THE FUNDAMENTAL RULE IN THE "SPEAKING CURE" AND THE 

ROLE OF INTERPRETATION

C. Edward Robins

INTRODUCTION

"Shut up! Don't talk! Don't keep asking me questions, let me tell you

what I have to say to you!" Get out of the way.

My focus on the question of the fundamental rule is this: how should it affect the analyst-

-not just the patient. A two-edged sword,, it cuts both ways.

FREUD

First Freud. The father of psychoanalysis who gave us the fundamental rule, the pledge 

that includes the ethical dimension Dr. Thompson just spoke about. My emphasis is that 

the rule is to be observed not only by the patient in promising to say whatever comes to 

mind, but also by the analyst to get out of the way, to allow the patient's discourse. It was 

Freud himself who began the whole thing; it was he who taught us that repressed desire 

creates traumatic conflicts, and that once that which was repressed is expressed openly, 

consciously, verbally, that is, by the speaking subject, then the subject will be somehow 

"freed" of the neurotic trap. In Freud's view, patients "get better" by their own speaking 

out, by their own words. What was scandalous about Freud and Breuer's new cure, as is 

pointed out by John Muller in his new book Beyond The Psychoanalytic Dyad, was not 

that the cure involved sexuality or transference: it was that it was a cure by 

language. ("The Talking Cure," psychoanalysis as dubbed by Anna O. in 1893--

when she was speaking English--implies what Lacan, after Heidegger calls "full 

speech": it is not Gerade, gossip, or 'just talking"; that is why 1 prefer the phrase 

the "speaking cure" to the "talking cure.")

Still, it is this same Freud who taught us, at the beginning of

every treatment, to open ourselves totally to the patient; to listen to whatever the 

patient is saying, to conduct the treatment totally without prejudices, "as if 

psychoanalysis had never been invented" (1912), and he cautions the analyst 

against "forming patients in your own image and then seeing that it is good"

(1913).

But when we study Freud's cases with the fundamental rule in mind, we are struck 

by the fact that when, on his side, Freud observed the fundamental rule, the 

treatment was successful, but when he ignored it, the treatment failed. Ris case of 

the Rat Man (1909) is a good example of the former; his cases of Dora (1905) and 

the Young Homosexual Woman (1920) are clear examples of the latter. Freud 

could listen to everything from the Rat Man--he took it all in with a spirit of 

magnanimity. Recall the Rat Man's first dream, that Freud's own mother had died, 

and that the Rat Man was about to explode with laughter. Or his dreams about the 

then fourteen year-old Anna Freud with dung covering her eyes, and then the later 

one of his having intercourse with Anna with his stool! While Freud could accept 

such vilification from the Rat Man--all in the service of letting the transference 

develop--he could not accept negative words, even the slightest hint of disapproval 

from Dora or from the Young Homosexual Woman. Dora dreams in her second 

dream that she wants Freud to accompany her, but Freud refuses. Therefore, she will leave 

Freud, and take revenge on this father-figure by dreaming him dead. Why could Freud not 

listen to Dora? Yes, it was early on in his career, and yes, he had not even formulated the

fundamental rule yet. But why his blatant hostility towards her, his persistent lapses in 

remembering the year of her treatment, etc.? Peter Gay, among others, address himself to 

this question (cf. my article "Dora' s Dreams" in Cont. Psychotherapy Review, 6, 1, 

1991,73).

Further, why could Freud not listen to, why could he not "get out of the way" of the 

Young Homosexual Woman1s discourse? He tells her her dreams are lies meant to 

deceive him, and abruptly broke off treatment with her (SE 18, 164-5). Does it have to do 

with both Dora and the Young Homosexual being women? Are men afraid of women? At 

least Freud seems to panic with these women. Lacan, writing fifty years later, is of the 

opinion that Freud suffered "interpretation praecox" with these women... (Object Relation 

Seminar).

LACAN

For Lacan, the subject is constituted only through discourse (Intervention On 

Transference, 62). The subject appears as a speaking subject. No speaking, no subject. 

Whose subject is at stake in an analysis? The analyst's? We hope not. Whose speech is at 

stake? Not the analyst's.

Psychoanalysis then deals with speaking, with spoken: words. Psychoanalysis, according 

to Jacques Lacan, is a dialectical, intersubjective experience that deals only with: words 

(II, 63). A case history charts the progress of the emerging subject; the reality of the 

treatment is the patient speaking words, and thereby emerging/discovering him/herself as 

a subject of desire. It is the patient who does it for him or herself.

