The Therapeutical Principles of Psychoanalysis

The Theory of Psychoanalysis by C. G. Jung, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here. CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER IX

The Therapeutical Principles of Psychoanalysis

While the psychoanalyst, of course, knows of this therapeutic tendency to extricate the patient from his unhealthy phantasies, he also knows just how far this mere extricating of neurotic patients from their phantasies goes. As physicians, we should never think of preferring a difficult and complicated method, assailed by all authorities, to a simple, clear and easy one without good reason. I am perfectly well-acquainted with hypnotic suggestion, and with Dubois’ method of persuasion, but I do not use these methods, on account of their relative inadequacy. For the same reason, I do not use the direct “ré-éducation de la volonté” as the psychoanalytic method gives me better results.

In applying psychoanalysis we must grant the regressive phantasies of the patient, for psychoanalysis has a much broader outlook, as regards the valuation of symptoms, than have the above psychotherapeutic methods. These all emanate from the assertion that a neurosis is an absolute morbid formation.

The reigning school of neurology has never thought of considering neurosis as a healing process also, and of attributing to the neurotic formations a quite special teleological meaning. Neurosis, like every other disease, is a compromise between the morbid tendencies, and the normal function. Modern medicine no longer considers fever as the illness itself, but a purposeful reaction of the organism. Psychoanalysis, likewise, no longer conceives a neurosis as eo ipso morbid, but as also having a meaning and a purpose. From this there follows the more reserved and expectant attitude of psychoanalysis towards neurosis. Psychoanalysis does not judge the value of the symptoms, but first tries to understand what tendencies lie beneath these symptoms. If we were able to abolish a neurosis in the same way, for instance, as a cancer is destroyed, then at the same time there would be destroyed a great amount of available energy also. We save this energy, that is, we make it serve the purposes of the instinct for health, as soon as we can trace the meaning of these symptoms; by taking part in the regressive movement of the patient. Those unfamiliar with the essentials of psychoanalysis will have some difficulty in understanding how a therapeutic effect can come to pass when the physician takes part in the pernicious phantasies of the patient. Not only critics, but the patients also, doubt the therapeutic value of such a method, which concentrates attention upon phantasies which the patient rejects as worthless and reprehensible. The patients will often tell you that their former physicians forbade them to occupy themselves with their phantasies, and told them that they must only consider that it is well with them, when they are free, if but momentarily, from their awful torments. So, it seems strange enough that it should be of any use to them, when the treatment brings them back to the very thing from which they have tried constantly to escape. The following answer may be made: all depends upon the position which the patient takes up towards his own phantasies. These phantasies have been hitherto, for the patient, an absolutely passive and involuntary manifestation. As we say, he was lost in his dreams. The patient’s so-called brooding is an involuntary kind of dreaming too. What psychoanalysis demands from a patient is only apparently the same. Only a man who has a very superficial knowledge of psychoanalysis can confuse this passive dreaming with the position taken up in analysis. What psychoanalysis asks from the patient is just the contrary of what the patient has always done. The patient can be compared to a person who, unintentionally, has fallen into the water and sunk, whilst psychoanalysis wants him to dive in, as it was no mere chance which led him to fall in at just that spot. There lies a sunken treasure, and only a diver can raise it.

