Psychoanalytic Training: Reaching the Promised Land?

Past, Present, and Future

The question of psychoanalytic training, which essentially deals with how new psychoanalysts are formed and become psychoanalysts, has a temporal dimension: It has a past that must be reckoned with, a rather fragmented present, and hopefully a future in which some of the present issues will be resolved or at least improved.

The past is always with us and must be understood regarding the way it shapes our present (Target, 2001). The past shows clearly that the issues we are dealing with have accompanied psychoanalysis since its inception. Having evolved outside the university made it both dependent and independent of the standardization and accreditation bestowed by academia and state regulation. For better or worse, the wielded authority of its founder served to define its boundaries as long as he was alive. Aware of this limitation and attempting to forestall it, Freud founded the IPA to evaluate and pronounce judgment on future developments and training, as a body that would be empowered to declare that “all this nonsense is nothing to do with analysis, this is not psycho-analysis” (Freud, 1914/1957a). It is perhaps instructive that the associative chain in which this declaration is embedded deals with his own error of judgment and shattered hopes to bestow this authority on C. G. Jung. The rest, as usual, is history.

Yet history bears further testimony to the difficulty we are in. The 20th century left psychoanalysis wary of authority—scarred by dictatorships and shaped by postmodern relativism. This fostered pluralism, which, while rejecting authoritarianism and easing internal rivalries, has often slid into “tribalism” or an “anything goes” approach (Busch, 2020; Tuckett, 2005; Tuckett et al., 2020; Varvin, 2017).

With the proliferation and institutionalization of pluralism, it was hoped that two “evils” could be avoided with a single stroke: Authoritarian boundary-setting could be rejected, and internal competition could be downplayed and even avoided. Everyone would be able to huddle under the all-encompassing banner of pluralism, and the ensuing “harmony” could entertain “anything goes” (Tuckett, 2005).

In fact, pluralism could only provide the appearance of peaceful coexistence, as is attested in many ways. It was questioned in the title of the 36th IPA Congress in Rome, “One Psychoanalysis or Many?” It was the subject of numerous articles (a small representative selection includes Blass, 2010; Erlich, 2020b; Steiner, 1994; Tuckett, 2005; Wallerstein, 1988, 1990). Above all, disagreements were displaced and reflected in the bitter fights and controversies around setting minimal standards of psychoanalytic training. Rather than address desirable goals and competencies, the ensuing debates focused on the number and frequency of sessions sanctioned. This, as well as other formal solutions, are revelatory in two ways: They provide concrete numbers and facts that may serve self-definition and differentiation, while at the same time make for othering and splitting; and they can feed the hope that, in the absence and lack of meaningful contents criteria, they may serve to define the common denominator of a psychoanalytic profession. Furthermore, in the absence of contents criteria, and because contemporary psychoanalysis spans opposing approaches, real evaluation of candidates is difficult and sometimes nearly impossible (Erlich & Erlich-Ginor, 2018). As a result, only minimal political agreements on basic criteria exist—fragile standards that maintain the illusion of a shared basis and keep the field afloat.

The past is also instructive in dispelling the fantasy of a “golden age” of uniformity and agreement. That this is a wishful projection is borne out by the well-known controversies and splits that accompanied the early Freudian period. While often attributed to Freud’s authoritarianism, it is better understood as his effort to safeguard his legacy (Erlich, 2023a) and, still more so, as testimony to the impossibility of defining this “impossible profession.” The impact of this difficulty on psychoanalytic training was reflected in the serious difficulties encountered by the newly formed International Training Committee in 1925 under Eitingon’s chairmanship (Schröter, 2002). If the past teaches us anything it is the realization that the difficulty in defining psychoanalysis and therefore psychoanalytic training is inherently part of what constitutes this field and hence accounts for a relatively large part of the consequences we are dealing with.

Studies of the present state of psychoanalytic training reaffirm this conclusion. Like pornography, psychoanalytic training is largely a matter of geography. Even training institutes that nominally adhere to the same model (e.g., the Eitingon model) exhibit so much variability in its actual application as to raise the question if they are training for the same profession (Cabaniss et al., 2003; Erlich-Ginor et al., 2007).