"How do we call the words the analyst says?" asks Lacan. He has a term for it: 

connerie. Bull shit.

In making interpretations, we as analysts pretend "to lead the subject to an insight" 

(Direction of Treatment, 232), while we really "feed the flame of the imaginary, of that 

pure display, which, under the name of aggressivity, flourishes in our technique" (233). 

"We must keep the upper hand...and this is a question of the consequences of the dual 

relation" (235). The power struggle.

But it is the function of the signifier for Lacan that enables us "to grasp where the 

subject is subordinated" (233). "My doctrine of the signifier," he writes, "is first of all a 

discipline in which those I train have to familiarize themselves with the different ways in 

which the signifier effects the advent of the signified, which is the only conceivable way 

that interpretation can produce anything new" (233). His "doctrine of the signifier," the 

"discipline" in which he "trains" students still does not give license to "lay 

interpretations" on patients; we will see an example of how Lacan's method works--soon.

Lacan uses the phrase "psychologising superstition," which means that, to confirm that an 

interpretation is right, the analyst relies on the conviction with which it is received by the 

patient that matters. If the patient says "Yes" to the interpretation, then the analyst feels 

on secure ground. "No" says Lacan, "the criterion will be found rather in the material that 

will emerge as a result of the interpretation" (234). He goes on: "But the psychologizing 

superstition is so powerful in people's minds that the analyst will always solicit the 

subject's assent…..	[What a game!] If the subject does not assent to our 

interpretation, then he or she must be resisting. This is what I mean when I say that 

there is no other resistance to analysis than that of the analyst himself' (235).

And what about Freud's cases? When Freud succeeds, Lacan writes, "he begins 

not by interpreting, but by mapping the position of the patient in the real--like the 

Rat Man, and this has nothing at all to do with making the dual relation present 

here and now." Freud "seized on the symbolic pact that presided over the Rat 

Man's parents' marriage, on something that occurred well before he was born, and 

contained in it a prescribed debt that motivates at last the impasses in which the 

Rat Man's moral life and his desire are lost" (237). Thus, in his direction of the Rat 

Man's treatment, Freud begins with "the rectification of the subject's relations with 

the real, and then proceeds to the development of the transference, and then finally 

to interpretation: it was by this that Freud made his fundamental discoveries which 

we are still living off' (237).

This "rectification of the Rat Man with the real" sets out from the subject's own 

words, which means, writes Lacan, "that an interpretation can be right only by 

being...an interpretation" (240). (Here Lacan cites the etymology of 

"interpretation," which derives from inter (between) andpret (pres, pret, fradrad 

Gk, to speak), which then means "to speak between," to be an "interpreter," or "to 

translate." ("To translate" in Italian--tradure- sounds too much like "to betray"--

tradire. But aren't all translations betrayals? In my article cited above I show how 

Strachey betrayed Freud's text.) What is spoken, what is interpreted, what is 

translated? Words. The words of the law are translated by the lawyer (interpres 

iuris), the words of the gods are translated by the priest (interpres divum) (Cic, 

Lat, 293), the words of the patient are translated by... by the patient. 

"L'interpretant, c'est I' analysant," writes Lacan ("analysant" = analysand, the 

patient, Ou Pire,147).

Why words? Well, where else does desire reside? "It is already buried in the 

patient's landscape," writes Lacan (240)--as desire in reside.

Now finally, for Lacan, observing and applying the fundamental rule is much more 

than a technique: from the very beginning it structures the analytic relation as a 

linguistic one. It waits patiently, silently, for the subject to emerge in his or her 

discourse rather than arms the analyst with something to say or to do or to prove; it 

precipitates the emergence, in the subject's speech, of a demand addressed to an 

other (DT).

The best example I know of interpretation--brilliant interpretation a la Lacan--was 

in the case presented at the Lacan Clinical Forum by François Peraldi in May of 

1986, the case of "Mr. D." Let me describe it for you. The treatment is well under 

way, and, at a certain point, his patient wanted to tell Peraldi that "the tone of the 

treatment had changed." The patient said "Le ton a varie." Peraldi commented that 