The patient, judging his phantasies from the standpoint of his reason, regards them as valueless and senseless; but, in reality, the phantasies have their great influence on the patient because they are of great importance. They are old, sunken treasures, which can only be recovered by a diver, that is, the patients, contrary to their wont, must now pay an active attention to their inner life. Where they formerly dreamed, they must now think, consciously and intentionally. This new way of thinking about himself has about as much resemblance to the patient’s former mental condition as a diver has to a drowning man. The earlier joy in indulgence has now become a purpose and an aim—that is, has become work. The patient, assisted by the physician, occupies himself with his phantasies, not to lose himself therein, but to uproot them, piece by piece, and to bring them into daylight. He thus reaches an objective standpoint towards his inner life, and everything he formerly loathed and feared is now considered consciously. This contains the basis of the whole psychoanalytic therapy. In consequence of his illness, the patient stood, partially or totally, outside of real life. Consequently he neglected many of his life’s duties, either in regard to social work or to the ordinary daily tasks. If he wishes to be well, he must return to the fulfilment of his particular obligations. Let me say, by way of caution, that we are not to understand by such “duties,” some general ethical postulates, but duties towards himself. Nor does this mean that they are eo ipso egoistic interests, since we are social beings as well, a matter too easily forgotten by individualists. An ordinary person will feel very much more comfortable sharing a common virtue than possessing an individual vice, even if the latter is a very seductive one. They must be already neurotic, or otherwise extraordinary people who can be deluded by such particular interests. The neurotic fled from his duties and his libido withdrew, at least partly, from the tasks imposed by real life. In consequence, the libido became introverted and directed towards an inner life. The libido followed the path of regression: to a large extent phantasies replaced reality, because the patient refused to overcome certain real difficulties. Unconsciously the neurotic patient prefers—and very often consciously too—his dreams and phantasies to reality. To bring him back to real life and to the fulfilment of its necessary duties, the analysis proceeds along the same false path of regression which has been taken by his libido; so that the beginning of psychoanalysis looks as if it were supporting the morbid tendencies of the patient. But psychoanalysis follows these phantasies, these wrong paths, in order to restore the libido, which is the valuable part of the phantasies, to the conscious self and to the duties of the moment. This can only be done by bringing the phantasies into the light of day, and along with them the libido bound up with them. We might leave these unconscious phantasies to their shadowy existence, if no libido were attached to them. It is unavoidable that the patient, feeling himself at the beginning of analysis confirmed in his regressive tendencies, leads his analytical interest, amid increasing resistances, down to the depths of the shadowy world. We can easily understand that any physician who is a normal person experiences the greatest resistance towards the thoroughly morbid, regressive tendency of the patient, since he feels quite certain that this tendency is pathological. And this all the more because, as physician, he believes he is right in refusing to give heed to his patient’s phantasies. It is quite conceivable that the physician feels a repulsion towards this tendency; it is undoubtedly repugnant to see how a person is completely given up to such phantasies, finding only himself of any importance and never ceasing to admire or despise himself. The esthetic sense of normal people has, as a rule, little pleasure in neurotic phantasies, even if it does not find them absolutely repulsive. The psychoanalyst must put aside such esthetic judgment, just as every physician must, who really tries to help his patients. He may not fear any dirty work. Of course there are a great many patients physically ill, who, without undergoing an exact examination or local treatment, do recover by the use of general physical, dietetic, or suggestive means. Severe cases can, however, only be helped by a more exact examination and therapy, based on a profound knowledge of the illness. Our psychotherapeutic methods hitherto have been like these general measures. In slight cases they did no harm; on the contrary, they were often of great service. But for a great many patients these measures have proved inadequate. If they really can be helped, it will be by psychoanalysis, which is not to say that psychoanalysis is a universal panacea. Such a sneer proceeds only from ill-natured criticism. We know very well that psychoanalysis fails in many cases. As everybody knows, we shall never be able to cure all illnesses.

This “diving” work of analysis brings dirty matter piecemeal out of the slime, which must then be cleansed before we can tell its value. The dirty phantasies are valueless and are thrown aside, but the libido actuating them is of value and this, after cleansing, becomes serviceable again. To the psychoanalyst, as to every specialist, it will sometimes seem that the phantasies have also a value of their own, and not only by reason of the libido linked with them. But their value is not, in the first instance, for the patient. For the physician, these phantasies have a scientific value, just as if is of special interest to the surgeon to know whether the pus contained staphylococci or streptococci. To the patient it is all the same, and for him, it is better that the doctor conceal his scientific interest, in order not to tempt him to have greater pleasure than necessary in his phantasies. The etiological importance which is attached to these phantasies, incorrectly, to my mind, explains why so much room is given up in psychoanalytic literature to the extensive discussion of the various sexual phantasies. Once if is known that absolutely nothing is impossible in the sphere of sexual phantasy, the former estimate of these phantasies will disappear, and therewith the endeavor to discover in them an etiological import. Nor will the most extended discussion of these cases ever be able to exhaust this sphere.

