction with this because satisfaction can only come from meeting organismic needs, and it is exactly these organismic needs that have been conquered. The machine can’t be sated, it can only function.

Robocop is a good example of this kind of cybernetic functioning. Fully human cop Alex Murphy is brutally killed in the line of duty, and his body is taken by OCP, the archetypal evil corporation that have the contract for delivering policing in near-future dystopian Detroit (and seemingly the main inspiration for G4S). He is reconstructed as the cyborg Robocop and programmed with some directives, one of which is classified even from him.

As well as a stark warning against privatising essential state functions to the McEvils of the world, Robocop offers a metaphorical reconstruction of how one comes to organise oneself narcissistically. Alex Murphy is brutally killed. That is, the real self doesn’t just encounter difficulties or misattunement in the world; the real self is butchered, actively destroyed. Constant, chronic, venom-fuelled rejection of a young child’s emerging sense of self is, from the perspective of that child, a hail of bullets.

This is the essential difference between the scars left by narcissistic injuries (of which no one seems to be spared) and the need to create a narcissistic personality: survival. The real self, like Alex Murphy, is effectively executed.

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Image scavenged from the 3oneseven website.

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My name is Simon Stafford-Townsend. I am a gestalt psychotherapist in private practice in Bristol and Cardiff. My private practice website is Silver Cat Psychotherapy.

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