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A previous version of chapter 1 appeared in the International Journal of Psychoanalysis 60 Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following for permission to semioologia excerpts from the following: Almost ten years have passed since my first three books were published: The facts and interconnections I then presented, on the basis of my many years of practice, have lost neither in validity nor, unfortunately, in immediacy.
On the other hand, what has radically changed is my hopeful attitude toward psychoanalysis, from which, inI officially broke away by resigning from the Swiss as well as the International Psychoanalytical associations.
I was forced to take this step when I realized that psychoanalytical theory and practice obscure—that is, render unrecognizable—the causes and consequences of child abuse by among other things labeling facts as fantasies, and, furthermore, that such treatments can be dangerous, as in my own case, because they cement the confusion deriving from childhood instead of resolving it.
Ten years ago I was not yet so clear about this, my study of philosophy as well as my training in and practice of psychoanalysis having long prevented me from recognizing many facts. Only when I was prepared to end my repression, to liberate my childhood from the prison of pedagogic notions and psychoanalytical theories—when I rejected the ideology of forgetting and forgiving, allied myself with the abused child, and, thanks to my therapy, vii learned to feel—did I gradually discover my hitherto concealed history.
I have described my path to this history and to my new insights in books published after My first three books mark the beginning of this development, for it was only as I was writing them that I began systematically to explore childhoods, including my own.
It was thanks to my work on those books, and later also thanks to the success of a carefully and systematically uncovering therapy, that I could see what, despite my critical attitude toward the drive theory, still had remained concealed from me during the twenty years of my analytical practice. I owe this information to my readers because I have learned from their letters to me that, unfortunately, some individuals, after reading my earlier books, decided to undergo psychoanalytical training or treatment, assuming that my views as expressed therein reflected the views of contemporary analysts.
This assumption is completely erroneous and misleading. The teaching structure of psychoanalysis has remained unchanged over the past ten years, and I have not lviro a single person who, having assimilated the insights of my books, would still be willing to describe herself or himself as a psychoanalyst. Nor in my view would this be possible, since a therapist who has gained emotional access to her or his childhood—a process that I regard as essential—cannot remain blind to the fact that it is precisely this smiologia that psychoanalysis prevents at all costs.
Whenever I am—frequently and mistakenly—described as a psychoanalyst, it is only because I do not always hear about it in time to correct such a notion. Although, understandably enough, I feel a desire to incorporate my fresh insights into the new editions of my first three books and to rework some passages, I decided against it in order not to obscure my further development. Thus I have to refer the reader to my later publications, in which possible questions and apparent contradictions are dealt with and clarified in detail.
There, too, the reader will find material to substantiate the statements contained in this preface.
The fight against the truth is gradually losing significance now that the new therapeutic possibilities to which I allude in my most recent books have come into existence. For each person wishing to end her or his repression, they offer access to the truth. This puts paid to psychoanalysis, even if its practitioners are not yet aware of this because they are still confined within their system of self-deception.
Many of those seeking help are beginning to look more carefully at their potential “helpers” and their views, and no longer uncritically subject themselves to treatment. After many years of analysis, however, it is very difficult ever to escape from the labyrinth of self-deception and self-accusation. It took me fifteen livdo to accomplish this liberation process: Patients and adepts at psychoanalysis, who psicopayologia their circles are cut off almost hermetically from advance in knowledge, do not know, just as for years I did not know, that there is already a means of access to one’s own childhood that is not as is unfortunately very often the case dangerous, confusing, haphazard, fragmentary, and irresponsible, but, on the contrary, comprehensive, systematic, clarifying, helpful, and committed solely to the truth.
How should they know this when their teachers refuse to find out anything about it because this access to childhood fills them oivro fear? It is the fear of one’s own history, of the truth of the naked facts that can be brought to light by this therapy.
Sigmund Freud banished this fear by denying the possibility of a verifiable access to childhood reality and restricting the analyst’s work to the field of the patients’ fantasies.
The Swiss therapist J. This therapy can enable many people to approach their childhoods step by step and to assimilate the knowledge they have banished. With the knowledge of one’s own history, susceptibility to such irrational help as ideologies, speculations, and sacrosanct lies vanishes because blindness is no longer required as a protection from fear. Someone who has faced facts need no longer fear reality nor flee from it. This completely cuts the ground from transtornoa the power of pedagogy and of the psychoanalytical and philosophical speculations that conceal reality.
It must give way to what is transparent and verifiable.
We live in a culture that encourages us not to take our own suffering seriously, but rather to make light of it or even to laugh about it. What is more, this attitude is regarded as a virtue, and many people—of whom I used to be one—are proud of their lack of sensitivity toward their own fate and particularly toward their fate as a child.
I have tried to demonstrate in my books why the disastrous belief that this attitude is a desirable one has been held so tenaciously and to point out the tragic conditions it helps to conceal. Again and again, readers from a number of countries have told me with great relief that after reading The Drama of the Gifted Child, they felt for the first time in their life something approaching sympathy for the neglected, abused, or even battered child they had been once.