And the future? Faced with the reality of proliferation cum diffusion (or perhaps confusion) it must be acknowledged that in both the short and long run, psychoanalysis will continue to struggle with the definition of its essences, boundaries, and identity. Attempts to seek uniformity or conformity under these conditions are therefore doomed. Starting from this realization as our ground assumption, we need to ask: What can we do and hope for?

Cardinal Choice-Points in Psychoanalytic Transmission

This paper suggests a way forward for psychoanalysis not through enforced agreement, but by identifying the cardinal choice-points that underlie theory, practice, and training. These choice-points shape analytic discourse and training, and all involved—educators, supervisors, and candidates—should be aware of them. The aim is not to prescribe “correct” answers, but to emphasize that awareness of these choices clarifies analytic identity, strengthens clinical reasoning, and fosters meaningful debate. Clearer outlooks reduce confusion, sharpen interventions, and make controversies more productive than vague claims for equal standing or reliance on intuition.

In what follows, we outline several such choice-points and their implications. Though there is little consensus on the “right” choices, they are inevitably made in analytic work and training—often implicitly or unconsciously, without full regard for their consequences.

Psychoanalysis and Temporality: Adapting to a Changing World

It has often been argued that Freud’s findings were influenced by his contemporary Viennese culture. Similarly, it is often pointed out that his introduction of the death drive was influenced by the carnage of World War I and his personal losses. In the same vein, hysteria is said to be a product of the cultural circumstances prevailing in the Victorian era and their impact on sexuality, leading to the (erroneous) conclusion regarding its apparent disappearance in our contemporary world marked by sexual freedom. The underlying implicit assumption in all these assertions is that external, cultural forces and conditions are solely or primarily responsible for psychological conditions, shape and determine them. This view makes psychoanalysis culturally, temporally, and geographically dependent on external factors and relativizes it to temporal and geographic contexts. Indeed, these views have been expressed regarding the different phenomenology encountered in India, Japan, China, and the East in general (Doi, 1989; Kakar, 1985, 2024; Plaenkers, 2025), thus questioning the Eurocentrism of psychoanalysis. Obviously, cultural differences cannot and should not be ignored or denied. It is also easy to demonstrate the varying emergent phenomenological pictures under different circumstances. Yet this view not only makes for differential qualitative understanding of Eastern versus Western psychologies. It could also point out cultural differences between Europeans and Americans, perhaps also between North Americans and Latin Americans, between Jews, Christians, and Muslims, and so on, ending up with a psychoanalysis suited to each individual. This somewhat absurd conclusion points to the choice-point involved: Is psychoanalysis atemporal or not? ¹ If it is atemporal, its findings would apply to all people, whenever and wherever they are. We still need to pay attention to cultural conditions and the ways in which they shape the manifestations of what is encountered, but these would not serve as the ultimate causal and explanatory factors. If, on the other hand, psychoanalysis is not atemporal, then we need to deal with the different cultural manifestations and accept actual reality and external circumstances, whether familial or communal, as the ultimate determining factors.

The issue, therefore, concerns the extent to which psychoanalysis is held to be the product of a given culture and its characteristics. Assuming that it is largely so presumes that it will continue to change with cultural and civilizational vicissitudes. If, however, all or some of the discoveries and conceptualizations of psychoanalysis are atemporal, they represent essential insights into the human condition, psychic makeup and functioning that are beyond temporal and cultural variability. In that case, psychoanalysis can help understand human existence, conflicts and resolutions from a perspective that regards human nature as essentially unchanged over and beyond changing external conditions. It is what allows us to understand and respond to Greek tragedies and Shakespearean dramas and characters as if they were contemporary. Atemporality also implies alocalization, that is, going beyond the local, culturally and conditionally determined patterns through which the essential dynamics find their varying expression. It is indeed remarkable and telling that people from widely diverse cultures and far-flung geographies (e.g., Brazil, Japan, Korea, China, Taiwan, Turkey, India, South Africa) seek psychoanalytic training and its professional affiliation which is capable of providing common ground for discussion and application.