Every case is theoretically inexhaustible. But in general the production of phantasies ceases after a time. Naturally, we must not conclude from this that the possibility of creating phantasies is exhausted, but the cessation in their production only means that there is then no more libido on the path of regression. The end of the regressive movement is reached as soon as the libido takes hold of the present real duties of life, and is used to solve those problems. But there are cases, and these not a few, where the patient continues longer than usual to produce endless phantastic manifestations, either from his own pleasure in them or from certain false expectations on the part of the doctor. Such a mistake is especially easy for beginners, since, blinded by the present psychoanalytical discussion, they keep their interest fixed on these phantasies, because they seem to possess etiological significance. They are therefore constantly at pains to fish up phantasies of early childhood, vainly hoping to find thus the solution of the neurotic difficulties. They do not see that the solution lies in action, and in the fulfilment of certain necessary duties of life. It will be objected that the neurosis is entirely due to the incapacity of the patient to carry out these very demands of life, and that therapy by the analysis of the unconscious ought to enable him to do so, or at least, give him means to do so. The objection put in this way is perfectly valid, but we have to add that it is only so when the patient is really conscious of the duties he has to fulfil, not only academically, in their general theoretical outlines but in their most minute details. It is characteristic for neurotic people to be wanting in this knowledge, although, because of their intelligence, they are well aware of the general duties of life, and struggle, perhaps only too hard, to fulfil the prescriptions of current morality. But the much more important duties which he ought to fulfil towards himself are to a great extent unknown to the neurotic; sometimes even they are not known at all. It is not enough, therefore, to follow the patient blindfold on the path of regression, and to push him by an inopportune etiological interest back into his infantile phantasies. I have often heard from patients, with whom the psychoanalytic treatment has come to a standstill: “The doctor believes I must have somewhere some infantile trauma, or an infantile phantasy which I am still repressing.” Apart from the cases where this supposition was really true, I have seen cases in which the stoppage was caused by the fact that the libido, hauled up by the analysis, sank back into the depths again for want of employment. This was due to the physician’s attention being directed entirely to the infantile phantasies, and his failing therefore to see what duties of the moment the patient had to fulfil. The consequence was that the libido brought forth by analysis always sank back again, as no opportunity for further activity was found.

There are many patients who, on their own account, discover their life-tasks and abandon the production of regressive phantasies pretty soon, because they prefer to live in reality, rather than in their phantasies. It is a pity that this cannot be said of all patients. A good many of them forsake for a long time, or even forever, the fulfilment of their life-tasks, and prefer their idle neurotic dreaming. I must again emphasize that we do not understand by “dreaming” always a conscious phenomenon.

In accordance with these facts and these views, the character of psychoanalysis has changed during the course of time. If the first stage of psychoanalysis was perhaps a kind of surgery, which would remove from the mind of the patient the foreign body, the “blocked” affect, the later form has been a kind of historical method, which tries to investigate carefully the genesis of the neurosis, down to its smallest details, and to reduce it to its earliest origins.

The Conception of Transference

This last method has unmistakably been due to strong scientific interest, the traces of which are clearly seen in the delineations of cases so far. Thanks to this, Freud was also able to discover wherein lay the therapeutical effect of psychoanalysis. Whilst formerly this was sought in the discharge of the traumatic affect, it was now seen that the phantasies produced were especially associated with the personality of the physician. Freud calls this process transference (“Uebertragung”), owing to the fact that the images of the parents (“imagines”) are henceforth transferred to the physician, along with the infantile attitude of mind adopted towards the parents. The transference does not arise solely in the intellectual sphere, but the libido bound up with the phantasy is transferred, together with the phantasy itself, to the personality of the physician, so that the physician replaces the parents to a certain extent. All the apparently sexual phantasies which have been connected with the parents are now connected with the physician, and the less this is realized by the patient, the more he will be unconsciously bound to his physician. This recognition is in many ways of prime importance.

This process has an important biological value for the patient. The less libido he gives to reality, the more exaggerated will be his phantasies, and the more he will be cut off from the world. Typical of neurotic people is their attitude of disharmony towards reality, that is, their diminished capacity for adaptation. Through the transference to the physician, a bridge is built, across which the patient can get away from his family, into reality. In other words, he can emerge from his infantile environment into the world of grown-up people, for here the physician stands for a part of the extra-familial world. But on the other hand, this transference is a powerful hindrance to the progress of treatment, for the patient assimilates the personality of the physician as if he did stand for father or mother, and not for a part of the extra-familial world. If the patient could acquire the image of the physician as a part of the non-infantile world, he would gain a considerable advantage. But transference has the opposite effect; hence the whole advantage of the new acquisition is neutralized. The more the patient succeeds in regarding his doctor as he does any other individual, the more he is able to consider himself objectively, the greater becomes the advantage of transference. The less he is able to consider his doctor in this way, the more the physician is assimilated with the father, the less is the advantage of the transference and the greater will be its harm. The familial environment of the patient has only become increased by an additional personality assimilated to his parents. The patient himself is, as before, still in his childish surroundings, and therefore maintains his infantile attitude of mind. In this manner, all the advantages of transference can be lost.