"due to a recent scandal in Quebec about some rotten tuna fish which had been put 

on the market in spite of governmental interdiction, his phrase could also have 

been heard as "Le thon avarie" (the rotten tuna fish). "Mr D noticed it immediately 

and burst into laugh. Then he--Mr D--decided to analyse it very carefully. He 

noticed that in le thon avarie, the signifiers "thon" and "avarie" were the beginning 

of the signifying chains of both his parents. Ultimately, Mr. D found that both chains 

were reunited at the level of "Krake" describing the octopus (his fisherman father's chain) 

and "cra-cra" describing the feminine sexual organ (his mother's chain), which situated 

his parents as reunited in sexual coitus! "The lifting of the repression on this very day," 

writes Peraldi, "led Mr. D to the truth of his being alienated, of his being bound to the 

repressed signifiers... According to Lacan's formulation of this alienation, the signifier 

represents the subject for another signifier, one can say that" le ton a varié" represented 

Mr D. for another signifier "le than avarié," which condensed the primal drama/trauma in 

which he had remained unconsciously trapped" (10).

Note that Peraldi did not "figure things out" and then present his patient with his 

"interpretation" of it, a well-wrapped package that would tell the patient what's up. On the 

contrary; he waited, something happened, and in this case, the interpretation, the 

translation came from the patient.

WINNICOTT

During my analytic training I made Winnicott my model when it came to interpretation. 

Slogans attributed to him reverberated in my head during arduous sessions: "If you can't 

say it in four words or less, don't say it," or "When you are tempted to say something, 

don't; then, later in the session you'll probably see it wasn't at all necessary or helpful," 

etc. Winnicott did not trust interpretations; it is the process in the patient, he insisted, not 

what the analyst says, that deserves credit for the patient's improvement. We must leave 

the patient alone to discover their own way, in their own language, and not ours. 

Winnicott was very suspicious of analysts congratulating themselves for interpretations 

that directly led to patients improving, and saw his own analysis with Strachey--a 

Grand Interpreter!--as a prime example of the malfunctioning of interpretation. 

Looking back on his work, Winnicott did not trust the necessity of verbal 

interpretation, and concluded that in many cases "it was no good at all."

MY SUPERVISORY EXPERIENCE

In twenty years experience as a supervisor of beginning therapists and analysts, I 

always find that "interpretations of the analyst"--no matter how well intentioned--

are in direct service of the defensive structure of the analyst, and are therefore 

obstacles to the work. They constitute the analyst's "getting in the way" of the 

trajectory of a successful treatment. "Just staying out of the way is a lot of work in 

itself' Lacan advises, reminding us of Hippocrates' monitum: "the physician's first 

duty is non nocere, don't do any damage." (lngmar Bergman, in WildStrawberries, 

has old doctor Isak Borg dream that "a doctor's first duty--is to ask for 

forgiveness"!)

I have often heard supervisees tell me that, at the point when a patient stops 

speaking, instead of repeating the fundamental rule, they may offer their own ideas 

on why the patient is not speaking, or may even offer their fantasy of what is going 

on in their work together--but then they feel unjustly criticized when the patient 

retaliates with an outburst of anger! Very often in these situations the patient 

perceives the analyst as being "in competition" with what the patient was saying, 

that the analyst had to "play the master." It often happens that, in response to 

"uncomfortable silences," the analyst may try to turn the treatment into a 

"dialogue" or a "conversation." The, fact that the cure is by means of the patient's 

words, not their own, seems to constantly elude analysts. The reasons--beyond that 

these analysts were treated like that by their analysts--remain veiled.

Yes, the work is particularly difficult when the patient is silent. We are 

constrained to repeat the fundamental rule and encourage the patient to speak, 

even though it is often exasperating. With a current patient, who is already one 

year into intensive treatment, I am still saying to her: "You're not speaking." I'm 

still asking, after long pauses: "What is it about that you're not speaking?" 

Silence is most often her only response. A few minutes later I may say "It's 

important that you speak; it's important for you." I repeat whatever she does say, 

and remember Lacan's writing somewhere that "sometimes you have to say 

something just to keep the ball rolling." Just don't take what you say too 

seriously. With this patient I have to concentrate on letting her be, not trying to 

change how she feels, not trying to control her. I am often tempted to tell her 

how she feels: that she sounds angry with me, but I know it is much better if she 

says whatever she has to say. I am often afraid that if the structure of this patient 

is psychotic (not just "neurotic repression") then my not speaking can evoke 

terror in face of the unspeakable Real. So I converse with theory--and lately with 

you--to soothe my own anxiety during the silences.