The implications of this for training are exceedingly important. People who seek training are prone to be impressed by the manifest aspects encountered in their analysands as well as their own cultural predilections. The position taken by their supervisors and teachers (not to mention their personal analysts) on the atemporality of psychoanalysis will greatly influence and shape the vector of psychoanalytic understanding they will adopt and develop.

An important consideration relevant to this is whether an individual subject and the prevailing cultural circumstances are in some sense co-morphed. It is possible and even observable that while culture and civilization develop and flourish, the subject is left behind in a state of discontent (Erlich, 2013). The current blossoming and controversies around artificial intelligence are a poignant illustration of this gap. An atemporal conceptualization of psychoanalysis makes it possible to understand and treat the unchanged human essence in our analysands. At the same time, there is always the question of the weight assigned to actual events, life circumstances, and sociocultural conditions, all of which are part of the picture. In sum, the choice about the weight assigned to either view must be made, with far-reaching consequences either way. It is illustrated in the psychoanalytic work that seeks to maintain and cope psychoanalytically under conditions of danger, trauma and insecurity, when “one wall is falling” as in Argentina and Israel (Gampel, Puget, & Tylim, 2017; Gampel, 2021; Puget, 2020). It represents the integration of atemporal psychoanalytic insights with adverse and life-threatening local circumstances.

The question of the atemporal status of psychoanalysis is further manifested by the position taken on several secondary issues that are connected with it. Perhaps the most cogent illustration is the meaning and handling of “the unconscious.” Practically all psychoanalytic approaches make use, theoretically and clinically, of unconscious processes and their reintegration with conscious components of the personality as a major therapeutic factor. Yet it seems that while in the most general sense “making the unconscious conscious” is a bedrock of psychoanalysis, it has acquired widely differing meanings and implications. While for some it implies painstakingly overcoming repression and the impact of the eventually unknowable, for others it means expanding the awareness of what can be known. What underlies these differences stems, among other factors, from the place accorded, or denied, to drives. That therefore represents another choice-point.

The assumption of inherent drives is a major aspect of the atemporal status of psychoanalysis. It provides the basis for the place of infantile sexuality and its role in psychological development, symptom formation and the transference. Removing drives from the psychoanalytic theoretical arsenal means increased reliance on cultural influence, relational experience, and the impact of trauma. This choice-point is particularly poignant since the existence of drives cannot be demonstrated. It represents a theorem, and hence requires a sort of leap of faith, as with all metapsychological assumptions. It runs counter to observation and scientific demands for verifiability. On the other hand, it is a theoretical proposition that yields explanatory potential even if it has no concrete validation. It is therefore a significant choice-point.

A further example of secondary-rung concepts associated with the question of the atemporality of psychoanalysis is the place and role of speech and language. Psychoanalysis has always relied on verbal discourse. It was and is often referred to as “the talking cure.” The role of speech is also one of the factors that contribute to the difficulty of distinguishing psychoanalysis from psychotherapy. The place of verbal exchange in psychoanalysis is undeniable and, in many ways, irreplaceable. But it hinges on whether the role and function of words and language within unconscious processes is (or is not) different from what it is at more conscious levels. Positing essential differences between conscious and unconscious processes assigns qualitative differences to verbal contents and function at the conscious and unconscious levels. In Bion’s terms, we are dealing with the transformation of beta elements into alpha elements. Language plays a crucial role in this, at once enabling and at the same time masking through its transformational essence.

We may think of unconscious contents becoming conscious through their connection with words and linguistic discourse (Freud, 1915/1957b, 1923/1961b). What we get from the verbal exchange is not a direct expression of unconscious contents but its highly complex, restructured and reconstituted reflection. It is comparable to the relationship of actual dreaming to its remembered representation and its eventual verbally recounted version. If, on the other hand, we treat verbal exchange as more or less representative of both conscious and unconscious contents and processes, the unconscious part of the continuum takes on a different meaning. It implies that verbal communication is essentially representative of unconscious dimensions and needs to be understood at face value.