There are patients who follow the analysis with the greatest interest without making the slightest improvement, remaining extraordinarily productive in phantasies, although the whole development of their neurosis, even to the smallest details, has been brought to light. A physician under the influence of the historical view might be thus easily thrown into confusion, and would have to ask himself: What is there in this case still to be analyzed? Those are just the cases of which I spoke before, where it is no longer a matter of the analysis of the historical material, but we have now to face a practical problem, the overcoming of the inadequate infantile attitude of mind. Of course, the historical analysis would show repeatedly that the patient had a childish attitude towards his physician, but it would not bring us any solution of the question how that attitude could be changed. To a certain extent, this serious disadvantage of transference is found in every case. Gradually it has been proved that this part of psychoanalysis is, considered from a scientific standpoint, extraordinarily interesting and of great value, but in its practical aspect, of less importance than that which has now to follow, namely, the analysis of the transference.

Confession and Psychoanalysis

Before we enter into a more detailed consideration of this practical part of psychoanalysis, I should like to mention a parallelism between the first part of psychoanalysis and a historical institution of our civilization. It is not difficult to guess this parallelism. We find it in the religious institution called confession. By nothing are people more cut off from fellowship with others than by a secret borne about within them. It is not that a secret actually cuts off a person from communicating with his fellows, yet somehow personal secrets which are zealously guarded do have this effect. “Sinful” deeds and thoughts, for instance, are the secrets which separate one person from another. Great relief is therefore gained by confessing them. This relief is due to the re-admission of the individual to the community. His loneliness, which was so difficult to bear, ceases. Herein lies the essential value of the confession. But this confession means at the same time, through the phenomenon of transference and its unconscious phantasies, that the individual becomes tied to his confessor. This was probably instinctively intended by the Church. The fact that perhaps the greater part of humanity wants to be guided, justifies the moral value attributed to this institution by the Church. The priest is furnished with all the attributes of paternal authority, and upon him rests the obligation to guide his congregation, just as a father guides his children. Thus the priest replaces the parents and to a certain extent frees his people from their infantile bonds. In so far as the priest is a highly moral personality, with a nobility of soul, and an adequate culture, this institution may be commended as a splendid instance of social control and education, which served humanity during the space of two thousand years. So long as the Christian Church of the Middle Ages was capable of being the guardian of culture and science, in which rôle her success was, in part, due to her wide toleration of the secular element, confession was an admirable method for the education of the people. But confession lost its greatest value, at least for the more educated, as soon as the Church was unable to maintain her leadership over the more emancipated portion of the community and became incapable, through her rigidity, of following the intellectual life of the nations.

The more highly educated men of to-day do not want to be guided by a belief or a rigid dogma; they want to understand. Therefore, they put aside everything that they do not understand, and the religious symbol is very little accessible for general understanding. The sacrificium intellectus is an act of violence, to which the moral conscience of the highly developed man is opposed. But in a large number of cases, transference to, and dependence upon the analyst could be considered as a sufficient end, with a definite therapeutic effect, if the analyst were in every respect a great personality, capable and competent to guide the patients given into his charge and to be a father of his people. But a modern, mentally-developed person desires to guide himself, and to stand on his own feet. He wants to take the helm in his own hands; the steering has too long been done by others. He wants to understand; in other words, he wants to be a grown-up person. It is much easier to be guided, but this no longer suits the well-educated of the present time, for they feel the necessity of the moral independence demanded by the spirit of our time. Modern humanity demands moral autonomy. Psychoanalysis has to allow this claim, and refuses to guide and to advise. The psychoanalytic physician knows his own shortcomings too well, and therefore cannot believe that he can be father and leader. His highest ambition must only consist in educating his patients to become independent personalities, and in freeing them from their unconscious dependency within infantile limitations. Psychoanalysis has therefore to analyze the transference, a task left untouched by the priest. In so doing, the unconscious dependence upon the physician is cut off, and the patient is put upon his own feet; this at least is the end at which the physician aims.

