Fritz
Page 24
This question of style was Fritz’s final legacy to Gestalt Therapy. In spite of his believing in unique therapists working with unique individuals, many Gestaltists have imprinted him whole, setting up a situation best described by Abe Levitsky: “Scorn was a weapon he used, and, unfortunately, I feel that scorn has been incorporated by many Gestalt therapists and been perpetuated. But that has nothing to do with Gestalt Therapy. It simply had to do with Fritz s irascibility, where his style is imitated instead of his message.
“He had a favorite story about analysis that applies to him as well. There was an American teacup manufacturer who designed a particular teacup, but it would have been too expensive to have it manufactured here in the States. So, he sent it to Japan to have it mass-produced. In transit, the handle was broken. The Japanese, being perfect imitators, mass-produced it with the handle being broken in just that particular way. Well, according to Fritz, Freud had a phobia about facing people, so he solved the problem by having his patients look at the wall. And, ever since, psychoanalysts have been copying that broken teacup handle in just that kind of way.
“I suppose that any great leader makes his mark on people in all kinds of ways, both the pluses and the minuses. And some of Fritz’s minuses have also rubbed off on a lot of Gestalt therapists.”
Fritz’s liabilities, real as they were, seem unimportant when placed on a ledger alongside of his assets. In a way, these very shortcomings are what gave the man character, drama, and humanness. Imperfections, boldly accepted, are the truest acceptance of the human condition. “If Fritz can live with, and be unashamed of his warts,” many have silently concluded, “then I needn’t pretend that mine aren’t there nor need I get caught up in the never-ending struggle to be perfect.”
This shameless willingness to be more than a projection screen and to share himself as he was, including his ugliness, accounted for his greater beauty. That, along with his willingness to teach by example.
He taught courage by holding to his convictions and, with sufficient skill and tenacity, finally getting a hostile and indifferent psychiatric world to give him a fair and important hearing.
He taught people that it was all right to put their needs first, because he would invariably put his desires first. He permitted, by his example, honest self-interest and self-expression, as opposed to unhappy martyrdom, false compassion, or tortured retroflected accusations of selfishness.
All of us, if we could write the script for our own lives, would invariably create ourselves as perfect beings. Failing to achieve this ideal state, we are left with three choices. We can berate ourselves for falling short of our goal, we can pretend to be better than we are, or we can honestly be ourselves.
It is to Fritz’s credit that he stood for the last alternative. There was no disparity between his life and his message. Freud might preach the power of sexuality and aggression, but in his personal life, he was relatively asexual and controlled. Harry Stack Sullivan would stress the importance of interpersonal relationships, but his were impoverished. Eastern holy men and Catholic clergy might eulogize a life of poverty and deprivation. But many of them live in glittering religious retreats and never want for anything. An American president can extol the virtues of law and order, yet be more corrupt than the average criminal.
Fritz taught that you should be who you are: “You do your thing and I’ll do mine.” And he lived that way.
He was, for me, a perfect animal—not in a low but in a high sense. He could be nasty or funny, crude or kind, lewd or loving, cheap or extravagant, and he didn’t bother to hide any of it. He encompassed as broad a range of emotions and responses as anyone I have ever met, the “negative” as well as the “positive” ones.
Fritz wanted to be the world’s first “real man.” Irma Shepherd, as chairman of the Psychotherapy Committee, Georgia State University, had offered Fritz a three-month visiting professorship there in 1970. He looked forward to going, to demonstrating both his skills and the full force and many faces of his persona.
“This spring I will go and be on the campus of Georgia State College and show them what a psychiatrist and a man can be.”
Death cancelled the demonstration.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1975 by Martin Shepard
ISBN 978-1-4976-3345-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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