Why is this important and what are the choices it imposes on us? In the first place, it defies the role of common-sense understanding, which relies heavily on linguistic meaning. It implies that while psychoanalysis is respectful of what is said (by patient and analyst alike) it is not overwhelmed, restricted, or bound by it. It opens the possibility that the unconscious meaning may be completely different and even opposed to the verbal account (Freud, 1915/1957b, 1925/1961a). It suggests that psychoanalysis does not fully rely on speech, which may be one of the dimensions that distinguish it from psychotherapy. For example, silence can be as important as speech, and bodily presence becomes crucial. This last presents an important choice-point regarding remote treatment and its place in psychoanalytic training.

A further related choice-point has to do with how the mind and psyche are conceived and treated. It requires us to contemplate the relationship between mind/psyche and language. The fact that our mind can produce language and use it importantly for communicating does not necessarily imply that the psyche is structured linguistically. It suggests the limitations of consciousness and can open the way to a fuller, perhaps even different, understanding of unconscious processes. In any event, it is a major choice-point, especially when it comes to training. How we regard and treat the verbal exchange shapes our expectations of what analysts-in-training need to internalize, our assessment of where s/he is in the process (which often requires a good deal of unlearning on their part), as well as our expectations of ourselves about what we are modelling and wish to transmit.

Trauma and Deficit

The historical and developmental line of psychoanalysis is marked by the tension between two contentious explanatory factors, each striving for complete hegemony and influence (Killingmo, 1989). It marked Freud’s well-known shift from the seduction theory to the fantasy theory, yet the issue was never fully resolved and continues to present us with a significant choice-point. The coexistence of both models has continued in Freud’s writings to the very end and emerges in shifting perspectives in the decades following him. Recently, there has been a decided shift from conflict theory to the traumatogenic model. Trauma has become an all-encompassing term, nearly ubiquitous in its application as an explanatory and causal factor, rendering it loosely defined and impoverished (Erlich, 2020a).

The issue is related to the question of the atemporality of psychoanalysis. Conflict theory represents the elusive conceptualization of internal dynamics (drives, psychic structure) that shape the human psyche wherever it is. Trauma, on the other hand, represents the impact of external reality forces and actual events, whether observable, intuited, or hypothesized. Rightly or wrongly, external reality is much more present in the conceptualization of trauma, which prioritizes the influence of actual events and circumstances. Trauma is also more readily in line with our need for sensible causal explanatory concepts. Its downside is the resultant view of the subject as victim of external forces. The downside of conflict theory, on the other hand, is the hypothetical, speculative nature of its assumptions, which are often opposed to common sense and direct observation. Yet conflict theory views the subject as autonomous, to a significant degree independent of actual circumstances, and responsible for the choices he makes.

These two diametrically opposed perspectives must affect psychoanalytic understanding and clinical intervention. They therefore present a significant and unavoidable choice-point. The choice imposed on us by this dilemma implies a zero-sum game, that is, the more of the one, the less of the other. The extent to which they are mutually exclusive is indeed questionable. It can be readily assumed that both exist, shape and influence psychological life, both in pathology and well-being.

There remains, however, the problem of psychoanalytic understanding. From a psychoanalytic perspective, the actual presence of external factors may only be the beginning of an explanation, one that must be rounded off by the place and role of its internal processing to get a picture of its psychic impact and dynamic influence. These internal processing modalities need to be conceptualized by the models of the mind and psyche that psychoanalysis can provide. It seems, therefore, that while conflict and trauma models appear to be opposed, they can actually serve as complementary models. What needs to be borne in mind is their relative weight and interaction as explanatory psychoanalytic factors. The position taken on the relative weight and significance of trauma and deficit as against intrapsychic conflict represents a major choice-point that must be considered in terms of its impact on training.