The Analysis of the Transference

We have already seen that the transference brings about difficulties, because the personality of the physician is assimilated with the image of the patient’s parents. The first part of the analysis, the investigation of the patient’s complexes, is rather easy, chiefly because a man is relieved by ridding himself of his secrets, difficulties and pains. In the second place, he experiences a peculiar satisfaction from at last finding some one who shows interest in all those things to which nobody hitherto would listen. It is very agreeable to find a person, who tries to understand him, and does not shrink back. In the third place, the expressed intention of the physician, to understand him and to follow him through all his erring ways, pathetically affects the patient. The feeling of being understood is especially sweet to the solitary souls who are forever longing for “understanding.” In this they are insatiable. The beginning of the analysis is for these reasons fairly easy and simple. The improvement so easily gained, and the sometimes striking change in the patient’s condition of health are a great temptation to the psychoanalytic beginner to slip into a therapeutic optimism and an analytical superficiality, neither of which would correspond to the seriousness and the difficulties of the situation. The trumpeting of therapeutic successes is nowhere more contemptible than in psychoanalysis, for no one is better able to understand than a psychoanalyst how the so-called result of the therapy depends on the coöperation of nature and the patient himself. The psychoanalyst may rest content with possessing an advanced scientific insight. The prevailing psychoanalytic literature cannot be spared reproach that some of its works do give a false impression as to its real nature. There are therapeutical publications from which the uninitiated receive the impression that psychoanalysis is more or less a clever trick, with astonishing effects. The first part of analysis, where we try to understand, and which, as we have seen before, offers much relief to the patient’s feelings, is responsible for these illusions. These incidental benefits help the phenomenon of transference. The patient has long felt the need of help to free him from his inward isolation and his lack of self-understanding. So he gives way to his transference, after first struggling against it. For a neurotic person, the transference is an ideal situation. He himself makes no effort, and nevertheless another person meets him halfway, with an apparent affectionate understanding; does not even get annoyed or leave off his patient endeavors, although he himself is sometimes stubborn and makes childish resistances. By this means the strongest resistances are melted away, for the interest of the physician meets the need of a better adaptation to extra-familial reality. The patient obtains, through the transference, not only his parents, who used to bestow great attention upon him, but in addition he gets a relationship outside the family, and thus fulfils a necessary duty of life. The therapeutical success so often to be seen at the same time fortifies the patient’s belief that this new-gained situation is an excellent one. Here we can easily understand that the patient is not in the least inclined to abandon this newly-found advantage. If it depended upon him, he would be forever associated with his physician. In consequence, he begins to produce all kinds of phantasies, in order to find possible ways of maintaining the association with his physician. He makes the greatest resistances towards his physician, when the latter tries to dissolve the transference. At the same time, we must not forget that for our patients the acquisition of a relationship outside the family is one of the most important duties of life, and one, moreover, which up to this moment they had failed or but very imperfectly succeeded in accomplishing. I must oppose myself energetically to the view that we always mean by this relationship outside the family, a sexual relation in its popular sense. This is the misunderstanding fallen into by so many neurotic people, who believe that a right attitude toward reality is only to be found by way of concrete sexuality. There are even physicians, not psychoanalysts, who are of the same conviction. But this is the primitive adaptation which we find among uncivilized people under primitive conditions. If we lend uncritical support to this tendency of neurotic people to adapt themselves in an infantile way, we just encourage them in the infantilism from which they are suffering. The neurotic patient has to learn that higher adaptation which is demanded by life from civilized and grown-up people. Whoever has a tendency to sink lower, will proceed to do so; for this end he does not need psychoanalysis. But we must be careful not to fall into the opposite extreme and believe that we can create by analysis great personalities. Psychoanalysis stands above traditional morality. It follows no arbitrary moral standard. It is only a means to bring to light the individual trends, and to develop and harmonize them as perfectly as possible.