Today it is much easier to get an accurate account of the session than it

was in the past, thanks to sensitive recording devices. Microanalyses of sessions, 

in my experience, always underscore the importance of observing "the 

fundamental rule." I wonder if you ever had the chance to examine--in detail--the 

written text of a whole session? My own interest in the present topic began during 

my analytic training when one of the liveliest topics was "What does listening 

really mean?" Gill & Hoffman' s Analysis of Transference, Volume II, added to the 

debate, presenting transcripts of sessions: here were texts to be microanalyzed!

It was astounding for me to see in Gill & Hoffman's cases how little the analyst 

listened to the patient, how often the analyst insisted on his/her own direction in 

the session, how often the analyst insisted on inserting his/her own theoretical 

straight jacket onto what the patient was saying. The analyst brings up not only 

new topics, but new words. The analyst of Patient B, for example, brings up the 

word "penis;" this analyst is always "trying to be right," trying to tell the patient 

what she is feeling but is unaware of it, showing how smart as well as sensitive he 

is. It is quite a display; and sadly all too common in our field. This analyst's 

responses are most often remonstrations of the patient; he is "telling her off," 

scolding her in a fatherly way, yet still telling her she's bad. (Remember, Merton 

Gill is supervising this whole project!) The analyst of Patient B becomes an 

inquisitioner, rendering this harsh verdict: "You saw the man's genitals. You saw 

him naked...you wanted to masturbate him... Um-hmm" finally answers the patient 

(42). That "Um-hmm" is taken by the analyst as proof that he, the analyst, was 

right!

Let me give you a further example from my supervisory work with a beginning 

analyst. The following is an excerpt from a session that was presented to me, 

printed out, verbatim.

Patient: "My father and mother are coming from Puerto Rico today, I feel happy to 

see them... I want to get them settled in. I'm glad to see

	them, especially my step-mother."

Analyst: "And your father?"

Patient: "My father--the past is the past. I can't hold it against him. No. No.

I'm happy to see him. I want to see him. (Looks agitated, sad) 

Analyst: "Could there be any connection between the visit of your father and

your ulcers?"

Note in the first exchange that the patient is saying she wants to see her parents, 

something of her desire is contained in her word "want," but the analyst responds by 

switching the direction, as it were, from what she was saying, her words, and the affect 

borne by them, to the issue of dealing with her father alone. We see the analyst's motive 

for her question in her next question to the patient: the analyst is sleuthing for clues to the 

reason the patient's ulcers are acting up, which was told to the analyst at the beginning of 

the session. Nonetheless, this analyst did not "stay with" her patient's ideas or affect, but 

insisted her own discourse and signifiers into the exchange.

The session continues:

Patient: "Maybe there is a connection with my ulcers. Ulcers is stress. I know how I felt 

about him. How I do still feel about him deep down." 

Analyst: "How you still feel about him deep down."

I congratulated the analyst for her last comment: this time, she at least stayed with the 

patient's own words, an improvement from her earlier interventions. You can see, I hope, 

how much the analyst wants to "figure out" and to "show off' a knowledge that he or 

she has, and uses it as a weapon in this imaginary exchange. The sad thing is that 

the patient follows the analyst's lead here. But don't worry: the patient will get 

revenge.

CONCLUSION

In my experience, staying out of the way of the patient's speech always works: 

because then something emerges, a slip, a forgetting--on the analyst's part as well 

as the patient's--or especially a homonym, or a phrase with a double meaning, like 

in Peraldi's case. I offer you two final examples: 1) Remember when Dora first 

saw Freud she immediately told him that her father was a very powerful man, a 

"can-do" man, ein vermogenderMann? Freud immediately thought of the very 

popular slang expression unvermogender Mann--which meant he couldn't do it any 

more, he was impotent. Something happens in language. 2) A few months ago a 

young woman came to me and right away reported a dream in which she was 

seated in a "very rigid chair"; she wondered what this could mean, this "rigid 

chair." She had repeated the phrase several times, and it struck me to repeat it, 

reversing the words, making it "chair rigid," and making it sound like French since 

she is French. I said "chair rigid" and waited; she snapped back that she did not 

come here to discuss her sexual problems! She never came back. Interpretatio 

praecox.

So, I tell supervisees, trainees, myself: don't interpret. Just try to listen and try to 

stay out of the way. Don't worry about having to say something: it's part of your 

resistance to the treatment. Just wait--something will come up.

Oh, yes. "Shut up! (Seien Sie still!) Don't talk! (Reden Sie nichts!) Don't keep 

asking me questions, let me tell you what I have to say to you!" You may 

recognize these words of Frau Emmy von N; on that occasion, she

was Freud's, and our, teacher (SE 2, 56,63).