Tripartite, Quadripartite, and Quinquepartite Models Implications for Training

So far, we have considered theoretically derived choice-points and their impact on clinical and educational practice. Yet training does not occur in a vacuum. Psychoanalysis has often been criticized for focusing on the inner world while neglecting the social and cultural contexts that shape it (Frosh, 2021; Tummala-Narra, 2016). While analytic work is individual and dyadic, its transmission occurs in institutional settings with particular systemic strengths, weaknesses, and histories that must be re-examined for future development (Erlich, 2006, 2023b). Moreover, psychoanalysis’ growing societal engagement (“off-the-couch”) needs to be integrated into training models.

Psychoanalytic institutes are typically structured in what is known as the tripartite model, consisting of personal analysis, clinical immersion, and theoretical coursework. This model emulates the structure of the former Berlin Psychoanalytic Institute, founded in 1920 by Karl Abraham and Max Eitingon, which became the prototype for psychoanalytic training institutes. It is worthwhile to point out that unlike the currently accepted tripartite categories, referred to as the Eitingon model, the original model consisted of treatment, teaching, and research (Schröter, 2002). The idea seems to have been the creation of a “minor university,” as Simmel (1930, p. 11) put it in his 10-year report of the institute. Most subsequent emulations also left out the component of a polyclinic in which free or low-fee psychoanalytic treatment is provided. The major focus of subsequent tripartite models (certainly those following the Eitingon model) became the immersion of the analyst-in-training, transformed and defined by quantitative requirements for personal analysis and supervised treatment. Far from being uniform, even in institutes that define themselves as adhering to the Eitingon model, these requirements vary considerably as to the number of cases, their required duration, the number of hours that define the personal analysis, and the desired curriculum. This astounding variability raises the question whether they are all training for the same profession (Cabaniss et al., 2003). For example, the required number of supervised analytic hours range from 285 to 1,280, clinical seminars range from 30 to 300, and theoretical seminars from 60 to 650 (Erlich-Ginor, 2007).

An additional feature of the Eitingon model was the designation of certain analysts as training analysts, entrusted with providing personal (didactic) analysis for candidates, as well as supervising their case work, and in many institutes assuming teaching and administrative functions. The introduction of this internal gradation and differentiation among psychoanalysts became the source of considerable strife, competition and envy that have marred the functioning of many institutes and societies (Erlich, 2016, 2017; Kernberg, 1986a, 2000). The development of models that attempt to avoid this difficulty (e.g., the French and Uruguayan) was eventually recognized and approved by the IPA. However, the systemic issues of the psychoanalytic institute have not been resolved and will be discussed later.

It can safely be said that the tripartite model, in all its considerable variations, aims primarily and exclusively at the development of the best trained psychoanalyst in terms of clinical functioning and intellectual breadth and depth. This is the inherent goal of the tripartite model, to be achieved through the immersion of the candidate in clinical practice and theoretical coursework. It is unquestionably what all psychoanalytic training programs have as their goal.

More recently, two additional dimensions have been developed that do not aim to replace the tripartite model but to expand it by adding to it the one or both dimensions.

The first is the “quadripartite model” suggested by Bolognini (2014). It recognizes the role of group and organizational dynamics in the lives, functioning, and well-being of psychoanalytic institutes and societies. A major manifestation of the impact of such dynamics is the tendency of psychoanalytic organizations toward splitting. This often takes the form of ideological and theoretical controversies which may cover up other issues, such as boundary violations, envy and competition. The suggested quadripartite model adds a fourth dimension to the tripartite training, namely exposure to and experience in group and organizational dynamics as a training component.

A further development adds yet another area, representing a fifth dimension, hence we refer to it as the quinquepartite model. In addition to immersion in “on-the-couch” practice and experience as what defines psychoanalysis, it charts the presence and application of psychoanalysis in the social area (“off the couch”). Hundreds of psychoanalysts are actively engaged in multiple ways in many societal areas, including law, health, climate, trauma and emergency interventions, migration and refugees, prejudice, discrimination, racism, prisons, violence, and the United Nations. The IPA Mission Statement has been expanded recently to recognize the importance of these activities: “The IPA is committed to understanding the impact of the contemporary world on individuals, groups and communities and to intervening psychoanalytically in social issues.” ²

These additional dimensions represent important potential contributions to the traditional concept of psychoanalytic immersion. Taken seriously and pursued actively, they need not detract from the main goal of psychoanalytic on-the-couch experience, which remains the foundation of psychoanalytic skills, knowledge, and identity. But they can contribute greatly to expanding the horizons of psychoanalytic practitioners and therefore need to be represented in the training of future analysts.