Analysis must be a biological method, that is, a method which tries to connect the highest subjective well-being with the most valuable biological activity. The best result for a person who passes through analysis, is that he becomes at the end what he really is, in harmony with himself, neither bad nor good, but an ordinary human being. Psychoanalysis cannot be considered a method of education, if by education is understood the possibility of shaping a tree to a highly artificial form. But whoever has the higher conception of education will most prize that educational method which can cultivate a tree so that it shall fulfil to perfection its own natural conditions of growth. We yield too much to the ridiculous fear that we are at bottom quite impossible beings, and that if everyone were to appear as he really is a dreadful social catastrophe would result. The individualistic thinkers of our day insist on understanding by “people as they really are,” only the discontented, anarchistic and egotistic element in humanity; they quite forget that this same humanity has created those well-established forms of our civilization which possess greater strength and solidity than all the anarchistic under-currents.

When we try to dissolve the transference we have to fight against powers which have not only neurotic value, but also universal normal significance. When we try to bring the patient to the dissolution of his transference, we are asking more from him than is generally asked of the average man; we ask that he should subdue himself wholly. Only certain religions have made such a claim on humanity, and it is this demand which makes the second part of analysis so difficult.

The technique that we have to employ for the analysis of the transference is exactly the same as that before described. Naturally the problem as to what the patient must do with the libido which is now withdrawn from the physician comes to the fore. Here again, there is great danger for the beginner, as he will be inclined to suggest, or to give suggestive advice. This would be extremely pleasant for the patient in every respect, and therefore fatal.

The Problem of Self-Analysis

I think here is the place to say something about the indispensable conditions of the psychology of the psychoanalyst himself. Psychoanalysis is by no means an instrument applied to the patient only; it is self-evident that it must be applied to the psychoanalyst first. I believe that it is not only a moral, but a professional duty also, for the physician to submit himself to the psychoanalytic process, in order to clean his mind from his own unconscious interferences. Even if he is entitled to trust to his own personal honesty, that will not suffice to save him from the misleading influences of his own unconscious. The unconscious is unknown, even to the most frank and honest person. Without analysis the physician will inevitably be blindfolded in all those places where he meets his own complexes; this is a situation of dangerous importance in the analysis of transference. Do not forget that the complexes of a neurotic are only the complexes of all human beings, the psychoanalyst included. Through the interference of your own hidden wishes you will do the greatest harm to your patients. The psychoanalyst must never forget that the final aim of psychoanalysis is the personal freedom and moral independence of the patient.

The Analysis of Dreams

Here, as everywhere in analysis, we have to follow the patient along the line of his own impulses, even if the path seems to be a wrong one. Error is just as important a condition of mental progress as truth. In this second step of analysis, with all its hidden precipices and sand-banks, we owe a great deal to dreams. At the beginning of analysis dreams chiefly helped in discovering phantasies; here they guide us, in a most valuable way, to the application of the libido. Freud’s work laid the foundation of an immense increase in our knowledge in regard to the interpretation of the dream’s content, through its historical material and its tendency to express wishes. He showed us how dreams open the way to the acquisition of unconscious material. In accordance with his genius for the purely historical method, he apprises us chiefly of the analytical relations. Although this method is incontestably of the greatest importance, we ought not to take up this standpoint exclusively, as such an historical conception does not sufficiently take account of the teleological meaning of dreams.

Conscious thinking would be quite insufficiently characterized, if we considered it only from its historical determinants. For its complete valuation, we have unquestionably to consider its teleological or prospective meaning as well. If we pursued the history of the English Parliament back to its first origin, we should certainly arrive at a perfect understanding of its development, and the determination of its present form. But we should know nothing about its prospective function, that is, about the work which it has to accomplish now, and in the future. The same thing is to be said about dreams. Their prospective function has been valued only by superstitious peoples and times, but probably there is much truth in their view. Not that we pretend that dreams have any prophetic foreboding, but we suggest, that there might be a possibility of discovering in their unconscious material those future combinations which are subliminal just because they have not reached the distinctiveness or the intensity which consciousness requires. Here I am thinking of those indistinct presentments of the future which we sometimes have, which are nothing else than subliminal combinations, the objective value of which we are not able to apperceive. The future tendencies of the patient are elaborated by this indirect analysis, and, if this work is successful, the convalescent passes out of treatment and out of his half-infantile state of transference into life, which has been inwardly carefully prepared for, which has been chosen by himself, and to which, after many deliberations, he has at last made up his mind.

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