They say they now have more self-respect than before and are better able to recognize their needs piscopatologia feelings. How could I have known? Today I do transtornoz find it hard to answer this question. Today I know that it was not the books I read, it was not my teachers nentais my study of philosophy, nor was it my training to become a psychoanalyst that provided me with this knowledge.
On the contrary, all of these together, with their mystifying con- ceptualization and their rejection of reality prevented me from recognizing the truth for years. Surprisingly, it was the child in me, condemned to silence long ago— abused, exploited, and turned to stone—who finally found her feelings and along with them her speech, and then told me, in pain, her story. Thus, it was my story I was telling in The Drama, and many people saw their own mirrored in it.
In my fourth book, Pictures of a Childhood, I describe in greater detail how my encounter with this child came about once she had reappeared after long banishment and how it happened that I was able to offer her the protection she needed in order to feel her pain and speak about it. I was amazed to discover that I had been an abused child, that from the very beginning of mdntais life I had no choice but to comply totally with the needs and feelings of my mother and to ignore my own.
My discovery also showed me the power of repression, which had kept me from learning the truth all my swmiologia, and the inadequacy of psychoanalysis, which even reinforced my repression by means of its deceptive theories.
For I had completed two analyses as part of my psychoanalytic training, but both analysts had been unable to question my version of the happy childhood I supposedly had enjoyed.
It was not until I started to experiment with spontaneous painting in that I was first able to gain access to the undistorted reality of my childhood. In the pictures I painted I was confronted with the terror that my mother, a brilliant pedagogue, kivro inflicted on me in my upbringing.
I had been subjected to this terror for years because no one close to me, not transgornos my kind and wise father, was capable of noticing or challenging this form ddos of child abuse. Had just one person understood what was happening and come to my defense, it might have changed my entire life. That person could have helped me to recognize my mother’s cruelty for what it was instead of accepting it for decades, to psicipatologia great detriment, as something normal and necessary.
This part of my story—this lack of enlightened witnesses—may have been s for the attempts I have made in my books to provide information that would reach potential witnesses who could be of help to the suffering child. By witnesses I mean people who are not afraid to stand up for children assertively and protect them from adults’ abuse of power.
In our society, with its hostility toward children, such people are still hard to find, but their number is growing daily. The spontaneous painting I began to do helped me not only to discover my personal story, but also to free myself from the intellectual constraints and concepts of my upbringing and my professional training, which I now recognized to be false, deceptive, and disastrous in its impact.
Evolução do Cérebro
The more I learned to follow my impulses in a playful way with colors and forms, the weaker became my allegiance to conventions of an aesthetic or any other nature.
I did not want to paint beautiful pictures; it was not even my goal to paint good pictures. All I wanted xos to help the truth to break through.
In this way, when I finally confronted my own truth and was strengthened by it, I found the courage to see with ever-growing clarity how the conventional methods of psychoanalysis block the creativity of patients as well as analysts.
This is what I have tried to portray in my books for the sake of helping the victims of this process to become aware of what has been done to them and of sparing them the xiii arduous path of my search. For doing this I have been the recipient of much gratitude but I have also encountered much hostility.
In the meantime I had come to understand that I was abused as a child because my parents had experienced something similar in their childhood but had learned, as had my analysts and teachers, to regard this abuse as upbringing or treatment or training for their own good. Because they were not allowed to feel or, consequently, understand what had once been done to them, they were unable to recognize the abuse as such and passed it on to me in turn, without even the trace of a bad conscience.
I realized that I could not change in the slightest my parents’ and teachers’ past, which had made them blind. But at the same time I felt that I could and must attempt to point out to today’s young parents—and especially to future parents—the danger of misusing their power, that I must sensitize them to this danger and make it easier for them to hear the signals of the child inside them as well as of children everywhere.
This is something I can do if I help children—victims who have been condemned to silence and who have no rights—to speak; if I describe their suffering from their perspective and not from that of adults.
For after all, it was from a child that I myself received crucial information, answers to questions which had gone unanswered throughout my study of philosophy and psychoanalysis and which did not cease to preoccupy me in the years that followed.
It was thanks to the pain of the child in me that I fully grasped what so many adults must ward off all their life, and I also realized why they fail to confront their truth, preferring instead to plan selfdestruction on a gigantic atomic scale, without even xiv recognizing the absurdity of what they are doing.
Evolução do Cérebro by Paulo Dalgalarrondo
These are the same people who, like all of us, entered the world as innocent infants, with the primary goals of growing, living in peace, and loving—never of destroying life. I recognized the compelling logic of this absurdity after I found the missing piece of the puzzle: This discovery convinced me that if we are willing to open our eyes to the suffering of the child, we will soon realize that it lies within us as adults either to turn the newborn into monsters by the way we treat them or to let them grow up into feeling—and therefore responsible—human beings.
But an ingenuous child, who still thinks in pictures, might ask: Why don’t they look around? If they do, they might find all kinds of new treasures they can’t see because they are so busy searching in vain in the water!
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