Psychoanalysis once saw itself on the social margins, accused of retreating into an ivory tower while seeking respectability. Today, there is growing recognition of its social role and frustration over limited engagement. Social, economic, and political forces clearly affect psychoanalysis, and group dynamics shape institutional life (Erlich, 2013). Incorporating training on group processes and societal involvement can reduce institutional toxicity, move beyond personal or theoretical disputes, and create psychoanalytically meaningful ways to engage with society. Expanding training beyond the classical tripartite model to include social dimensions can strengthen analysts’ professional grounding and broaden their understanding of patients and colleagues.

The Psychoanalytic Institute and its Discontent

Psychoanalytic training typically takes place in an institute charged with this function. Without prejudging additional tracks, and notwithstanding the highly individualized character of analytic work, the psychoanalytic institute constitutes an indispensable layer in becoming an analyst by preparing for potential lifelong membership and belonging to a psychoanalytic community, locally as well as globally (Hinze, 2015). Yet the way it has evolved, and the present state of the psychoanalytic institute, is flawed in a number of ways which we will review briefly, as each of them demands much fuller treatment.

The foremost issue that needs to be addressed is the psychoanalytic institute’s view and definition of itself. Is it an educational institution or a hallowed lodge in which people are transformed from ordinary practitioners to some exalted status? The former relegates the institute to the sphere of acquisition of knowledge and competence, as well as organizational and functional modes subject to review and evaluation. The latter view envisions a personal journey of transformation, which takes place through immersion and a close relationship with a master (Agrawal, 2024; Kernberg, 1986b). There are considerable ambiguities and differences of opinion as to which model best describes and suits the psychoanalytic institute.

Assessing the present state of the psychoanalytic institute is further complicated by the reality of its variability. Considering the psychoanalytic institute from an organizational perspective and primarily as an educational organization highlights several crucial issues. Like any organization, it must have a well-defined primary task. The lack of a clear primary task means that the organization is unclear, not to say divided or confused, about what it needs to do to justify and maintain its existence. It also makes it impossible to evaluate its final product. Related to this is the difficulty around evaluation of candidates and their development, which is reported by many institutes and which we will elaborate on below. Briefly, the difficulty with evaluation is the product of pluralism combined with group dynamics (Erlich & Erlich-Ginor, 2018).

It may still be possible to improve the situation if agreement is reached at least on the first premise, namely that the psychoanalytic institute is essentially an educational organization, like a university, medical school, law school, or flight school. Such a school aims at turning out a competent practitioner. Yet this is where we are sadly held back by pluralism, which makes it nearly impossible to define “the competent practitioner.” One possibility to overcome this obstacle would be to allow institutes to assume self-definition in accordance with a specific psychoanalytic approach. Such a definition would improve internal cohesiveness and is preferable to the present “supermarket” approach, where the institute feels obliged to offer a taste of everything.

Defining the psychoanalytic institute as an educational organization also implies that its ranks need to be filled by people qualified in specific areas. Not every excellent psychoanalyst practitioner is also a good teacher. An educational organization needs a faculty it can count on in terms of its availability and quality. This has far-reaching implications for how psychoanalytic organizations have been structured and functioned historically.

The idealized “promised land” view of psychoanalytic training and the institutional mode of functioning following it created the role of a training analyst who, once appointed, can do everything, from administration to training to education and teaching. Rather than an omnipotent training analyst capable of filling any and all tasks, several differentiated roles need to be defined and instituted, each with its pertinent qualifications: an analyst entrusted with conducting personal analysis of candidates; an analyst capable of supervising the analytic work of candidates, which may include clinical as well as theoretical skills and knowledge; and an analyst capable of teaching theoretical material. While there may be some overlap, these are pertinent yet different skills, competences, and roles which need to be recognized, defined, trained, evaluated, and formally appointed in the context of the institute as a training organization. Some analysts may opt to undertake only one of these tracks and others more, but it would establish well defined educational roles and functions instead of the all-encompassing training analyst role.

What we call the discontent of the psychoanalytic institute is beset by the complex factors that have shaped the development of psychoanalysis professionally, politically and educationally. Different cultural, geographic, historical, economic, and legal factors are among those that have affected psychoanalysis as a discipline, creating the variety of ways it is constituted and shaped in the numerous places in which it exists. The tensions that arise from these differences deeply affect the training and transmission of psychoanalysis across the world.

It is remarkable that while these variations are undeniable, the essential organizational structure of the educational function has been maintained almost uniformly across cultures and geographies and has remained unchanged for a century. Old and new psychoanalytic societies and institutes alike have incorporated and adhered to the same structural roles and molds: Candidates go through admission procedures, undergo personal analysis, and train in tripartite institutional programs, accruing most of their experience under a training analyst system. It seems that, similarly to what we have suggested regarding the debates over numbers, the structural aspects have become pillars that must not be questioned or shaken lest the entire structure might collapse.

Two more components of the training organization and system with problematic effects on the training enterprise are admission and evaluation. Admission plays a major part in the “promised land” syndrome of becoming a psychoanalyst. At present, most of those applying for training are seasoned clinicians and psychotherapists whose declared motivation is to deepen and consolidate their skills and knowledge. Often, however, the less conscious motivation is the desire for attaining an idealized state and object. This idealization is the source of powerful envy, as well as uncertainty and doubt about one’s admission and suitability, with destructive effects on the life and dynamics of the psychoanalytic society and institute (Erlich, 2016).

The other side of this coin is what motivates and hampers the admission interviewers. The effect of the idealization on them is augmented by the prevailing pluralism, which makes it difficult if not impossible to define psychoanalysis, and the two combine to obfuscate what needs to be evaluated in the applicant. In the absence of clarity, evaluation and screening tend to be subjective and personal. The decisive factor may be selecting people that replicate one’s own preferences but do not unduly challenge or endanger them. The result is a selection process that replicates and increases sameness rather than diversity, with obvious repercussions on the development and growth of the institute and of psychoanalysis.

The difficulties encountered in evaluation for admission continue to plague the course of training regarding ongoing evaluation (Erlich & Erlich-Ginor, 2018). The widespread difficulty reported in this connection is astounding and several outstanding factors account for it. The first place belongs once again to pluralism. A ubiquitous example follows: The supervisor points out how a certain intervention may have had a particular effect and might not have been advisable. The candidate’s response is that so-and-so (e.g., another analyst, a well-known theoretical authority, or worse, another supervisor) would have approved of it. Who is right? Who should he listen to? What is the supervisor’s authority? All these questions need to be answered and do have answers. But the point is that it makes it impossible to evaluate the candidate in a setting and atmosphere in which there is no accepted or consensual approach and working mode.

There are identifiable unconscious group dynamics beyond the effects of pluralism. Evaluation does not take place simply in a dyadic setting but within an institutional culture in which all are subject to group processes and pressures. We have identified several basic assumptions that are present and affect evaluation (Erlich & Erlich-Ginor, 2018). An additional factor is the essential training of analysts with its deeply nonjudgmental stance, which makes it nearly impossible for them to exercise judgment and pronounce what is right and what is wrong. Whatever the dynamic influences, the result is that it becomes almost impossible to say “No” as part of ongoing evaluation. The problem is that where it is impossible to say “No” it is difficult or meaningless to say “Yes.” This (once again connected to pluralism) results in deep uncertainty and anxiety about one’s analytic identity and analytic self, fostering false analytic selves based on compromise and obsequiousness.

Ethics and Training

The way ethics should form part of the training is at best uncertain. While it requires justified elaboration, it is connected to the present discussion and needs to be addressed briefly.

Ethics touches on training in two major ways. The first is obvious: Analysts-in-training need to be acquainted with and internalize the relevant code of psychoanalytic ethics. Although obvious, it is not always part of the curriculum and little if any time is devoted to discussing and illustrating the ethical issues that may be met. Meetings of directors of training devoted to ethics typically discuss and focus on sexual boundary violations. While important, it tends to reduce the subject of ethics to its most obvious and concrete meaning. It misses completely the fact that ethics is fundamentally not a legal code of prohibitions but a representation of what is most desirable and should be aspired to.

This brings us to the second meaning of ethics and the recognition of the possible reason for its avoidance. In contrast to the Law which says, “This is wrong! You should not do this!” ethics essentially means, “This is the good or right way to behave. You need to follow this!” In psychoanalytic terms, it is the difference between superego prohibitions and punishment and ego-ideal strivings and shame over failure.

Once more we are faced with the deleterious impact of pluralism. There are numerous examples of analysts acting in ways that for some would clearly be a breach of the setting and an ethical issue, compromising the treatment, while others would regard the same thing as the epitome of good, perhaps heroic, analytic involvement and treatment. We are referring to actual reported incidents, like providing the analysand with a key for the consulting room or with an object belonging to the analyst during the analyst’s absence, or agreeing to meet in public social settings to counteract suicidal extortion (Gabbard, 2016) and so on.

The issue with such examples is the difficulty to decide if it represents a treatment error or an importantly justified act of caring. Such a decision necessarily rests upon the conceptualization of the analytic setting and analytic treatment. It is the only yardstick to rule if it represents the good and desired handling and is therefore ethical, or a breach and failure of the desired, and therefore ethical, conduct of an analysis. As noted by Etchegoyen (1991), “in psychoanalysis, technique is ethics. The two are inseparable” (p. 22).

What makes it difficult to teach ethics in the course of training is its fundamental quality of pointing to the desirable conduct or way of handling a situation. Pluralism leads to diametrically opposed views on what is desired and is therefore the appropriate technique to follow. It is therefore easier and safer to reduce ethics to sexual boundary violations, about which there is (so far) relative consensus. Once again, it parallels the discussion of standards in terms of numbers as recourse to the concrete and more readily definable.

In Conclusion

The renewed debate over psychoanalytic training arises from the profound changes that have reshaped our field. Traditional procedures were developed in an era of relative theoretical homogeneity and institutional stability. Today psychoanalysis exists within a pluralistic global landscape. The debate today is not only about governance but about identity. It is both a practical and symbolic question—about how we transmit psychoanalysis responsibly in a changing world.

Current psychoanalytic pluralism reflects global changes and is unlikely to disappear. The task is not to condemn it but to clarify its faultlines by making explicit the key choice-points that partake in defining different analytic approaches. Greater precision can strengthen identity, sharpen dialogue, and perhaps lead to a renewed version of the British “controversial discussions.”

We highlight several such choice-points: the atemporal versus temporal nature of psychoanalysis; the presence and impact of drives; the role of the unconscious in relation to speech and language; and the balance between conflict and trauma. These choices shape not only clinical work but also settings, ethics, and curricula—thereby influencing transmission and the formation of analytic identity. Our purpose is not to decide which choice is correct, but to stress that recognizing their impact is essential for the future of psychoanalysis and for the possibility—or impossibility—of meaningful evaluation.

The institute as the agency of training also requires renewal. Its primary task remains undecided, while the role of training analysts produces problematic dynamics. Training must address group and organizational processes, reduce mystification, and integrate social engagement. Relating to societal issues as part of training will enhance and deepen the connection between psychoanalysis and society and would benefit both.

Our final recommendation is to give up on asking what is or is not psychoanalysis. Instead, we need to ask: What exactly defines the psychoanalysis we embrace and want to pass on? Taking up this suggestion can be the basis for continued exploration and research within and between institutes.